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

In the spire-city of Elathar, where the Priors held their white-glass vigil over the threads of fate, a single tower cracked from crown to root.

They laced themselves together in the shape of a woman—a memory of a woman.

"Designation: Ilera. Role: Warden."

The Loom's voice hissed through the tower:

You are the guard she cannot kill.

The Warden blinked. Her eyes weren't eyes at all—just luminous weaves of stories long dead.

Far below, the Priors watched the Loom pulse and ripple. Its vast pattern darkened like a diseased star.

"She spoke the Name," whispered one.

"Jirla…" said another. "It was never meant to be known."

A third Prior, whose skin was tattooed with a thousand false prophecies, answered:

The Warden will bring her to her knees."

Meanwhile, in the eastern forests…

Kaelen had carved the symbol again. The same one he didn't understand. The same one the fire obeyed.

He looked to the sky and saw the stars blink in strange patterns—like code, like music, like language.

"I need to find her," he said aloud.

He knew her. He had always known her.

Rien looked into the eyes of the Severers.

They were waiting—for commands, for prophecy, for purpose.

Vel nodded solemnly. "Then what are you?"

Seron smiled faintly. "Then we will follow."

That night, as the Severers prepared for their pilgrimage, a figure crossed into the outer caves of Iskarath.

Eyes full of woven light. Skin stitched with the golden filaments of a hundred false lives.

Her voice a song Rien had once sung in a cradle long forgotten.

I am what the Loom needs you to remember."

And with that, she drew her blade.

Ashweld glowed on the stone nearby, pulsing.

The Warden Wakes