Embers of the forgotten flame 2
320 Words
Ariah stepped forward. “I am Ariah, bearer of the Living Flame. I come to rekindle what the world has forgotten.”
The ground rumbled. Lava streamed below glass floors, casting rippling patterns of fire on the chamber walls. An altar rose in the center of the chamber, upon which lay a single unlit torch carved from the bones of an ancient tree.
“You must give something to receive,” the voice said.
Ariah looked at the torch, then at her companions. Her heart burned—not from fear, but calling.
“I give my right to certainty,” she said aloud. “I give up knowing the end. I choose to walk forward even in mystery.”
The altar glowed brighter. The torch rose.
Mira stepped forward. “I give up my bitterness. I release those who hurt me, so I can carry light instead of chains.”
Jalen placed a hand on the altar. “I give up my silence. I will speak when truth must be known, even when it costs me.”
Rael stood last. His voice was quiet. “I give up the name I made for myself through betrayal. Let the Light name me again.”
The flame erupted.
It didn’t burn—it healed.
The torch ignited with brilliant gold and white light, brighter than any sun. It burned with grace, with truth, with memory. Ariah took it in her hands, and instantly, her lantern overflowed, spilling radiant fire that danced through the air like music.
The Forgotten Flame had awakened.
As they left the mountain, the stars above blazed brighter. Far off in the distance, the land of Noctera stirred, sensing the rekindled fire.
But in the shadows, something watched.
The Dark King had felt it too.
And for the first time in centuries, he whispered to his generals:
“She has found the flame. Now bring me the girl.”
- Writer
