They didn't mean to find it.
They had only come to the ruins of Sereth Monastery to seek shelter from the cold. Just stone walls and broken rafters now—nothing that resembled the sacred place it had once been.
Teren kicked through fallen beams to make space for a fire, while Mirea explored the edges.
Frido wandered toward the altar—or what remained of it.
A slab of cracked marble, half-covered in moss. It still bore the faded sigil of the old Order: a circle split down the middle by a single feather.
Peace divided.
It felt familiar.
But it wasn't until he leaned forward to wipe the dust that he felt the slab shift beneath his hand.
There was something underneath.
---
The Passage Below
They had to use a broken spear to pry it open.
Stone groaned. Dust bloomed. A stairwell spiraled into darkness.
Teren whistled. "If this is where the monks kept their ale, I'm moving in."
But Mirea was already descending.
Frido followed, the light of their torch licking the walls.
Symbols lined the stone—curved like waves, marked with silver ash.
When they reached the bottom, they found a door.
Not locked.
Not even fully closed.
But sealed with something older than wood.
A feeling.
Mirea stepped back. "Do you feel that?"
Frido nodded. "Like we're being watched. But gently."
He pushed the door open.
---
The Library Without Records
It was a library—but not in any way they had expected.
No shelves.
Just pillars.
Dozens of them. Each etched with words in languages that twisted and shimmered when stared at too long.
Some pillars pulsed faintly, like they were breathing.
Frido stepped closer to one.
The symbols on it rearranged until they formed his name.
He stepped back.
So did the letters.
"Did anyone else see that?" he asked.
Mirea and Teren looked pale.
"I think," Mirea whispered, "this room knows us."
---
The Prophecy of the Forgotten
At the center of the room stood a single pedestal.
Upon it, a stone tablet.
No dust. No decay.
Just a single, carved message:
> _"One will walk without blade,
Bear the silence of ten thousand voices,
And give their name to the void
So others may speak again."_
Frido reached out, fingers brushing the edge.
The room shifted.
A wind rose from beneath the floor. The pillars glowed. The writing on the walls blurred into song—melodic, wordless, ancient.
Frido fell to his knees.
Not from pain.
From recognition.
---
A Name Too Heavy
When the light faded, Frido remained still.
Mirea knelt beside him. "Frido? Are you—?"
He didn't answer.
Because something had been placed inside his heart.
Not a thought.
A knowing.
> He would not survive the end of this journey.
> And he would not be remembered for how he died—
but for how he chose to live.
He looked at Mirea.
And saw that she knew too.
Not everything. But enough.
Their eyes met.
No words passed between them.
But she reached out and took his hand.
For the first time.
And didn't let go.
---
What the Room Remembered
As they made to leave, a final message appeared above the door they had entered through.
Teren read it aloud:
> "Only the forgotten are free."
They left in silence.
Outside, the wind had died.
The sky was unusually clear, as if the stars themselves had paused to listen.
Frido turned back toward the ruins.
He didn't speak.
But in his heart, the room's message echoed again and again.
> "Give your name to the void…"
He didn't know what it meant exactly.
But he was beginning to understand:
It wasn't just about sacrifice.
It was about erasure.
About being the reason others lived… without anyone remembering why.
---
Mirea's Fear
That night, Mirea couldn't sleep.
She sat beside the fire, eyes wide in the dark.
Frido slept soundly, hands tucked beneath his head.
She whispered, "You're going to do it, aren't you? Just walk into the end without asking if anyone would stop you."
She closed her eyes.
"I would. I will. But you won't let me."
She reached into her pack, pulling out the same blank parchment.
Wrote a single line this time:
> If you disappear, I'll remember twice as hard. For both of us.
She folded it. Tucked it away.
And finally let herself weep.
Quietly.
So he wouldn't wake.
---
Teren's Warning
The next morning, as they packed their things, Teren took Frido aside.
"That room," he said. "I've heard stories. Old ones."
Frido waited.
"They say those places were built by the Peacekeepers. Before kingdoms. Before memory. People who didn't believe in heroes. Only choices."
Frido said, "And you think I'm making the wrong one?"
Teren shook his head. "I think you've already made it. And you're not telling us."
Frido looked away.
Teren clapped him on the shoulder. "Just don't forget—we're not here to watch you die. We're here to help you live."
---
[End of Chapter 27]