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.

Even before the Dominion fell, the lands beyond the Ashcliff Divide were considered dead — buried in soot and silence after the first Flame Wars. But the old paths remembered. And so did the people who walked them.


Though her parents had refused to come, they sent watchers.


Davin Crestfall, a swordsman once loyal to the Flamebound Guard. Ansha Redwing, a wind-mage who never spoke unless it was a warning. And Trellen, a shadow-binder who claimed he had no name, but Lira suspected he just enjoyed being dramatic.


They called themselves her flamehand, a term that hadn't been used since the days of the Vaultborn.


Their journey took them through the Veiled Marsh, where ghosts of memory lingered in the fog. Places that were never rebuilt. Names that history refused to reclaim.


It was there Lira saw her first Kindled Crown symbol, carved into a broken archway in a forgotten village.


A circle of fire — inside it, a single open eye. Watching.


"They've been here," Ansha muttered, flames flickering on her fingertips.


Trellen crouched near the edge of the ruin, brushing soot from the bones of a statue. Beneath the black, a word had been etched:


Davin turned to Lira. "This is what they're building. Not just faith. Myth."


Lira nodded slowly. "A new world with the old fire."


She stood at the edge of a red-lit sea. On the far shore, a boy made of smoke and sorrow stood alone.


And behind him rose a tower of gold and bone — the seat of the Kindled Crown.


"They don't want a flame to follow," he said, voice shivering.


By dawn, they reached the Emberlight Shore, where the world ended in volcanic cliffs and the sea glowed red from the veins of sleeping lava beneath.


And there, standing alone at the edge of the world, was a woman in gold robes.


Chapter 18 - The Road to the Emberlight Shore