The day after Nollan was different.
It wasn't in the wind or the weather.
It was in Frido.
The way he walked.
The way he listened.
The way his eyes searched the world as if it had something to say—something ancient and buried, but still trying to speak.
He didn't know it yet, but a story had started writing itself inside him.
Not one written in ink.
But in dust, silence, and the names of the forgotten.
---
The Road South
They left Nollan at sunrise, heading south. Frido didn't speak for hours.
Teren, tired of the silence, finally asked, "What are you looking for now?"
Frido's answer was simple.
"Another story."
Teren rolled his eyes. "We need food. Fire. Shelter. Not fairy tales."
Frido paused, then pointed at the map.
"There's a mark here. Near the hills. A symbol—like an eye."
"An eye?"
Frido nodded. "Mira didn't explain it. Just circled it."
Teren frowned. "And you think that's where the next… story is?"
"No," Frido said, smiling faintly. "That's where the story is waiting for us."
---
The Eye in the Earth
They reached the mark at dusk.
The hill was low and unremarkable, but when they crested it, they saw what the symbol meant.
At the base was a perfect circle—wide and sunken—like a giant bowl carved from the land. In the center stood a stone altar, surrounded by shattered statues. Human figures, all faceless.
Frido walked down first.
The air was still.
Teren stayed behind.
Frido reached the altar and brushed away the dust.
Carved into the center was a message in old script, nearly faded:
> "In this place, we buried our weapons. And our names. So we could live again."
Frido closed his eyes.
Another choice.
Another silence.
---
The Keeper of the Circle
As night fell, they heard footsteps.
Soft. Barefoot.
Then a voice—quiet, old, not afraid.
"You shouldn't be here," it said.
From the edge of the circle emerged an old man wrapped in fur and bones. His hair was wild, white as ash. His eyes were blind, clouded with age.
Yet he walked with certainty.
Teren stepped forward. "Who are you?"
"I am the Keeper," the man said. "Of the Silence."
Frido bowed his head.
"Why do you keep it?" he asked.
The old man chuckled.
"Because it was once too loud."
---
The Story of the Surrender
That night, the Keeper spoke by firelight.
His voice was soft, but every word struck like a bell in the cold dark.
"There was a battle here. Long ago. One that never happened."
Frido frowned. "Never happened?"
The Keeper nodded. "Two armies came to this place. Thousands of men. Hundreds of blades."
"And?"
"They didn't fight."
Teren scoffed. "Why not?"
"Because a single man walked between them. Unarmed. Alone."
The fire cracked.
Frido leaned forward. "What did he do?"
"He said his name. Just once. Then he fell to his knees and laid down his life."
No one spoke.
Then the Keeper whispered:
> "Peace returned, if only for a breath."
---
Frido's Memory
That night, while Teren slept, Frido sat alone at the edge of the circle.
He whispered the words again: He said his name.
What kind of name ends a war?
He thought of his own—Frido.
He thought of his sister's—Reni.
He thought of the woman at the gates of the village who gave him the bird and smiled like the world hadn't yet broken.
He didn't know why, but he whispered her name again.
"Maela."
The wind answered softly.
---
Before They Left
Before dawn, the Keeper gave them each a gift.
To Teren, a ring made of ashwood. "So you do not forget what you survived."
To Frido, a black stone. Smooth. Warm.
"What is it?" Frido asked.
"A name," said the Keeper. "One not yet spoken."
Frido held it close.
He didn't ask more.
He knew the answers would come.
---
The Path Forks
As they left the circle behind, the road split.
One way led into the mountains—jagged and snow-bitten. The other descended into the ruins of the lowlands, where red mist clung to the trees.
Teren looked at Frido.
"Well?"
Frido didn't hesitate.
"Lowlands," he said.
Teren raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Frido pointed to the mist.
"Because silence doesn't always come from above. Sometimes, it waits in the dirt."
---
The Red Mist
They reached the edge by sunset.
The trees were tall and skeletal, bark peeling like dead skin. The mist swirled low, thick and rust-colored, rising from the earth itself.
It stank of iron.
Frido stepped forward.
And the mist seemed to part.
Not much.
But enough.
---
Final Words of the Chapter
Teren hesitated behind him.
"You ever wonder," he said, "if we're walking deeper into the silence, not away from it?"
Frido glanced back.
"I don't wonder," he said. "I know."
Then he stepped into the mist.
And the world swallowed them whole.
---
[End of Chapter 7]