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

They walked for three days without sky.

Maerai led them through roots older than memory, tunnels stitched from the bones of the world. No torches were needed—Rien's fire, Kaelen's breath, and Maerai's quiet radiance lit the path ahead.

Seron and Vel trailed behind, uneasy in this deep silence.

Here, nothing moved. Not the Loom. Not even time.

"What is this place?" Kaelen whispered on the second day.

"A place that remembers before remembering mattered," Maerai answered.

The tunnel opened into a vast cavern—miles wide, ceiling lost in shadow.

Black as obsidian. Coiled in quiet fire. Resting on a dais shaped like an eye.

– Broken tools of unimaginable size.

– Glyphs too deep to have been carved by hand.

– A throne made entirely of quenched flame.

Ashweld pulsed—soft, reverent. A child returning to its birthplace.

"This is where the First Fire was tempered into form.

Before the Loom began to weave, the Forge gave freedom.

Here, people were not written—they were forged."

"No one," Maerai answered. "That was the point."

Rien approached the Forge. Its fire didn't burn. It sang.

A low hum that resonated with her bones, her flame, her grief.

"Can I destroy the Loom with this?" she asked.

"No. But you can unmake yourself enough to become something that can."

Maerai reached into her robe and drew something small: a coal. Dead. Cold.

"This is what remains when you burn your name away.

When you stop being who the Loom says you were.

When you become something not written, but willed."

Kaelen stepped forward, alarm in his voice.

"She's asking you to erase your soul."

"No," Maerai said. "I'm asking her to forge a new one. A soul the Loom cannot read."

Rien stood before the Forge alone.

Ashweld burned in her hand—silver fire, not red.

The Loom loomed above her like a sky of threads, descending, binding, ready to smother.

The First Forge