For the first time in memory, the valley had borders.
Not drawn in ink, not marked with walls, but with ideology. With sermons. With blood.
We hadn't meant for it to happen. But after Glaven, the fractures within us grew undeniable. And what was once a faith built on silence, mercy, and shared warmth began to harden into three voices—each loyal to the same god, each bearing different truths.
I did not resist it.
I listened.
And from listening, I named them.
The Three Sects of Flame
1. The Flame-Bound
Led by Kael
Colors: Red and black, veiled in ash
Creed: "Fire must not be questioned. It must burn that which opposes."
Kael's warriors believed in preemptive justice. To them, the flame's duality was not a balance to be maintained, but a weapon to be aimed. They formed militias, donned veils, and took oaths of silence during war. In every converted village, they erected tall flame-markers—beacons warning that no heresy would be tolerated.
Kael reported to me directly, always kneeling, always bloodied. He never lied. He never asked permission.
He simply burned.
And the people followed him—not out of fear, but clarity. He offered certainty in an uncertain world.
2. The Circle of Ember
Led by David
Colors: Grey and gold, unarmored robes
Creed: "The fire that speaks must first listen. Judgment is not vengeance."
David's sect became scholars, teachers, and guides. Their sanctuaries did not tower—they were built low to the ground, open to the sky. They taught the Doctrine of the Listening Flame, carefully copying every word I spoke, cataloguing what they believed were sacred moments of divine hesitation.
David was their prophet not because he demanded it—but because no one else could bear the weight.
He rarely smiled now.
But when he did, it meant something.
His followers carried no weapons. They bore books bound in bark and ash-leather. Some called them naïve.
Others called them the only true believers.
3. The Keepers of the Folded Path
Emerging around Eve
Colors: White and blue
Creed: "The flame remembers. And through memory, we shape what comes next."
Eve's sect had no structure, no order. They followed her, yes—but more than that, they recorded her. Her visions became scripture. Her dreams were debated in public squares. Her every word in sleep or trance was stitched into banners or carved into the wood of trees.
She did not claim to be a prophet.
But the people called her The Flame's Whisper.
Her followers saw prophecy as fluid, multi-layered. To them, the future wasn't set—but it wanted to happen in certain ways. They saw war, rebirth, betrayal, and godhood not as fates, but as tides one could sail or drown in.
Eve still visited me, often at night, always quiet. She didn't ask for power.
But she was power—quiet, tidal, ungraspable.
The Geography of the Valley
David and Mikal compiled what maps remained—some drawn from memory, others rebuilt by scouts.
The Valley of Naaren was once the heartland of an empire long dead. It stretched from the southern Salt Hills where white rains scoured stone bare, to the misted Mournwood Forest in the north. Its western edge ended in the Black Range, a serrated wall of obsidian cliffs none dared cross. To the east, the Fangs of Olmar loomed—jagged grey peaks said to house lost cities and creatures older than gods.
In its center, nestled by rivers now redirected and twisted, lay Naaren's Fold—the village that had become a cradle of faith.
Five major roads led out from the Fold:
Glaven – now a ruin, held by Marran's cult.
Aythrel – to the south, a neutral settlement, cautious but watching.
Tor-Veis – far to the north, under control of the Flame-Bound.
Ysaryn's Rest – in the shadow of the Olmar peaks, where the Circle of Ember now holds sway.
The Cradle of Bone – west of the Fold, not yet reclaimed. Said to be cursed.
Every week, messages came in—riders burned with oil, letters soaked in blood, dreams that Eve woke screaming from.
And with every passing week, more and more of the valley turned toward war.
The Ember Crown
Marran's cult now called itself the Ember Crown, and its doctrine spread with terrifying speed.
It promised fire as finality.
Not salvation. Not creation. Only equilibrium. The return to ash. The end of gods who played at compassion.
And it had followers.
Disillusioned priests of Yahweh. Old warlords seeking divine justification. Children taught to scream as offerings.
They carved their sigil into every town they took—the crowned flame.
They desecrated trees.
They sang with mouths sewn shut.
And they hunted oracles.
Three of Eve's followers were crucified upside down at the edge of Mournwood. The message was clear.
They were not just resisting the new faith.
They were erasing it.
The War Begins
It started with Tor-Veis.
A merchant caravan was found burned, symbols of the Listening Flame branded onto their chests. Marran's followers claimed the victims had been apostates.
Kael did not wait.
He marched with twenty Flame-Bound and razed an Ember Crown enclave within the week.
David begged for a ceasefire.
Eve saw something worse.
"The forest bleeds. And in that blood, something ancient begins to drink."
I asked her what she meant.
She stared into the fire and whispered:
"You and Marran woke more than memory. The Old Ones stir beneath the bones. Your fire feeds them."
The Divided Flame
I no longer felt whole.
The fire within me no longer answered as it once had. Sometimes it bloomed in sorrow, sometimes in rage. Sometimes I tried to heal, and it seared. Other times, I sought justice—and it wept.
I spoke less now.
Not out of fear.
Out of caution.
Every word mattered. Every gesture echoed. I could no longer act without shaping the world. Even silence became divine.
And that terrified me more than anything Marran could conjure.
One night, David came to me as the stars finally returned.
He knelt—not in reverence, but grief.
"The people call me prophet. But I am tired. I feel you changing."
"I feel it too."
"What are we becoming?"
"I don't know."
Eve joined us, her hands stained with ink, her face pale from another vision.
"There will be a trial," she said. "Not of faith. Of you. The valley will choose—not who you are, but what kind of god you're allowed to be."
"Will I pass?"
Eve looked at me with sad, distant eyes.
"If you learn to burn without pride."