Volume 1 – The Spirit That Sleeps
> "Flame is not destruction. It is memory. It is rebirth."
—Yulanis, Goddess of the Veil
The sky above Tenebros wept fire.
Crimson clouds rolled over the jagged cliffs of the Black Veil Coast, casting a red glow over a shattered battlefield littered with bones, broken spirit glyphs, and the still-burning corpses of both men and beasts. Stormfire arced through the sky like furious veins, its thunder shaking the very roots of the continent.
At the heart of the storm, beneath the shattered arch of the ancient Temple of Binding Flame, a boy knelt beside a dying god.
He was no older than eighteen, clad in battle-worn robes of white and ash, one arm shattered, the other raised—holding a glowing flame suspended above his palm. The flame was not ordinary. It pulsed, wept, and breathed. It sang in the voice of every lifetime he had ever lived.
His name had once been Lianxu.
But to the world, he was known as the Soulkindled.
Before him lay the bleeding form of Yulanis, the Goddess of Rebirth, her divine body cracked like porcelain, spirit blood pooling around her like starlight spilled on stone. Her golden hair floated weightlessly, caught in a wind that did not exist. Her once-blinding eyes had dimmed to amber cinders.
"You cannot die here," Lianxu whispered, voice breaking. "Not after all we've fought for."
She smiled weakly, eyes glistening with pain and something deeper. "My time… has ended. But yours… burns still."
He wanted to scream, but there was no breath left in him.
The Council of Six Nations had betrayed him—every king and queen who once pledged loyalty. The Celestial Accord had shattered. And the spirits—those sacred beings once bound to harmony—were now in revolt, poisoned by fear and lies.
"I will seal my flame within you," Yulanis whispered. "Just as I did in the beginning. Let the world forget me, but not you. Not the Soulkindled. You will rise again… when the world needs you most."
"No," Lianxu said, voice trembling. "You'll return. We'll find a way."
Her hand brushed his cheek, warm despite the blood. "I've always returned… through you."
She closed her eyes.
And the flame—the Aeon Flame—descended from the heavens.
It did not scorch. It embraced. It sank into Lianxu's body like an ocean of light and pain and memory. The Goddess was gone… but her soul was now his burden to carry. Again.
A new cycle began.
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𝘼𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨...
In a quiet mist-covered village nestled in the Lotus Basin of the eastern lowlands, a newborn boy drew his first breath.
The midwife gasped as his cry echoed through the bamboo winds like a gust of flame. His mother looked upon him, her eyes wide in awe.
"What will you name him?" the elder asked.
The father, a quiet fisherman, stared at the child's bright blue eyes—too ancient, too sharp for a newborn.
"…Qingsai," he said. "He feels… like a memory."
Outside, the wind shifted, and for a moment, the spirits held their breath.
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🌀 The Soulkindled had returned. And the world of Myria would burn anew.