What if the only way to save the realms was to awaken the memories you were born to forget?
The Spiral and the Flame is a visionary YA fantasy where memory itself becomes the key to survival. Vale, a young mystic marked by visions she cannot yet understand, discovers she is the Arch Keeper—chosen to guard the fragile veil between worlds. But her destiny is hidden inside forgotten truths, and if she cannot remember them in time, both realms will fall to darkness.
Blending mysticism, romance, and prophecy, this story invites readers into a world where light and shadow are bound together, and one girl’s awakening could ignite hope—or consume everything in flame.
What if the only way to save the realms was to awaken the memories you were born to forget?
The Spiral and the Flame is a visionary YA fantasy where memory itself becomes the key to survival. Vale, a young mystic marked by visions she cannot yet understand, discovers she is the Arch Keeper—chosen to guard the fragile veil between worlds. But her destiny is hidden inside forgotten truths, and if she cannot remember them in time, both realms will fall to darkness.
Blending mysticism, romance, and prophecy, this story invites readers into a world where light and shadow are bound together, and one girl’s awakening could ignite hope—or consume everything in flame.
Before anyone called her strange—before the drawings
turned into dreams, before the bruised-eyed figures stood at
her window—Vale already knew one thing:
The world was not as it seemed.
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She was seven when she told her mother not to leave the
kettle on.
“There’s no fire, Vale,” her mother laughed, brushing stray
curls from her forehead.
But Vale had already moved the spoon to the counter.
Five minutes later, when the gas flared without warning,
the kettle exploded. The only thing still untouched was the
spoon.
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The knowing didn’t come all at once.
It arrived like mist—drifting, soft, persistent.
She could smell sorrow before people cried.
See sickness coiled beneath someone’s ribs long before a
doctor named it.
Once, she placed her hand on a dying cat. It blinked,
purred, and stood.
Her mother had wept that day.
“Did you do something?” she asked, voice shaking.
“I didn’t mean to,” Vale whispered.
She hadn’t wanted to be feared. She just wanted the cat to
be well again.
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They moved two weeks later.
Again.
To a house that smelled like rosemary and old regret.
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Her mother tried: books on gifted children. Crystals from
catalogs. Letting Vale keep plants in the window “to calm her
energy.”
She spoke gently when teachers called about Vale.
When they said she was too quiet. Too knowing. Too
different.
She kept Vale close when neighbors watched too long.
“I won’t let them take you,” she whispered once into
Vale’s hair.
But there were other nights — nights when Vale woke
sobbing, whispering names she’d never learned. Nights
when she drew symbols she couldn’t read.
That was when her mother changed.
Her voice grew sharp. Her hands busied themselves with
dishes and wine. Her eyes no longer met Vale’s.
“You need to stop with the pictures,” she snapped one
night.
“But I just… see them,” Vale said quietly.
“Then unsee them.”
Then her mother slammed the door and didn’t return
until morning.
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At eight, Vale drew a being with twelve wings and no face.
After that, she saw it standing in the corner of her room.
It didn’t breathe. It didn’t move. But it watched her for
hours.
She didn’t tell anyone. Not even the sketchbook.
That was the first time she burned a drawing. It hissed in
the sink like it didn’t want to go.
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She healed a classmate who broke her arm during recess.
Vale simply touched her—gently. Felt the bone realign.
The girl walked away laughing.
Vale never touched anyone again. Not unless they asked,
which they rarely did.
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Her mother’s love became a lighthouse flickering in fog:
bright one moment. Gone the next.
When Vale was sick, her mother stayed up all night,
singing lullabies in a language she claimed to have forgotten.
But when Vale asked about her father, her mother went
silent.
And when Vale spoke again of the man in her dreams her
mother locked the bedroom door—from the outside.
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By nine, Vale had already learned how to disappear.
She spoke softly, moved carefully.
And tried not to glow too much.
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But magic is a living thing. And even a quiet child can be thunder to the unseen.
Especially a child like Vale.
Vale is an outcast. As a young girl whose dreams are full of visions and whispers of memories, she must come of age in a world that does not accept her for who she is. Her memories are lost, even to herself, and she must awaken her ancient bloodline to fulfill her destiny. When surrounded by those who can see her and care for her, she finally begins to become who she was meant to be. But will she remember her calling in time to put a stop to a semi-forgotten rival?
The Spiral and the Flame is a poetic story written in an engaging tone that creates a sense of mystery and longing to discover what finale awaits Vale and her companions. There is a hint of forbidden romance and a layer of suspense that draws the reader to continue through to the end. This coming-of-age fantasy will appeal to young adult readers who enjoy short, lyrical reads featuring characters of extraordinary abilities.
For much of the story, Vale lacks agency and primarily reacts to all the things happening to her. She becomes more dynamic when she is introduced to another character who shares her familiarity with being an outcast because of their abilities. As Vale and Lune grow close, a sisterly bond helps them rise to the challenge of facing the shadows that seek them, and Lune ultimately helps Vale to face her journey to discover her lost memories. Mara and Elara are additional characters that help shape Vale by guiding and protecting her through her awakening. These characters remain somewhat one-dimensional, but their bonding throughout this short novel helps create a sense of found family and acceptance.
It wasn’t clear whether this book had been originally written in first person and later switched to third person, but there were occasional point of view changes that were a bit jarring. For example, “Vale inhaled the smoke, let the rhythm enter me, and closed her eyes.” Towards the end of the book, the points of view also tended to blend together as all the characters joined forces, and the breaks between their individual perspectives became shorter, a few lines or paragraphs instead of a whole chapter. This made the ending feel somewhat rushed. Still, as the final events increased in intensity, the pace inevitably sped up as the conclusion unfolded.
This book seems best suited for young adults who have prior knowledge of the term “starseed” and the related beliefs. Readers looking for a quick read with a unique format and poetic writing are sure to enjoy giving The Spiral and the Flame a try.