From the crest of the hill, the city looked like shards of the sky stabbed into the ground.
Tall spires of glass and silver. Some broken. Some gleaming. All haunted by echoes of a time before the war.
This was Myreth, once the seat of the old kingdom's scholars.
Now, it stood like a cracked memory—still beautiful, still grand, but whispering of things long lost.
Frido stared down at it, the stone warm in his palm.
"It feels familiar," he murmured.
Teren's jaw tightened. "It should. Myreth is where the war truly began. Where the first lie was written in gold and called truth."
Mirea said nothing. But her gaze was fixed not on the towers, but on the broken statue at the city's edge.
A statue of a boy holding a book.
The boy looked like Frido.
---
Beneath the Cracked Sun
As they entered the city, a strange silence fell over them.
Not the quiet of peace.
The quiet of reverence.
Even the wind dared not breathe loudly.
The mirrored buildings reflected a thousand versions of themselves. Teren muttered under his breath, "The reflections lie. Don't trust what you see."
Frido paused near a broken fountain. Its water was black, still, and unbroken despite the breeze.
He stared into it.
But his reflection didn't move.
It blinked, then smiled.
Frido staggered back.
Mirea caught his arm. "What did you see?"
He didn't answer. Not yet.
But in his heart, he knew what it meant.
The city remembered him.
And it was waiting.
---
The Archive of Names
They found it deep within the city—beneath a ruined cathedral, past fallen bookshelves and glass-stained floors.
A chamber.
Circular. Endless. Its walls were made of scrolls.
Each scroll contained names.
Teren whistled. "This is the Archive of Names."
Mirea's voice was low. "They say every name ever spoken in sorrow is written here."
Frido stepped forward.
The stone in his hand pulsed once—then flew from his grip.
It hovered in the center of the room, and slowly, scrolls peeled open on their own.
Pages turned.
Dust danced.
And on a high shelf, one scroll unraveled fully.
Mirea gasped.
At the top of it: Frido Liren.
Below it: Unnamed.
Then: Unspoken.
Then: The Bell Will Cry.
Frido stared. "What does that mean?"
Mirea turned away.
She knew.
But couldn't say it.
Not yet.
---
Ghosts of the Living
As they climbed back to the surface, night had fallen—but in Myreth, that didn't mean darkness.
The mirrored towers caught moonlight and multiplied it, casting long white shadows that moved when no one did.
Frido sat near the base of the statue of the boy.
Mirea joined him.
"You said the city felt familiar," she said.
He nodded.
"I think I lived here once. In another life."
She looked at him. "Do you believe in other lives?"
He smiled. "I believe in silence. And silence remembers everything."
He turned to her.
"I heard a voice in the archive."
Mirea froze.
Frido continued, "It sounded like you."
She stood suddenly. "I need air."
And she fled into the shadows.
---
Mirea's Fracture
She didn't stop until she reached the broken hall of windows at the city's heart.
The wind blew harder here. The glass shimmered.
She stared into a panel—her reflection blurred, scattered, a thousand pieces.
Then one reflection stepped forward.
It looked like her. But older. Sadder.
It spoke.
"He will die without knowing you loved him."
Mirea swallowed.
"I know."
"You could stop it. Just one word."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because he needs to be the man who walks forward. If he loves me… he might turn back."
Her reflection said:
"And if he dies?"
Mirea whispered, "Then I'll speak his name so the world won't forget."
---
Frido and the Flame
Back at camp, Frido stared into the small fire they'd managed to light.
Teren sat nearby, sharpening his blade, though he hadn't used it in days.
"She's afraid," Frido said softly.
Teren didn't ask who.
He knew.
"She should be," he replied. "You're not walking toward peace. You're walking into legend. And legends always bleed."
Frido looked down at his hands. They were trembling.
"I'm not sure I want to be remembered."
Teren stopped sharpening. "Then you're exactly the kind of man who should be."
---
The Choice to Burn
That night, Frido dreamt of fire.
Not destruction.
But renewal.
He stood on a cliff. Below him, the world burned—and from the ashes, people rose.
Not warriors.
Listeners.
And in the flames, he heard her voice again:
"Frido. Frido, don't forget yourself."
He turned.
Mirea.
Holding the cracked bell.
Tears in her eyes.
She spoke three words.
But he couldn't hear them.
He woke with a gasp.
And in the distance, beyond the towers…
A bell rang.
---
The Sound Without a Hand
No one had touched the bell.
But it rang again.
Three times.
Low.
Slow.
Each note spread through the city like a shiver.
The mirrored towers trembled.
Mirea ran to the others. "Do you hear that?"
Teren stood slowly, his face pale. "That's the Bell of Remembering. It only rings when…"
"When what?" Frido asked.
"When a name is about to vanish forever."
They looked at each other.
Then at Frido.
And the wind picked up.
---
What Must Be Said
Mirea took his hand.
For the first time.
She didn't speak the words.
But her grip said everything.
Frido didn't let go.
He looked to the towers, to the broken statue, to the rising storm of sound.
And whispered:
> "Let me vanish, if it means they'll never forget why."
She held tighter.
But said nothing.
Because love unspoken was her vow.
And one day, it would become the only thing left of him.
---
[End of Chapter 24]