They traveled in silence.
Snow gave way to gravel, gravel to stone, and soon the cracked earth of the southern highlands stretched out before them. In the distance, the Bastion rose—a fortress built not for defense, but for containment. A monolith of bone-white walls and sky-piercing spires, surrounded by screaming wind.
It was here that the Order kept the Tomes of Names—and the souls bound to them.
Merek pulled his cloak tight. "I used to think the Bastion was just a myth. A scare tactic to make people fall in line."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "It's real. And it's worse than they told us."
Kael didn't speak.
He already knew.
---
Planning the Infiltration
That night, they camped in a ravine overlooking the Bastion's eastern flank. The structure had no gates—only a single narrow bridge across a chasm of mist. Thorn studied the patrols below, sketching their movement patterns on parchment.
"No way we storm this place," he muttered. "We'll be dead before we cross the bridge."
"We're not storming it," Kael replied. "We're slipping in through the archives. There's a hidden route beneath the southern cliff. My father once spoke of it—before they erased his mind."
Lyra blinked. "Wait… your father knew of a secret path?"
"He was a Record Keeper," Kael said. "He guarded names… before they made him forget even his own."
The group fell silent.
Then Thorn chuckled darkly. "Well. That's the most depressing motivation I've ever heard. I'm in."
---
The Descent
They found the hidden entrance as night deepened. A sliver of a cave, shielded by illusory wards and old glyphs—Kael's new brand lit the way.
As they descended, the stone walls changed—first smooth, then engraved with spiraling glyphs. Whispers followed them again. But this time, they carried emotion: grief, fear, rage.
The sound of lost names.
In the deepest chamber, they reached a door etched with a thousand tiny letters. Lyra pressed her palm to it—and screamed. The door rejected her.
Kael stepped forward, unhesitating. The door opened.
"Only the forsaken may pass," Merek whispered, staring at him.
Kael didn't respond.
He was already walking into the dark.
---
Within the Bastion
The interior was cold, sterile. Rows of metal slabs stretched out like tombs, each one carved with a name… or a void where one had been.
"This is where they keep them," Lyra said, trembling. "All the names they've stolen."
Kael moved from slab to slab until he found it.
"KAREL VERRIN."
His father.
Beneath it: a crystal sphere, faintly glowing. Inside was a flicker of light—his father's name, severed and contained.
Kael reached for it. The slab pulsed. Alarms blared.
"It's a trap!" Thorn shouted.
The Bastion awakened.
Walls shifted. Doors locked. And from the misty depths, armored enforcers emerged—silent, faceless, soulless.
Kael held the crystal tight.
"No matter what," he said, "we get this name out."
And with that, they ran—into the heart of the Bastion.
To be continue...