Long Forgotten Flame Novels & Stories

The words come from somewhere deeper than memory, older than knowledge. "You who were cast out, not for evil but for difference. You who were feared for power you never asked for. You who made your homes beyond the known world because the known world had no place for you. I name you all. The Forgotten, the Flame-Walkers, the Veil-Broken, the Hollow-Sung, the Star-Touched, the Dream-Weavers." Ilsa is crying now. She understands what this means, what we're giving back to the world.

Then from the ruins, from the echo of shadow and flame, Orion’s voice drifts back, low and sure. “Remember me, Flame.” Flame. The word hits me like a blade to the chest. I see visions of fire, shadow, a bond snapping taut. Memories flood in all at once, his hands, his voice, the way he looked at me like the world lived and died by my breath. I gasp. My knees buckle. And suddenly,I remember everything.

“Guys, I feel weird.” They each embraced me and I felt better. When my hand touched the lid of the well, I felt dizzy and a vision formed in my mind. I saw hooded figures appear out of thin air. They pulled vials and herbs out from under their black and dark red cloaks. I heard them chant in an unfamiliar language, but parts of it I seemed to recognize. I must have said it out loud because Conner said, “Nox affer. Exstingue lucem. Draconis fuga necatur. But that means, bring the night, extinguish the light, kill the dragon’s flight. Avery…Avery, come back to us.” Then he kissed me, which made the vision fade.

Serena turned. Gone were the glistening golden eyes. They were glowing white. “I saw everything,” she said. “And now it lives in me.” Elias swallowed hard. “That can’t be healthy.” Serena smiled faintly. “Maybe not. But it’s necessary.” The flame followed her as she got off. It floated near her shoulder like a ghost. Lucian looked to the shadows. “What now?” In response, the kneeling one said, “The Flame walks again. Everywhere, because “forgotten things will be forgotten.

--- The Forgotten Song In the city once called Lunareth, the Heartfire still burned. But few remembered why. The temple had become a monument— a relic of an older age. Priests tended the flame now, but their prayers were empty, their songs mechanical. They recited words from books whose meanings had long been lost. > “Lyra of Light, Kaenor of Flame, guide us through shadow, guard us from shame.” The words were beautiful, but hollow. And yet, some nights, when the moon turned faintly red,

A fox man releases thy soul of the red flame royalties, a lone man releases thy soul of the black flame royalty and the green flame royalty releases thy soul of the once beholder of thy flames. Niffa was confused, furrowed, and felt a little longing to seek more. The book’s context was perplexing and too old from the way it was written and the way the writer tells. Rico was confused as well, he knew that the green flame holder was Niffa, but what about the once beholder that the book is talking about? They continued reading the next page, it says,

She was looking for anything on the prophecy Riley had just whispered to her half an hour ago — too shaken to say it in front of Jaxon, too tired to keep pretending she wasn’t connected to all of this. Lena was good at research. Better than most pack elders gave her credit for. She flipped through an ancient tome and paused on a page half-rotted with age. There — in the margins — was a scribbled note. The Flame-Born will come from exile. One scarred, one spared. A heart unchained shall heal the pack or burn it down. Lena snapped a photo and emailed it to herself. Then, just as she was about to close the book, a breez

Humans couldn’t see it—except for the gifted ones who could perceive the unseen. A werewolf without royal blood could have their mark voided using the Blue Flame. The Blue Flame was no ordinary fire. It was a flame from a thousand years ago—one that could never be extinguished. Mates who wished to sever their bond had to lie within it, enduring its torment. The time spent within the fire depended on their will to break the bond. Some endured only a few hours, but most had to remain for two to three days. The flame did not physically harm them, but it tortured their souls until the bond was completely severed.

And then they sang—not a war song, not a victory chant, but the old lullaby once sung to new Flamekeepers: “Let the spark become the flame, Let the flame become the path, Let the path become the story— That no shadow can outlast.” As the final notes faded into the wind, Serena looked at the flame once more. And the flame… smiled.

And from beneath the dais, a figure rose. It was not a wolf. It was not a man. It was a being draped in robes of ash and flame, with eyes like twin suns and a crown made of broken bone. “Who are you?” Jaxon asked, blade half drawn. “I am what came before the Moon,” it said. “What she imprisoned when she chose the wolves. I am Veyrus, the Forgotten Flame.” Racheal’s knees nearly buckled. She’d read of the Flame in forbidden texts—an ancient spirit cast out when the Moon took dominion over fate.