The Forgotten Names

The door had shut behind us.

Not slammed. Not locked.

Just closed.

Then there was total silence.

No wind. No shifting stone. No more whispers.

With just the weight of something watching.

A Library That's Not Supposed to Exist

It wasn't a room like the rest of the stronghold.

The stone was unchanged — cold, ancient — but this place had been kept.

No dust. No decay.

There are books that should not be in here on shelves leading up to the ceiling.

Not in a ruin.

Not in a place no one could remember.

Not in a place that had been whitewashed.

Asura stretched her hand, grazing her fingers over the spines of the books. "These are recent."

I frowned. "How recent?"

She extracted one and turned it over.

The cover was bound in smooth leather. The ink was dark.

She flipped it open.

And that's when I saw it.

A list of names.

THE ONES WHO SHOULD HAVE BEEN REMEMBERED

I moved closer, reading over her shoulder.

The names meant nothing; they were all new to me.

And that was the problem.

These were knights. Soldiers. Big people, historic people.

But I had never heard of them before.

I glanced at Asura. "Do you recognize any of these names?

She didn't answer.

You know, flipping through the pages.

Faster now.

Her breathing had slowed, for sure, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.

She did not know who they were, either.

And she was supposed to.

These people had been erased.

The Hidden War

One of the recruits, still on edge, picked up a book of his own.

He opened it — and his breath caught.

"There's more than names."

I turned, marching toward him. He opened the book and his hands trembled a little.

The pages were more than just records.

They were accounts.

Written by the same people whose names had been erased.

….

The script was beautiful but hurried. Like the author was racing to complete in time before anything caught up to them.

I read out loud, my voice soft but steady.

"They will not let us leave. We know too much. The fortress has consumed us whole."

"Tell them — tell the next ones — that we fought. That we did not break. That even when it was dark, we remembered the light."

"And if you discover this, if you are reading this text —"

The ink cut off sharply.

As if the writer had gone before they could complete.

The first hint at the second villain's minions

Asura turned another page.

This time, it was without an account.

Just a symbol.

A sigil was seared into the parchment. hide

It was easy — three slashes through a circle, jagged, uneven, like claw marks.

I had never seen it before.

But Asura had.

Her fingers traced across it, her expression inscrutable.

"The ones who wear this symbol," she said, voice lowered. "They don't just kill you."

She looked up at me.

"They erase you."

The Stronghold Had Always Been a Tomb

The weight of those words hung in the air.

We weren't in a library.

We were standing in a mass grave.

A monument to those who had fought and failed.

To those who'd sought to thwart the shadows —and been retroactively erased from history as punishment.

And now we were here.

Reading their final words.

Would we be next to have our names added?

Asura shut the book.

She turned toward the door.

"We need to leave."

And that's when it went dark.

...…

Not gradually. Not as torches sputter lack of oil.

One second the room floated in flickering candlelight — the next, complete darkness.

The temperature plummeted. My breath hung in front of me, sharp enough to hurt. And, for a moment, the silence was thick, absolute, as if the stronghold itself breathed in and would never breathe out again.

Then—a sound.

A rustling.

Like paper shifting.

As if the books themselves were on the move.

The Library Awakens

Asura was the first to move.

I heard the quiet scrape of her dagger coming out, the measured shift as she readied for the fight. She didn't say anything, but I could tell she was already bracing for the worst.

My palm closed around the weathered leather grip of my sword.

Then, the rustling stopped.

And one book removed itself from a shelf.

It didn't fall.

It didn't tumble.

It floated.

Suspended in the air, pages flipping like fast fingers searching through the pages of a book for some confirmation.

Then—a voice.

Not from the room.

From the book itself.

….

A whisper, somehow lower than my  breath.

"Who remembers the not remembered?"

The words skittered across my skin, colder than the air.

The recruits behind us stirred, their panic pushing against the quiet like a blade on cloth. One muttered an under-the-breath prayer.

No one answered.

Well, because we didn't know the answer.

Because we were never meant to be here.

For whatever had been speaking to us had been waiting a long, long time.

The book snapped shut.

Then another slid free.

Then another.

Then all of them.

The Names That Need Not Be Mentioned

Hundreds of books ripped themselves from the shelves, pages flying, the wind from their movement roaring through the silent room.

Some hit the ground.

Some floated.

Some of them remained where they had always been true, yet the pages turned themselves.

And as they turned—

The names began to whisper.

Not in unison. Not a chant.

Each alone.

Again and again.

Voices out of the torn history of the world.

A woman's voice. "I was Ser Elain of the Western Watch."

Voices nudging one another. "I was Horrick."

A child's voice. "I was just fifteen."*

A man's voice. "Knight-Commander Farris. I fought and lost."

The stones of the room seemed to absorb the words, as the air grew thicker with every breath.

Asura's grip around the dagger tightened.

She was not afraid.

She was listening.

Something Else Walks This Room

Then came the storm of voices—

A sound that did not belong.

The sounds began—quiet and deliberate.

No one was speaking.

It was not a book.

No whisper.

A footfall.

From inside the room.

I cast my eyes around, the hammer of my pulse ready to drop my sword hand—

And found no one.

Just the books. Just the whispers.

Yet, that other foot fell.

Ten paces behind me.

The recruit panicked. I could see it in sweaty palms' grip on the hilt. Their breathing was jagged.

They wanted to run.

But it found nowhere in the darkness waiting.

In here or the terror beyond the door.

Choices

That door shuddered with her answer.

She did not hesitate.

Asura spun, fingers seizing the iron grip—

And pulled. The door didn't tighten. It opened.

And outside—

It was waiting. Shadows Forces First Glimpse

No more empty corridors beyond. No more shuffling as shifting stone settled.

Because there was something out there now.

A figure, the thin of the cold torches upon their battered armor.

Tall. Cloaked.

Their face was covered by a dark hood, but the air around them stilled, regardless.

A sword hung at their hip. Their hands dangled at their sides — not tense, not ready to pull.

They weren't afraid of us.

They weren't in a rush.

Because they were expecting us.

Asura didn't move.

I didn't breathe.

The voices from the books had gone silent.

And the figure finally spoke in the silence.

A Voice of Absolute Calm

"You have read what should not be read."

The voice was low. Steady.

Not angry.

Not cruel.

Just… certain.

As if they weren't here to chide.

Like they were here to ensure nobody left.

The Weight of the Moment

Everything in me screamed to RUUUN.

Everything in me knew we could not.

We had stepped too far.

We had seen too much.

We had read the names of the unnamed.

Now we were made to pay the price.

Asura exhaled slowly.

She didn't unsheath her dagger.

She didn't move.

She spoke only, her tone flat. "Who are you?"

The figure moved its head slightly.

Then, with the same calm, absolute certainty—

"It doesn't matter who I am."

They moved a step in the forward direction.

"It only matters that you won't go."