In a world fractured by ancient wars and shattered skybound cities, Orin—an ordinary young man from the quiet village of Ervenholt—discovers he is the last of a long-lost line of Skyborn, a group of powerful beings tied to the anchors that once held the heavens in place.

When a mysterious force known as the Hollow Star begins to stir, threatening to unmake reality itself, Orin’s life is thrown into chaos. Along with the enigmatic scholar Kaelen and the fierce warrior Mira, he embarks on a journey to uncover forgotten truths, face ancient enemies, and repair the broken anchors that could hold the sky together—or tear it apart forever.

Their journey takes them through forgotten realms, across the deadly Black Waste, and into the heart of the floating city of Nahl’Karai, a place where the laws of time and memory have unraveled. Along the way, Orin must confront his own past, which is intertwined with the very destruction they’re trying to prevent.

But the Hollow Star is not the only power they must contend with. The Order of the Veil, a mysterious faction seeking to control the fate of the world, is hunting them, intent on using Orin’s power to shape the future for their own purposes.

In a race against time, Orin must choose whether to restore the anchors and face the Hollow Star—or destroy it once and for all, risking the unraveling of everything. As secrets from the past resurface, Orin’s true name, his true purpose, and the fate of the forgotten sky will be revealed.

The obsidian door slid open soundlessly, revealing a corridor of light and shadow. Ember stepped through, her senses narrowing. The air was warmer here—not from heat, but from presence. Something ancient watched her. Not with malice. With memory.


The passage descended in spirals. Glyphs etched into the walls flickered as she passed, reacting to the Flame within her. She didn't read them—they were beyond words. They felt like stories, like grief etched in stone.


Then, without warning, the corridor opened into a chamber so vast it seemed to contain the sky.


Floating above a dais at the center of the room was a sphere of flame—not burning, but alive. It pulsed in time with her heart. Around it drifted fragments of time: flickers of people, places, battles, laughter, ruin.


She stepped onto the dais, and the Flame responded.


She stood not as Ember—but as another. A Flameborn from long ago, viewing the world as it once was. Cities floating on currents of magic. Forests that spoke. Oceans that shimmered with light not of the sun. The Flame had once been a gift, not a weapon. A connection between all things.


But then came division. Fear. Power hoarded. The Circle had not created the Flame—they had stolen it, fractured it, used it to rewrite history and bury those who had once nurtured it.


And when those who remembered rose to resist, the Circle burned their names from the earth.


The vision twisted. Ember saw six figures—familiar, ancient. The Ashen Council, young and vibrant, wielding the Flame as defenders of balance. But one by one, they turned on each other, corrupted not by the Flame—but by their reasons for wielding it.


Each had burned for something other than unity.


And so, the First Flame shattered. And with it, the world began to forget.


Ember gasped, staggering back as the vision ended. The floating Flame hovered still, pulsing gently. A voice—not from outside, but from within her—echoed softly.


"You have seen. You know what was lost. Will you restore it?"


She placed her hand to her chest. The Flame answered.


Not with fire—but with warmth. With resolve.


And as she turned to leave the chamber, the ancient flame followed her—no longer a memory.


Chapter 90 - Chapter 56: Memory of the First Flame