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

The land beyond the pyre was unnatural.

It looked like a forest, but no wind stirred the trees. The branches hung motionless, draped in strands of pale moss that glowed faintly in the gloom. Leaves dangled like caught breath, and no birds sang. Every sound they made—every step, every whisper—vanished into the stillness like it had never happened.

They had entered a place the Loom had erased.

"This was once a kingdom," Maerai said. "One the Spire unmade when it refused the Rewrite."

Maerai gave a bitter smile. "Ask the Vault. It's the only thing that remembers."

The deeper they traveled, the more the world frayed. Trees grew in spirals. Water flowed backward. The stars in the sky blinked wrong—slightly off-pattern, as if out of tune with the rest of the world.

Rien felt it first: a whisper just beneath her hearing. Not words. Not thoughts.

Each step sent images flickering at the edge of her mind. A cliff of black stone. A child's laughter. A name spoken in a voice that made her heart seize—

Kaelen touched her arm. "You're shaking."

"It's trying to reach me," she whispered. "The one I used to be."

He hesitated. "Are you sure you want to know?"

She turned to him, eyes stormlit. "The Loom named me Rien. But that name only tells the world what I'm not. I need the one that tells it what I am."

Not a tower or temple or ruin, but a clearing, ringed by twelve dead trees that hummed with invisible tension. In the center sat a door, freestanding—black iron with no handle, no hinges. Runes carved its surface, so old they hurt to look at.

Seron frowned. "That's the Vault?"

"No," Maerai said softly. "That's the lock."

Rien stepped forward. The Rebel Thread pulsed violently beneath her ribs. She placed her palm on the door—

No forest. No snow. No companions.

Only pages. Endless pages drifting in the dark. They weren't written—they were screaming, tiny threads of sound stitched into parchment. Each page bore a name. Some real. Some erased. Some forbidden.

It hovered in front of her. Waiting.

A voice spoke behind her. Cold, sharp, and too familiar.

"You were meant to be nothing. That's what 'Rien' means."

Rien turned—and saw herself. The Rewrite. Still unbroken. Still watching.

"The Loom gave you your name so you'd never question it," the copy whispered. "But now… you dare."

Rien reached toward the blank page.

"I don't want their name. I want mine."

"And if your true name is cursed?" the twin asked.

Pain seared through her chest. A sound like shattering glass. Her memories—hundreds, thousands—surged through her in an instant: her lives, rewritten and rewritten, until she forgot what she had once been.

But at the heart of them all… one truth.

Rien's body jolted in Kaelen's arms. Her eyes flew open. For a moment, they glowed—not silver, not fire, but something deeper. Ancient. Unyielding.

Maerai stepped back. "She's said it."

Vel looked between them. "Said what?"

Rien stood slowly, breath shaking. "My name. The name I had before the Loom touched me."

Kaelen asked gently, "What is it?"

She looked at him, and for the first time, she looked whole.

"You'll hear it soon enough," she said. "When I speak it in the Spire."

Far above them, in the Loom's heart, every thread twisted violently.

And the Weavekeeper, for the first time in centuries, feared.

The Echoes Before Fire