The quiet of Liang Feng's quarters wrapped around him like a shroud, broken only by the faint crackling of the cursed flame that flickered in his palm. His room was small, almost claustrophobic, with only a cot pushed against the corner and a desk littered with scrolls and inkstones. The flame's crimson light painted the walls with restless shadows, the dancing shapes almost mocking him.
The training grounds' jeers still echoed in his ears, each word digging into him like a thorn. He could still see Wei Han's smug grin, feel the sharp sting of his blade against his shoulder. The humiliation had always been there, lurking just beneath the surface, but today it felt sharper. More final.
Liang flexed his fingers, watching the flame shift and sputter in response. It was beautiful in its own way—a small, radiant fire that seemed alive. But he knew better than to trust its beauty. It was a parasite, feeding on him, consuming his energy even now.
"Control it," Elder Wen had said earlier that day, his tone as cold as his gaze. Liang let out a bitter laugh. If it were that simple, wouldn't he have done it by now?
He extinguished the flame with a snap of his fingers and leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. His mind drifted to the days before the curse, before his soul flame had revealed its true nature. He had been a star within the sect, celebrated for his talent and potential. The elders had praised him, the other disciples had admired him, and his parents… His parents had been so proud.
A pang of grief twisted in his chest. His father, a fierce cultivator who had died defending the sect, and his mother, gentle but determined, who had succumbed to illness not long after. They had both believed he was destined for greatness. What would they think if they could see him now—a shadow of his former self, clinging to a threadbare hope that he could outpace his curse?
Liang sat up, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the stack of scrolls on his desk. He had poured countless hours into those texts, searching for anything that might help him. Techniques for suppressing unstable flames, theories on soul cultivation, even myths about ancient powers—all of it had led nowhere.
The elders had tried, too, at first. They had subjected him to endless tests, their curiosity more scientific than compassionate. He remembered the cold touch of their hands as they examined him, the sharp pain of their spiritual probes invading his core, and their eventual silence when it became clear that his curse couldn't be undone.
By the time he turned eighteen, they had given up entirely. Now, they tolerated him only because they feared what might happen if they cast him out. A cursed flame like his could do untold damage if left unchecked. He wasn't a disciple anymore, not really. He was a liability.
He clenched his fists, the cursed flame flaring to life once more. It burned brighter this time, casting wild, jagged shadows across the room. Liang stared at it, his jaw tight.
"You've taken everything from me," he said quietly, his voice shaking with anger. "My future, my family, my place in the sect—it's all because of you."
The flame seemed to crackle in response, its light pulsing faintly. Liang shook his head and extinguished it again. Talking to the flame was pointless. It wasn't alive—it wasn't some sentient force that could be reasoned with. It was just… there. A curse he had been saddled with, for reasons he didn't understand.
His thoughts were interrupted by the faint murmur of voices outside his window. Liang stood and crossed the room, pushing the window open just enough to hear the conversation more clearly.
"…trial site in the mountains," one voice was saying.
Liang's heart skipped a beat. He recognized the speaker as Sun Zhi, one of the senior disciples. The other voice, quieter but equally familiar, belonged to Liu An, Sun Zhi's closest companion.
"It's just a rumor," Liu An replied.
"Maybe," Sun Zhi admitted. "But if it's true, it could hold incredible treasures. They say it's connected to the Phoenix Clan."
Liang's breath caught. The Phoenix Clan.
Long ago, the Phoenix Clan had been legendary, their mastery over flames unparalleled. It was said that their techniques could purify even the most unstable soul flames, turning chaos into harmony. But the clan had been wiped out centuries ago, their secrets lost to history.
Or perhaps not.
"Even if it exists," Liu An said, "it's dangerous. You've heard the stories. No one who enters ever comes back."
"That's what makes it so tempting," Sun Zhi replied, his tone laced with excitement.
The voices faded as the two disciples moved away, but Liang remained by the window, his mind racing.
The Phoenix Clan. The trial site. If there was even a chance that it held answers, he had to find it. He couldn't rely on the sect anymore. The elders had abandoned him, the disciples ridiculed him, and his cursed flame grew stronger—and deadlier—by the day.
He turned back to his desk, his eyes scanning the scrolls. Most were useless, but a few contained maps of the surrounding region. He began pulling them out, his hands moving with purpose. The cursed flame flickered faintly in his palm as if urging him on.
For the first time in years, Liang felt a spark of hope. It was faint, fragile, but it was enough. If the trial site truly existed, it might be his only chance to break the curse.
And if it didn't…
Liang shook his head. He couldn't think that way. He had to believe.
The flame in his palm burned brighter, casting a warm glow across the room. Liang stared at it, his expression hardening.
"I don't care how dangerous it is," he said quietly. "I'll find it. And I'll find a way to master you."
The flame crackled softly, as if in agreement.
Liang sat back down, spreading the maps across the floor. He traced the faint lines with his fingers, his mind already planning the journey ahead. He would need supplies—food, water, cultivation pills. He would have to move quietly, avoiding the sect's attention.
But no matter the risks, he would go.
For the first time in years, Liang Feng felt alive.