The classroom smelled of parchment and ink. Dust danced in the sunlight. Miss Jade's voice cut through the silence.
"And this," said Miss Jade, her voice calm but vibrant, "is the legend of the nameless city's downfall, passed down through generations."
Her students sat in silence, still half lost in the echo of the story. Then the murmuring began. Eyes bright with curiosity, minds stirring like ripples after a stone had struck still water.
"You may ask questions now," she said.
Countless hands rose.
"Alright, I'll try to answer as many as time allows, Samira."
The girl stood, hesitant. "Yes, first of all… how can we know this legend isn't just a fabrication Things like the conversation between the king and the eon… how could anyone possibly know they happened like that?"
Miss Jade smiled. "A fair question. You all know the purpose of this academy and what you are preparing to become. You are training to be Chroniclers. While other students wield swords or mix potions for lives as guards or alchemists, you study the forgotten roots of our world, where the truths are buried beneath the myths, where even heroes feared to tread."
She paused, letting her gaze wander over the room.
"A chronicler must also learn swordsmanship, alchemy, and even simple crafts like hunting or cooking to survive beyond the empire's borders. But what makes us different?" she asked, lowering her voice.
Dozens of hands lifted again. She scanned the room, and then her eyes met one hand she had almost hoped not to see. For a heartbeat her smile faltered, and a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face. Then as quick as it came, it was gone.
"Kael," she said at last. "Your answer?"
The boy straightened. "Because we Chroniclers can use the power of words, right?"
"Exactly. But these words are not mere language as we speak it now. Their origin lies far beyond our history. Their power flows from the Twelve Eons themselves. Each word bends the very laws of existence, and a single misuse can bring death, or worse. That is why only fully trained Chroniclers may wield them, and why their use is forbidden within this empire."
"But teacher," another voice asked, "when do we learn them and how to use them?"
"You are in your second year," she replied. "At the end of it awaits your first examination. Pass, and you will be granted access to the advanced lessons, the path to understanding and shaping this power. But the true words themselves are not revealed until graduation, and even then, only those who survive a certain trial may speak them."
A murmur swept the room.
"So we can learn everything about them," a student muttered, "yet they're meaningless if we fail that trial?"
Miss Jade smiled faintly. "Exactly, I myself know three words but cannot use them."
"Only three? Shouldn't all twelve be known?"
"Once, yes. But time devours knowledge as easily as flesh. Many chroniclers perished before passing on what they'd learned, and the words cannot be written down. Our headmaster is said to know all twelve, but he has taken a vow of silence."
"Then which one remains?"
"That," she murmured, "I cannot tell you. But one of them revealed the true nature of the Nameless city's fall."
"Then why," Kael asked, "are parts of the story, like the king's name or the murderer's identity, still unknown?"
Miss Jade folded her hands behind her back. "No one knows. Some say those truths were lost through the ages. Others believe the eon erased them himself. Perhaps one of you will uncover the answer someday. But remember: Even kings who swear eternal vows can be broken. So study well and prepare yourself."
A hush settled. The candles flickered, and for an instant their flames leaned as if toward her words.
Then her tone changed, lower, heavier.
"But beware of the Wordkeepers. They are not of our world nor the heavens, born of something older, darker. No record tells where they came from or why they hunt. Only this is certain: They pursue all who dare to use the words, and those who are caught… are said to envy the dead."
Her eyes swept the silent class.
"As it is written: every action calls for its reaction. So be cautious and use them wisely."
The bell rang, a single metallic chime that broke the spell.
The classroom emptied in a rustle of robes and whispers. But Kael remained seated; Miss Jade's final words drifted in his mind like smoke that refused to fade.
Every action has its reaction.
He exhaled, gathering his notes, then walked through the corridors until the chatter fell behind him. Outside, the gardens breathed with evening wind, petals trembling like small hearts.
If words truly shape reality, he thought, then what have I spoken into mine?