Francis_9439

Ashes of the First Flame

A novel by [Francis 9439]

For centuries, the world of Elaris has burned under the divine light of the First Flame, a sacred fire worshiped by the tyrannical Solar Dominion — a theocratic empire that claims godhood and unity through conquest. The Empress rules with holy fire and iron will, casting down cities that refuse her light, branding all who resist as heretics and rebels.

But across the shattered lands of the Free Marches, a spark of defiance refuses to die.

Kaelen Virelth, the exiled son of a disgraced noble house, is thrust into leadership after his brother is assassinated. Once a scholar and a pacifist, Kaelen becomes the reluctant face of a rebellion. As war spreads like wildfire, Kaelen must decide whether to become a killer to save the world — or lose everything he loves.

On the other side of the war, Serenya Valir, a devoted priestess of the Flame, begins to question the cost of blind faith. Sent to root out traitors within the Dominion, she uncovers dark secrets buried beneath sacred temples — and a prophecy foretelling a choice that will either redeem the world or end it in ash.

Amid the chaos rise other forces: the exiled Scorched Order, mage-knights blamed for a forgotten catastrophe; the elemental Aetherborn Tribes, whose magic the Dominion fears and hates; and the seductive spies of the Sable Garden, who pull strings behind every throne.

As old gods stir and ancient powers awaken, love blooms between enemies, loyalty crumbles into betrayal, and the line between salvation and damnation blurs. To stop the cycle of fire and ruin, someone must destroy the First Flame — or become its final bearer.

But power never dies quietly.

Ashes of  the First Flame

She couldn't—not after touching the Heart Ember. The light was in her now, coursing through her like a memory trying to be born.

The forest around the altar felt quieter now. Not safer—just aware.

Like the trees themselves were watching her.

She walked east. Something pulled her. Not fate. Not prophecy.

She found him by the river's bend, where the moonlight struck the black stone and turned it silver.

The Severer stood still, arms crossed, his blade sheathed on his back.

He did not speak at first. Neither did she.

She tilted her head. "Then what is it?"

"It was taken. But your flame remembers it."

The blade was old. Older than thread, older than kings. It bore a single rune down its length—the same rune that had burned into Davin's desk, and now rested behind Rien's eyes.

"I am called Seron, last of the Nine.

It has only ever bowed to one name.

He set the blade in the dirt and lowered his head.

"We serve the Threadless Queen. You are she."

Rien stepped forward slowly. "You came to crown me."

"I came to remember you. The world will crown itself."

She touched the hilt of Ashweld. The blade whispered—not words, but memories:

Her hands, once wrapped in flame, drawing light from the heart of the Loom. Her voice, singing the Lament of the Emberborn. Her death—and her return.

Far away, in a mirror darkened by soot, the false god snarled.

The Severers were no longer aimless.

And its perfect design was unraveling.

In the Ember Grove, Kaelen drew a symbol in ash.

He didn't know where it came from. But when he finished, the flames bent toward it.

Davin's books began to hum. The forgotten pages flipped themselves open.

Ashrel whispered her name without knowing why.

And across the world, the true weave began to stir—still torn, still broken.

The Blade That Knows Her Name