Some names save. Others destroy. Hers does both.
Frostrail Caves – Underground Corridor
The cold was alive here—clawing, whispering, ancient.
Cerys moved like a shadow, her body instinct in motion. Ahead, the corridor splintered—one path leading toward the forgotten Rebellion crypts, the other toward an old mine shaft overtaken by runes and frost.
Darian followed without question now, though every step cost him. His shoulder bled anew, soaked through the bandage she'd tied earlier. And yet, he didn't ask her to slow.
The flare from the Reclaimers still glowed behind them—dim but present. A warning and a promise.
"We can't outrun them forever," he said.
Cerys knelt by an old steel door, brushing frost aside to reveal a symbol etched in the corner—a spiral devouring a crown.
Kael's mark.
"They're not meant to be outrun," she said.
"Then what?"
"They're meant to be misled."
With a quick motion, she pressed her hand to the seal. Blood welled beneath her fingertips—just enough. The door groaned, then opened into a passage carved by rebels long before either of them had been born.
Inside, time changed.
The air was warmer here, pulsing with dormant magic. Vines coiled along the walls, whispering secrets to stone. The smell of burnt incense lingered. A sanctuary. Or a graveyard.
Darian looked around. "What is this place?"
"Kael called it the Hall of Names."
He stepped in, the echo of his boots strangely soft. Then he saw them—dozens of names etched in iron plates along the walls. Some in common tongue, others in lost dialects. Some glowed faintly. Others were rusted over.
"Every assassin trained in the Ash Order had to leave their name here," she said. "Their real name."
He turned. "Even you?"
"Yes." She moved to one of the dark plates—small, unadorned. "This one's mine."
He approached and read it aloud.
"Cerys Vale."
It tasted like defiance and sorrow.
"I don't understand. You said you were trained to forget who you were."
"I was. But they made us carve the name anyway—so they'd know what they were destroying. A final cruelty."
He stared at the plate. "That's how I knew it. The fire… when I found you as a boy, you whispered it. I never forgot."
Her breath caught.
"You remember the fire?"
"I remember everything," he said. "The blood. The broken voices. I was dragged away before I could reach you. You looked at me like you wanted to die."
"I did."
"Then why are you still here?"
She didn't answer.
But her silence was its own kind of truth.
-
Reclaimer Camp Periphery
Thorne watched the cavern walls pulse faintly—reacting to the girl's blood, to the ancient echo of her presence.
The spell he'd cast into the frost earlier began to take shape. A shadow of memory whispered across the ice.
From his belt, Thorne unrolled a scroll inked with forbidden sigils—binding runes written in forgotten blood.
Beside him, the glass-eyed tracker hissed. "Too soon. If you force the memory to awaken now, she'll break."
"That's the point."
He sliced his palm and let the blood mark the scroll. Then he whispered:
"Vale of ash. Name of dust. Wake the ghost who cannot trust."
A gust of unnatural wind curled through the corridor far away—reaching toward Cerys like a cold hand down her spine.
-
Hall of Names
Cerys gasped, stumbling backward from her iron plate.
"What's wrong?" Darian asked, catching her.
"Something's wrong," she whispered. "I felt… something pulling."
"Magic?"
"Memory."
Then her eyes glazed for a breath. When they cleared, she was trembling.
"I saw Kael. Standing at the mouth of a burning city."
Darian blinked. "Kael Moraine?"
"He was… younger. Bleeding. Carrying someone. I think… me."
Another echo shivered through the stones.
She turned to him suddenly. "We have to leave. Now."
"But this is the safest place—"
"Not anymore. Someone's using tether magic."
He understood then—the fear in her voice wasn't for herself. It was for what she might remember.
"What happens if they force it?" he asked.
"I won't be the girl you know anymore."
"I don't think I ever knew her."
"You knew enough," she said softly.
And then they ran.
-
Palace War Room
Queen Ilyana stood before a table carved from dragonbone and glass. A war map burned into its surface, the lines shifting faintly—alive with arcane energy.
"The flare failed," she said.
"The ghost is still running," said the general beside her.
"Good." She smiled without humor. "Let her."
The general frowned. "You want her alive?"
"I want her remembered. Then hated. Then killed."
Across the chamber, a raven arrived—black-feathered, flame-eyed. It spoke in a voice like water over bone.
"Tracker reports the blood ritual succeeded. She is unraveling."
"Then soon," said Ilyana, "she'll return home."
-
Nightfall, Forgotten Ravine
They descended into a ravine lit by bioluminescent fungi. Cerys didn't stop until she reached the inner wall and carved a small rune—one Darian didn't recognize.
A moment later, a crack in the cliff shimmered and revealed a secret entrance.
He blinked. "Is this yours?"
"No," she said. "It was built by the rebels."
As they stepped inside, the weight of the world dulled. The space was small—bare stone, a few low beds, and dried herbs. But it felt untouched. Safe.
Cerys finally let herself sit.
Darian collapsed beside her, his leg shaking now from exertion.
"We need to rest," she said. "You're bleeding again."
He smiled faintly. "If I die, will you remember me?"
"No," she said.
But then, after a pause: "I'll burn the name into the stone."
He turned toward her, eyes soft. "You know I would've stopped you."
"From killing you?"
"From losing yourself."
Her face wavered. "I don't know who I am anymore."
"You're the girl who spared me. That's enough for now."
They sat in silence, and for the first time since they met, the air between them softened.
Not safe. But human.
And maybe, just maybe, that was more dangerous than any blade.