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The morning came cold and quiet. Thin fog blanketed the ground, swirling like ghosts between the rocks. Chirag woke before Siya and stepped out of the tent. The Ashen Mountains stood like giants above him—silent, dark, and full of secrets.
For a moment, he just stood there, letting the wind brush against his face. It smelled like burnt ash and old stone, a scent that reminded him this was no ordinary place. The mountain had power. He could feel it.
Siya stepped out beside him, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he said, eyes still fixed on the peaks. "Just thinking."
She looked up too. "It's going to be hard. This mountain doesn't welcome strangers."
"I'm not just a stranger now," he said softly. "I'm something else."
Siya gave a small smile. "That's what worries me."
They packed their things quickly and began the climb. The path was narrow and steep, cut into sharp rock and twisted roots. Small embers floated in the air, glowing red like fireflies. The mountain truly felt alive.
As they climbed, the heat beneath their feet increased. It wasn't from the sun—it came from the mountain itself. The path eventually opened to a wide platform made of black stone, where smoke rose from cracks in the earth.
At the center stood a gate, carved with old demon language, glowing faintly in red and gold. There was no door, just darkness beyond the arch.
"This is it," Siya said, stepping forward. "The Temple of Smoke and Stone."
Chirag took a deep breath. "Let's go."
The moment they passed through the gate, the air changed. It grew heavier, thicker. Their footsteps echoed strangely, like the mountain itself was listening.
Inside, the temple was quiet. Walls were lined with old statues—some broken, some still standing tall. Fires burned in floating bowls, casting dancing shadows on the walls. It felt like stepping into another world, where time didn't move the same.
"Who dares enter my temple without an offering?" a voice boomed from the darkness.
Chirag and Siya stopped.
From the shadows emerged a figure—an old demon, tall and thin, with deep crimson skin and glowing yellow eyes. He wore a long robe, made of black cloth and golden threads. His horns were curled back, like a ram's.
"I am Master Dazren," he said, his voice low but strong. "Keeper of the mountain. Why are you here?"
Chirag stepped forward. "I'm Chirag… the one who carries the immortal flame."
The old demon's eyes narrowed. "So it's true. The girl gave it to you."
Siya stepped forward too. "He needs your help, Master Dazren. To control the power… to survive it."
Dazren slowly walked around Chirag, studying him like a puzzle. "The immortal power… was never meant for a human body. It will eat him from the inside if left wild."
"I don't care what it was meant for," Chirag said firmly. "I have it now. And I need to learn how to use it."
The old demon chuckled, a deep, dry sound. "You speak like a ruler already."
"Maybe I'll become more than them," Chirag said.
Dazren paused, then nodded. "Come."
He led them deeper into the temple. They passed strange rooms—some filled with floating weapons, others with books written in ancient languages. At last, they reached a wide, round chamber. The walls were covered in moving flames, not burning but dancing like living spirits.
"This is where you begin," Dazren said. "Your training will not be like anything you know. It will tear your mind, test your heart, and challenge your soul."
Chirag took a deep breath. "I'm ready."
"You say that now. We'll see after the first trial."
Siya stayed back, watching. Dazren raised his hand and the flames around the room brightened. In the center of the chamber, a circle appeared, made of glowing runes.
"Step inside," the old demon said.
Chirag nodded and stepped into the circle.
Instantly, the air grew cold. The fire vanished. He was no longer in the temple.
He stood in a field, surrounded by familiar faces—his mother, his father, the villagers who had abandoned him. They stared at him with hate in their eyes.
"You're nothing," they shouted. "A mistake. A curse."
Chirag trembled. The voices pierced deep into him.
Suddenly, Siya appeared beside him—but this Siya had blood on her chest, just like the day she gave him her power. She was falling.
"No!" he shouted, trying to catch her.
But she vanished.
Then came fire. Then came screams. He saw himself—older, madder—killing people, burning villages.
"Is this who you are?" a voice boomed. "Or is this who you've become?"
Chirag dropped to his knees. The weight of guilt, pain, and fear crashed onto him like a wave.
But then… he heard a soft whisper.
"I'm with you, Chirag. Always."
Siya's real voice. Calm. True.
He stood up, eyes burning with resolve.
"No. That's not who I am. I don't kill for fun. I fight to protect. I live for her."
A bright light burst from his chest, pushing away the darkness. The vision shattered. Chirag fell back into the chamber, gasping.
Dazren stood over him, a rare look of surprise in his eyes.
"You passed the first trial," he said quietly. "Most don't survive it."
Chirag sat up, sweat on his face but fire in his heart.
"I'll pass them all," he said. "I have someone to protect."
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