The road wound through thickets of red-leafed trees until they reached the stone torii gate of a village nestled between mountain ridges. Glowing lanterns shimmered faintly in the fog.
Is this it?
Elena asked.
Ethan nodded,
Village of Quiet Flames. Known for its spiritual blacksmiths and medicinal flame pools
They passed through the gate, eyes scanning the silent streets. Old wooden buildings, curved rooftops, and jade dragon carvings lined the village few people roamed, but those they passed looked at Ethan and Elena with strange expressions not fear, but expectation.
A hunched old man beckoned them from beneath a shrine archway.
You carry something ancient,
He rasped.
Come she is waiting.
She?
Ethan echoed.
They followed him through a winding garden trail. Fireflies glowed in the mist.
Inside a stone hall, a woman sat cross-legged atop a forge-shaped dais. Her eyes were closed, but the room pulsed with spiritual heat.
You are Ethan Cross,
she said without opening her eyes.
And you are wounded. Sit.
She motioned toward a jade-lined hot spring behind her. The air shimmered with spiritual flame.
Elena looked impressed,
A healing forge pool these are supposed to be extinct.
This one isn't,
The woman said,
You're in the Village of Quiet Flames.
Home of the last Flameborn Blacksmiths.
Ethan dipped into the spring. Instantly, warmth surged through his meridians. Bruises faded. His mind cleared. His Qi stabilized, flowing with harmony.
You came at the right time,
The woman said.
The forge chooses once every century. It has chosen you.
Chosen for what?
Ethan asked.
The woman stood. Her robes flared with heat,
To receive the Emberheart Core. The seed of flame itself. But only if you can withstand its trial.
Outside, black clouds circled the village perimeter. Thunder echoed.
A storm was brewing and not just in the sky.