Ifey

In a world scarred by fire and shadow, where the sky burns with the dying light of a forgotten age, Mara is one of the last Keepers—guardians of secrets whispered beneath the ember sky. Haunted by memories of a lost family and driven by a mysterious call she can’t ignore, Mara embarks on a journey across a fractured land where danger lurks in every shadow.

As whispers of rebellion and ancient magic rise from the ashes, Mara must unravel the truth behind the Ember Sky’s curse—and confront a power that threatens to consume everything she loves. Betrayal, hope, and sacrifice intertwine in a tale where the past’s darkest secrets hold the key to the future.

In “Whispers Beneath the Ember Sky,” the fate of a broken world rests on the courage of one girl willing to listen when the silence speaks.


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Whispers Beneath the Ember Sky

The campfire crackled as Serai unfurled the Archive Map — a shifting parchment inked in starlight and dream-ash. The others watched in silence. Even Vaerion, usually unshaken, looked uneasy.

"This is older than the shards," Serai murmured, tracing a point on the map where no kingdom had ever existed. "Here. The Scorchmark Expanse—a desert that once held something else."

Serai nodded. "Before she was buried. Before she was betrayed."

Mara listened as the fire pulsed with memory. Her ember glowed, and suddenly she saw it — not a vision, but a remembering.

Six stood below it, bearing the first shards, kneeling in honor.

The seventh stood above — her crown burning, her voice thunder.

She had not been cast out for cruelty.

She had been feared for what she understood.

Where the other flamebearers saw power, she saw evolution. Where the gods demanded control, she whispered freedom.

She wanted flame to choose, not serve.

Erased her from records. From time. From flame itself.

In the ruins of the Archive Temple, Mara uncovered a shattered mural.

Six symbols surrounded a central sun — the known shards.

But a seventh petal had been crudely scraped away. Deliberate. Violent.

Serai knelt beside it and whispered an old spell — a song of ink and memory.

And for a heartbeat, the seventh sigil returned: a flame coiled like a spiral, ever turning inward.

"She wasn't a tyrant," Mara said quietly. "She was us… too early."

Vaerion's eyes narrowed. "Then why does she burn cities now?"

"Because we made her a monster," Serai replied. "Not by what she did—but what we refused to let her become."

Azereth had been a choice the world wasn't ready to make.

That night, the ember in Mara's chest flickered violently. When she closed her eyes, she saw Azereth — rising from the deep, her voice carried on steam and grief.

But memory does not grant forgiveness.

Then: a single word, cold and final.

The Flame That Was Erased