The Cradle of Names wasn't on any map. It wasn't whispered about in old taverns or hidden away in forgotten books. It lived in the marrow of memory, passed only through bloodlines that the Order hadn't entirely extinguished.
And Kael's blood remembered.
The path east was brutal—twisting through jagged ravines and skeletal forests where the mist never lifted and the sun never shone. Creatures half-born and half-erased prowled the shadows, echoes of those who had once held names but had been stripped bare by the Order's purges.
Lyra's sword stayed hot in her hand. Merek muttered warding runes beneath his breath. Karel marched with a quiet intensity, a man carrying the weight of a thousand stolen fragments inside him. And Kael… Kael barely spoke.
He was listening.
The names were speaking now.
Not in words, but in pulses—vibrations that resonated through his bones every time he stepped in the right direction. The closer they drew to the Cradle, the more the air itself seemed to ripple with recognition.
After five days without rest, they found it: a canyon split by a silver rift in the earth, and within it, the remnants of a city carved into the stone walls, glowing with glyphs written in light.
"The city's alive," Thorn whispered. "And it's dreaming."
"No," Kael said. "It's remembering."
They descended into the Cradle, walking through archways that shifted as they passed—names appearing on the walls, one by one, only to flicker and vanish. Names of the forgotten. Names of the dead.
And then, one name held.
Lyra gasped. "That's… my brother's name."
"Mine too," Merek said, touching a glyph glowing red with his family crest.
They looked at Kael.
A hundred names appeared at once—spiraling across the chamber, wrapping around the central spire of the Cradle.
At its peak, a single word etched itself into the stone with burning precision.
KAEL.
The city had chosen.
Suddenly, the ground quaked. The sky above the canyon twisted as something massive stirred. A storm of static and light erupted above them—a humanoid form made entirely of broken names, jagged and screaming.
The Name-Eater.
"They sent a Warden," Karel said, stepping protectively in front of Kael. "One of the last."
Kael's hand moved to the hilt of his blade, but it wasn't rage driving him now.
It was duty.
"This place is mine," Kael said, stepping forward. The glyphs along the walls pulsed in sync with his heartbeat. "You don't belong here."
The Name-Eater shrieked and lunged.
Kael's sword gleamed with every name he'd reclaimed, a hundred voices roaring to life. With one swing, he cleaved through the creature's chest—unraveling the lies, tearing through the silence.
The Warden collapsed into dust.
The Cradle was silent.
Kael dropped to one knee, breath heavy. From the dust, a single glyph floated up and branded itself onto his palm.
A gift.
A mark.
A curse.
He looked at the others. "We know where to go next."
Lyra nodded. "Then let's end this."
To be continue ...