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 world didn't change in a single breath.

Like the sound of a child saying her own name aloud for the first time—one not given, not assigned, but chosen.

Like a song, once forbidden, sung again under starlight by a widow with a broken voice.

Like threads stitched not by Seamwrights, but by the hands of those who had nothing left to forget.

These were the new stories.

The Council of Names

In the city of Trelhollow, where the loomfire once scorched entire districts, a council gathered—Rien at its center, Elyra at her side, Kaelen in armor with no insignia, and Vel perched on a crumbling wall, always watching.

"What we unbound must be rethreaded," Elyra said, her voice firm. "But with care. With memory."

"And with choice," Rien added. "We cannot replace the Loom with another chain."

That no name would ever be stolen again.

That history would be kept by many, not one.

And that no thread—no matter how small—would be cut without truth.

Across the Continents

News of Caldrith's fall spread like lightning across a dry plain.

But what came after wasn't celebration.

In the icy cities of Varnes, old banners were recovered—stitched with runes thought lost. The Varnen sang the snow-songs again, calling on ancestors buried beneath frost.

In the desert sanctuaries of Ahset, Scribes who had buried their true histories deep in bone crypts returned to the surface, their skin inked with the verses they were once forbidden to speak.

In the island libraries of Myrianth, children were taught not just to read, but to doubt—to ask who wrote the books, and why.

Even in the Spirelands, where the Loom had ruled longest, something began to grow.

They called them Flamebearers.

Each bore a single thread—woven not from flame, but memory.

Some were scholars with too many questions.

Each one lit a lantern in their home city, village, or camp. And when others came—those seeking the truth of their past—they were welcomed without judgment.

The threads they carried grew longer.

One evening, beneath a tree reborn from scorched soil, Elyra found her daughter alone.

Rien sat with her knees drawn up, staring at the sky—no longer blank, but alive with constellations the Loom had once redacted.

"You're not coming to the northern council," Elyra said, more observation than question.

Rien shook her head. "This was never meant to be mine to lead forever."

"Then let it learn to listen to others."

"I'll walk. I'll light fires. I'll listen to the stories no one else hears."

The First Flamebearers