Is that SIMONA BROWN? No, thatâs just FLINT (IGNIS) PYRE-SPARKS. They were born on 09/04/1940 and are a FIRE ELF living in Northknot Town. They work as a EDITOR/OWNER OF THE SECOND FLAME/CLAN LEADER. Some say they're UNSHAKEABLE and STRATEGIC, but Iâve heard others say they're EMOTIONALLY AVOIDANT and CONTROL-ORIENTED. When you think of HER, donât you think of QUIET BOOKSTORES HIDING DANGEROUS TRUTHS, SMOKE CURLING FROM A TEACUP AT MIDNIGHT & INK-STAINED HANDS AND FIRELIGHT EYES?
Name: Flint Solaris Eleni Pyre-Sparks (nĂŠe Ignis) Pronunciation: FLINT so-LAR-iss eh-LEN-ee PIRE-sparks (IG-niss) Nickname(s): The Quiet Flame, Sol (by those closest to her only), My Spark (by her late husband, Inti, only) Birthday: April 9th, 1940 Age: 86 (appears mid-30s) Zodiac Sign: Aries Sun Gender: Cis-Female Pronouns: She/Her Species: Fire Elf Orientation: Bisexual, Demiromantic Occupation: Editor, Owner of The Second Flame (bookstore), & Fire Clan Leader Faceclaim: Simona Brown
HEADCANONS
Flint rarely raises her voice. When she does, itâs worse than shouting. It means something has crossed a line she does not redraw
She drinks her tea nearly scalding. She says it tastes better that way. Itâs really about feeling heat that doesnât burn out of control
She alphabetized her bookstore shelves three different ways in her head before choosing the âofficialâ system. Control soothes her
She keeps every old ledger sheâs ever started. Even the messy ones. Especially the messy ones
Flint has never thrown away Intiâs coat. It still hangs in the back of her closet
She struggles with physical affection but initiates it in subtle ways, like adjusting a collar or brushing ash off someoneâs sleeve
She memorizes escape routes in every building she enters
She prefers really early mornings. The hour before the world wakes feels honest
She has a terrifyingly calm interrogation presence. Silence is her weapon of choice
Flint reads crime and political theory more than fantasy. She wants to understand systems, not escape them
She cannot stand unfinished sentences. Closure matters to her in everything
She calls her children every night before going to bed. Ensuring they are safe is the only way she can fall asleep at night
She keeps a hidden journal separate from her official records. That one is not logic, not in the slightest. Itâs grief
Flint does not cry in front of others, except for her twin and even then itâs a rare occurrence. The last time she did, she was nineteen
She hates being surprised. Not because she dislikes spontaneity, but because unpredictability once cost her everything
She smells faintly of smoke and old paper at all times
Flint wears rings even when sheâs working her fire magic. The weight grounds her
She remembers insults from decades ago but chooses not to retaliate until it matters
She believes in second chances for others far more than she grants them to herself
Flint does not fear death. She fears failing to prevent it
APPEARANCE
Flint carries herself with composed intensity, the kind that makes a room subtly recalibrate when she enters it. Her skin is deep and luminous, warm-toned like embers beneath ash. Her eyes are dark and steady, almost black at first glance, but lit from within when she is thinking, as though firelight lives behind them. She has high, defined cheekbones and a sculpted jaw softened only by the rare curve of her smile. Her hair is thick and dark, often worn in natural curls or pulled back in protective styles that keep it controlled but powerful, framing her face with quiet authority. She favors structured silhouettesâtailored coats, high collars, fitted trousersâclothing that feels deliberate rather than ornamental. Even at rest, she stands tall, shoulders squared, spine straight, like someone who refuses to bend unless she chooses to. There is something unmistakably elemental about her presence: grounded, controlled heat contained beneath elegance
PERSONALITY
Flint is disciplined before she is anything else. She does not erupt; she calculates. Years of loss carved precision into her, and now she moves through the world like someone who has already studied every possible fracture point. She is observant to an almost unnerving degree, remembering details others forget and patterns others miss. Where Leon burns outward, Flint burns inward, steady and controlled. She loves through structure, through safeguards, through making sure the doors are locked and the wards are reinforced. If she gives you rules, it is because she intends for you to survive. If she watches you closely, it is because she has already imagined losing you. She is not cold, though many mistake her restraint for it. Her warmth exists in deliberate acts: perfectly curated shelves in her bookstore, a hand lingering briefly at a shoulder, the quiet way she checks that her children are home before she sleeps. She does not forgive easily, least of all herself. But she is not bitter. She is patient. She is enduring. And beneath all that control lives a woman who is still, quietly, looking for the truth
AESTHETIC
quiet bookstores hiding dangerous truths - smoke curling from a teacup at midnight - ink-stained hands and firelight eyes - frost creeping along a windowpane - ledgers filled with names no one else remembers - a gold wedding band worn thin - heavy wool coats in winter air - candlewax on dark wood - silence that listens back - twin shadows cast against stone walls - embers refusing to die
CONNECTIONS
The Council Skeptic A fire clan council member who thinks Flint is becoming too paranoid. They clash over security, over secrecy, over how much fear should shape policy
The Anchor Flintâs closest friend outside of Leon. The one person who knew her before leadership calcified her. They sit comfortably in her silence. Theyâve seen her laugh. Theyâve seen her cry once. They treat her like a person. They stand beside her as her equal. They are fiercely loyal but not blindly so, will call her out without disrespect. If Flint ever loses herself in obsession, this is the person who grabs her shoulders and says, âEnough,â and Flint actually listens. They are not soft. They are steady
The Soft Place (Celaena) This begins as proximity, not romance. A council liaison, historian, security consultant, bookstore regular who refuses to flinch around her, etc. They do not try to soften her or fix her. They simply stand beside her without fear. The realization hits Flint suddenly one day: she trusts them. And then, more dangerously, she wants them there. The slow burn is not denial of feeling, but fear of what loving again costs. Late nights in the bookstore. Shared glances in council. Almost-confessions interrupted by duty. Guilt creeping in when she thinks about her late husband. Pulling back. Stepping closer. They respect Intiâs memory instead of competing with it. And eventually, when Flint stops retreating, the choice will be deliberate. Not wildfire. A hearth built slowly, brick by brick
The Woman Declared Dead Officially, Solana vanished during an expedition gone wrong. No body was recovered. The case was closed. Flint states plainly that both of her parents are dead. Leon has never fully accepted that. Whether Solana truly died, survived in silence, or was forced into disappearance is unknown. If she lives, she has allowed her children to believe she did not come back. If she died, there are still too many questions about how. The tension lies in belief. If the truth ever surfaces, it will not just reopen old wounds. It will redefine them
The Quiet Rival Another leader from a neighboring clan, possibly, who respects Flint deeply but competes with her influence. Mutual recognition. Mutual caution
BIOGRAPHY
tw: violence, torture, murder, blood, disappearance, parental death
In the 1300s, before Northknot was formalized, before councils, borders, or recorded law, the fire elves and snow elves were already divided. Not by open war, but by belief. There was a stretch of contested land where fire and frost magic overlapped unnaturallyâa convergence site, where opposing elements did not cancel but amplified one another. It was not an artifact. It did not think. But it magnified whatever touched it. In steady hands, it could reinforce wards, strengthen barriers, stabilize fragile magic. In desperate hands, it could become something far worse.
The snow elves believed the site should be sealed entirely, locked in ice and forgotten. The fire elves believed suffocating it would destabilize the land over time. Eventually, a quiet accord was reached. Not peaceâcontainment. The site would not be claimed. It would not be weaponized. Access paths would be obscured. Both sides would pretend it was simply another scar in the wilderness.
What the fire elves never knew was that among certain snow elf circles, an older warning survivedâpassed only through oral tradition, never written, never formally acknowledged by their leadership. A line remembered in frost-scarred whispers:
âWhere frost first kissed flame, memory lingers. In balance, it is mercy. In hunger, it devours. Beware the mirrored soul. When twin flame births twin flame, the seam thins.â
âThe old that is strong does not wither.â
Flint Solaris Eleni Ignis was born on April 9, 1940âan Aries, fire-bound, and one half of a rare phenomenon known as simultaneous twins. She and Leon were born at the exact same moment. No first. No second. Two halves of a single ignition. Among the fire clan, twins were not simply siblingsâthey were balance incarnate. One flame split into mirrored forms. Where one burned outward, the other burned inward. Together, they were considered whole. Leon was passion and heat. Loud emotion. A quick temper. The kind of child who would throw himself into fights to defend others without thinking twice. Flint was a colder fireâmeasured, calculating, deliberate. She thought first. Watched longer. Chose when to burn. She was also the only one who could calm him. Born during a rare double-sun convergence, the twins were marked by omen and expectation from the start. Twins meant destiny. Destiny meant leadership. The fire clanâs Twin Flame philosophy held that only twins could truly leadâonly mirrored souls could keep the clan from consuming itself.
Their parents, Nyambe and Solana, were respected, influential, and quietly controversial. Calm voices in council chambers. Trustedâbut never entirely embraced. They were also inseparable from a close-knit group of other fire elves, all of whom had children around the same age. Flint and Leon grew up warm, if never soft. Surrounded by family. Surrounded by eyes. Outside their circle, harassment came early. Cinder-brats. Future tyrants. Two-headed flame. The adults pretended not to hear. Flint noticed. She learned fast: emotions made you visible. Logic made you untouchable. Their parents taught them this above all else: Fire is not rage. Fire is control. And snow elves do not hate fire elves. They fear what fire remembers. Flint would remember that line forever.
âMemory is the diary that we all carry about with us.â
When Flint and Leon were barely (nineteen to twenty-one), Nyambe and Solana left on an expedition. They never returned. Flint assumed the worst almost immediately. Abandonment. Choice. Silence that felt intentional. Leon refused to believe it. The argument escalated until Leonâs voice roseâsharp, furious, fueled by grief and loyalty. He accused Flint of betrayal for even thinking it. His temper flared, uncontained, blinding him. Then he caught his reflection. Saw his own eyesâwild, unrecognizable. They flicked to Flint. He thought he saw fear there. What he actually saw was shock. Flint had never seen that anger turned on her. Leon froze. Rage collapsed inward, replaced by fearâof himself, of what he was capable of. Flint realized then that he had frightened himself more than he had frightened her. She felt guilty. She let the argument drop. Let the subject change. Let herself become the anchor againâcooling him, steadying him, restoring balance the way she always had.
What they didnât know was that when tension between clans rose again, their parents, along with their close circle of friends, were involved in quietly reinforcing the convergence siteâs seal. Not moving it. Not claiming it. Simply ensuring no extremist group could exploit it. A rogue snow elf group, operating without clan sanction, believed the fire elves were preparing to use the site. They abducted Nyambe and Solana off record to demand access points and names. Nyambe refused. He was frozen and left to die. Solana broke when their children were threatened. She gave partial truthsânames, locations, fragmentsâenough for the rogue group to hunt down the rest of their circle. The snow and fire clan leadership never connected the deaths. The rogue group and their actions still remain unknown. And the warning about twin flame births remained buried in rumor.
âMonsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.â
When the fire clan sent out a search party a week after Nyambe and Solanaâs scheduled return, Flint and Leon went with them. They found Nyambe frozen solidâtortured, entombed in ice, left alone to die. Solana was gone. No body. No trail. No answers. It shattered something final in Flint. Whatever doubt remained hardened into certainty. If Solana was alive, she had chosen not to come back. If she was dead, she hadnât fought hard enough to survive for them. Flint never said it aloud again. But she believed it. Not long after, the deaths began. Nyambe and Solanaâs entire friend group died suddenly, violentlyâalways ice- or snow-related. No official connections were drawn. No culprits named. The clan spoke carefully. Avoidantly. Flint noticed.
The children left behindâFlint and Leonâs lifelong friends, all between seventeen and twenty-twoâfound one another at funerals, vigils, grief circles. Eventually, it became clear they were all that remained. They chose each other. They became family. Flint avoided grief by logic. Leon drowned in his. Flint reasoned herself into believing her parents had kept secrets, had failed them, had chosen something else over their children. She dropped the Ignis name and took Pyre, the name their found family created together. Leon hyphenated his. None of them knewâthen or nowâthat any of it was connected to the snow elves or the ancient feud.
âWe survive on hope, but we live on connection.â
About a year or two after the found family formedâafter grief had settled into something livableâFlint fell in love with Inti Sparks, another fire elf. It was not sudden, nor reckless. It was quiet, built on understanding and shared loss, on the kind of steadiness Flint trusted. About a year or so later, Flint and Leon were formally called into leadership. The transition was heavy with expectation, but inevitable. They stepped into their roles still carrying unhealed grief, still unsure how much of their lives truly belonged to them anymore. A year into leadership, Flint married Inti. Another year later, she became pregnant. The village knew she was expectingâbut only Flint, Leon, Inti, and a single council member knew the truth. She was carrying twins.
When Cole and twin (WC) were born, their existence was kept secret. They were raised in a second home just outside the village with their father, while Flint split her time between leadership and motherhood, between duty and a life she was terrified to lose. For four years, the world held. Word had spread far enough that one of the twin Fire clan leaders had given birth to twins of her own, and some old fears resurfaced in dangerous corners. To those who still believed the seam thinned with symmetry, the existence of her children was not innocent. It was alignment. And extremists, once convinced they are preventing disaster, rarely wait for proof.
âThose who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.â
Flint had only left home for an hour to pick up groceries. She returned to sirens, police tape, nosy neighbors, and the metallic scent of blood. Her stomach dropped to her feet and she rushed pass the emergency personnel on her front lawn. She saw the destruction inside her home. Saw Intiâs bodyâdrained of bloodâonly for a heartbeat before Leon shielded her from it. Her twins survived. They had hidden in a closet, watching through the slats as their father died protecting them. Flint did not heal. She hardened.
She didnât scream. She didnât collapse. Flint went coldâclinical, surgical. Leon grieved loudly enough for both of them. Flint let him. She took the twins back to the main house. Locked their world down. Wards. Guards. No unsupervised magic. Protection so tight it bordered on suffocation. Cole and twin (WC) grew up knowing their mother loved themâand knowing she was terrified of losing them. In the months that followed, Flint stepped away from visible leadershipânot renouncing her role, but just to survive. She bought a building for a bookstore, one with a small apartment above it, and lived there alone for eleven weeks while she worked to open it. No council. No twins. No Leon. Just quiet, ash settling, and the chance to breathe without being watched. The isolation reset her.
âYou have to carry the fire.â
When Flint returned home, she stepped back into visible leadership beside Leon. If anything, she was sharper than beforeâless patient with ceremony, more deliberate with decisions. She began keeping meticulous records. Names. Timelines. Patterns. She didnât know what she was looking for yetâonly that the deaths, the disappearances, and the attack on her family did not line up as coincidence. She earned a degree in literature, opened the bookstore, and later took an editing job at a local firm. She rented out the apartment above the shop to one of her employees. The store became a quiet fixture in Northknotâwarm, unassuming, and far more observant than it appeared.
At home, Flint was still strict. Discipline before comfort. Rules before reassurance. She triedâawkwardly, imperfectlyâto soften where she could. Leon remained the warmth her children gravitated toward. Today, Flint doesnât rage like wildfire. She burns like a hearth that never goes out. Warm to those she protects. Lethal to anyone who tries to take whatâs hers again. She still hasnât forgiven her parents. She definitely hasnât forgiven herself for leaving Inti and the twins alone all those years ago. But she is no longer drifting. Something doesnât add upâand Flint is done pretending it does.
