The days after the throne's awakening passed in strained silence.
Asher and Liaen had carried Emilia from the blackstone chamber moments before it collapsed in on itself. She hadn't stirred since.
They found shelter in an abandoned watchtower east of Alsira—far beyond the Soulwarden Council's reach. For now, it was safe.
Asher sat close to the fire, his eyes never leaving Emilia's motionless form. She lay bundled in thick blankets, her breathing shallow but steady. Yet her soul flickered—dim and erratic, like a lantern in a gale.
"She's still connected to that thing," Liaen said quietly. "I can feel it. Like a thread wrapped around her soul."
"She locked it down," Asher replied. "But the thread stayed. She didn't just close the door… she held it shut."
Elira hovered nearby, her form thinner than ever. A shimmer barely holding shape.
"Her soul is anchoring the throne," she said. "She can hold it for now… but if the Cult finds her before she regains control—"
"They'll rip it open from the inside," Liaen finished grimly.
At dawn, Emilia stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open—glazed at first, then sharp with awareness.
"I saw them," she whispered. "Their names."
Asher leaned in, his voice low. "Whose names?"
"The Choir. The leaders of the Cult of Shattered Names. They weren't human. Not anymore."
She clutched her chest, eyes haunted. "They wore faces like masks—hundreds of them. Laughing, screaming… chanting their true names. And those names… they break things inside you."
Liaen stiffened. "Soul-shatterers."
Elira nodded. "The most feared soul wielders. Names so powerful they vanish from memory the moment they're heard. Even written words can't contain them."
"They're planning something," Emilia said. "In Alsira. A gathering. A ritual."
Asher's jaw tightened. "Then we stop them—before it begins."
They traveled only by night.
No open roads. No firelight unless shielded. Emilia's strength returned quicker than any of them expected. Her soul-light grew more focused, more precise—brighter and colder. She could now sense soul corruption from miles away.
"I'm changing," she admitted one night, watching the fire's reflection twist in her palm. "It's not just power. It's like… pieces of me aren't mine anymore."
Asher turned to Elira, who hovered behind them in silence.
"We'll protect who you are," he said gently. "Even if it means fighting what you might become."
As they neared the edge of Alsira, Liaen revealed a hidden vault buried beneath the city's merchant quarter—an old Soulwarden cache, long abandoned and sealed.
Inside, time seemed to slow. Scrolls lined the walls. Weapons, charms, and forbidden tomes sat on dust-covered shelves, many of them marked with the Cult's seal.
Elira drifted toward a crimson-bound book stitched with sinew.
"This belonged to one of the Choir," she murmured. "It lists fragments of their true names."
Asher reached for the tome—then flinched back as the ink swam across the page. Letters twisted into one another. The parchment pulsed. The page screamed without making a sound.
"Burn it," he said.
"No," Emilia replied, stepping forward. Her hand closed over the book. "We need it. If I can match the names to the voices I heard… I can bind them."
Liaen's voice was tight. "You're talking about summoning soul-entities. That's a line you don't uncross."
"I already crossed it," she said. "When I sat on that throne."
That night, they prepared for what came next.
Their plan: infiltrate the Cult's inner circle during the upcoming "New Choir" ritual.
"It'll be in the shattered cathedral," Elira said. "The place where names first broke from the world."
"And if we fail?" Liaen asked.
Emilia's answer was quiet. Steady.
"Then the world learns those names again."