The silence after awakening echoed louder than any battle cry. Lucius had broken through another wall inside himself—he felt it in the way the air now responded to his presence, how the very Vault around him trembled with unspoken reverence. And yet, in the aftermath of the Heaven Destroyer's Echo, he did not feel triumphant.
He felt watched.
The Vault had begun to constrict around him—not physically, but spiritually. The fire that once welcomed him now felt like a coiled serpent, one eye opened. It was time to leave, though no door offered itself.
Then it appeared.
A thin crevice in the far wall, no wider than a blade's edge, pulsed with faint light. As Lucius stepped toward it, the stones parted silently, revealing a narrow stairway chiseled in jagged obsidian. Unlike the rest of the Vault, the passage felt untouched by monks, glyphs, or reverence. It was raw—unblessed and alive.
He descended without hesitation.
The air changed with each step. Warmer. Denser. He felt the Fang gauntlet tighten around his arm, not as a weapon, but a warning. This place was not shaped for man.
This place was a nursery.
The tunnel opened into a massive underground basin, dome-shaped and humid. Golden light filtered in from cracks far above, casting long beams that shimmered across the surface of an underground lake. Around the lake, hundreds—no, thousands—of small mounds dotted the stone. At first glance, Lucius thought they were rocks.
Then one of them moved.
It unfurled, a soft, scaly shape barely larger than a dog, with translucent wings and a jaw full of small curved fangs. Its eyes glowed with ember-like warmth, and when it blinked, Lucius felt a ripple in his soul.
Dragonlings.
Infant draconic spirits, born not of flesh but of qi and fire. They were said to be impossible to raise, often dying within hours unless hatched in perfect harmony with elemental ley lines.
But here, dozens thrived. Some were no larger than his arm. Others swam beneath the surface of the lake, their shapes more defined, more predatory.
The largest among them—their guardian, perhaps—lay at the far end of the basin, half-buried in stone. Its golden eyes opened as Lucius stepped forward.
It did not growl.
It spoke.
"You wear the Fang. And the Fang remembers us."
Lucius stared, uncertain. "You can speak?"
The beast stirred, massive claws scraping stone. Its body was a blend of scales and magma, ancient and young at once.
"We are the last breath of the First Flame. The remnants of the bond between fire and flesh. We remember the one who came before you."
"The Heaven Destroyer?" Lucius asked.
The dragon's nostrils flared. "He killed what he was meant to protect. He shattered this place. But he also… left something behind."
Lucius felt the whisper of the Echo in the back of his mind again. A faint pulse. A memory not his.
"This… nursery," Lucius said. "It was his?"
"It was his crime," the guardian said. "And your burden."
Lucius knelt, lowering his gaze as the dragonlings approached. One crawled into his lap, curious, flicking its tongue at his aura. It didn't flinch. In fact, it purred.
"I won't make his mistake," Lucius said quietly. "I'm not here to burn innocence."
The dragon stirred. "Then why did the Fang guide you here?"
Lucius had no answer. But the Fang glowed softly. It too seemed quiet—unthreatening, almost… reverent.
"I didn't come to destroy," Lucius said. "I came to understand."
The guardian rumbled. "Then you must choose. Will you inherit the First Flame's regrets—or forge your own fire?"
He stood slowly. "I'll forge my own."
The guardian leaned forward, placing its forehead to Lucius's.
For a moment, everything went still.
Then the chamber shimmered.
The lake's surface rippled outward, forming symbols of fire in the air. The dragonlings gathered around him, forming a loose circle, and the basin grew warmer—bright, alive.
And something awoke.
A presence beneath the nursery, deeper than the lake or the tunnels.
Lucius felt it stir.
The Fang pulsed violently.
The guardian's tone sharpened. "They come. The ones who heard the Echo. They will slaughter us to reach you."
Lucius turned toward the lake. Faint vibrations echoed in the water. A rumble from the tunnel behind.
"How many?" he asked.
The guardian growled. "Too many. And worse—familiar."
Lucius braced himself. "Let them come."
Above the Vault, the storm finally broke.
Dozens of masked figures breached the temple's outer defenses without warning. They moved like shadows between lightning strikes, slitting throats and extinguishing wards. Their leader—robed in obsidian, mask shaped like a twisted flame—walked calmly through the chaos, his hands slick with monk's blood.
Seris stood on the inner wall, watching the massacre unfold.
She gritted her teeth. "How did they get this close?"
Beside her, Rengard was pale, blade in hand. "They've been waiting for this moment. The Vault's activation weakened our outer seals. These aren't bandits. These are Relic Fangs."
Seris narrowed her eyes. "Cultists?"
Rengard nodded grimly. "Worshippers of the first Heaven Destroyer. They've been hunting for a new host for generations."
"And now they think Lucius is it," Seris said darkly.
A distant roar echoed from the earth. Rengard's expression twisted.
"They're heading for the nursery."
Seris turned. "The what?"
"We don't have time," he snapped. "We have to get to Lucius. Now."
Back beneath the earth, the dragonlings had scattered into hiding. Lucius stood at the edge of the lake, the Fang gleaming like molten armor.
Then the first Relic Fang cultist stepped into the nursery.
He was tall, gaunt, clad in robes of withered red. His aura reeked of stolen life. His eyes were empty.
"You are the successor," he said, as others filed in behind him. "You've heard the Echo. Felt the hunger. The Abyss sings to you now."
Lucius said nothing.
"You don't belong in this nursery," the cultist continued. "You belong on a throne of ash."
Lucius extended his gauntleted arm. "You mistake my silence for hesitation."
The cultist grinned. "Then speak, Heavenborn. Show us who you really are."
Lucius moved.
He did not use words.
His body became a flame.
He surged forward, palm open, unleashing a gout of radiant fire that consumed the first three enemies before they could scream. The Fang clawed through the fourth, its teeth gnashing the man's soul directly from his chest.
The lake churned. The walls cracked.
More cultists poured in—some riding spiritual beasts, others cloaked in anti-qi wards.
Lucius burned brighter.
His heart thundered with fire, rage, purpose.
He fought not as a man—but as a force.
The nursery became a battlefield.
Dragonlings screeched and dove through the air, biting, clawing, shielding Lucius when he faltered. The guardian roared and loosed a tidal wave of molten light, sending half the invaders crashing into walls.
Still they came.
Still Lucius burned.
His movements wove destruction and protection in tandem. Every step was a declaration: You will not take this place. I am not him. I will not fall.
His arm shattered a stone idol one of the cultists summoned for protection. The Fang howled, drinking from each corpse like wine.
He didn't notice the arrow until it struck him.
Barbed. Poisoned. Drenched in Abyssal qi.
Lucius fell to a knee, blood spilling from his side.
The leader of the cult stepped into view. "You shine brightly, boy. But all flames fade."
Lucius tried to rise.
The dragonlings shrieked in panic. One of them, the small one who had curled in his lap earlier, tried to shield him—was struck by a thrown blade.
Lucius felt something break inside him.
The Fang screamed.
The Vault pulsed.
And Lucius rose.
Not as the Heaven Destroyer.
But as Lucius Ashborne.
His qi erupted in a sphere of radiant gold laced with black. The poisoned arrow burned to ash. The sigils across his shoulder flared, and the nursery trembled as reality bent beneath his roar.
"Enough!"
With one sweep of his arm, fire took the form of wings. The Fang elongated into a blade of flame and shadow. He struck once.
And the world obeyed.
The Relic Fang cultists were thrown back, skin and spirit unraveling as divine fire cleansed them from existence.
The lake boiled. The nursery held its breath.
Lucius stood in the aftermath, panting, eyes glowing with fury and pain.
The cult was gone.
But the price was not.
He staggered toward the fallen dragonling—cradled it, shaking. Its ember glow was fading.
"No…" he whispered. "Stay. Please."
The guardian limped toward him, silent.
The small creature blinked once, reached up with a tiny claw—and touched his heart.
Then turned to dust.
Lucius didn't scream.
He wept—quietly, cradling ash in his arms.
"I swore I wouldn't be like him," he whispered. "I swore I'd protect…"
The guardian placed a claw on his shoulder.
"Then keep your promise. Live. Fight. And remember—every flame, no matter how small, leaves warmth behind."
Far above, Seris and Rengard reached the Vault's entrance—just as the quake ended.
They looked down the tunnel.
And saw golden light rising.
[End of Chapter 10]