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

Even in victory, some truths remained buried.

The Loom spun slower now—no longer dictating, no longer cutting stories short. But its roots ran deep, far below the Spire, into a place no one had dared look since the First Flame was extinguished.

And in that quiet, forgotten depth, something stirred.

Locked behind a story no one knew how to tell.

Rien stood before the base of the Loom, where the threads were thickest—knotted, tangled, dense with memory. The rebels watched from a distance, uncertain whether this was the end of their journey or the beginning of another.

"What are you looking for?" Kaelen asked quietly.

"The last piece," Rien replied. "The part he hid even from himself."

She knelt and placed her hand on the stone floor.

A seam opened beneath her fingers.

The Forgotten Chamber

The stairwell spiraled downward through silence and dust.

Unlike the rest of the Spire, this place was not alive. It had been sealed long before the Loom was taught to lie. This was not a chamber for writing stories.

At the bottom stood a pedestal of dull bronze.

Just a single thread—black as void.

The Thread Speaks

As her fingers brushed it, the thread whispered.

A voice followed, soft and frayed.

This voice was younger. Tired. Human.

"I built the Loom not to control, but to protect. I thought if I could stitch the world into order, I could keep it from bleeding again. I was wrong."

The Seamwright as a boy, watching a city burn.

His sister rewritten into silence.

He built the Loom from grief, not power.

"If you're reading this, then you've done what I could not. You've remembered. I'm sorry."

Rien rose with the thread in hand.

Back in the Loom's great hall, she placed it upon the frame.

And the whole world paused.

The thread shimmered—not black now, but silver.

"Let this one remain unwoven," she said.

And for the first time in its long, haunted life—

Ashes and Morning

Outside Caldrith Spire, dawn broke.

The rebels stood together, staring at a sky that no longer carried the weight of forgotten stories.

The Seamwright’s Last Thread