The salt-laced air struck Sylas's face as he stepped out onto the jagged shoreline, the cliffs behind him crumbling into mist. The ocean ahead was vast, gray, and rippling with unnatural stillness. This was no ordinary sea—this was the Sea of Forgotten Names.
They had traveled three days since leaving the Trial of Stone and Silence. The trek down the mountain had been filled with quiet tension, each step echoing the unspoken truths they had faced in their respective trials. There were still words between them unsaid—a bond forged in silence, not in conversation.
Alira joined him at the edge, her cloak billowing in the wind. "This is it? The second trial?"
Sylas nodded. "The map says the island lies beyond. But to reach it, we have to cross these waters... and face what was forgotten."
The Keeper of the Void had spoken cryptically about this place. It was not the sea that was dangerous, but what it held. Every forgotten name, every erased soul, every forsaken truth drifted in its depths, waiting to be remembered—or consumed.
A small boat awaited them—one carved from bone and veined with silver. It had no sail, no oars, and yet it bobbed in place, as though expecting them.
"How do we steer it?" Alira asked.
Sylas stepped in. The boat did not shift. "With memory," he murmured.
They both climbed aboard, and the boat moved. Smoothly. Silently.
The journey began without incident. The waters were eerily calm. No birds flew overhead. No fish leapt in the waves. Just silence, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the occasional groan of the boat.
"You think it's watching us?" Alira asked.
"It's not the sea. It's what's under it."
She looked over the side. The water was perfectly clear, revealing... nothing. No depth. Just darkness.
Hours passed.
Then the whispers began.
Faint at first. Like wind through reeds. Then clearer.
Sylas...
He turned. No one. The sea remained still.
Alira...
Her eyes snapped toward the horizon. "Did you hear that?"
He nodded. "They're calling."
Kaelen...
Sylas froze.
That name.
He hadn't heard it in years.
Not since the fall of Eltharion. Not since the massacre.
The boat suddenly stopped.
A figure rose from the water ahead. Cloaked in seaweed and shadows. Its face hidden beneath a veil of fog.
"Speak your forgotten name," the figure commanded. Its voice was a chorus of many.
Sylas stood. "I am Sylas."
"That is your name now. What was it before?"
His hands clenched. "That name died."
The figure tilted its head. "Nothing dies here. Only waits."
A second figure rose behind it, then a third, then more—a circle of spectral beings, each bearing the weight of names unsaid.
Alira reached for her sword.
"No," Sylas said, holding her arm. "This is not a battle of blades."
He turned to the first specter. "My name... was Kaelen. Kaelen Ardyn."
The sea surged.
Memory hit him like a wave.
He was twelve. The academy of Eltharion burned around him. Bodies strewn in the halls. His brother, dead at his feet. His mentor's last words echoing in his ears: "Run, Kaelen. Your name is cursed now."
He fled. Changed his name. Became a shadow. Trained in silence. Became Sylas.
He collapsed to one knee in the boat, gasping.
The figures bowed.
"The name is remembered. The weight is lifted."
They vanished.
Alira placed a hand on his shoulder. No words. Just presence.
"Your turn," Sylas said hoarsely.
She looked up. The sea had begun to ripple around them.
Another figure rose.
"Speak your forgotten name."
Alira hesitated. Her breath caught.
"I... don't remember."
The figure reached toward her.
Suddenly, the boat lurched. The sea boiled.
A massive shape surged from the depths—a leviathan of bone and salt, its body wrapped in chains, its eyes empty voids. A forgotten guardian.
"She must remember!" it roared.
The boat cracked in two.
Sylas grabbed Alira as the world fell into water.
They plunged beneath the surface. Not cold. Not wet. Just... silence.
And memory.
Alira floated in a realm of shifting colors, mirrors of light and shadow reflecting moments lost.
A woman's face. A lullaby. A field of crimson flowers.
Her mother.
Her village.
Her real name:
Lyrielle.
She whispered it.
The sea listened.
The chains binding the leviathan shattered.
The beast bowed its head and dissolved.
Sylas and Alira found themselves once more on the boat—whole, unbroken, now bathed in a soft glow.
The island was visible ahead. Lush. Ancient. Silent.
They looked at each other..
"Lyrielle," Sylas said.
She nodded. "Kaelen."
Two names. Reclaimed.
The Sea of Forgotten Names stilled once more.