Mysoap5

When the gods erased his homeland from existence, Astha emerged as the sole survivor—scarred, flame-bound, and remembered only by the ash beneath his feet. Branded by divinity’s cruelty and haunted by a forgotten past, he now walks the ruins of a sacred world with a single purpose: to burn down the heavens that dared to rewrite fate.

Bound to him is Smritidhaara, a cursed chain-sickle forged from the memories of the erased—an extension of Astha’s rage and sorrow. But when he crosses paths with Luv, a thunderborn exile from the celestial realm, their fates intertwine in a war neither of them yet understand.

As buried truths awaken and mythic beasts rise from divine prisons, Astha and Luv must confront ancient gods, dead empires, and a reality that refuses to stay sealed. With every step, the fire grows. The thunder sharpens.

And the gods begin to remember what they tried so hard to forget.

This is not a story of heroes.
It is the beginning of a reckoning.

Ashes of Deva : Rise of the White Flame

Just the hollow emptiness of a land that had forgotten what it meant to live.

Atop a crumbling plateau, beneath a fractured sky, stood a lone figure.

His skin was sun-dark, scorched not by heat but by memory.

His hair — ghost-white — fell messily across his face, fluttering against the wind.

And in his amber eyes… burned a fire that had no right to exist.

This land — once a nation, once a people — was not supposed to exist.

"Tell me," he muttered aloud, to no one. "Why didn't you finish the job?"

And like a phantom remembering its death, Smritidhaara answered.

A hiss of ember and metal burst from thin air — a chain-sickle of blackened flame and ash, linked by runes that flickered between forgotten names. It didn't just glow — it wept.

A weapon forged from the souls of the erased.

Down below, in the ruined valley, something stirred.

A creature — twisted, skeletal, crowned with old divinity — crawled from the remains of a temple swallowed by dirt. Once worshipped. Now feral. A Bhuta, a mindless god-fragment.

It snarled at Astha, confused by his presence. Gods had erased this region. None should walk here.

"You're one of them, aren't you?"

The Bhuta charged, shrieking, wrapped in divine flame.

He let the chain snap from his hand. Smritidhaara flew, wrapping around the beast's throat mid-lunge, the blades igniting the forgotten script branded into its skin.

"You remember me," Astha whispered.

The Bhuta's body collapsed into smoke and ash.

But not before it spoke — not with voice, but with fear.

Even the forgotten gods, twisted and burned, still feared the one name heaven tried to unwrite.

As silence fell, Astha turned his gaze east — toward the horizon.

There, across forests rotting from divine neglect, Swarnalok's judgment still shined. Golden cities built on the bones of forgotten lands. And somewhere within those cities, gods still dared to rewrite history with fire and silence.

He had one burned into his blood since the day the sky swallowed his people and called it divine.

Chapter 1 – Flame That Shouldn’t Burn