C.S. Evermore's Blog

Embracing Duality: Stay close to the flames. For they burn, for Lyara & for you, flame seeker!

In the mystical realm of Nixia, a powerful force has emerged—
a flame-seeker unlike any before.

Once a fleeting presence during a time of reckoning,
she has now returned, ready to embrace her true identity.
The stars have aligned,
and with this revelation comes a pivotal moment:
there is no turning back.

What follows this transformation is the birth of Lyara unveiled—
the Shadow Wolf and the Nixian Queen.
She embodies two truths within one being,
carrying two legacies
and igniting two flames.

One flame judges,
while the other heals.
Both are forged in the fires of prophecy and betrayal,
creating a complex character who is neither wholly good nor evil.

Lyara’s emergence is not merely a change in title—
it serves as a warning of what lies ahead.
It reminds us all that she is now in control.

Her dress flows like living shadow,
curling at the edges as if summoned by her very will,
while her cloak, woven from the memory of starlight,
shimmers with every breath she takes.

These garments do not just adorn her—
they respond to her command.

In her duality,
Lyara is both mercy and executioner,
protector and storm.
She embodies the gentle voice of forgiveness
alongside the fierce howl of destruction.

In a world obsessed with absolutes,
Lyara stands as a testament to the power of nuance,
teaching us that real strength resides in the gray areas of life.

As we witness her journey,
we are reminded that embracing duality
can lead to profound transformation and resilience.

Welcome to the era of Lyara—
where the complexities of existence are embraced,
and the true essence of strength is revealed.

—–––––◦◦◦—–––––

The Weight That Doesn’t Let You Break

There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t look like crying.
It doesn’t scream or collapse or shout for help.

It’s quiet.
Functioning.
Still answering emails.
Still cooking dinner.
Still nodding and smiling when someone says,
"How are you doing?"

"I’m fine."

Not because you are.
But because you’ve been not fine for so long that it became your normal.
Because if you ever truly stopped—laid the weight down—
you’re afraid it wouldn’t just fall.
You would.

That’s the thing people don’t understand about this kind of burden.
It’s not just heavy—
it’s woven into you.

You’re not holding it in your arms.
You are it.
You carry it through your spine,
your breath,
your smile.

And worse—
it doesn’t even feel safe to put it down.

Because the world around you?
It’s not a place of soft landings.
It’s a bed of thorns.

Laying the weight down means laying yourself down—
and risking being pierced in every tender place
you’ve fought so hard to protect.

So you keep carrying.

Not because you’re a martyr.
Not because you’re invincible.
But because breaking feels like a luxury you can’t afford.

Because someone you love is in pain.
Because someone depends on your strength.
Because you’ve already been failed too many times
by those who were supposed to catch you.

And so you endure.

Hollowed out.
A soul that doesn’t sparkle right now.
A heart too tired to reach for hope.
But still—
you endure.

That’s where Elyndra came from.
Not a villain.
Not a savior.
Just a woman carved from centuries of silence.

A woman who stopped showing her pain
because the world didn’t reward vulnerability—
it punished it.

Every measured move.
Every cold glance.
Every choice that looked sharp from the outside—
was born from the same place:

The unbearable burden
of carrying what no one else would.

She wasn’t cruel. She was exhausted.
She wasn’t manipulative. She was surviving.
She wasn’t heartless. She was protecting
the last flicker of something too precious to risk.

She didn’t lead because she wanted power.
She led because someone had to remember
what they were before the world twisted them
into something unrecognizable.

So she bore the weight.
Even when it crushed her.
Even when it meant hiding the softest parts of herself
beneath iron.

Not because she was strong.
But because she had no permission to fall.

Just like you.

If this is you—
Please know this:

You are not weak.
You are not broken.
And even if you can’t feel your light—
you are still carrying it.

You are allowed to pause.
To cry.
To let someone see the truth behind your “I’m fine.”

And if no one else will hold that truth for you—
let these words do it.

You are not alone.
You are seen.

Even from afar,
there is someone willing to sit with you—
in this beautiful, brutal mess called life.

And one day,
when the world becomes softer—
or when you finally decide
to rise from the thorns and burn it all down—

You will remember:

You were never meant to carry it all alone.

—C.S. Evermore

The Most Bizarre Dream I Ever Had (And Why It Ended Up in My Book)

Every scene in The Nixian Chronicles has a purpose.
Some are dark, sacred, emotionally raw.
Others… are born from the most unhinged dreams I’ve ever had.

Like this one.

It started with a reality TV show.

In the dream, I was watching a show about Mrs. Claus.
She had taken a break from the North Pole while Santa prepped for his gift run.
And instead of elves and reindeer… the next scene opened on a yacht.
A lavish boat party.
Music, lights, magical beings everywhere.

And there she was.
Mrs. Claus.
Flirting with a half-goat, half-man creature who clearly had history with her.

They were laughing.
Glancing.
And then suddenly… they were at the bow of the ship.
(Yes, the same spot where Rose and Jack had their famous moment in Titanic.)

Except this wasn’t a romantic pose.
This was full-on, uncensored, mythologically-inappropriate goat-man passion.

It was as hilarious as it was disturbing.

Dream-me was narrating it all to my husband, laughing and saying:

"Oooohhh, you will not believe what Mrs. Claus just did.
She is definitely on the naughty list."

Then came the twist—because of course there was a twist.

The party ended.
But the goat-man?
He had fallen in love.

And the drama? Only just beginning.

I woke up somewhere between horror and amusement.

And somehow… that moment found its way into The Nixian Chronicles: The Awakening.

It’s the memory Lyara recalls when she considers the danger of telepathically entering someone else’s mind.
A memory of her younger self, haunted by a dream about Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus…
and the most unholy hybrid situation imaginable.

Because even in a story drenched in myth, trauma, and prophecy—
humor has a place.

That’s what I want readers to know:
Nothing in this book is random.
Every detail—no matter how strange—was chosen with purpose.

Sometimes, the purpose is to explore the weight of free will.
Other times… it’s to remind you:

The mind is wild.
And magic doesn’t always show up dressed in shadow and glory.
Sometimes it shows up laughing.

This part of the story is a reminder to embrace it all.
The good. The bad. The serious. The funny.
The weird. And yes… even the unhinged.

Because your mind?
It makes you magic.
My fantasy stories follow magical beings—
but they’re just a reflection of the real magic inside you.

Even the absurd can become sacred and meaningful,
if you give it the right frame.

So yes.
Mrs. Claus made the naughty list.
And she earned every line of it.

— C.S. Evermore

The Moment I Realized What I’m Really Building

It began with a scroll.

A small, quiet scroll sent to the ones who joined my newsletter early—my way of saying thank you. Of sharing something sacred. Something meant only for them.

“You were never meant to follow the path. You were meant to awaken it. You are Flame-Seeker. And the story sees you.”

I created it in stillness. With no fanfare, no algorithms, no tricks—just a single thread of truth pulsing through my chest: Somewhere out there is someone who needs this. Someone who forgot they were allowed to remember.

Then today… I saw it again. Posted by someone I love. Scored to a cinematic track. Captioned with words that weren’t just flattery, but felt. And something inside me broke—wide open.

Because it hit me:

I’m not just writing a story.

I’m building a refuge. A summons. A light for the ones who keep asking:

“Was I made for more? Or was that hope a mistake?”

When I started writing The Nixian Chronicles, I didn’t do it for readers. I didn’t do it for a brand. I did it because I was trying to survive.

The world had taught me that being “strong” meant holding everything alone. That if I just planned better, tried harder, stayed smaller, stayed perfect… eventually it would all work out.

But it didn’t.

And one night, in that quiet breaking, I started writing. Not to escape—but to remember.

And slowly, something strange happened.

The pain didn’t vanish… But the pages held it. The words transformed it. The shadows turned into story.

And now—many moons later—I realize I was never writing for myself.

I was writing with myself. For you.

For the ones carrying invisible grief. For the ones who’ve been told their flame is too much, or not enough. For the ones who can’t quite put into words why they’re tired—only that they are. And for the ones who still believe, in some quiet part of their soul, that maybe… they were never meant to follow the path. They were meant to awaken it.

That’s why this world exists.

Not to entertain. Not to perform. But to witness.

To whisper, I see you, before you even know what that means.

And maybe that’s what shook me when I saw the scroll again—outside of me. Real. Alive. Echoed.

It was never just a fantasy scene. It was a love letter from one soul to another. A reminder that you were never broken, never too much or too little, you just hold magic so unique that the world isn't yet ready for. But then again, the ones who changed history rarely waited for permission. They moved anyway—and the world adjusted.

So if you’ve ever wondered what The Nixian Chronicles truly is— It’s not just a story.

It’s a remembering.

And the next time you open a chapter… know this:

You are seen. You are Flame-Seeker. And the story remembers you, too.

— C.S. Evermore

For the Ones Who Are Tired

Not the physical kind. The kind that lives in the soul.

There’s a kind of tired that doesn’t go away with sleep.
It’s not about stress. Or even sadness.
It’s deeper.

It’s the quiet ache of carrying too much for too long.
Of having to constantly pivot, because whatever you set out to do feels like a misstep.
Of waking up every day with a weight that doesn’t have a name.
Where even hope starts to feel like a burden instead of a light.

You don’t want to die.
You just want… peace.
To look up at the sky and say,

“I’m done. Can I come home now?”

That feeling is why I started writing.
Not to escape it—but to honor it.
To make space for the ones who carry that same invisible weight.

When I wrote the scene Nael-thren vora’kai: guide me home,
I wasn’t crafting a moment.
I was creating a place.
A quiet, sacred place where someone would sit with you in the dark—
not to fix you.
Not to preach.
Just to be with you.
To hold you until you’re strong enough to stand again.

That’s what I longed for.
And I know I’m not the only one.

This story wasn’t written for the fearless.
It was written for the ones who feel broken.
The grieving.
The tired.
The ones who’ve had to hold it together for everyone else—
until they forgot what it felt like to be held.

And just days ago, I found myself needing that scene again.

I had an attack—sharp, fast, and hollowing.
The kind of moment where everything spirals and nothing feels real.
I couldn’t think clearly.
I couldn’t ground.
I couldn’t even name what I loved about myself.
All I could feel was dread. And a deep ache in my chest that whispered,

“You’re not enough. You’ve failed. It’s too much.”

But I reached out.

And someone stayed with me—without trying to fix it.
Without trying to make it poetic or “powerful.”
They just stayed.

And slowly, the storm passed.
Not because I fought it—
but because I was met in it.

That’s what that scene was for.
Not just for Lyara.
Not just for fiction.
For me.
And maybe…
for you too.

If you’re there right now—
I see you.
And if you’ve read The Nixian Chronicles: The Awakening,
you already know:

The light doesn’t always look like light.
Sometimes it’s just someone staying with you long enough for you to believe you still deserve to be here.

— C.S. Evermore

If Survival Demanded a Price

No heroes. No easy choices.

There’s a version of the story we all crave.
The one where the right thing is clear.
Where the villain is obvious.
Where good triumphs.
Where the hero walks away clean.

But that version rarely survives the real world.

Because sometimes, survival demands a price.
And there is no “right choice.”
Just consequences—some immediate, some that echo for years.

I’ve always been drawn to the in-between.
To the moments that split a soul down the middle:
Do you save your flesh and blood, knowing the cost will make someone else call you a monster?
Do you keep your hands clean—or do the thing no one else is willing to do?

What if no matter what you choose…
you’re branded the villain?

There are no clean wins in these moments.
Only the weight of them.

And maybe that’s why these kinds of characters haunt me.
Not because they’re perfect.
But because they’re presented the impossible.
And still—they choose.

The question isn’t “What would the hero do?”
The question is:
What would you be willing to lose… to protect your family?
Or worse—to save yourself?
And who would you become if the cost was everything?

That’s the tension that lives in the quiet corners of my work.
The question beneath the magic.
No right. No wrong. Just… choice.
And the price that follows.

— C.S. Evermore

The Nixian Chronicles: The Awakening

The Awakening Was Never Meant to Be Gentle

The Nixian Chronicles: The Awakening didn’t begin as a novel.
It began as a question:

What happens when a hero’s mercy becomes a weapon against them?

I was frustrated by stories where the hero’s righteousness let the villain escape—
even when it was clear their actions stemmed from nothing but cruelty and control.
Mercy matters.
But some villains don’t want saving.
Some are twisted at the core.
And when a hero lets them walk away again and again out of principle…
that’s not compassion.
That’s surrender.
And it’s more harmful to the people they claim to protect.

That frustration became Lyara.

A chosen one trained for balance—
inside a system that never truly wanted her to survive.

At first, it was just a short story.
But the world kept expanding—because the questions wouldn’t stop.

The ritual scene was born from something I lived:
burnout.
Not the kind you recover from with a weekend off.
The kind that empties you, cracks you, and rebuilds you into someone you barely recognize.

Sarah’s arc?
That came from trust—
given to someone who didn’t know what to do with it.
The kind that changes how you hear silence.

And as I kept writing, I realized:
This wasn’t just Lyara’s story.

It was about systems that reward compliance.
The ache of playing roles you were praised for—
until they became your cage.

It was about questioning everything you were told was sacred…
because survival demanded it.

You were never meant to feel safe in this story.
You were meant to feel seen.
To feel haunted.
To feel called.

Because every awakening starts with the same feeling:

Something isn’t right here.
Even if you can’t name it yet.

There’s a moment in The Awakening where everything breaks.
Not with fire—but with quiet.
And if you’ve reached the end, then you already know:

The real enemy isn’t who you thought it was.

But maybe…
that’s true outside these pages, too.

— C.S. Evermore