Deep down I must have always known
That this would be inevitable
To earn my stripes I'd have to pay
And bear my soul

Flames. Whipping, spiraling. A vortex so hot it could melt steel, could warp sand into glass. Burning. Incinerating. Scorching. Melting. The mighty cyclone of fire crested upwards, a blazing beacon of death and destruction, spanning from the earth into the heavens, calling their Sun Daughter home.

Flesh peeled back from muscle and bones, charred and broiled. Hair and flowers ignited, reeking of death, of blood, cloying burnt nostrils and stealing away all of her senses. Feathers spread upon powerful wings turned brittle, melting in the inferno, charred limbs falling completely from her body like twigs in a storm. Vermilion eyes rolled, frantic, pale lips parted in a soundless scream, in confusion, in terror.

Stop. STOP! There was pain. There was suffering. There was agony as the flames licked and kissed her body, ripping her apart, throwing her into the heavens like a sacrifice. Her element itself, so passionate, so warm, so fierce, turning against her, consuming her whole. Daddy! A plea, a prayer, a whisper and a shout of reverence, of salvation. Please, please, please!

'Sleep, now. Israfel, my daughter, my beloved flame...' A voice. Low, affectionate. Familiar. Apologetic. It spoke to the Sun Daughter, reverberating in her ears, washing out the fury of the flames gusting about her, reminding her of a sun over the land, bright, promising, a balm after a cold night. It spoke, and in those masculine words that were so familiar, she found redemption. She found respite. She found heaven.

In those words, the pain finally grew into a satisfying, cool numbness, and the Daughter of the Sun knew no more.

Israfel Azardokht. The Daughter of Fire.

Helovia: The Beginning

Israfel's conception was not one born of romance and love. It was not brought on by compassion, by desire, by romantic flirtations and the courtships of yearning. It was not spurred by heartfelt sonnets or long-lived love, of helpless crushes and innocent giggles. Instead, her life came to light as though a match had been struck; sudden, bright, and far too fleeting.

The God of the Sun had needed progeny. He had sought out a mare that would produce him an heir, and had come across the slate grulla mare, Smoke the Wild Rose. Together, they had produced Israfel, the daughter of the Sun.

Israfel was born to the World's Edge of Helovia, a land shrouded in mists, thick forests, vast cliff-sides, and crashing waves, a patron land to the Goddess of the Moon. It was there that she grew up, curious, headstrong, and passionate. The world was her oyster, and she planned to find that pearl and wear it. Ever since her earliest days of awareness did Smoke tell her of her father, the Sun of the God, and patiently did she explain what that made her. A demi-Goddess. Half-God, half-mortal. Her life was to be arduous. It was to be filled with trials, with tribulations, with failures and victories. They would be frequent. They would be few. Ultimately, however, Israfel's life was her own to live, and she would need to make it that way.

She lived like the flame she embodied; feisty, uncontrollable, and wild. Little did she fear, becoming somewhat haughty in her youth, tempting fate and laughing in the face of destiny. Israfel grew taller, broader, becoming a young woman before the world's very eyes. There was not a land she did not visit, a soul she did not wish to meet. From the Northern Mountains of the Aurora Basin to the beaches of the Endless Blue did she venture, captivated by exploration, by learning, by the simple and elaborate desire to live. Those who flew in the air with mighty wings, however, were her favorite beings to encounter, for once she had mastered flight, Israfel was rarely not in the air. With her mastery of flight, however, came the mastery of her magics.

Bestowed upon her with her birth, gifted from the loins of her Godly Father, Israfel mastered the flames she could conjure up at her own whim. With them, she could fight and she could travel. Manifesting massive pillars of flames, the demi-Goddess could warp from one area to another, unhurt by the fire she controlled.

For the duration of her life, Israfel simply lived, elated to simply be as opposed to achieve. It was at her death, however, that her life truly began. A prophecy. A beckoning. A promise of more to come, more destruction, and more loss. Israfel was ripped from the world by the very fires that she loved, that she commanded. Chosen by the Heavens themselves, the Daughter of the Sun was slain by her own passions, her own desires, a precursor of the death and decimation that Helovia was to inevitably face. Perhaps it was a blessing then, that her life ended so prematurely, a match flickering out before it had truly burned and blossomed, for she could not see the cruel end of the land she had so passionately adored.

Along a flight home to the World's Edge in the midst of the night, alone and forgotten, the skies had opened, and a pillar of flames had swallowed the Sun's Daughter whole, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

Life after Death

A gasp. One singular breath. New life filled empty lungs. Above, the heavens sobbed in mighty sheets of rain, their tears spurring movement into the pale form sprawled out in a pitiful heap amidst a grove of aspen trees. Another gasp. A twitch of a battered wing. Vermilion eyes slowly opened, lost, confused... Confused, but very much alive.

Alive?

The last thing that Israfel could remember was fire and pain. It had swallowed her, consumed her, and she had prayed for deliverance, and... And then nothing. Darkness. Blissful nothingness. A void of time where she felt memories should be, but there she was, alive. Weak. Tired, but alive.

Breathing.

Even as the rains inevitably stopped, Israfel remained in that small grove of aspen trees for many days following her revival. At first, she could hardly move. It took all of her strength to simply eat, consuming the rich grasses that grew abundantly in the grove. After that, she would sleep, and dream of the life she had once lived. Slowly, however, her strength returned. Eventually she was able to stand, to walk, to trot, to run. It was quite some time until she found the willpower and courage to fly, however, but the first test flight, albeit hardly off of the ground and only for a few moments, had brought so much joy to her battered heart that she had, for the first time in a very long time, laughed her joy to the world.

Her magics, however, were gone. Whether it was from the experience of death, or some other power at work, Israfel did not know. No longer could she control the fires of her birthright, using flames as her weapons or to fast travel from one location to another. She was, quite honestly, just Israfel. But she lived, and that was all that mattered. Everything else would come with time.

When her strength had returned, Israfel had finally left the safety of her aspen grove. She had no idea where she was, but all that she knew was that her old life was now a thing of the past, but as her mother had always instructed her, she must learn to live a life of her very own. Second chances were hard to come by, and the Daughter of the Sun had no intentions on squandering such a precious gift.