The tower wasn't made of stone.
It wasn't made of wood, or metal, or even magic.
It was made of Names.
Thousands.
Millions.
Carved into air, etched into space, woven into the silence between the stars.
It hung above the ruined forest like a broken blade waiting to fall.
The boy looked up, trembling.
The girl stood beside him, bleeding but still.
The wind whispered things he couldn't understand. Not words. Not exactly.
But meanings.
Regret. Command. Mourning.
A voice echoed from the tower's base:
"Raekhael. The Final Name. The Unwritten. The Rejected Son."
"Return."
The girl pulled on his sleeve. "We can't stay here."
"But it's… calling me."
"I don't care what it's doing. You just shook the sky. Do you know how many people felt that?"
The boy didn't answer.
He was staring at his hands.
The ink was fading now, sinking beneath his skin like it was hiding.
Like it feared something.
"I don't want this," he whispered.
The girl looked at him, sharp.
"No one wants a cursed name."
He flinched. "You think it's cursed?"
She looked up at the tower.
"I think it's too old."
"Too powerful."
"Too loud."
Suddenly, the tower rang.
Like a bell.
But the sound wasn't sound.
It was memories.
Not his own.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Burning into his head like brands.
He saw a war where kings were silenced by a single spoken name.
He saw a woman tear her soul in half to protect her son from a Name-Eater.
He saw a boy—himself? Not him?—standing at the edge of a cliff, speaking the sky into fire.
He saw the First One. The god with no mouth but endless names.
The boy dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.
The girl knelt beside him.
"Hey—hey! Stay with me!"
"I'm seeing things," he gasped. "People. Places. Fire. Too much fire."
"That's what happens when a Name remembers you back."
The tower spoke again.
"You carry what was once mine."
"And now, it is yours."
"Come. Or be hunted."
The girl's eyes widened.
"Wait."
She stood up.
Her voice cracked.
"You're… you're not just some god-echo, are you?"
The silence answered with gravity.
She turned to the boy.
"This tower—it's not just calling you."
"It's testing you."
He blinked up at her.
"What do I do?"
She hesitated.
Then stood straighter.
"You walk."
"To it."
He stared.
"Alone?"
She nodded slowly.
"This is your storm. I can't go where that name takes you."
The boy shook. "I'm scared."
"Good," she whispered. "That means you're not gone yet."
She leaned down, brushing her fingers against his.
"Come back."
And then he walked.
Toward the tower.
Each step felt heavier.
The grass withered beneath his feet. The air thickened. Time slowed.
The door opened before he touched it.
It wasn't a door.
It was a mouth.
Made of name-runes and broken promises.
He stepped inside.
And everything changed.
Darkness.
Not black.
Just… empty.
The floor was language.
The walls were prayers.
The ceiling was silence.
And standing in the center was a mirror.
No reflection.
Just a word.
"RAEKHAEL."
Spoken not in sound.
But in presence.
"What do you want?" the boy asked.
The mirror didn't answer.
But behind it…
Something moved.
It was a shape.
No face. No arms. Just a cloak made of whispers.
And when it spoke…
The boy bled.
From the ears. The nose. The eyes.
Because it said his name backward.
"Leahkear."
And suddenly—
He saw everything.
His birth wasn't natural.
He had no name because one had been ripped from him before breath.
He was a replacement. A container. A sealed vessel.
The last time Raekhael had been spoken… a city fell. A continent burned.
His mother had tried to hide him. Had died trying.
And the name…
The name had waited.
Watched.
Inside him.
The cloak approached.
No footsteps.
No noise.
Only one sentence:
"Say the name again."
"Say it backward."
He shook his head, crying now.
"I—I don't want to."
"You must."
"Or you will forget who you are."
"And I will take your place again."
The boy screamed—
And outside the tower, lightning crashed.
The girl jumped up.
Eyes wide.
From the mouth of the tower came a whisper.
His voice.
But twisted.
Echoing.
"…leahkear…"
TO BE CONTINUED…