The sky above the Ironflame Sect was gray with thick clouds, threatening rain. The training fields buzzed with energy—young disciples sparring, fireballs flaring against shields, swords flashing under the gloomy sky. But the true storm brewed elsewhere.
Kieran sat cross-legged beneath a tall bloodpine tree in the secluded eastern gardens, hidden from the bustling sect. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of wet leaves and woodsmoke. He was trying to center his mind for meditation, but his thoughts refused to quiet.
"Again? You're slipping."
The familiar voice jolted him. Damon stood behind him, arms crossed, his training robes slightly rumpled, brow creased with faint disapproval. Kieran turned his head slightly.
"Good morning to you too, Damon," Kieran replied dryly. "Or is this your idea of a greeting now?"
Damon stepped closer, kneeling beside him. "You've been distracted since the trials. What's going on?"
Kieran hesitated. The truth itched behind his lips like an old wound—his past life, the creeping shifts in fate, the way he could feel the story changing around him. But he couldn't say it. Not yet.
"Just… tired," he said finally. "The awakening took more out of me than I expected."
Damon gave him a searching look. "It's more than that. I can tell. You flinch when people mention the spirit well. And you've been avoiding everyone except me. Even Elyria."
Kieran swallowed hard. Damon saw too much. And the closer he got, the more Kieran feared what would happen if the truth unraveled.
"I'm fine," Kieran said. "I just need time."
Damon's lips pressed into a line. He reached out, brushing Kieran's fringe back. His touch lingered, calloused fingers ghosting across Kieran's temple.
"If you ever want to talk," he murmured, voice low, "you know where to find me."
Kieran's heart jumped. The moment stretched too long, eyes locked, breath caught between them. Damon finally stood, offering a hand.
"Come on. Master Elandor wants to see you. Something about a scroll from the Imperial Archives."
---
Master Elandor's private chamber smelled of sandalwood and ink. Scrolls littered the stone desk, and a fire crackled low in the hearth. The old man sat at the far end, reading through a faded parchment bound in red silk.
He didn't look up as Kieran entered. Damon bowed and took his leave with one last glance at Kieran. The door shut behind him.
"Sit."
Kieran did.
Elandor handed him the scroll without preamble. "Translated it. Took three days. Old draconic. Read."
Kieran's fingers trembled as he unrolled the parchment. Symbols unfamiliar to most snapped into sense within seconds. It wasn't just old language—it was code. A puzzle, elegantly constructed.
But its contents made his blood run cold.
'The Lotus-Born shall awaken where time twists. The balance shall shatter, and fate shall seek correction through fire and blood.'
Kieran looked up sharply. "This—this is a prophecy."
"It was," Elandor said. "Lost to most. Buried intentionally. Someone didn't want it found."
Kieran's eyes flicked to the phrase 'Lotus-Born'. His birthmark burned suddenly, faint and hot against his chest.
Elandor studied him. "You came from nowhere, Kieran. You speak languages you shouldn't. You manipulate formations like you've lived a hundred lives. And now this prophecy surfaces. Coincidence?"
"What do you think it means?" Kieran asked quietly.
"I think you're the deviation," Elandor said. "A thread that was never meant to be pulled. And now everything is unraveling."
The fire popped. Outside, thunder rumbled.
---
Later that evening, Kieran walked the edge of the training cliffs alone. The wind tugged at his robes. The sea of clouds below glowed with the last hints of twilight.
He could feel it now—reality shifting. Like a story trying to rewrite itself. He'd been reincarnated into a book world his sister used to read, but he wasn't following its script. The heroine, Elyria, should have been the center. But instead, the male leads were orbiting him.
He sat on the stone ledge, hugging his knees.
"What do I do now?" he whispered.
"Start by not falling off."
Lucien's voice startled him. The prince emerged from the shadows, as elegant as ever in deep indigo robes. He looked out at the clouds with a distant expression.
"You always brood in scenic places, Kieran. It's almost poetic."
"You followed me?"
Lucien shrugged. "I was curious. You intrigue me."
Kieran arched a brow. "You don't seem like the curious type."
"Oh, I'm very curious. Especially when someone like you breaks the imperial formation I spent years refining with a rock and a stick."
Kieran flushed. "That was an accident."
Lucien sat beside him. Their shoulders brushed.
"You shine too brightly," Lucien murmured. "The world wasn't ready for you. That's why everything's bending."
Kieran looked at him sharply. "What did you just say?"
Lucien turned to him fully, violet eyes searching. "You're not the only one who reads forbidden things."
A long silence fell. Wind howled below.
"So you know, then," Kieran said. Not a question.
Lucien nodded. "I suspected. You're from outside the script. You're destabilizing the world. And the world doesn't like it."
Kieran's breath caught. "What happens if I stay?"
Lucien didn't answer. He just touched Kieran's hand gently.
"Then I guess we'll find out together."
---
That night, fire swept through the lower sect.
It started in the potion halls—flames of unnatural color. Green, then silver. Explosions followed. Screams. Alarm bells.
Kieran bolted from his bed, robe flaring as he raced down the corridor. The flames were consuming faster than natural fire. Magic-born.
He found Damon near the burning courtyard, sword in hand, eyes fierce. Rowan stood beside him, shield raised, protecting fleeing disciples.
"Where's Elyria?!" Kieran shouted.
"Trapped in the alchemy wing!" Rowan yelled. "The roof collapsed!"
Kieran didn't hesitate. He sprinted through smoke and rubble, magic flaring like stars beneath his feet.
The world blurred. Heat. Screams. A thunderous crash.
He found her beneath a crumbled beam, coughing blood, her hands glowing as she tried to hold a barrier.
"Don't move," Kieran said, voice low.
He touched the barrier, laced his energy into hers. The beam lifted—just enough.
"Run. I'll cover you."
Elyria hesitated, eyes wide. Then she nodded, bolting.
As the fire collapsed around him, Kieran turned.
There, beyond the flame, stood a masked figure.
Not a disciple.
Not from this world.
Their eyes glowed red, like coals.
"Found you, threadbreaker," the figure hissed.
And vanished into smoke.
---
Later, after the fires were out, the sect was in ruins. Two halls destroyed. Dozens injured. No fatalities—thanks to Kieran.
But Master Elandor's face was grim.
"They came for you," he said. "They know who you are."
Kieran nodded, exhausted. "They called me... threadbreaker."
"They're not wrong," Elandor said. "You're unraveling fate. The question now is—will you survive it?"
Kieran looked out over the ruined courtyard.
"I don't know," he said quietly. "But I'm not going back. I won't follow a story I didn't write."
In the distance, dawn broke. A new day. A new crack in destiny.
And somewhere deep within the earth, something ancient stirred—watching, waiting, remembering a lotus once promised to die before it ever bloomed.