The Forgotten Kingdom: The Flamekeeper

CH02 | The Flame Calls

CHAPTER 2

Elara’s feet moved of their own accord. The voice, low and insistent, echoed in her mind like the distant hum of thunder, filling her with both dread and a strange sense of inevitability. She barely registered the cries of panic erupting around her as the glow on the horizon grew brighter. The fire was coming—faster than any of them had expected.

But Elara couldn’t stay. She couldn’t wait.

“Elara!”

She turned sharply, seeing Fen running toward her through the square, his face pale in the fiery light that now bathed the village. He skidded to a stop in front of her, his chest heaving with exertion.

“Elara, we have to leave,” he said, his voice a frantic whisper. “The fire—it’s coming for us!”

She knelt down, taking his trembling hands in hers. “I know, Fen. But I have to go. There’s something out there, in the fire. Something that needs me.”

His wide, fearful eyes searched hers, looking for reassurance. “But... why you?”

Elara didn’t have an answer. She only knew that the fire’s voice had been calling her for weeks, and now it was louder than ever. If she didn’t go to it, something terrible would happen—not just to her, but to everyone.

“I don’t know,” she said softly, “but I can’t ignore it.”

Fen shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’ll come back,” she promised, though she wasn’t sure if it was a lie. “I’ll find out what’s happening, and I’ll come back for you.”

He hesitated, his hands tightening around hers, but after a long moment, he nodded. “I believe you.”

Elara smiled, though her heart ached. “Go to the cottage. Wait there until it’s safe.”

He turned to run but then stopped, pulling something from his pocket. “Take this,” he said, pressing a small object into her palm. “For luck.”

It was a small wooden carving, a token their father had made before he died. A bear, its rough surface smoothed by years of being handled. She closed her fingers around it, the familiar shape comforting in her hand.

“I’ll keep it safe,” she whispered, then rose to her feet as Fen disappeared into the shadowy streets.

Elara stood for a moment, staring at the horizon. The fire glowed brighter now, a sea of molten red creeping toward the village. The air was thick with smoke, and she could hear the distant roar of flames eating through the forest.

She started walking toward it.

Each step felt heavier, as if some invisible force was pulling her back. But the voice in her head urged her forward, calling her name again and again. Elara. Elara. The sound was rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Her feet quickened, carrying her past the last of the cottages and onto the narrow path that led up toward the mountains.

The higher she climbed, the clearer the voice became, growing louder with each step until it was no longer a whisper, but a roar in her ears.

“Elara! Elara!”

She gasped as she crested the final ridge. Below her, at the base of the mountain, the fire raged. It wasn’t like any fire she had ever seen. The flames burned in strange patterns, swirling and coiling like living things. They moved with purpose, spreading not in random destruction, but in deliberate lines, carving a path directly toward her.

Her breath caught in her throat. The fire was alive.

And then she saw it.

At the heart of the flames, a figure stood—a shadow against the inferno. Tall, cloaked in smoke and heat, it was humanoid in shape, but there was something otherworldly about it, something ancient and terrible.

“Elara,” it called, its voice now deep and resonant, echoing in the very core of her being.

She froze, her heart pounding. Her mind screamed at her to run, to get away, but her feet remained rooted to the ground, as if the flames themselves had reached out to hold her in place.

“Who... who are you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the fire.

The figure stepped forward, and as it did, the flames parted, revealing a face—no, not a face, but a mask of molten stone. Its eyes were pits of flame, burning with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

“I am the Guardian of the Flame,” it said, its voice vibrating in the air around her. “I have waited for you.”

“For me?” Elara’s voice trembled. “Why?”

The Guardian extended a hand toward her, palm up. “You are the last of the line. The fire calls to its blood. You must reclaim what was lost.”

Elara shook her head, confusion swirling in her mind. “I don’t understand. What line? What was lost?”

“The kingdom,” the Guardian said, its voice softer now, almost gentle. “The kingdom beneath the mountain. It was your birthright. And now the flame has come to restore it.”

Elara felt a chill run down her spine, despite the heat. The forgotten kingdom—the one from her grandmother’s stories. The kingdom buried deep beneath Mount Khaldur, sealed away by the fires of old magic. But those were just tales, myths to entertain children.

Weren’t they?

She stared at the Guardian, her thoughts racing. “What do you want me to do?”

The Guardian lowered its hand. “Come to the fire. Step into the flame, and you will see. The truth of your blood, the truth of your destiny.”

Elara looked at the wall of fire surrounding the figure. The heat was unbearable, waves of it crashing over her, but there was something else now—something beneath the fear. A pull, deep and primal, as if the fire was not a threat, but a part of her.

Her hand tightened around the bear carving in her pocket. She thought of Fen, waiting for her at the cottage. Thought of the village, of the people who had raised her, of the life she had known.

And then she stepped forward.

The flames surged, wrapping around her in a burning embrace. But instead of pain, she felt warmth—comforting, familiar, like an old friend welcoming her home.

“Elara,” the Guardian’s voice whispered, as the world around her dissolved into light. “Welcome to the flame.”