The wind had a strange sound now.
Not like leaves rustling or branches creaking.
It sounded like breathing.
Heavy. Old. Not from anything alive.
The boy sat on a fallen log, staring at the blood on his palms.
Not his blood. Not hers.
The chain had written something into him—
A name he didn't know, but somehow remembered.
The girl unrolled the scroll again.
She hadn't spoken in minutes.
The parchment looked fragile, too fragile for what it held.
Not words. Not magic.
Warnings.
And something else.
"This scroll…" she whispered. "It shouldn't exist. None of them should."
The boy looked up.
"You said it's from the First Tongue?"
She nodded slowly.
"The language of creation. The names that shaped the world."
He pointed to a glowing symbol near the top.
"What does this one say?"
The girl hesitated.
Then traced her finger across the symbol.
"It means... 'Erase.'"
He raised an eyebrow. "That's all?"
"No," she said softly.
"It means to erase a soul. Not kill. Not silence."
"Just… vanish it."
The boy felt cold.
Like the word had reached out and touched him.
"Why would a scroll like this even exist?" he asked.
"Why keep names that are that dangerous?"
The girl rolled the scroll back up, careful not to touch the ink.
"Because names can't be destroyed."
"They can only be hidden, sealed… or forgotten."
She looked him in the eyes.
"That's why they call them the Forgotten Names. Not because they were lost…"
"…but because someone made the world forget."
They walked again, deeper into the woods, the tower ruins long behind them.
But the red mist hadn't left.
It trailed far above, hiding the sun.
The boy stared at the trees.
Some of the trunks had carvings. Not random marks.
Names.
Old. Faint.
Some were half-scratched out. Some glowed faintly.
He stopped by one.
Aeloth.
The bark beneath the name was dead.
The girl touched his shoulder.
"That's one of the Sealed. An ancient god of silence."
He shivered.
"Why is it still glowing?"
She didn't answer.
Later, they reached a clearing surrounded by stones.
In the middle stood a weathered statue.
A robed figure without a face.
Arms outstretched. No eyes, no mouth—just a name carved deep across the chest.
RAEKHAEL.
The boy froze.
His name.
His curse.
His power.
He stepped closer, and the wind stopped.
Completely.
"Don't touch it," the girl warned.
"That's a memory-lock."
"It holds pieces of the name sealed inside you."
The boy looked back at her.
"I need to know what I am."
And he touched it.
The world shattered.
His body didn't move—but his mind fell.
He was falling, spinning, crashing through voices and screams and sounds that weren't words.
"RAEKHAEL IS NOT A NAME."
"RAEKHAEL IS A COMMAND."
"TO SPEAK IT IS TO BURN THE SKY."
He saw flashes.
A world made of silver fire.
Thrones falling from the heavens.
A boy—like him—but made of ash and gold, screaming without a voice.
And then a whisper:
"You're not the first."
"And you will not be the last."
He gasped, falling backward. The girl caught him.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said, voice shaking.
He was pale.
Sweating.
Eyes wide with something more than fear.
"I saw…" he began, then shook his head. "No. I was someone else."
She looked at the statue. The name on its chest had faded.
"The lock is broken now," she whispered.
"You're starting to remember what they tried to erase."
The boy stood up slowly, staring at the sky.
Lightning flashed in the distance.
Then a click.
They turned.
A man stood at the edge of the stones, dressed in dark hunter's cloth, a long rifle slung on his back.
He wore no mask.
But his face was wrapped in strips of cloth, leaving only one eye visible—glowing silver.
He raised his hand.
"I'm not here to kill you," he said.
The girl stepped forward, shielding the boy.
"Then why are you here?"
The man smiled, slow and tired.
"To teach him how to use the name…"
"…before it uses him."
TO BE CONTINUED…