Chapter 11: Whispers in the Flame
The battlefield was silent.
Not the silence of peace, but the heavy, pregnant hush that came after chaos had spent itself. Smoke curled from shattered stones, and the air was thick with the bitter tang of scorched mana. Burned grass and torn banners flapped in the low breeze that wound its way through the ravaged plains like a ghost seeking its corpse.
And standing in the center of it all… was Ethan Walker.
His golden eyes, alive with shifting, mirrored fragments of the world, glowed beneath strands of blood-soaked hair. His shirt had long since been burned away, revealing a lean but muscular torso marred with shallow cuts and rapidly fading bruises. His breathing was steady. Too steady. It wasn't the breath of someone who had fought a battle.
It was the breath of something that had adapted… evolved.
Around him lay the broken bodies of those who had dared to defy him. Knights, adventurers, bounty hunters, even a few rogue cultivators. They had been lured by whispers of a boy with unnatural talent, a mysterious energy. Some had come seeking glory. Others, a bounty. And a few… had come seeking to control him.
Now, they were all dead.
Well… most of them.
Ethan stepped over the groaning form of a woman in torn armor. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling with each wheezing gasp. Blood spilled from a gash in her side, but her eyes still held fire.
"Do it," she hissed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "Finish it."
Ethan crouched beside her, brushing strands of dark hair from her face. She was older—easily late thirties—yet her beauty hadn't dulled. A scar traced her cheekbone, her skin was sun-kissed, and her lips were full. Even now, broken as she was, she radiated a powerful, undeniable allure.
And Ethan felt that familiar, dangerous warmth stir within him.
His weakness.
He smirked.
"You're not worth killing," he said coolly. "But I am curious… why did you come?"
She coughed, the motion jarring her wound. "To stop monsters like you."
Ethan tilted his head. "But I'm not a monster. Not yet."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small mana crystal and pressing it to her wound. She flinched but didn't resist. The glow of the crystal seeped into her flesh, knitting the worst of the damage closed.
"Why… help me?" she asked, voice weaker now.
"Because you're not my enemy," he said, standing. "Not yet."
He turned away, golden eyes gleaming. The wind picked up again, carrying whispers from the trees beyond the battlefield. Whispers only he could hear.
Voices in the flame.
Elsewhere…
Viscount Darius Valen sat alone in his study, staring at the sealed scroll before him. The wax bore the mark of Emerald—the low Stellar-ranked planet that oversaw Earth. Such seals were rare. Dangerous.
He had known the boy was special. From the moment he'd found Ethan in the woods eighteen years ago, he'd sensed it. But now…
Now the elves knew too.
He cracked the seal.
"To Lord Valen, overseer of South-Eastern Allitia. The Elven Council of Emerald has taken interest in reports of unnatural energy activity within your territory. You are to present the subject of interest at the upcoming continental convergence. Refusal will result in Emerald's immediate intervention."
Valen's fingers tightened around the parchment.
He had no choice.
Ethan stood on a cliff overlooking the Valen Estate.
He hadn't returned in two weeks. After the last battle, he'd wandered—testing his power, listening to the voices, letting his body adapt further. Each confrontation brought out something new in him. A faster regeneration. Sharper instincts. Greater control.
The mysterious energy inside him—whatever it truly was—had begun to whisper.
Not in words. Not yet. But in impressions.
In desire.
And it hungered.
He could feel it whenever he pushed too hard, fought too long. It stirred inside him like a predator roused from slumber. It wanted more. Stronger foes. Greater challenges.
But Ethan wasn't a fool.
He knew addiction when he saw it. And he wasn't about to become a slave to his own power.
Not when he still had questions.
What was the Null? Why had the Aether fused with it? Why him?
And most of all… why did he remember faces he shouldn't?
Back at the estate, word spread quickly of Ethan's return. Servants bowed. Guards stepped aside. Noble ladies whispered and watched him pass with barely veiled lust.
But it was the Viscount who confronted him first.
"You need to leave."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Good to see you too, father."
Valen's jaw tightened. "I'm serious. The elves are coming. You've drawn their attention. That's a death sentence."
Ethan stepped forward, golden eyes gleaming.
"Let them come."
"You don't understand."
"No, you don't," Ethan interrupted, his voice hardening. "I'm done hiding. Done pretending. They want me? Then let them try."
Valen shook his head. "You're arrogant. Just like your real father."
The silence that followed was colder than winter steel.
"What did you say?"
Valen turned away. "There are records. Hidden files. Jacob Walker didn't just create technology. He played god. You're not the only thing he left behind."
Ethan's hands clenched. The truth—finally—was starting to unravel. But not fast enough.
He needed more.
And if the Elves were bringing war to his doorstep… then it was time to show them what a real anomaly could do.
The convergence was held in the capital of Allitia—a city floating atop a mana lake, suspended by ancient magi-tech far beyond human understanding. Once a year, nobles, sect leaders, and chosen cultivators gathered under the watchful eyes of Emerald's envoys.
This year, Ethan walked among them.
His entrance did not go unnoticed. Whispers followed him. Some sneered. Others stared in awe. But the most powerful eyes in the room… were those of Lady Sylarieth.
An elf of impossible beauty and lethal grace, she sat beside the envoy's throne, her gaze locked on Ethan from the moment he arrived.
He smirked.
She would be fun.
The day passed in displays of power, political speeches, and false smiles. Cultivators showcased their abilities. Nobles traded veiled threats. Alliances formed and shattered in a single afternoon.
And Ethan? He watched.
Waited.
Until night fell.
And the flames whispered again.
He found her alone—Lady Sylarieth—walking the balcony overlooking the lake.
"Enjoying the view?" he asked, stepping beside her.
She didn't flinch. "You're the human anomaly."
"You say it like it's a bad thing."
She turned, her silver eyes boring into his. "You reek of something ancient. Something forbidden. That energy… it's not mana. It's not divine. Not even aether."
Ethan said nothing.
"You should not exist," she whispered.
He leaned closer. "And yet… here I am."
Her breath hitched.
Their faces were inches apart.
"You're dangerous."
"You're beautiful."
Her eyes widened. Then narrowed.
"Flattery won't save you when the Council arrives."
Ethan's hand moved, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"Who said I need saving?"
She grabbed his wrist.
Power surged between them.
Not just magical—but something deeper. Older. Primal.
And then… she kissed him.
The fire in her touch was unlike anything he'd felt before. Not just lust. Not just challenge. But understanding.
She didn't know what he was… but she wanted to.
And Ethan?
He wanted everything.
The Elves. The secrets. The power.
But most of all…
He wanted to know what he truly was.
The whispers in the flame grew louder.
And the Supreme Universe would soon learn:
Ethan Walker was done hiding.