first chapter of my mythic fantasy novel. requesting feedback
Hello everyone. I’ve been working on a mythic fantasy story set within a universe I’ve been building since grade school. This book follows Rasha, a lowborn member of the Fire Tribe who is chosen by the Fire Spirit, yet still rejected by her own people because of her status.
I’m mainly looking for feedback on:
- emotional tone
- pacing
- prose flow
- and whether this would make you continue reading
The writing itself is fully original. Ive occasionally used editing assistance during revision but the story, prose, characters and world are entirely my own
Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read it.
Whispers in the Ash
Rasha was born during a drought. The kind of summer where even the wind felt dry, every breath tasted of ash, and the ground cracked beneath bare feet.
Her mother used to call it an omen. Children born under a heat like that were either cursed or chosen. No one ever said which one Rasha was.
She grew up in the outer rings of the Fire Tribe, far from its forges and warrior circles. Her home was a patchwork of scorched cloth and clay walls, surrounded by other lowborn who worked the ash fields or hauled water from deep, cracked wells.
Her father had once been a torchbearer, a messenger who ran between tribes with flame in hand, until his legs failed. Her mother sold herbal pastes and fire charms that never truly worked.
At thirteen, Rasha was tested for her fire magic.
She remembered the elders’ eyes, expectant at first, then confused, then disappointed. A tiny ember danced on her palm, flickered once, and vanished.
Still, she was marked. Branded on the wrist with the Ember Sigil, meaning she had some fire in her. Enough to serve but not enough to be significant.
Now seventeen, Rasha knelt before the flame pit outside the warriors’ training circle. She was not allowed inside, but she watched every day.
She memorized their stances and their breathing, mimicked their movements with twigs behind her home, alone in the dust.
Today, something was different. The flame in the pit had begun to whisper.
You were not born for war.
The words slipped into her mind like heat rising from coals, Rasha blinked, her breath catching, and looked around but no one had spoken.
The warriors continued their training, shouting and clashing, blades sparking, sweat flying. No one noticed the girl by the fire pit. They never did.
She stared into the flames, her heart pounding.
Your flame is not meant to burn others. It is meant to light the unseen.
The words stirred a memory that did not belong to her, something older.
She reached toward the flame to feel it. The fire responded, moving toward her fingers, curling around her skin. It felt warm and inviting.
Then it entered her.
Warmth flowed like being welcomed home. She gasped and pulled her hand back, but the warmth remained in her chest.
Rasha stood, her heart thudding in her ears.
Something had changed and it was not her magic.
She froze, there was a presence inside her and it did not sound like before. No longer echoing, It resonated deep in her chest between her heartbeat and her breath.
Do you know who I am?
She could not answer, her body warm with a fire that had claimed a space that felt as though it had always been waiting.
I have been with your people since the first flame. I am not your weapon. I am your witness and I have waited a long time for you, Rasha.
She dropped to her knees.
“Why me?” she whispered.
Because you listened.
Rasha gathered herself and asked the presence within her, “What does that mean for my people, if you are with me now? I’m lowborn and have no influence”
The warmth in her chest pulsed like a drum.
It means your people will forget me.
Confusion flickered across her face.
Unless you remind them.
There was no anger in the words only an ancient sorrow.
They chase power, and forge weapons, they burn to conquer, But have forgotten the first reason fire was given to them. To connect, guide and awaken.
The fire within her grew brighter.
It filled her ribs, up her spine and into her throat. She felt like a lantern being lit from the inside.
You are not the strongest of them, however, you are the first in many generations to hear me clearly. That is why I am with you.
Tears welled in her eyes from her new understanding, she was not the weak lowborn member her sigil described.
She was chosen.
With the knowledge burning quietly inside her, Rasha made a decision.
She would go to the tribe leaders.
The walk to the central fire ring felt longer than usual, even though her feet felt as if they barely touched the ground.
The warmth in her chest was steady now. Simply present, like a companion walking beside her.
When she reached the circle, the tribal leaders were already gathered. Their cloaks flaring behind them like fire-dancers in the wind. Warriors and elders alike, scarred and braided and calloused, turned to look at her. Some with surprise, some with irritation.
Rasha bowed deeply, as tradition demanded. Then she stood and met their eyes.
“I have something to say,” she began, her voice uncertain at first. “The flame spoke to me.”
Murmurs broke out immediately.
One of the elder warriors, his face half-branded with an old scar, scoffed aloud. “The flame has spoken to our great warriors and wisest shamans and elders, girl, you are neither.” She did not flinch.
“It entered me,” she said. “It gave me a message. It said that fire is not here only to make us strong. It is here to guide and connect us. It said we have forgotten.”
The murmurs faltered, discomfort evident in their expressions. The head fire shaman stepped forward, his robes trimmed in dull obsidian cloth.
“You?” he asked slowly. “Weak of fire, marked only with an Ember Sigil, lowborn and no standing, You say the flame chose you?”
Rasha nodded. “Yes. I felt it speak to my soul.”
They stared.
There was something in her gaze they could not dismiss.
“I know that I am nobody,” Rasha said. Her voice trembled. “But the Fire Spirit said that is why it chose me.”
A ripple of tension moved through the circle as The Village Chief’s son stepped forward, jaw clenched.
“How dare you?” he barked. “I am heir to this tribe. You are no one. Outer-ring trash. It should be me the Fire Spirit speaks to, not some stupid girl playing oracle.”
Flame surged to life in his hand. Without another word, he hurled a fireball at her. Gasps tore through the crowd. Inches before it could reach her, the flames answered.
A pillar of fire erupted from the ground, rising in a perfect circle around her. It swallowed the fireball whole, then faded into flickering cinders.
The Chief’s son staggered back, stunned. “What was that?” he shouted. “You do not have that much magic. You cannot have that much power.”
“It was the Fire Spirit,” Rasha said with certainty. “It protected me.”
His face twisted with rage. “I do not know what trick you are using, but I know you cannot do it twice.” This time he conjured a second fireball, larger and denser, roaring with heat, and hurled it with both hands.
The flames around Rasha answered again. This time, the shield did not vanish. It flared high for a single moment, heat screaming against the air, then settled. A ring of living flame curled near her ankles, vigilant and waiting.
“Father,” he cried, turning to the Village Chief.“We cannot let this blasphemy stand. She mocks everything we believe. The fire spirit is said to align with chosen leaders and here she is saying that the spirit is with her.” The contempt in his tone seared toward Rasha. “She wants to usurp you.”
The elder rose slowly, his eyes cold as ash.
“You are right, son.”Then he turned to Rasha.“From this moment on, you are banished from our lands.”
Shock rippled through the gathering.
Rasha stood frozen. Her heart thundered in her chest. Her hands trembled at her sides. Banished? Where am I supposed to go? What am I going to do?
Then, quietly within her, the Fire Spirit’s voice returned, Warm and Steady.
Do not worry. You will be safe. It is not you who should fear the path ahead. It is those who chose to ignore your message.
Rasha did not argue or plead to remain the tribe leaders directives were final.
As the murmurs of judgment swelled behind her, she bowed once, low and graceful, then turned away from the only home she had ever known, her eyes burning as hot as the flames at her ankles but she did not cry.
The flames licked gently at her heels as she gathered her belongings and continued until she passed the last post of the outer ring, flickering like a farewell.