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 silence that followed Azereth's offer was not empty.

Mara's hand hovered near the flamewrought crescent on her back. Her ember flickered rapidly in her chest, tugging in two directions — toward Azereth… and away from herself.

Behind her, Serai watched like one might observe a prophecy being born.

Talon stood still, expression unreadable.

And Vaerion whispered a single word, almost prayerfully:

"I came here to stop you," Mara said slowly. "But I didn't understand what you were."

Azereth's smile was not unkind. "And now?"

"Now I see… you're not wrong. Not completely."

That made something flicker in the ancient queen's gaze.

"But I also see this city," Mara continued. "And the people inside it. Not fighting, not resisting, not living. Just… glowing. Like lanterns someone forgot to blow out."

"No," Mara said. "They've been emptied of it."

Mara took a step back. Then another.

"I won't fight for the old ways. But I won't burn for yours, either."

Azereth's expression didn't shift — but the throne behind her pulsed red.

"You would stand between the flame and its becoming?"

"I would stand beside it," Mara said. "But only if it still dares to wonder what it is."

She unslung her crescent weapon and planted it in the ash-veined ground.

The moment her blade struck, the ember inside Mara detonated.

The Spiral Throne cracked slightly at its base.

Azereth's seven guards flinched. One staggered — the youngest, his molten markings suddenly flickering.

"What did you do?" Azereth demanded, stepping forward, the first sign of emotion cutting through her calm.

"I reminded the fire it has questions," Mara said.

And somewhere deep within Deln'ir…

In the steam-veiled underways of the city, a small group of masked citizens tore down a coral effigy. They weren't warriors — they were bakers, weavers, forgotten scholars.

But when Mara made her stand, they felt it — like lightning under their skin.

In their hands, tiny embers shimmered — not planted, but chosen.

Azereth stared at Mara with eyes that held storms.

"You could have been everything," she whispered.

"I still can," Mara replied. "Just not for you."

And then she turned and walked from the Spiral Throne — not in triumph.

A Fire That Refuses