Ashes of The last last Master

blessingonenoegbeji127 Suspense/Thriller

Ashes of the Last Master
Chapter One: The Grave That Breathed
---
It began with silence.
Deep, pulsing silence that stretched through the cursed woods of Elaran like a shroud. Even the wind feared to pass through these trees. Their gnarled roots clawed the earth, thirsty for blood. The very soil was known to swallow the living and speak only to the dead.
And tonight, the dead answered back.
The air shimmered above a lonely mound of blackened earth, the size of a shallow grave. Then, with a sound like thunder trapped beneath the ground, the soil broke.
A pale, blistered hand tore through the surface, fingers curled, grasping for life.
Moments later, a man gasped into the air.
He clawed and coughed and dragged himself from the hole like a newborn birthed by the grave itself. Dirt poured from his mouth as he heaved—lungs filling with something more vital than air: memory.
Lightning cracked across the sky, momentarily revealing his face. Sharp features, skin stained with soot, eyes glowing faintly blue. His silver-streaked hair clung to his forehead as rain began to fall.
He collapsed on his side, shivering, barely clothed in tatters of what once might have been ceremonial robes.
He blinked.
“I... died.”
His voice was raw, strangled like it hadn't been used in decades. Because it hadn’t.
More fragments came.
Fire. Screaming. A temple collapsing. Betrayal. A sword through his back. The scent of blood on marble.
And then—nothing.
His fingers dug into the dirt as memories stabbed through him like daggers. He remembered standing at the center of the Azure Temple, its skyglass windows reflecting the stars. He remembered the boy who knelt before him in training robes.
Vaerith.
His most gifted student.
The one who murdered him.
“No... no.” The man sat up slowly, joints creaking. “This isn’t real. I died. I remember dying.”
The trees gave no answers.
He stood, wobbling on uncertain legs, the storm raging around him. The forest did not welcome him, but it watched him. Something ancient and wrong shifted between the branches. Shadows twisted, murmuring, sensing something long-forgotten stirring in the world again.
The man limped forward through the underbrush, each step a war.
He did not know how he was alive. He didn’t know why.
But he knew who he was.
His name was Kaelin.
And he had once been the Grandmaster of the Azure Order.
---
Kaelin didn’t reach shelter until the following day.
After hours of stumbling through the forest, bleeding from roots and branches that sliced his skin, he came across the ruins of what might have been a waystation—stone walls collapsed, roof caved in, but still offering some protection from the wind.
He built a fire with his bare hands, kindling it with a whisper of energy. The moment the flames caught, the heat kissed something inside him, and his hands trembled. The fire felt... right.
Azure Flame.
The sacred source.
It still lived in him.
Even after death.
He stared into the fire, haunted by the familiar glow. As a boy, he’d spent years meditating on flame—learning its patience, its fury, its dual nature. He had taught others that balance. Had taught Vaerith.
And Vaerith had burned the temple to the ground.
The Azure Order was no more.
How long had he been dead?
Kaelin glanced at his reflection in a puddle beside the fire. His face looked older than he remembered—more gaunt, with faint wrinkles, and white at his temples. But his body was strong. In fact, stronger than it had been before his death.
Rebirth.
The word echoed in his mind like an omen.
This wasn’t resurrection. This was something else. A cycle returning. A flame refusing to extinguish.
“Why me?” he asked the fire. “Why now?”
As if answering, the fire sputtered and hissed—sparks dancing into the air. Kaelin looked around quickly.
Then he felt it.
A presence. Watching.
He grabbed a sharp branch and spun around.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
A girl, barely twelve, wrapped in a patchwork cloak. Mud smeared her face, and her hands clutched a knife far too large for her fingers.
“Stay back,” she said, voice shaking.
Kaelin lowered his weapon.
“I mean no harm.”
“You’re in my shelter,” she growled.
Kaelin stared, impressed. She was small, malnourished, but unafraid.
“You can have it,” he said, stepping aside.
The girl blinked, surprised. “You’re... not going to fight me?”
“I’ve had enough fights for several lifetimes.”
She eyed him suspiciously and then crept toward the fire, blade still raised.
“You’re not from here,” she said.
“No.”
“You look like a ghost.”
Kaelin chuckled dryly. “I feel like one.”
They sat in silence. She didn’t put her knife away.
Finally, she spoke again. “My name’s Lysa.”
“Kaelin.”
She flinched. “That’s... an old name.”
He nodded.
“From the books,” she added.
“What books?”
“The ones they burned.”
Kaelin’s heart sank.
“What year is it?” he asked.
She squinted. “Eighty-seven after the Fall.”
The number hit him like a hammer.

Unfold