AshesFallintoLight

In a land fractured by elemental extremes and ancient grudges, five kingdoms stand divided — each shaped by its climate, customs, and uneasy relationship with the monstrous frontier known only as the Wasteland.

For generations, the kingdoms of Solkar, Thal, Nordr, Virellia, and Alzhan have fought among themselves — over borders, trade, and pride — while the Wasteland's creeping horrors press ever closer. From this cursed land come the Oldspawn — beasts of myth and nightmare, whose hearts, when consumed, fuse with one’s own, birthing magic at a terrible cost. Power, after all, is never without sacrifice.

Evelyn — an orphan from a border outpost — is quiet, clever, and far more dangerous than she knows. When she survives a raid on her village and consumes a fractured core-heart, she becomes something new: a bearer of wild magic not bound to any kingdom's laws or customs. Her abilities are raw and unstable, and she draws the attention of those who would shape her into a weapon.
At her side is Torren, her childhood friend — steadfast, brave, and unknowingly the source of her first love. But while Evelyn’s path leads her deeper into the politics and power of the Five Realms, Torren’s takes him elsewhere: to duty, to transformation, and ultimately, to love beyond their bond.

Guiding Evelyn is the enigmatic scholar Vareth, a rogue archivist exiled from Alzhan’s great think-towers. Vareth believes Evelyn’s magic may be the key to ending the Wasteland’s expansion — or the cause of its rebirth. He teaches her the truth of the Oldspawn, of core-magic, and the First Fire, a forgotten power lost to time.

But in the depths of the Wasteland stirs something older than monsters. Once a god-emperor of a fallen sixth kingdom, now corrupted by centuries of core-consumption, the being known as The Hollow King has begun to move again. His twisted children — the Echoed, part-human, part-beast — are spreading across the borderlands.

And he wants Evelyn.

To survive, the kingdoms must unite. But can old enemies find common ground — when power is bonded in blood, bone, and the heartfire of beasts?

Heartfire of the Wastes

The next morning dawned dull and hollow—the kind of light that fell flat against the earth, as if the sun no longer cared to shine.

Evelyn awoke with the lingering sensation of ash in her mouth. Not real ash, but the dream of it. She sat up slowly, still clutching the core, which now pulsed irregularly. It was hot, hotter than usual. Not burning, but agitated. Like it wanted to speak and didn't know how.

Torren was already awake, sharpening his blade with a grim focus.

She watched him for a while. "It said my name last night."

He sheathed the blade. "That's not good, is it?"

"I don't know," she said, standing. "But it wasn't me saying it. Someone—or something—else. The same way I've heard the others."

"That the flame is remembering me, now. Which means I'm no longer just using it." Her voice dropped. "I think I'm becoming part of it."

Torren looked away, jaw tightening. "And what happens when it finishes? When there's nothing left of you except... flame?"

She didn't answer. Not because she didn't have one—but because she did.

The next stretch of the journey took them through the basalt hollows—low, choked lands carved by ancient flows of melted stone. The sun rarely pierced the thick smoke haze here, and twisted bones littered the cracked path. Long-dead creatures, human and Echoed both, fossilized in acts of escape or defiance.

Torren moved with a hunter's caution.

Evelyn, by contrast, walked like a pilgrim.

She wasn't reckless—but she didn't fear the bones anymore.

At midday, they stumbled upon a pyre site. Dozens of stone platforms, each marked with the melted remnants of ceremonial bindings. Old, powerful magic had been used here once, perhaps centuries ago. Nothing remained but melted sigils and faint echoes in the coreline.

Torren touched a blackened altar. "Guild work?"

Evelyn shook her head. "No. Older. This is from the Flamewardens."

He turned sharply. "I thought they were myth."

"I thought I was a baker's daughter," she replied.

She stepped into the center of the ring, her presence stirring the stagnant air. The core in her hand flared—briefly and bright.

Not loud. Not words. Just tone, harmony—like breath exhaled from ancient lungs. A vibration ran through the ground and up her legs.

The flame within her pulsed in time with something buried here.

A figure standing atop a black spire, arms aflame.

A child held aloft, marked at birth.

The first fire, stolen from a god that no longer breathed.

A name burned into the sky.

Not hers. Not even human. A Flame Not Her Own.

When she returned to herself, Torren was holding her shoulders. "You stopped breathing for a minute."

"I saw them," she whispered. "The ones who lit the first flame. The ones before the Guilds, before the corebearers. Before language. Before me."

He didn't know what to say. She didn't expect him to.

Evelyn stood. "They want it back."

She nodded. "But it's not theirs anymore. Not entirely. It's mine now, too."

He stepped back. "What does that mean?"

She turned, eyes glowing faintly. "It means if they want it, they'll have to take it."

She walked into the hollow again, barefoot, letting the scorched ground bite her feet.

Not the core. Not the coals from their camp. A fire born purely of will. It rose from her palm and hovered above it like a soul made visible.