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

It tilted in places it never had. Trees bent away from Rien as if recoiling from something they no longer understood. Stars shifted in the sky—not in orbit, but in purpose.

"Something's changed," Seron said, his hand on the cavern wall. "I don't feel gravity. I feel… opinion."

Vel knelt, placing her fingers on the stone. "The land's memory is being rewritten."

Rien stepped forward—and the floor behind her folded into ash.

"It's begun," she whispered. "The Shaper is here."

Each step wasn't movement—it was authoring.

A child's laugh became the screech of a dying star.

Kaelen woke to find the trees had grown inside out. Bark twisted like sinew. Leaves floated in reverse time, blooming before buds.

The symbol burned in his palm again.

A stag ran by, its body covered in shifting glyphs. Its antlers sang in high tones, notes that bent the air.

The world blinked, and for a moment, he saw himself vanish.

But then he roared—flames bursting from his chest—and the illusion shattered.

"Liar," he growled. "I was born in fire.

And I will walk through yours to reach her."

He ran. The world twisted behind him, but he left flameprints—truthprints—on the land.

The caves melted into corridors of gold. Statues of Rien she had never seen—never posed for—rose from the floor.

Each one whispered a different false history:

"You burned the world to save your pride."

"You murdered your friends for power."

Vel followed. "We must reach the surface. The Shaper can't overwrite what's lit by the sun."

"Then we run," Rien said, "and we burn what we can't outrun."

"If the world's being rewritten," she said, "then so can I."

In the sky, the stars bled into ink.

The Shaper looked down and smiled.

Let's see who writes the last line."

The World Unmakes Itself