The Silent Name

Ryn's mind still reeled from what he had seen in the mirror. The battlefield, the throne, his older self—it was more than just a vision. It felt like a certainty. A path already carved into time, waiting for him to follow.

But why? And by whom?

Serafina broke the silence first. "We need to leave."

Korin frowned. "Are you sure that's wise? We don't even know what that was."

Ryn exhaled, still staring at the mirror's now-dormant surface. "It doesn't matter. We can't stay here."

The chamber felt smaller now, the weight of what had transpired pressing against him. The Silent Name wasn't just some relic of the past—it was alive, moving through him. And it wasn't finished yet.

Lyara nodded, gripping the strap of her satchel tighter. "Then let's move. Before this place decides we've overstayed our welcome."

They retraced their steps through the winding corridors, back through the great hall where the entity had first spoken to them. The weight of its presence still lingered, but the shadows had receded, leaving the space feeling empty. Hollow. As if something had already shifted beyond their comprehension.

As they climbed out of the ruins, the air above was sharp with the scent of rain. A storm had begun to gather over the cliffs, lightning flickering in the distance. The vast plains beyond stretched out, a reminder of how much farther they still had to go.

Korin wiped sweat from his brow. "So, what now?"

Ryn didn't hesitate. "We keep moving."

Serafina frowned. "Moving where?"

He looked toward the distant mountains, where the next piece of his journey awaited. The weight of the Silent Name pressed against his chest, unseen yet undeniable. "To the only place that might hold answers."

The others didn't question it. They had seen too much, and doubt had long since become an unnecessary luxury.

And so they set off, leaving the ruins behind—unaware that something deep within them had changed forever.

The storm chased them across the plains, wind howling like a thousand voices at their backs. Ryn led the group toward the foothills, where the ground grew uneven, jagged with old scars from past battles. The air was thick with tension, and it wasn't just the coming rain.

He could still feel it. The presence of something unseen, lingering just beneath his skin. The mirror had shown him a glimpse of something he wasn't meant to see. And now, it was as if the world itself was reacting to that knowledge.

They set up camp beneath a rocky overhang, the fire crackling low against the wind. Lyara had taken first watch, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. The others rested, though sleep did not come easily.

Ryn sat apart from them, staring into the fire. His fingers traced the sigil over his heart, the warmth of its glow barely perceptible. Questions clawed at him, demanding answers he didn't have.

Korin sat down beside him, tossing a small stone into the flames. "You've been quiet."

Ryn didn't look up. "There's a lot to think about."

Korin nodded. "Yeah. Like why an ancient ruin decided to show you your own face on a battlefield?"

Ryn let out a humorless chuckle. "Something like that."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind howled through the rocks, the fire flickering in its wake.

Then Korin said, "You know, whatever this is, you're not in it alone."

Ryn glanced at him. There was no judgment in Korin's expression—just understanding. It was a rare thing, and it cut deeper than any blade.

Before Ryn could reply, Lyara tensed. Her hand flew to her bow.

"Something's coming."

The others stirred instantly, weapons in hand. The wind shifted, carrying with it the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps. But they were not alone.

The shadows of the night shifted, twisting into something more than darkness.

And then, the first figure stepped into the firelight.

A woman—tall, clad in deep black robes that shimmered with an unnatural sheen. Her eyes gleamed, catching the flickering flames like shards of onyx. She moved with an eerie stillness, her presence stretching beyond her physical form, as if something unseen trailed behind her.

Serafina was the first to react, her fingers curling around the hilt of her blade. "Who are you?"

The woman tilted her head slightly, as if amused by the question. "Names hold power, and I am in no rush to grant you mine. But you may call me Morva."

Korin stepped forward, jaw tight. "What do you want?"

Morva studied them, her gaze settling on Ryn. Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "I want nothing. But you... you are carrying something that was never meant to be found."

Ryn felt his pulse quicken. The Silent Name. She knew.

Before he could respond, the wind howled louder, and the fire suddenly dimmed, as if an unseen force had pressed against it. Shadows flickered unnaturally, stretching beyond the reach of the flames.

"You should not have entered those ruins," Morva continued, her voice calm despite the rising tension in the air. "There are forces that do not wish to be disturbed."

"Too late for that," Ryn said, his hand tightening into a fist. "If you came to threaten us, you'll find we're not as easy to break as you think."

Morva's smile widened, though there was no warmth in it. "Oh, I do not doubt your strength, Ryn. But strength alone will not save you from what is coming."

Ryn felt a chill run down his spine. She spoke with certainty, as if she had already seen the road ahead—as if she had been waiting for him.

Lyara took a cautious step forward. "What do you know?"

Morva exhaled, the flickering firelight reflecting in her dark eyes. "I know that the path you have chosen is one few survive. I know that the Silent Name does not reveal itself without consequence."

She looked at Ryn directly, her gaze sharp as a blade. "And I know that you have begun to change."

The words hit like a hammer. He had felt it too. The weight in his chest, the voice in the back of his mind, whispering with an authority that was not his own.

Before Ryn could demand more, the wind surged, kicking up a flurry of dust and embers. Morva took a step back into the shifting darkness.

"Be careful where you tread, Ryn," she said. "The echoes of your name are only just beginning."

And then she was gone, swallowed by the night.

The fire crackled in the silence she left behind. No one spoke. No one dared.

Because they all felt it.

The storm had truly begun.