The Last Ember of Arkanis

Long ago, the kingdom of Arkanis was lit by a flame that never dimmed.

The Ember, as it was called, burned in the heart of the Crystal Spire, casting warmth and light across the land. Its fire was no ordinary one—it pulsed with magic, sustaining life, healing the wounded, and protecting Arkanis from the darkness beyond the eastern mountains.

Generations passed. Kings rose and fell. The Ember remained.

But nothing lasts forever.

On the eve of Winter’s Crest, the Ember flickered for the first time in recorded history.

A hush fell over Arkanis. Crops wilted overnight. The once-vibrant skies turned pale, and shadows began to creep through the outer villages. Rumors spread like fire through dry grass: the Ember was dying.

And with it, so too would the kingdom.

Talia, a 17-year-old apprentice scribe from the quiet village of Nareth, had never seen the Ember, but her dreams had always been filled with fire. For months now, she'd awakened each night with ash on her tongue and a name on her lips—“Kael.”

She didn’t know who Kael was, nor why she kept dreaming of him. But when the High Chancellor summoned citizens for a pilgrimage to the Spire in search of “the Flamebearer,” Talia felt the call deep in her bones.

She packed nothing but a satchel of scrolls, a small dagger, and her late mother’s ring. Then she joined the caravan of seekers headed for the capital.

The journey to the Spire took nine days, and with each day, the cold deepened. Snow fell, even though it was the season of green rains. The moon never rose. And at night, distant howls pierced the silence, closer than the wolves should have been.

On the tenth day, Talia saw it.

The Crystal Spire. Once a towering pillar of gold and glass, it now looked like a burnt candle. Black streaks stained its surface. At its peak, the Ember, once a beacon of life, glowed faint red—like the last coal of a dying fire.

The High Chancellor stood atop the Spire's stairs. His face was tired, his robes were torn. “The Flamebearer must awaken the Ember,” he announced. “Or Arkanis will fall.”

One by one, pilgrims approached the Ember and placed their hands on the crystal. Nothing happened. A few fainted. Some wept. Most were sent away.

When Talia’s turn came, she hesitated. The stone was warm—barely.

As she placed her hand on it, the Ember flared.

Gasps erupted from the crowd. The Chancellor stumbled back. The Ember pulsed, and for a moment, its light returned. Then it shattered into a thousand sparks.

Talia collapsed.

She awoke in a vision.

Around her stood the ruins of a city consumed by darkness. Flames crackled through shattered towers. And there, at the center of it all, stood a figure—young, cloaked in shadow, eyes burning blue.

“Kael?” she whispered.

The figure turned. “You remember.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, trembling. “Who are you? What is this place?”

Kael stepped closer. “This was Arkanis. Before the lie.”

The ground rumbled. From the darkness, something moved—massive, coiled, ancient. Its breath was smoke. Its eyes like twin eclipses.

“The Ember was never meant to last forever,” Kael said. “It was born from sacrifice. A soul bound to flame. My soul.”

Talia reeled. “You... you are the Ember.”

“Yes. I gave myself to protect the kingdom. But the magic that kept me burning has been corrupted. Twisted.”

Talia clutched her chest. The ring her mother gave her burned against her skin.

“She knew,” Kael said softly. “Your mother was the Keeper. The last guardian of the truth. And you... you are the Key.”

“I’m no one,” Talia said. “Just a scribe.”

“You are more,” Kael said. “The Ember can be rekindled. But not with flame. With truth.”

Talia blinked. The vision wavered.

“Remember,” Kael said, fading into light. “Let the world see what was hidden.”

Talia woke to snow falling around her. The Spire had cracked. The Ember was gone.

But in her hand, a single glowing coal remained.

Not hot. Not burning. But alive.

She stood before the people of Arkanis, her voice clear.

“The Ember was a prison,” she said. “A soul bound to fire to save us. We lived in peace, but built it on sacrifice and silence. The only way forward is to remember. To honor the truth, and let it guide us.”

The people listened. Some wept. Some turned away.

But as the snow fell and Talia placed the ember in the old brazier at the Spire’s base, a gentle warmth spread across the stones.

Not a flame. Not magic.

But hope.