The page was blank.
No ink. No glyphs. No imprint of spellcraft.
Just smooth, untouched parchment.
And yet, as Keiran touched it—his candle flared.
Twice.
Once for him.
Once for something else.
"This is one of the devoured," Merin whispered. "A name not just sealed… but consumed."
Keiran looked up.
"Consumed by what?"
Merin hesitated.
Then, for the first time since the Severance was mentioned, he looked afraid.
"Name-Eaters."
They weren't a race. Not beasts.
They weren't created by the Pale Priests or summoned by mages.
They were born of absence.
Born in the space between what should have been remembered—and what wasn't.
When a soul is erased too many times, something begins to curl around the empty place.
That thing grows hungry.
That thing grows curious.
And one day, it becomes real.
They fed not on flesh, but on identity.
On the sound of someone calling your name.
On the shape of your reflection.
On the memory others carried of you.
When they found a victim, they didn't kill them.
They unmade them.
And then—if the name was strong enough—they wore it.
Merin led Keiran into the Concordium's Deep Vaults.
Even the air here resisted memory.
Walls forgot where they began.
Doors no longer led where they once did.
"These vaults held the names too dangerous to store in ink," Merin explained.
"Some were etched in breath. Others in shadow."
"But a few… were only whispered."
They stopped before a sealed iron door. Seven locks. No handle.
Keiran placed his palm against the cold metal.
His candle flared blue.
And the door… listened.
Then opened.
Inside: nothing.
Only a stone basin.
Filled with water that didn't reflect anything.
Not the room.
Not the candles.
Not Keiran.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A memory mirror," Merin said. "It shows what the world remembers of you."
"But yours…" He paused. "Yours shows nothing."
Keiran reached toward the water.
The surface stilled—
And then split.
Not gently.
Like something rising through it.
A face.
Not his current one.
His old one.
Sharp eyes. Wind-worn brow. A scar on the lip.
The face of Auren.
But it wasn't him.
It smiled.
"You came back," the reflection whispered.
"How inconvenient."
Keiran reeled back.
The reflection didn't vanish.
It stepped out.
No water. No splash.
Just presence.
Auren, as he once was.
Dressed in tattered Concordium black.
But the flame on his wrist? Black.
Flickering like ash.
Alive. But wrong.
"You… you're not me," Keiran said.
"Auren is gone."
The thing tilted its head.
"That's true."
"Because I took him."
The vault trembled.
Candles snuffed one by one.
Except Keiran's.
And the creature's.
"They called me a Wraith."
"But that's not the word."
"I am what comes when your name is echoed through too many mouths and never returned."
"I am what's left when the world remembers your pain, but forgets your place."
"I am your shadow."
Keiran raised his wrist.
The silver flame burned stronger now.
Lys's tether, her voice in the background, faint but steady.
The creature hissed.
"Her name still burns in you."
"It should have faded. She should have been devoured by now."
"But instead, you brought her back."
Keiran stepped forward.
"That's why you're angry."
"You didn't take just me. You took us."
"But memory grows back."
The creature lunged.
Not with claws.
With words.
Its mouth opened—and Keiran's own voice came out.
Mocking. Echoed.
"I remember giving up."
"I remember dying alone."
"I remember no one calling my name."
Keiran's knees nearly buckled.
Because it wasn't lying.
He had thought those things.
He had felt them.
And that made the Name-Eater strong.
But then—
A second voice answered.
Not his.
Hers.
"You were never alone."
Lys's whisper, drawn from the tethered flame.
A memory of her voice in the old chapel.
And suddenly, Keiran remembered what she'd said the night before the Severance.
"Even if the world forgets you, I won't."
"I'll carry your name like a candle."
The Name-Eater faltered.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Keiran drew from the flame.
Not fire.
Not light.
But remembrance.
And he said one word—
"Auren."
The creature screamed.
Because in that moment—
Keiran took the name back.
The flame on the Name-Eater's wrist extinguished.
Its face cracked.
Its form twisted.
Not into ash.
Not into blood.
But into nothing.
It had been remembered out of existence.
Keiran stood alone once more.
Breathing hard.
The mirror water stilled.
And this time—
It reflected him.
Not Auren.
Not the shadow.
Him.
Keiran.
But below the reflection, a line of script had formed.
Just three words:
"One still missing."