Eclipsed by Flame – Part IV

Ash fell like snow across the battle-ravaged plains of Redmar.

The once-proud mountain city stood cracked and blackened, its stone towers scorched and hollow. Vaelin walked among the wounded, his cloak heavy with soot, boots crunching over broken weapons and scorched earth.

At the heart of the ruin stood Elira, untouched by the wreckage, flame-glow still pulsing faintly from beneath her skin.

The wind howled.

She hadn’t spoken in hours.

In the ruins of a collapsed spire, Elira sat before a dying brazier. The fire wouldn’t go out. It clung to her presence—reluctant to die.

Vaelin sat across from her. He watched the flickering reflection in her eyes. It wasn’t just light. It was memory.

“I feel… fractured,” she said. “Like I’m two people now. The one I was, and something older. Something burning.”

Her voice cracked, low. “It’s whispering to me, Vaelin.”

“What does it say?”

“Let go.”

He reached across the flames and took her hand. “Hold on.”

A long silence.

Then she whispered: “I’m scared if I do… I won’t be me anymore.”

Azera arrived with grim news—and an ancient scroll retrieved from deep within the Hearthspire vault.

“Elira is not the Flameheart,” she said. “She is something… rarer. Stranger.”

The scroll, sealed in ash-glass, detailed a legend from the dawn of fire-magic: the Pyreborn—a mortal soul forged directly in Rhaziran’s flame, not as a vessel, but as a mirror.

“Where the Flameheart channels Rhaziran,” Azera explained, “the Pyreborn reflects him. Equal and opposite. Creation and destruction in one soul.”

Elira had not merely been chosen—she had become a living contradiction. A being never meant to exist.

And now, the balance was failing.

Word spread of Kael’s retreat—and of a new alliance rising in his wake. The Ember Concord, a radical union of former cultists and rogue firemages, gathered in the volcanic spires of Draketh Maw, an extinct caldera city turned fortress.

They named Elira a heretic. A false flame.

Their plan: awaken Rhaziran fully through a soul-pyre sacrifice—the burning of hundreds of fire-bound souls to create a conduit strong enough to force the god’s rebirth.

And Kael? He had vanished—but his mark lingered across the land.

Elira stared at the growing flame in her palm.

“I can feel him waiting.”

That night, Elira dreamed.

She stood in a cathedral of flame, where her shadow whispered with her voice.

You cannot walk this path and remain mortal.

You were forged for more.

Let me burn… and I will never let them hurt you again.

She woke screaming—fire flaring from her skin, the floor beneath her blackened.

Vaelin pulled her back, wrapping her in his arms.

“You’re still you.”

Tears steamed on her cheeks. “What if I can’t be both?”

Vaelin and Elira traveled to Emberhollow, a village rumored to harbor one of Kael’s surviving lieutenants: Rhalen Vos, a fire-mage who once swore loyalty to Elira before turning to the Concord.

But it was a trap.

Rhalen had allied with Brother Harkh, the radical cultist who split from the Hearthspire.

As Elira entered the square, the people turned on her—enchanted flames igniting around their wrists.

“They believe you are Rhaziran reborn,” Rhalen said. “They will burn for you. Or with you.”

Elira raised her hands to surrender.

They attacked.

Dozens of firebound acolytes swarmed the square, blades alight with holy flame.

Vaelin moved like a shadow—blades flashing, ducking under fire-laced strikes. He burned—but kept moving, guarding Elira’s flank.

Elira stood still at first—terrified her fire would consume everyone.

Then Rhalen struck her chest with a firebrand—a weapon of soul-burning heat.

Her mind fractured. Her power howled.

She unleashed her soul-magic—shadows laced with white-hot fire surged outward in a shockwave that shattered stone. The fire warped, turned, obeying her will. Enemies screamed as their own flames refused them.

The square fell silent. The survivors fled.

Vaelin pulled her close again.

But her eyes were glowing like furnaces now.

At the edge of the village, Elira knelt alone in the ash.

“I can’t hold it back anymore.”

Vaelin crouched beside her. “Then don’t. Shape it.”

She looked at him. “If I lose myself—”

“I’ll follow you into the fire,” he said. “And I’ll pull you out. Every damn time.”

Her lips trembled. “Promise me.”

“I swear.”

She touched his cheek, warm but steady.

Then she stood, flame rippling behind her like wings.

“I am Elira. I am the Pyreborn. And I will not burn the world for a god I do not serve.”

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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