I. The Emberlight Girl
In the twilight-shadowed village of Kareth, where the forest sang to itself and wolves were said to speak in dreams, there lived a girl who could not be touched by flame.
Mira was born during the Moonless Solstice, when the stars vanished and cold wind howled across the Great Plateau. Her mother, a healer, swore the baby glowed like a coal when first held. Her father, a woodsman, feared the girl was cursed. But the village priest claimed otherwise.
“She is Emberborn,” he whispered, bowing low. “Marked by the Lantern of Nyros.”
None knew what that meant, not really. Only that fire never burned her. Even as a child, she would reach into hearths to rescue lost toys, or walk barefoot over coals without flinching.
As Mira grew, so did the rumors. Some called her blessed. Others, cursed. But everyone knew she was different.
When she turned seventeen, everything changed.
That was when the shadows came.
II. The Black Wind
The first sign was the wind.
It came with no warning, sweeping through the village in the dead of night. Crops withered overnight. Fires sputtered and died. Animals refused to drink from the wells.
Then people began to vanish.
First, Old Garen, the bellkeeper. Then two of the blacksmith’s sons. Then a child. No screams. No struggle. Just cold ash where their beds had been.
Mira stood at the edge of the forest, sensing the wrongness long before the village elders admitted it. There was something out there. Something hungry.
And one night, it came for her.
She awoke to find her window wide open, and a voice whispering from the darkness.
“Lantern-child… return what was stolen.”
She stood, heart pounding, and reached for the fire poker.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
Silence. Then, from the trees, something moved. Not a person—too tall, too lean, too broken in its movements.
A shape of smoke and bone.
She ran.
But the forest didn’t let her go.
Not until she reached the ruins.
III. The Lantern
Deep in the woods, where trees bent like old men and moss glowed faintly blue, lay the ruins of a forgotten temple. Mira had only heard whispers of it—Nyros’s Lantern, they called it. A place from before the kingdom’s founding, older than maps.
The shadow chased her to its edge, but stopped at the threshold.
It hissed.
“You do not belong there…”
But she did.
Somehow, she knew.
Inside, the temple was cold. Quiet. Still alive, somehow.
And at the center, beneath a cracked dome, stood a lantern.
It hung in mid-air. Its frame was made of silver root, its flame bright green. Not fire—something deeper.
When she stepped closer, the flame leapt toward her, like it recognized her.
She reached out.
And the lantern vanished into her hands.
Power surged through her like thunder through stone.
Memories not her own flickered behind her eyes. Of stars falling like snow. Of cities burning. Of a voice:
"You are the Flamebearer now."
IV. The Flamebearer
When she returned to Kareth, the village was gone.
Ashes.
Smoke.
No bodies. Just silence.
The black wind had come and taken everything.
Everything but her.
Mira stood alone at the edge of ruin, the lantern now fused to her palm. It pulsed with light, soft and sad.
She could feel the truth now.
The shadow was not of this world.
It was a Remnant—from before time, from the age of the gods. A creature once bound by Nyros, Guardian of Light, now free again.
And it was searching for the lantern.
Which meant it was searching for her.
V. The Wanderer
Mira wandered for weeks, guided only by flickers of lantern-light. It showed her paths others could not see—hidden roads, dreams of old warriors, whispers of magic long buried.
She crossed the Flamewaste, where lava flowed like rivers and firebirds circled overhead. The lantern shielded her.
She met others: survivors, rebels, seers.
One was a boy named Talen, who claimed to be the last mage of the Solari order. He had golden eyes and a sword made of sunmetal. He didn’t trust her at first. No one did.
Until she saved his life from a pack of Nightborn beasts.
Then he followed her.
Together, they headed north—toward the Citadel of Light, where the last remnants of Nyros’s power were said to sleep.
VI. The Citadel
The Citadel was hidden inside a mountain. Its gates opened only to the Flamebearer.
When Mira touched the lantern to the stone, the mountain trembled and revealed a stair of molten glass.
Inside, they found stories—etched in flame, carved in light. The truth of the world, before the Remnants tore it apart.
Nyros had forged the lantern from his own soul, binding the chaos.
But after his death, the lantern passed from bearer to bearer—until one failed, and the Remnant escaped.
Now it was Mira’s turn.
But she wasn’t ready.
“I’m no warrior,” she told Talen.
He looked at her for a long time. “Neither was Nyros.”
VII. The Battle at Hollowmere
The Remnant came at dusk.
A black wave, rising from the forest, filled with whispers and bone.
Mira stood atop the broken walls of Hollowmere, lantern in hand, heart hammering.
Talen stood beside her, sword glowing like a fallen star.
Others had come too—villagers, mages, warriors from the old orders. Not many. But enough to make a stand.
The Remnant laughed, voice like breaking glass.
“You cannot win, child.”
She stepped forward.
“I’m not here to win,” she said.
“I’m here to burn.”
She lifted the lantern.
Flame exploded.
Not fire—memory. Light. The truth of every bearer before her. Their love. Their pain. Their courage.
The Remnant screamed.
And the world caught fire.
VIII. Afterlight
When the light faded, the Remnant was gone.
So was the lantern.
Mira lay in the ashes, eyes closed, breath shallow.
Talen carried her from the battlefield. The survivors sang songs of Nyros. Of the girl who burned but did not break.
When she awoke, she asked only one thing:
“Is it done?”
Talen smiled.
“Yes.”
Epilogue: The Flame Remembered
Years passed.
Peace returned.
Children played in the fields of Kareth rebuilt. And at night, elders told stories.
Of the girl who could not be burned.
Of the lantern that held the light of a god.
Of how even in the darkest wind, a single spark can change the world.
And somewhere, in a hidden valley, a flicker of green light still dances.
Waiting.