They arrived with the mist.

Leon stood at the edge of the Whispering Forest’s southern valley as dusk fell, watching shadows twist unnaturally beneath the trees. Mira was at his side, her breath slow, her hand hovering near her weapon.

“They’re here,” she whispered.

The temperature dropped.

Not in degrees.

In spirit.

The air thickened. Even the animals fled.

From the fading horizon, five cloaked figures emerged—drifting rather than walking. Each wore a mask shaped like fractured porcelain, expressionless but chilling. Etched into their robes was a singular sigil:

**The Eye That Watches Flame.**

Leon felt his spine tighten.

“Inquisitors,” he muttered.

Mira nodded grimly. “High-order soul trackers. Trained to isolate and extinguish reincarnated spirits with forbidden resonance.”

“Let me guess,” Leon said. “I’m on their list.”

She swallowed. “The top of it.”

The lead Inquisitor stepped forward. His voice was soft, like snow falling on ash.

“Leon Fang. Also known by the residual title: Thalor.”

Leon didn’t move.

“You are in violation of the Second Law of Continuity,” the Inquisitor continued. “Your flame exists outside permitted timelines. You are marked for reclamation.”

Leon blinked. “Reclamation?”

“A polite word,” Mira whispered, “for erasure.”

Leon raised his hand, and the ring on his finger pulsed.

“I’ve died once,” he said. “You’re late.”

The Inquisitor said nothing.

Then raised a hand.

The others moved.

—

They struck as one—spiral formation, blades forged from condensed soul-mist.

Leon dodged left, spinning between them, azure flames trailing from his fingertips like comet tails. One blade sliced across his shoulder, freezing flesh instead of cutting it.

“Soul freeze,” Mira warned, blocking another strike. “Don’t let them touch your core!”

Leon grit his teeth and struck back.

His fist met the nearest Inquisitor’s chest with a surge of violet fire.

The body evaporated.

But the soul lingered, screaming.

He turned just in time to see another one flank Mira. She twisted away, blade drawn, slashing a runic arc across the grass that split her attacker in half.

“Two down,” she said.

“Three to go.”

But they weren’t attacking.

The remaining three formed a triangle.

They began to chant.

The ground trembled.

“Formation lock,” Mira breathed. “They’re sealing your reincarnation thread.”

Leon’s flame flickered violently.

Memories surged. Pain. Betrayal. A thousand deaths across unseen worlds.

He screamed.

Then silence.

—

Inside the silence, he saw a symbol.

Not from his past life.

From before it.

A circle inside a star.

And a name.

**Seraphis.**

He didn’t understand it.

But the Inquisitors did.

One flinched. “He… remembers.”

Leon opened his eyes.

They burned white.

“I don’t know what you’re afraid of,” he said. “But maybe you should be.”

He thrust both hands forward, unleashing a wave of soul flame that didn’t just burn—it consumed identity.

One Inquisitor dissolved screaming, his mask cracking into ash.

The other two staggered.

But it wasn’t enough.

One tossed a core seal—meant to bind a reincarnated soul.

Leon caught it.

And **absorbed** it.

The seal burned against his chest—then fused.

“What… are you?” the last Inquisitor whispered.

Leon stepped forward.

“Not what. Who.”

He struck.

This time, there was no scream.

Just stillness.

—

Minutes later, Mira helped him sit beneath a dying tree. Blood seeped from his left arm, but the flame in his eyes had not dimmed.

“They were afraid of something,” she said.

Leon nodded. “Not just my flame. My origin.”

Mira knelt. “They called you by a title.”

“Seraphis,” he murmured. “But it wasn’t mine. It was buried.”

“In the soul?” she asked.

“In the void between lifetimes,” he said. “And it’s waking up.”

They looked to the sky.

Above them, the stars shifted.

A new one pulsed—faint, blood-red.

Marked.

A watcher.

Or a warning.

—