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 lantern in Vael'nar burned for seven hours before anyone noticed.

Its flame was not wild or bright. It was steady. Defiant. A whisper in a world gone too quiet.

Those who passed it on the market steps felt a strange weight lift from their shoulders. Some turned back toward home and spoke names they hadn't said in years. Others stood before it and remembered—a brother, a song, a scar.

But Tessian Vale stood at his window, jaw tight, fingers trembling.

"She's returned," he muttered. "I should have ended her memory completely."

Gathering the Flame

Far north, in the ice-choked port of Aslarin, a girl named Corla lit her lantern.

She had never met Rien. Never seen the Loom. But she dreamed of fire threaded into snow. Of a voice saying: "Your memory is yours."

And she woke with her grandmother's name on her lips.

Across the western dunes of Ahset, a caravan paused mid-crossing. A child lifted a shard of colored glass from the sand and held it to the light. Inside the shimmer, he saw a thread.

He ran back to his tent and told his father what he'd seen. The old man wept.

In less than a fortnight, twenty-seven lanterns reignited.

Rien watched them from the Loom's chamber. Each one marked a bearer remembered, a story reclaimed, a light unrevised.

In the heart of Vael'nar, Tessian descended into his private vault.

Walls of mirrored obsidian lined the room, and in each one, a version of himself stared back—refined, confident, composed. Yet one mirror showed nothing.

A faint whisper responded—not from the glass, but from behind it.

"I never belonged to you."

Tessian of Threadfire.

But deep down, he already knew the answer.

Because long ago, before he became the Man of Glass—

He had been a child of the Loom.

The Codex Unraveled

That night, Flamebearer messages traveled across the old ash-paths—unseen lines of memory that pulsed with purpose.

In hill-strongholds and harbor cities, Flamebearers gathered by their lanterns, tying threads around their wrists. Each thread burned faintly gold.

Vel, watching from the shadows in Ironhold, carved a sigil into the city's oldest bridge and left a single thread tied to the railing.

Lira, halfway across the sea in Myrianth, taught a classroom of orphans to bind their names into knots. Not symbols of ownership—but of origin.

And Rien, standing before the great Loom, whispered a single phrase into the threads:

"It's time we remembered him."

They would have to remember who he used to be.

The First Memory Fragment

At dawn, a new thread emerged from the Loom.

Rien took it gently and held it to the light.

And a voice whispered, young and familiar.

"My name is Tessen. I want to fix the world."

"Then let's show him where he started."

The Lantern Call