It started, simply, as a story. A myth about a god named Kael. A fire. A tribe. A reckoning.
But The Book of Fire was never just a novel. It’s a transmission. A memory. A code buried in ash.
Because what I’ve been trying to build, this Tribe, it was never going to live inside a handbook or a manifesto. The frameworks are useful. The tactics matter. But what we’re building here? It needed blood. It needed rhythm. It needed something alive.
So I wrote a myth.
Not to entertain. To remember.
Why Myth?
Because we remember stories. We relate to stories. Stories let us speak in flame and shadow, not bullet points.
The Book of Fire is built on the oldest scaffolding we have, cross-cultural archetypes, universal human longing, and the raw ache of becoming. It’s mythic because that’s how we feel truth. That’s how we carry it.
Also? I just love it. The ancient world. The subtle magic. The symbols you don’t fully understand until they show up in your own life.
What Makes This Book Different?
Most of what I’ve written before was straight to the point, nonfiction, tactical, built to teach or train. But this?
This is different. This is fiction with a purpose. A ritual disguised as story. A myth written to feel like memory, because for us, it is.
The Book of Fire isn’t just part of the Tribe.
It is the Tribe.
It’s the backbone. The origin. The campfire we circle around to remember who we are and why we came.
I’m not Shakespeare. I’m not Austen. I’m not Tolkien. This book wasn’t written to impress some future literature teacher in a sophomore classroom in Three Way, Tennessee.
It was written for the ones who’ve been walking with a map they couldn’t read… until now.
It was written for the ones who’ve felt the fire, but never had a name for it.
This book doesn’t just tell a story. It transmits a system. It encodes the virtues, the vision, the tension, and the transformation at the core of this Tribe.
This isn’t fiction for fun.
It’s myth with muscle.
It’s sacred architecture, hidden in ash, waiting to be claimed.
Who I Wrote It For
I wrote this for my people. Even if I don’t know their names yet.
I wrote it for the ones who look around this world and think, “There has to be more.”
Not more money.
Not more content.
Not more manufactured outrage.
More real.
More meaning.
More connection.
More soul.
I wrote it for the ones who have that ache beneath the surface.
The ones who feel like ghosts in the machine.
The ones who are done pretending comfort is the same thing as purpose.
These are the people I want in my circle. The ones who already know there’s something sacred inside them, but haven’t had the words or the mirror to name it yet.
This book is a mirror.
Why It Matters Now
We live in a world of noise. Lots and lots of noise. But beneath all the scrolls and swipes and shouted opinions, something deeper is dying.
Connection.
Purpose.
Place.
Too many of us are living lives that feel… off. Like we were meant to burn for something, but no one ever showed us how to light the damn match.
This book isn’t for everyone.
It’s for the ones climbing the same invisible mountain I’ve been climbing for twenty years.
It’s a flare fired into the sky.
Not to get attention.
To find the others.
Why It Matters for the Tribe
The Tribe of the Fire isn’t built on rules. It’s built on remembrance.
The Book of Fire gives us something ancient to carry forward. It speaks in archetype, not algorithm. It names the parts of us we forgot, and the path back to what matters.
Every character is an echo.
Every trial is a template.
Every fire lit in the book is a fire waiting to be lit in someone’s real life.
This isn’t just a novel. It’s the spine of a movement. It gives us a shared myth, a common language, and a way to frame our wounds without flattening them.
It’s a story to enter.
To play with.
To live inside.
If you’re reading this and something in you just sat up straighter… good!
That’s the signal.
Not everyone hears it.
But if you do? Step closer.
The fire remembers.
~Jason
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