Ember

Ember
Daughter Of The Flamecaller
The Forgefire is mine to control!

It was while gathering in the Ashfall Wastes that the Sectonian scavengers found the egg. They had seen eggs of Fire dragons before, but this one immediately caught their interest; it was visible even in the smoke and firelight of the Waste, for it shone blue, not red.

The Arcane dragons looked around warily. Was this, in fact, the egg of some fiend, cunningly disguised to look like a dragon’s? After some poking around, curiosity won out over caution (as it tended to do with Arcanites). They packed the egg into a flameproof bag and then took it back to the Starfall Isles.

When the egg arrived at the lair, it was placed into the care of the clan’s scientists. They were hard-pressed to study it, for by then the egg was putting out intense heat. None of them could get close enough to examine it, and their instruments began going haywire.

The egg was placed in a magically-sealed chamber. They could still observe it, and they saw how it was jiggling from time to time. No doubt about it: This egg was going to hatch.

“It should be extinguished and destroyed,” warier researchers declared. But the majority remained curious. They watched with bated breaths as the egg blazed white-hot—and then it exploded. Shards of eggshell thudded against the tempered glass; the researchers flinched back. They stared in awe at the bright blue flames whirling around the space where the egg had lain.

A small form moved in the fire: a hatchling. The researchers cried out in horror, thinking the little creature would be burned. But even as they hurried to reopen the chamber, they saw the flames shrinking, pressing and stretching against the tiny Fae’s skin. Within seconds, the fire had died away. The only visible traces of it were the vivid blue stripes adorning the Fae’s back and wings.

The researchers examined the hatchling carefully. They could detect nothing out of the ordinary in her, however. Even her markings had dulled; they seemed to be nothing more than ordinary Thylacine stripes now. “Perhaps the egg was enchanted, and the spell wore off when the egg hatched,” they decided. They started to come up with guesses and suppositions, and small arguments erupted even as the clan’s hatchling caretakers whisked the Fae away.

In the end, the researchers couldn’t explain what had happened with the egg, and the matter was quickly buried under more interesting phenomena. The Fae was adopted by the clan. They named her Ember.

~ ~ ~
Ember grew up in the Sectonian Empire. She romped and played with other hatchlings and soon began learning about the world around her. From time to time, she heard stories of the strange day of her birth. She was content to listen at first, but as she grew older, she decided she wanted to learn more about her family. She loved her clan very much and was loved in return—but perhaps because she’d been raised as an Arcane dragon, the curiosity gnawed at her. Who were her parents? Had they abandoned her themselves, or been forced to do so? Had her egg been stolen or lost? Did she have brothers or sisters?

Ember knew her best hope of finding out more would be to return to the Ashfall Waste. She began tracking down the scavengers who’d found her long ago. It was difficult, for some of them had died, gone to serve deities, or moved to other clans. But she gathered enough information and was able to pinpoint the area where her egg had been found.

It didn’t look promising. In the months since her egg had been retrieved, the area had been avoided, for new vents had opened in the ground, spewing poisonous gas and ash. Ember studied the map warily. Nobody wanted to accompany her; she’d have to make this quest alone. Was it worth it? Perhaps it was just a fool’s dream. Maybe she would find nothing, or perhaps there was another way....

“Do not fear.” The voice seemed to crackle through her head, whispering like wind stirring up dried leaves. Ember’s orange eyes widened in surprise.

She looked around her room. The lanterns and fire danced together, chasing away shadows, showing that no one was there.

The lanterns and fire...

“Travel to the Ashfall Waste, Ember. Head to the Great Furnace. Your mother awaits you there.”

The voice faded away. Ember kept on looking around the room, searching for its source, but still there was no one to be seen.

She didn’t notice that her markings were glowing softly. Soon, even that light faded away.

~ ~ ~
Ember lingered long enough to put together some supplies for her journey. Curious clanmates asked her what she was doing, but they shrank back when they heard she was heading for the Great Furnace. It was the lair of a goddess, and even those of the Fire Flight did not lightly enter it.

But Ember would not be deterred. She left the Starfall Isles alone. It took her some days to reach the Ashfall Waste, and within that time, she frequently looked at her map, hoping to hear that voice again. But it did not speak to her, and she started to grow discouraged. What if she’d only imagined it? It had been rather late at night....Had it been a dream or some sleep-deprived hallucination?

“Maybe just a few days,” she thought as the Ashfall Waste finally loomed on the horizon. “I’ll stay here for just a few days and ask around....Then I’ll go home.”

She had to say she didn’t really like how the placed looked. It was dark and grim...almost hellish. Black mountains rose from the lava-cracked plains. Storms of black smoke billowed up from the flues and chimneys, mixing with an equally dark sky. A stray breeze brushed against Ember, and she coughed, her eyes watering. She redoubled her flapping as she fought to stay on course. The map trembled in her claws.

There it was, the great black mountain. She banked around it, scanning its slopes. Here and there were telltale wisps of vapor. Poisonous gas...She shuddered to see them—and what was that?

A gleam of blue—“Blue as a star your egg was, even in the darkness,” one of the scavengers had said. “That’s how we found you.” Could it be...another one?

Ember dove down like a hawk. Veils of smoke rose as if to block her, but she punched through them easily. The blue glow appeared and reappeared, winking like a guiding star. And when she was close enough, it rose up to meet her.

Ember slowed down. A Sprite...It was a Fire Sprite. It was wreathed in cold blue flames, but they flickered to orange and then red as she neared it. Its small face shone with a welcoming smile.

“We have waited long for you, Ember,” it chattered, and its voice was the crackle of flames eating sticks and leaves. Ember shivered to hear it. It hadn’t been the same voice that’d beckoned her, so she queried, “‘We’?”

“Follow me. You’ll see!” It beckoned with a tiny hand, indicating she should follow it towards the top of the volcano. There was something mesmerizing about that cheerful glow, and so Ember found herself drawn towards it, like a lost sailor sighting a lighthouse in the fog.

The Sprite guided Ember into a crevasse. They moved deeper into the mountain. As they did, Ember heard the rumble and thud of machinery, the endless grind of cogs and gears: the sounds of many dragons, laboring unseen beyond the rocky walls.

It was deafening. She had to cover her ears—but even that noise was drowned out by the being she encountered, there in the heart of the mountain. As vast as the volcano itself, and infinitely more explosive...

The Flamecaller. The gigantic dragon turned and fixed her eyes on Ember. A spark of triumph leaped into them, and flames chased across her body.

She loosed a roar that echoed all over Sornieth, the sound of a thousand volcanoes bursting open all at once. The Sprite looped above Ember’s head in joy. “She has returned! Mother, she has returned!”

“Mother?” Ember gasped. She looked at the Flamecaller with incredulous eyes.

“You doubt me, child?” demanded the deity, and Ember recognized the voice that had compelled her to make her journey. “You look at me with the eyes that bear my mark, and you doubt I am your mother?”

Ember genuflected in contrition and respect. The Sprite began to sing a hymn in the jangling tone of hammers working, in the rush and flow of magma. Despite the dreadful heat, Ember began to shiver.

“Do not fear, child.” The voice was softer now, actually soothing—like the fires that warmed the lair at night. “You were not summoned for chastisement. Quite the opposite—I have a gift for you.”

The Flamecaller lowered her vast wings. In the wall behind her, Ember saw a great breach, and burning inside was a fire so brilliant, she cried out in terror and awe. It shone with a light that seemed even deeper and purer than the sun.

“It is the First Flame, the Immortal Flame. The Forgefire. When first I strode across this land, the Earthshaker rose up against me. He feared the Immortal Flame.” The Flamecaller laughed mockingly, a sound like fiery rocks striking the earth. “He said it was a thing of destruction. How wrong he was! With this flame I wrought many things, and I granted my children the power of creation. So thus it is called the Forgefire. And it will be my gift to you.”

The deity plunged a vast forepaw into the fissure. She pulled away a piece of that incredible brightness and clutched it in her claws. As Ember watched through half-shielded eyes, the Flamecaller molded the flames with her paws, coaxing the Forgefire into a much smaller shape. It shrank and shrank until it was nearly invisible, and at last Ember could look directly at it. The light it put out was less fierce now, more enticing. She unconsciously reached her claws towards it.

The Flamecaller laughed again. “You are wise not to refuse,” she rumbled. She upended her paw, and as the Forgefire dropped, Ember saw that it had been transformed into a pendant upon a chain.

It dropped neatly around her neck. The pendant settled over her heart, which beat once, twice—and suddenly the power of the Forgefire was coursing through her. Her dull blue markings writhed and then burst into brilliant blue flame. The pendant answered with an incredible light of its own.

The Flamecaller bellowed with laughter again. As if it were a signal, the light faded quickly and the blue flames slowly died....And then there was only the pendant resting against Ember’s chest. She blinked and looked around. She was standing in a shallow crevasse before a featureless rock wall. The cacophony of working clans was once again all around her, but the Flamecaller was nowhere to be seen.

The Sprite hovered by the edge of the crevasse. Ember inquired, “Is she...really...?”

“She is the mother of all who work with metal and tools, who shape the world with fire,” the Sprite whispered to her. It pointed outside the crevasse and then disappeared with a bow.

Ember looked out at the dark wasteland. It would be a long journey home, and first she’d have to fly through all that smoke and dust....She looked down at the pendant, saw the light still burning inside.

She smiled. Her journey home would be easier, she was certain. The Forgefire would light the way for her...or else she could use it to create one.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users