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 Loom, freed of its master's hand, hovered in place—spindles slow, threads loosened, no longer taut with fear. The Vault-thread glowed gently at Rien's wrist, not pushing, not pulling.

Rien stepped closer, her palm brushing the loom's edge. It was warm now—no longer burning, no longer cold. Alive in a way that didn't command obedience, but asked a question:

What would you have me remember?

"Not perfection," she whispered. "Not lies. Not the Seamwright's order. I want you to remember what we were before the edits. What we became after the fire. The ones who chose."

The Vision Spindle

One of the great spindles stirred.

A single thread unfurled from it, moving like water down a slope—slow and sure. It weaved through the air before her eyes, forming a shape.

The rebels watched silently as a vision unfolded.

A city, built on no empire's bones. Homes with names that couldn't be stolen. Children taught not who they should be, but who they were. Monuments not to victory, but to understanding. Conflict—yes—but with memory intact. With no Seamwrights to rewrite the mistakes into myths.

"Is that what comes next?" Lira asked, voice hushed.

"No," Rien said. "It's what could. The Loom no longer writes the future. It can only show us what we choose to remember."

Kaelen nodded. "Then let's choose well."

The Reckoning of Threads

The Loom began to respond.

But now, the threads it reached for were theirs.

It spun them into something new—stories that weren't perfect or symmetrical. But they fit. Rough. True. Full of ash and starlight.

"It's learning from us," Maerai whispered.

"Not just us," Elyra corrected. "From everyone who remembers."

Outside, in the world they had left behind, the changes rippled outward.

In Harrenvale, the silence broke. Bells rang—bells that had not been heard in fifty years.

In the city of Veir, a girl once forgotten danced in a circle of threadfire, calling out her mother's true name.

In the hills of Eredren, children played a game that had no winners, only stories.

Rien approached the Loom one last time.

A thread floated down—unfinished. Waiting. Blank.

She recognized the feel of it in her chest.

Elyra placed her hand over her daughter's.

The Loom that Listens