After Reza vanished, the air refused to settle.
The space where he'd stood pulsed with after-image, like the world had only partially rendered him. The field of mirrored tiles still reflected back broken names and forgotten code — but now, one tile shimmered solid red.
Hina couldn't stop looking at it.
Neither could Veyrun.
"You knew him," she said softly.
"I know what he is," Veyrun replied.
"But not who."
He didn't respond.
She turned toward the red tile.
There was no glyph. No sigil.
Just a single word.
Etched in the language of the pre-tree.
VEYRUN.
Her breath hitched.
"You're not Veyrun."
He flinched.
Subtle.
But it was the first time she'd ever seen him hesitate.
She stepped toward him.
"You knew your name was rewritten."
"I suspected."
"No," she said. "You knew."
His fists tightened.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because if I remember everything… the system remembers me."
Hina stared at him.
"So you're afraid."
"Not of death."
"Of purpose."
He sat down, slow, deliberate — like his body weighed more than the space around it could carry.
The Codex hovered nearby, pages still sealed.
"When I was erased," he said, "they didn't just seal my book."
"They pulled my name from the root structure. Made me uncallable."
"That's not just deletion…"
"No. That's symbolic annihilation."
She sat across from him.
"You're not Veyrun. That was the mask."
He looked up. His eyes — once silver — now flickered black at the edges.
"Then what was my name?" he asked.
"You want me to tell you?"
"You're the only one who might see it."
The Codex began to hum.
Its cover cracked.
Not violently — like stone splitting under slow pressure.
A glyph escaped from within.
Just one.
And it didn't spin.
It didn't glow.
It just… waited.
A simple mark: ⩚
Hina reached out — and in that instant, she wasn't in the mirrored field anymore.
She was in a dream-memory.
The world was white.
Not empty.
Just… waiting to be written.
And in the center, a throne.
But not for sitting.
For binding.
Straps of sigil-metal wrapped around it, flowing like script.
And kneeling in front of it — a figure with no face, hands lifted, offering his spellbook to an invisible jury.
A chant rang out:
"Will you accept the name we give you?"
Silence.
Then: "No."
The faceless figure stood.
His book was blank.
No color. No spell.
Just intention.
He tore out the first page.
Held it up.
And wrote a single symbol with blood from his hand.
⩚
The dream snapped.
Hina opened her eyes, gasping.
Veyrun hadn't moved.
But he was crying.
Not sobbing.
Just one line of ink down his left cheek — like a glyph dissolving.
"You remembered," she said.
He nodded.
"They gave me the name Veyrun. To contain me."
"What was the real name?"
He looked directly into her eyes.
"XAL."
The air folded.
The Codex exploded with noise — not audible, but psychic. Pages fluttered. Glyphs danced. For a moment, even the sky above bent, revealing a glimpse of the Sigil Tree trembling.
And in its deepest root…
A name tried to grow.
XAL.
Status: Erased
Threat Level: Anti-Root
Suddenly — the Codex sealed.
Clamped shut like a coffin.
A message burned into its cover:
FIFTH SPELL LOCKED
UNTIL THE SEAL IS BROKEN
INITIATE: DREAM TRANSFER
That night, Hina slept.
And her dream wasn't hers.
It was filtered through Xal's perspective.
She stood in an ancient ruin. Pre-war. Before books. Before chants. Just glyphs scrawled in cave walls like prophecy trying to be born.
And before her — a king.
But not sitting.
Hiding.
A Momodo curled against the stone, eyes wide, clutching a book that pulsed with regret.
He looked at her — but it was really looking at Xal.
"You weren't supposed to survive," he whispered.
"I didn't," Xal replied through her.
"Then how are you still dreaming?"
"Because the war never ended."
The king stood.
Old. Cracked.
"Then spell five is yours."
"What's it called?"
"Vorrn'Teyl."
"What does it do?"
The king looked at the book in his hands.
It shattered.
"It makes kings remember what they did to become one."
Hina woke up crying.
The Codex didn't open.
But inside her hand was a glyph.
Etched in faint blue glow:
Vorrn'Teyl.
She had no idea what it meant.
But Xal did.
And now…
so did the Tree.
In the highest limb of the Sigil Tree, seven lights activated.
Six blinked.
One stayed dark.
And in the dark space, a new glyph began to form.
⩚
Not a threat.
Not a virus.
A forgotten origin.
And it was learning to rewrite.
— Sorry my feet hurt smh