"How was it, young master? Are you satisfied?" Thorne's voice broke Kael out of his reverie.
Kael gave a small smile.
"Yeah," he replied flatly.
Thorne nodded, then turned toward a clothes rack tucked beside the wall. He began rummaging through the garments as though searching for something specific.
"Thanks," Kael said quietly.
Thorne looked back at him and smiled.
"It's my duty, young master."
He pulled out a plain ash-gray shirt and a matching pair of pants, walking over to place them neatly on the bed. Kael's eyes followed him the entire time.
"You should get dressed," Thorne said.
"Follow the corridor—you'll find a hall."
With that, he turned and exited the room.
Kael sat still for a few more seconds, then sighed and stood up. He picked up the shirt, eyeing it with mild disappointment. It was unadorned—simple cloth, no design, just like the pants.
"Seems bland," he muttered, but he put them on anyway.
To his surprise, the clothes fit perfectly, almost tailor-made. They were comfortable too—not tight, not stiff, allowing full freedom of movement. He stretched, testing them, and nodded with quiet approval.
His gaze wandered around the room once more. It was sparse, lit by a single glowing crystal embedded in the ceiling. Wooden bookshelves lined the back wall, cluttered with scrolls and tomes. Many were sealed; most were written in languages he couldn't decipher.
Kael passed them by, stepping out into the corridor.
The hallway stretched long and narrow, walls of smooth, dark stone flanking him on either side. The floor was polished but uneven, bearing the marks of old tools—evidence of careful, masterful craftsmanship. The ceiling arched slightly, just high enough to not feel oppressive.
Feels like a cave, Kael thought.
But too refined... someone carved this with purpose.
There were no other doors or rooms along the passage. Just stone and silence, except for the echo of his soft footsteps.
The corridor eventually bent sharply to the right. At the end, a large wooden door stood closed, ancient but sturdy.
Kael pushed it open and stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was the sheer size of the chamber. The air inside was dry and still, like it hadn't been disturbed for years.
The hall had been hewn directly from the mountain itself—massive and echoing, yet strangely majestic. The vaulted ceiling rose high above, easily three times his height. Rough-carved stone gave the chamber an ancient, sacred feel. Subtle sigils nearly erased by time ran through the walls, catching the light from the crystal sconces embedded in each corner.
A massive stone pillar stood at the center of the room, as wide as four men standing shoulder to shoulder. It soared upward, its surface covered in faint etchings that time had nearly erased. Around it, the stone floor was marked with faded patterns—perhaps old training sigils or battle scars.
The room wasn't entirely empty.
On the left wall stood a weapon rack lined with swords, staffs, and spears. Most were simple, utilitarian weapons—scarred and worn from use. In the far corner, a pile of mannequin-like training dummies had been stacked haphazardly, forming a small, grim mountain of silent observers.
And there were doors—three of them. One on the far right wall, one directly opposite Kael's entry point, and another beside the weapons rack, slightly ajar.
Thorne sat cross-legged at the base of the central pillar, eyes closed in meditation. As Kael stepped further in, Thorne's eyes opened, and he smiled.
He gestured for Kael to approach.
Kael walked in slowly, head tilting up as he took in the vastness of the space.
"What is this place?" he whispered.
Thorne's smile widened.
"This was a training hall," he said softly.
He rose to his feet, placing a hand on the pillar with reverence.
"This room forged some of the finest warriors humanity has ever known."
Kael glanced at the mannequins in the corner, one brow raising.
"Forged, huh," he said, rubbing his chin.
"Are those the ones who failed?"
Thorne followed his gaze, then burst into laughter.
Kael frowned.
What's so funny? You said forged.
"No, young master," Thorne said, wiping at his eye.
"Those are just training dummies."
He stepped aside, eyes now serious.
"And training is what you're here for."
Kael nodded, his posture straightening.
"You've got sharp instincts," Thorne began.
"Your hand-to-hand skills are excellent—your mother made sure of that."
His voice softened with the mention of her.
A smug grin crept onto Kael's face.
"But," Thorne added, making Kael sigh,
"that's good enough only for Dust-born."
He paused, letting the words hang.
"Now, you'll need to learn to fight with veinfire."
Kael's face stiffened.
"But... I'm still Dust-born. I haven't awakened my veinfire."
He hasn't noticed, Thorne thought.
"You're wrong," he said at last.
"You're not Dust-born anymore."
He stepped closer.
"You're Ember-Hand now."
Kael frowned.
Ember-Hand? When had that happened?
"During the struggle with Griefshard, you finally mastered the first form," Thorne said, noting the confusion on Kael's face.
"How? I thought it couldn't be mastered," Kael asked, brows knitting together.
Thorne chuckled.
"The ancient mortals did it—and they were human. That idea about it being impossible? Just a myth. Your mother wouldn't send you down a dead end."
He paused, then asked:
"Do you know what being Ember-Hand truly means?"
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"Of course."
Thorne stayed silent, waiting. A gesture said go on.
"It means unlocking the first vein block," Kael began,
"getting a feel for your veinfire, and slowly controlling it, increasing density."
Thorne nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"And can you feel yours?"
Kael hesitated. He closed his eyes.
At first—nothing.
Then a spark.
He felt it. No—saw it.
A faint, glowing silver light—cold and smooth—flowing alongside his veins like liquid starlight.
His eyes flew open. He laughed with joy, grinning wide.
"Yes... finally," he whispered, voice trembling. Tears almost spilled down his cheeks.
Thorne smiled.
"You're right—for most people. But you didn't just feel it. You saw it."
Kael froze.
That was true.
When someone reached Ember-Hand, they were supposed to only feel their veinfire. Even vein-bound experts couldn't see it unless under rare conditions.
But he had seen it—clearly.
He frowned.
The first form... what was it, really?
Luckily, he had someone who might know.
"Why?" Kael asked quietly.
"The first form is the original path," Thorne said.
"To master it, you have to get your veinfire to obey you. To tame it. Control it."
He let the words sink in before continuing.
"These days, techniques and methods let you break the first vein block with external aids—potions, branded seals, spirit catalysts. They force the path open, but it's unnatural. It's like stabbing a hole in your own veins."
"Causing veinfire to rush out like blood," Kael murmured.
Thorne nodded.
"Exactly. You get the illusion of controlling it. The surge is unstable. So most people spend years after that trying to tame it—while healing the damage."
He paused, then leaned in slightly.
"But you… you used the first form."
"With that," he continued,
"you gain control first. Then you can use that control to shatter the barriers from the inside out. It's slower, but it makes each breakthrough cleaner. Stronger. Your will shapes your veinfire—not the other way around."
Kael clenched his fists.
It was worth it, he thought.
While others struggled for control, he only had to increase density.
Fair trade, for the years he'd spent mastering the form.
"Not to mention," Thorne added with a grin,
"it boosts your willpower."
Kael thought back to his fight with the cloaked figure. That made sense.
"Is that why you let me learn the Codex?" Kael asked, raising an eyebrow.
Thorne just shrugged.
"Who knows?"
Kael frowned.
"But I still don't get it. Why doesn't everyone learn the first form?"
"Because it's hard. And it takes time," Thorne said simply.
"Someone who practices the first form might reach Ember-Hand after ten years of starting. But if you follow the contemporary method, you can awaken instantly if your body can withstand the method. Usually around sixteen."
He smiled.
"But due to… certain circumstances, and who you are, you managed it in five years. Be proud, young master."
He added one more thing, almost offhand:
"The first form used to be more common. In ancient times, most clans and sects taught it. But now? Only a few ancient lineages still have copies. And they're not exactly the sharing type."
Kael looked down at his hands, his fingers curling into a tight fist.
He'd done it.
"I am finally Ember-Hand."