Eclipsed by Flame – Part II

The wind howled through the jagged peaks of the Ashspire Range, carrying with it the dry scent of scorched stone and the faint tang of sulfur. Snow should have blanketed this northern province, but instead, the mountains steamed—coated in layers of heat-hardened glass and ash. The land was still burning.

Vaelin stood at the edge of a sheer cliff, his eyes on the black tower rising in the distance—the Hearthspire, its silhouette gleaming faintly like molten obsidian beneath a choking red sky. Elira stood beside him, her expression unreadable, the wind tugging at her dark cloak.

“I was here once,” she said softly, voice nearly lost to the wind. “Before the seal. Before me.”

Vaelin glanced at her. “You’re still you.”

“Am I?” She turned to him. “I feel it. A pull. Like something under my skin is trying to wake up.”

He reached out, touched her hand. “Then we wake it on our terms.”

They descended into the scorched valley, navigating ancient stone bridges that had cracked from the heat. Strange markings etched into the cliffs glowed faintly when Elira passed—symbols older than any known script. One of them pulsed.

She paused.

Vaelin drew his blades instantly. “What is it?”

“Words,” she whispered. “I can read them.”

She brushed her fingers over the stone. “‘The Ember Throne remembers. The Flameheart returns to claim what was left in ash.’”

“Comforting,” Vaelin muttered. “Really puts a man at ease.”

The Hearthspire’s gates opened for her.

Massive, ancient, sealed to all intruders—but as Elira approached, the molten veins running through the black rock flared and the doors unfolded, heat washing over them like a breath. The cultists within dropped to one knee instantly, heads bowed.

One stepped forward. A tall woman with flame-red braids and armor shaped like phoenix wings.

“I am Azera, Emberborn of the Inner Flame,” she said. “You honor us, Flameheart.”

Elira’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t come to lead you.”

“You already do.”

Vaelin stiffened beside her, hand still on the hilt of his sword.

The Hearthspire’s interior was a cathedral carved from cooled magma and black crystal. At its center rose a throne—a seat of jagged fireglass and gold-veined stone, with a living flame hovering above it. The flame shifted as they neared, taking the form of a phoenix, its wings spread.

Elira staggered back. Pain lanced through her chest—hot and ancient. The flame called to her. No, it knew her.

Lore Drop: The Emberbond

Azera led them deeper into the temple, to a chamber ringed with murals and glowing script. The walls told the story of the Emberbond—a ritual binding a soul to Rhaziran, the Phoenix God of Flame and Renewal.

The Flameheart was not just a title. She had once been a vessel. A mortal soul burned clean and offered as a spark of the god’s eternal cycle. She had walked through fire, died, and been remade—her memory sealed to keep the god’s essence from consuming her identity.

“You were the last,” Azera said. “And the most powerful. When you vanished, Rhaziran’s voice fell silent. We searched for centuries.”

Elira stared at the image of herself on the wall—her younger face wreathed in golden flame, eyes like suns.

Vaelin was silent beside her.

Elira finally spoke. “Why me?”

“Because you chose it,” Azera said. “You were dying. You offered your soul to the fire.”

That night, Elira sat at the edge of the Hearthspire, gazing into the abyss below. Lava churned like liquid wrath beneath a crystal floor.

Vaelin joined her quietly.

“You’re being quiet,” she said.

“I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

He took a breath. “If they’re right… if you were once bound to a god—what happens if it wakes again?”

She didn’t answer.

“Would it take you?” he asked. “Would I lose you?”

She looked at him finally, eyes glimmering orange in the heat-light. “You’re not going to lose me.”

He gave a wry smile. “People who say that usually burst into flames right after.”

Elira laughed softly. “Then stay close enough to stomp me out.”

“I was planning on it.”

Azera demanded proof. “You must undergo the Trial of Embers,” she said. “Only the true Flameheart can walk the Crucible unburned.”

Elira agreed—against Vaelin’s wishes.

The Crucible was a chamber of living fire. Blades forged from phoenix-bone hung suspended in air, circling like vultures. Lava churned in channels on the floor, and runes flared with light.

As Elira stepped in, the flame embraced her.

Visions tore through her—flashes of past lives, past deaths. Fire. Screaming. A moment of acceptance. Her own voice whispering:

“Let me burn. Let me rise.”

One of the phoenix-blades launched at her.

She caught it.

Her skin did not burn. The flame folded around her like wings. She danced through the weapons, not dodging—commanding them. Her power had awakened.

From outside, Vaelin watched. He didn't cheer. He didn’t move. He stood tense, blade drawn.

When she emerged, the room bowed.

But Vaelin saw it in her eyes—something else was awake now, something old.

Azera presented Elira with the Crown of Ash—a circlet forged from volcanic glass and phoenix feather. A symbol of leadership. Of devotion.

Elira hesitated, hand hovering above it.

Then she turned away.

“I am not your queen,” she said. “Not your god.”

“But you are our Flameheart,” Azera said. “And whether you accept it or not, your past has returned.”

Vaelin stepped to her side. “We don’t bow to fire. But we’ll use it to burn down whatever’s coming.”

Behind them, in the fire, the phoenix pulsed once—watching.

___________________________________________________

All Parts of this Series

• Eclipsed by Flame Part 1
• Eclipsed by Flame Part 2
• Eclipsed by Flame Part 3
• Eclipsed by Flame Part 4
• Eclipsed by Flame Part 5