The cold night air bit at Zhao Liang's skin as he ran, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His legs burned from exertion, but he didn't dare stop. Behind him, the once peaceful village of Yunhe smoldered in ruin. The crackling flames, which had once offered warmth and comfort, now represented devastation and loss.
The weight of the flame-shaped medallion in his hand felt heavier than before. Zhao glanced down at it, its faint glow barely visible in the darkness. A thousand questions raced through his mind. Why had this object caused so much destruction? What was it that the cultivators wanted with it? And why did it feel like it had chosen him?
Zhao had heard stories about cultivators—legends of warriors who could harness the power of the Dao to transcend ordinary life, reaching heights of unimaginable strength. But those stories had always felt distant, as if they belonged to another world. Now, he was being thrust into that world, unprepared and afraid.
As he stumbled through the dense forest, the sounds of pursuit echoed behind him. The blue-eyed cultivator was relentless, his voice cutting through the night. "You can't run forever, boy! That power belongs to us!"
Zhao's heart raced faster. He could feel the Qi from the medallion pulsing through his body, but he had no idea how to control it. The brief surge of flames that had saved him earlier had been instinctive, a reaction to danger. Now, the energy simmered just below the surface, tantalizing and terrifying.
Up ahead, the trees began to thin. Zhao broke through the edge of the forest and found himself standing at the foot of a rocky cliff, towering high into the night sky. He was trapped.
Turning around, he saw the flicker of torchlight approaching from the woods. The cultivators were closing in, and there was no escape. His chest heaved with exhaustion, his body aching from the flight.
"What do I do?" Zhao whispered to himself, clutching the medallion tightly.
The air around him shifted, and Zhao felt the medallion warm in his hand, as if responding to his plea. A low hum filled his ears, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. The medallion's glow intensified, casting faint shadows on the cliff face behind him. He could feel it—power, ancient and untamed—waiting for him to claim it.
But before he could act, the blue-eyed cultivator stepped out of the forest, his eyes locking onto Zhao with a predatory grin. "There you are."
Zhao backed up against the cliff wall, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why are you after this medallion?" he demanded, trying to sound braver than he felt.
The cultivator's smile didn't waver. "That medallion is more than just a trinket. It holds the key to unlocking the Celestial Flame, a power that hasn't been seen in centuries. And it's wasted on someone like you."
Zhao's grip tightened on the medallion. The Celestial Flame? He had no idea what the cultivator was talking about, but he could feel the truth in the man's words. This medallion was no ordinary object—it was something far more dangerous and powerful.
The cultivator raised his hand, summoning a crackling sphere of energy. "You can either give it to me willingly, or I'll take it from your lifeless body. The choice is yours."
Zhao's breath hitched. He was out of options, out of strength. His only hope lay in the medallion, but he didn't know how to use it. In a desperate move, he raised the medallion toward the cultivator, hoping for a miracle.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then, with a deafening roar, a torrent of flame erupted from the medallion, swirling around Zhao like a protective barrier. The heat was overwhelming, but it didn't burn him. Instead, the flames felt comforting, like an extension of himself.
The cultivator stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. "Impossible!"
Zhao didn't understand what was happening, but he didn't have time to question it. The flames responded to his will, surging forward in a wave of searing heat. The blue-eyed cultivator barely managed to shield himself, but the force of the attack sent him crashing into the trees.
For a moment, there was silence. Zhao stood in the center of the clearing, the flames still dancing around him, the medallion pulsing with energy. He had done it. He had tapped into the power of the Celestial Flame.
But the victory was short-lived. Zhao's body suddenly felt heavy, the strain of channeling the flame too much for his untrained form. The fire around him flickered and died, leaving him gasping for breath. He collapsed to his knees, the medallion slipping from his fingers as exhaustion overtook him.
Just as the darkness began to close in, Zhao felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up weakly to see a figure standing over him—a woman, her face hidden by the hood of her cloak. Her voice was soft but firm.
"You're not ready for this power yet," she said. "But if you want to survive, you'll have to learn."
Zhao tried to speak, but his vision blurred, and the world around him faded into nothingness.