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 forests beyond Deln'ir were not silent.

They whispered in tones older than fire, in languages shaped by wind and stone. Mara stepped cautiously among the twisted roots, every branch above her glowing faintly with bioluminescent moss — as if even the trees remembered her name.

Behind her, Serai and Vaerion moved quietly. Talon had remained behind to watch the city's gates, promising to send word if the Flameguard stirred.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Serai asked.

Mara nodded. "The ember pulled me here."

And in the distance, buried beneath a collapsed mountain's ribs, the ruins of Myrrh-Vel came into view.

Myrrh-Vel had been erased from every map in Deln'ir's archives — wiped clean by decree after the Ember Accord failed.

Now, it stood half-swallowed by earth, its towers broken, its gates shattered — but not burned.

Because Myrrh-Vel had refused flame.

It was the last city that dared to live without ember.

In the center of the ruins stood a dome — cracked, overgrown, humming faintly with unknown energy. As Mara stepped closer, her ember pulsed hard, erratically.

"Something's still alive in there," Serai whispered.

Vaerion drew his blade. "Or something's still waiting."

Inside was not darkness — but a soft, pulsating light.

Suspended in the center, held aloft by silver roots and blue flame, floated a figure — eyes closed, skin glowing faintly.

Symbols lined the walls — not in spiral script, but jagged sigils and flowing curves. Serai gasped, tracing one with her finger.

"These aren't just words. They're questions. Recorded like prayers."

Mara stepped closer to the child. Her ember reacted wildly, flaring then dimming, as if unsure whether to kneel or run.

"This is her," Mara whispered. "The one they tried to bury."

Serai's eyes widened. "You don't mean—"

The child stirred — just a twitch of fingers. But the roots that held her tightened.

By something older than law. Older than fire.

Vaerion turned sharply. "Someone else is here."

A voice, cold and metallic, echoed from the far shadows.

> "You were not meant to find this place."

A figure stepped forward, robed in ash-gray armor — no ember on their chest.

Just a mark over the heart — a burned-out spiral crossed by a blade.

> "You tread where only unmakers walk."

She drew her crescent blade, the ember inside her flickering wildly.

"I came here for truth," she said. "And I found her."

The chamber began to shake. The silver roots groaned. The First Spark's eyes opened — pale blue, deep with sorrow.

And she whispered, not with her lips, but through every ember in the room:

Beyond the Spiral