Shadow Weaver: Sole Chapter 187: Untitled

Chapter 187: Untitled

"He’s crazy, we’re leaving."

Zeke’s boots crushed over blackened stone as he stord out of the charred cathedral, heat rippling off his body in violent waves. Ash swirled behind him like a cloak, the air itself bending away from his temper. He refused to even glance back.

The cathedral groaned softly, beams still smoldering from his earlier outburst. lted glass dripped from broken windows like hardened tears. The place reeked of burnt scripture and old incense.

It made no sense to him.

To throw away his future, his ascension, everything he had clawed toward, just to save so ancient relic who should have died with his era. Even if that relic once stood shoulder to shoulder with gods. Even if he had crossed blades with the High God of Gaia and lived.

Zeke did not care.

"Wait, why is this such a big deal? You’re just sharing so fire, no? What’s so special about that?" Leon asked, stepping out carefully, brushing soot from his sleeve.

He truly did not understand.

From where he stood, fire was fire. Power was power. Zeke wielded it endlessly, recklessly, without hesitation. He had watched him burn his own sister into a smoking ruin without blinking. Why hesitate now?

The question hung in the air like a spark.

Zeke stopped walking.

For a split second, everything went silent.

Then he turned.

The look in his eyes was not rage alone. It was sothing uglier. Sothing wounded.

A shock wave of heat exploded outward from him without warning.

Leon barely had ti to widen his eyes before the blast struck his chest. The air detonated around him, and his body was hurled backward across the courtyard, smashing through a fractured pillar before skidding along cracked stone.

The ground sizzled where he landed.

"Watch your mouth, noble. I’ve killed your kind for less," Zeke spat, flas licking higher along his arms.

His voice was low, trembling beneath the fury.

He turned away again, shoulders tight, and launched into the air in a burst of fire. The sky above the Under Dark rippled as he tore through it.

Leon coughed, smoke rising from his clothes.

Enzo exhaled slowly.

"I’ll follow him. Don’t worry too much," he muttered, glancing once at Leon before stepping forward.

There was no urgency in his tone.

His figure stretched unnaturally as the light around him dimd. The shadows beneath the ruined archway thickened, swallowing his outline. In the next heartbeat, he was gone.

Shadow Step.

Far from the cathedral, Zeke hovered before the frozen walls of the Under Dark.

The walls were not simply ice.

They were ancient.

Layer upon layer of pale frost ford a barrier that curved endlessly into darkness, veins of dim blue light pulsing faintly beneath the surface like a slow heartbeat.

Zeke roared and released a torrent of flas.

The fire crashed against the wall in a furious storm, lting through the first layer instantly. Steam exploded outward, filling the air in choking waves. The ground beneath him liquefied from the heat.

He poured more into it.

Flas brighter than molten gold.

Hot enough to scorch the heavens.

The ice lted.

Then it reford.

Smooth. Untouched. Unbroken.

"What are you doing?" Enzo’s voice ca calmly from behind.

He stepped out of a fold in the shadows, coat swaying gently despite the violent heat around them. His eyes reflected the blaze without flinching.

Zeke did not turn.

"It’s just ice, isn’t it? Why can’t I burn a hole through it? My energy reserves are endless," he snapped.

But the edge in his voice betrayed sothing else.

Frustration.

Confusion.

The flas surged again, harder this ti, drilling into the wall with manic intensity. The Under Dark trembled faintly, distant echoes answering the assault.

Yet the wall remained.

Reforming.

Unyielding.

Zeke’s jaw tightened.

He felt it now more than ever.

The way events had unfolded.

The timing.

The coincidence of stumbling into this forsaken place only to discover that an ancient being of his own race, of his own faction, was imprisoned here.

Of all places.

Of all tis.

It felt arranged.

Like invisible hands had nudged him forward step by step.

His flas flickered unevenly.

What were the chances he would co here?

What were the chances that the one trapped beyond this wall would be soone tied to his origin?

And what were the chances that the only key required to free that being... was him?

The fire around him dimd slightly.

For the first ti since arriving, Zeke did not look furious.

He looked cornered.

""Sigh..."

The sound left him slow and heavy, dragged from sowhere deep in his chest. After a few seconds, the raging blaze wrapped around his body began to dim. The violent crimson shifted into a softer orange, then into faint embers that clung to his skin like dying stars.

Smoke poured from him in restless waves. It curled around his shoulders and drifted into the air, the scent of scorched stone lingering behind. The heat had been so intense that even the ground beneath his boots had cracked.

"I’m sure that old bastard planned this. I will never forgive him for it."

Zeke’s voice was calm. Too calm.

Yet in his eyes, beneath that steady surface, sothing burned brighter than the flas ever could. Spite. Betrayal. A fury held on a leash that strained with every breath he took.

They had promised him freedom.

They told him he could walk any road he wished, carve any destiny he desired. He had believed them. He had trusted those words as sothing sacred.

But the mont his choice no longer aligned with their expectations, they moved to take it away. Quietly. Strategically. Like it had always been part of the plan.

Celestial Flas Legacy.

To so, it was an impossibility spoken of in myths. A phenonon that should not exist in this era.

To others, it was a curse. A power that consud its bearer as much as it empowered them.

But to Zeke, it was neither miracle nor misfortune.

It was his.

The flas had chosen him. Not because he was obedient. Not because he was worthy in their eyes. They had resonated with sothing inside him, sothing raw and unyielding.

It was his path.

And now they sought to strip it from him as though it were a toy handed to a child by mistake.

He would not let that happen.

Not while he still had breath in his lungs.

"I understand," Enzo said quietly as he stepped forward.

He reached out and clasped Zeke’s shoulder. The contact was firm, grounding. Not restraining, not forcing. Just there.

This might be their only way out in the short term. The Hunter Gas were barely a week away. Once they began, the academy would lock down tighter than iron chains. If they were still trapped here by then, the consequences would spiral beyond control.

They needed an exit.

They needed speed.

But not at the cost of Zeke.

Enzo’s grip tightened slightly. "Please explain what exactly is going on."

He would not agree to anything that hard him. It did not matter if it ant staying trapped longer.

Silence hung between them for a mont.

The last wisps of smoke faded from Zeke’s body. The heat around him stabilized, no longer violent but contained, like a furnace sealed behind iron doors.

"Okay... I’ll explain."

He tilted his head upward.

"In the sky," he began slowly, "there are classes among us. Divisions determined by elental affinity."

His gaze sharpened.

"For wind, there is prestige. Those blessed by it are admired for their swiftness and elegance. They are seen as refined, untouchable."

"For water, there is calm. Serenity. Control. They are praised for balance and adaptability, for flowing through conflict rather than colliding with it."

His jaw tightened slightly.

"But as for fire..."

The air around him grew warr again, though no flas appeared.

"There is glory."

Not calm. Not elegance.

Glory.

Fire was not subtle. It did not bend or retreat. It rose. It consud. It illuminated the battlefield and demanded to be witnessed.

Those aligned with it were not ant to stand in the background. They were ant to blaze at the forefront, to carve their nas into history with heat and ruin.

That was the legacy he carried.

And that was exactly why they feared it.

It was nothing short of a miracle that he had even found soone willing to teach him.

The Celestial Flas were not a subject most dared approach, let alone guide. Many feared them. Others envied them. Few understood them.

Yet he had found a master.

Unfortunately, the old man’s flas were not like his.

They burned gold, radiant and domineering, refined through centuries of control. Zeke’s, however, were wild. They carried a feral edge, unpredictable and hungry in a way that could not be polished into neat obedience.

Because of that difference, the old man never stopped pressing him.

Change your path.

Temper it.

Abandon that legacy and take mine instead.

The words had co so often they echoed in Zeke’s head even now. Advice wrapped in concern. Pressure disguised as guidance.

But Zeke refused.

Every ti.

He fought him on it, argued until his throat burned raw. He would not exchange his flas for sothing safer. He would not trade identity for approval.

"Flas. Special ones. Will this do?"

Enzo’s voice cut through the tension.

He fell silent afterward, eyes lowering as if searching through mories only he could see. The air around him shifted subtly, growing heavy with sothing ancient.

Then, without flourish, a small fla appeared in his left palm.

It was no raging inferno. No violent burst.

Just a candlelight sized blaze.

Yet it burned deep.

The color was a rich crimson edged with faint gold, as though a miniature sun had been compressed into a fragile wick. The space around it trembled faintly, heat bending the air in subtle waves.

This was not ordinary fire.

This was the fla he had stolen from Raz, the god of the Burning Red Sun.

Even in its restrained form, it carried weight. Authority. A presence that pressed down on the surroundings like silent judgnt.

The temperature rose steadily, though Enzo’s expression did not change. He held it casually, as though it were nothing more than a trick of light.

But Zeke felt it.

His own flas stirred in response, flickering faintly along his veins as if recognizing a distant relative. Not identical, but close enough to provoke reaction.

For a mont, neither of them spoke.

The small crimson fla illuminated their faces in shifting light.

And in its glow, Zeke’s eyes narrowed.