The Rite of Flame-Hollowing

Originally performed in the Ashwreathed Sanctums, located deep within the XZiXZiminity frontiers, this gruesome rite was formerly known as The Rite of Hollow Flame. In the past, when the sky bled dark fire and the wind hissed in forbidden tongues, it was a sacrifice made to Zypharienne's most devastating evils. The dark would seize the soul of a selected "Ash-Hollowed" kid and cast them into a pit of flaming embers in order to "keep the flame fed."

Being selected was regarded as the greatest honor. There was never a shout from the kids.

The only sound coming from the hole was silence.

However, the world changed as time passed.

One priestess, Velyssa Thorneveil, a flame-seer who had a unique way of hearing the gods whisper, was the starting point. She escaped the fire unscathed, having survived the Rite intended for her. She asserted that she had glimpsed the future--one of healing light and blazing flame rather than blood and ash.

It was dubbed The Hollowing of Light by hers truly.

Some referred to it as blasphemy.

However, the Rite changed over time. Children were no longer offered as sacrifices; instead, the ritual took on symbolic meaning. Participants threw mementos of sorrow and shame into the embers as they crossed a path illuminated by fire while barefoot. The flames were soft now, but they still danced.

The change was not punished by the gods.

They embraced it.

The Flame-Hollowing is a rebirth rite is still practiced today under many names in various realms. It signifies change, atonement, and the release of past burdens. There is no bloodshed. There is no screaming.

Still, there is silence. But one that is calm.

They wear ceremonial cloaks laced with silk-threaded fire. Twilight flowers and gold ash now mark the route. The fire "takes" the names of those they've lost or harmed, not their lives, but their grief.

Where it previously destroyed hearts, it now mends them.

However, some people may still recall the first Rite.

There are also rumors that the fire is still burning.

Yharnelle's Rite:

At morning, they brought her.

Blindfolded, barefoot, and covered in a red robe that was so saturated with old blood that it adhered to her like skin. She was Yharnelle, the seventh daughter of the Wyrm-Singers, and like the others before her, she had been selected for her ancestry rather than her sin or guilt.

They claimed that "the flicker" ran in her family. The gods coveted this spark. And flame was necessary for the rite.

In the middle of the hollowed-out temple, where the lips of the ancient god once whispered from ash, they bound her to the Pyre-Pillar with sun-scorched cables. The high priests around her sang like a low, guttural chant that sounded like stone dragging through bone rather than using words.

When they cut her palms, she didn't scream.

Not when the dark oil was thrown over her shoulders.

She didn't open her mouth to cry but to giggle until they struck the match and the first hiss of fire caressed her skin.

Since she noticed something that the others missed.

The flame bent.

Bowed.

She wasn't eaten by it.

It listened.

Expecting ash and destruction, they removed the handkerchief from her eyes and discovered her standing, unburned, with hair rising like smoke and eyes as white as moonfire. The dome trembled at her voice.

She declared, "This rite is no longer yours."

"I own it."

A god died that morning.

And with defiance rather than blood, Yharnelle rekindled the world's fire.