Booktok Iron Flame Novels & Stories

Lexie's POV I really was destined to be damned. I took a deep breath and looked at Brandon's dazed, lifeless expression. Then, I started laughing. He demanded to know what I was laughing at. I said, "This is our karma." He froze, then cried again. I watched him suffer without saying a word. Daniella had personally told me she didn't hate him. Daniella was a great person, but I wasn't. I wanted him to suffer for the rest of his life.

Then I picked it up and held it in both hands and felt the warmth that came off it immediately — steady and deep and familiar in the way that the flame was familiar, in the way that my wrist mark was familiar, in the way that certain things are familiar not because you have encountered them before but because they belong to something in you that is older than your own memory. I opened the first page. The title was written in the common tongue in handwriting so old it was barely legible, the ink faded to the palest brown, the letters formed in a style that belonged to another century. The Flame Keepers: A True and Complete Account of Their Nature, Their Power, and Their Bond With the Dragon T

Something that would kneel, obey, and surrender completely while she took everything. She stepped into the circle. The air immediately thickened, pressing against her skin like warm velvet. She raised the athame, point to the north, and began the invocation in a low, steady voice, English laced with fragments of Enochian and something older, something that tasted of iron and ozone on her tongue. “I call thee, bound by blood and will. I name thee vessel of my hunger. Come forth in flesh I shape, in form I claim. Be mine to command, mine to ruin, mine to ride until the stars bleed.

I held that nozzle down and kept the flame there and didn’t stop until I’d coated him head to toe with flames that looked like the purest, cleanest things I’d ever seen. The man in yellow, painted in vibrant shades of red and orange, stood there and burned. No screams of rage or pain, no thrashing or wailing. He just stood there, on that stage, burning. When the flames touched that book, it exploded. No shit. It leaped into flame and exploded. For a moment its flames looked bright green, as if something foul and poisonous was burning.

With a final flourish, she extinguished the flames, leaving only a faint wisp of smoke in their wake. Elara, the newcomer with the Celestial Flames, stepped forward next. Her presence commanded attention, and her eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "My power is the Celestial Flames," she said, her voice ringing with authority. "These flames are imbued with celestial energy, capable of healing and destruction."

There was something glowing in my mind that was about to explode. The fleeting feelings of unknown was at the center of my thoughts. At this moment I am a prisoner in a free world. Every corners of my mind seemed to speak by themselves and my heart seemed to be in ablaze. I stared blankly at the bright light in house in daze. It was like my eyes were roving around for something which I was not there. Something beyond its reach it persisted and jammed my heart with queer thoughts. In this night, I felt like embracing somebody. My heart felt lonely and devoid while my whole body seemed into be in flames.

A flash of golden-red flame exploded from my hand, and instantly died. The Void-Iron armor didn't catch fire. It didn't even heat up. The dark metal sucked the flame straight out of my palm like water down a drain, glowing a faint, angry purple for half a second before dulling back to ash-gray. A cold dread settled in my gut; if fire couldn't touch these things, I had no idea what could. The guard didn't even flinch. It drove its heavy iron knee straight up into my ribs. CRACK.

Her breath trembled as something inside her cracked—not with breaking, but with release. She closed her eyes, drawing the wildfire closer, not to crush it, not to run—but to face it. The whispers tore at her, but she pushed back with her own voice, raw and burning: “I am not your kindling. I am not your ruin. I am flame, and flame is mine to carry.” The wildfire shuddered, sparks bursting outward like a thousand tiny stars. The dark edges burned away, leaving only fierce, golden light that wrapped around her like a mantle.

It wasn’t male either. It was both. And neither. And it knew him. He slammed the book shut. The flames on the torches flickered. > “Someone’s protecting her. Someone older than any of us.” Alex turned to leave—but before he did, he noticed one book... tucked deep into the wall, half-hidden behind a cracked obsidian skull. Its title glowed faintly: “The First-born Flame: Records of the One Who Watched the Moon.” He reached for it. But the moment his fingertips touched the leather, the runes around the library pulsed—and the book… vanished.

Wotan said, “The conditions for cultivating Flame Art’s Three Fire Transformations are very demanding. The most difficult one among them is for one to absorb and refine the Ignis. The power an Ignis holds is equivalent to the strength of an Acmean. If a cultivator below the Acme Rank was to come into the slightest contact with an Ignis, his body would be reduced to ashes instantly.” Wotan was a very mysterious person and seemed to be quite knowledgeable. Although he had never seen the Flame Art’s Three Fire Transformations with his own eyes before, he had read about it in his sect’s ancient books. Wotan asked James, “Do you still want the book?” “Of course, why wouldn’t I?” James put away th