A Name Given
The moment his mind reached for it—
The world shattered.
The air cracked like fractured glass, and a soundless force ripped through him, sending his body convulsing with an agony unlike anything before.
This wasn't like being beaten, starved, or torn apart.
This was deeper.
His very existence felt like it was breaking apart, unraveling into something raw, something new.
And in that instant—he understood.
The Trial wasn't about killing him.
It was about breaking him open.
His vision blurred. The pain became distant.
And suddenly—
He wasn't in the Trial anymore.
Not physically. Not in a way he could explain.
He was standing in a space that shouldn't exist.
There was no ground, no sky. Only a vast, endless void—not empty, but full.
And within that void, suspended in the nothingness, was something waiting.
A shape. A presence.
Something that felt like it had been watching him all along.
The pull inside him tightened—a tether connecting him to whatever this was.
And then, for the first time, he heard it.
A voice.
Not in words. Not in sound.
But in meaning.
"You have reached the threshold."
"Do you claim what is yours?"
His breath caught. His entire body was trembling, but he forced his fingers into fists.
What the hell kind of question was that?
Hadn't he already made that choice?
Hadn't he already bled, suffered, and endured just to stand here?
He grit his teeth, eyes burning with exhaustion and defiance.
"What kind of dumbass would come this far and say no?"
Silence.
Then—
The void swallowed him whole.
A searing force poured into him—not fire, not light, but something deeper.
Like his very being was being rewritten.
Like the part of him that had always been locked away was finally being unleashed.
The Trial had pushed him to the edge of death—because only at the edge could he break through.
And in that moment—
He Ascended.His vision flickered.
The world twisted.
The Trial's oppressive sky darkened around him, the power surging inside him pulling at the edges of his mind—too much, too fast.
His body had already been pushed beyond its limits.
And now, with this newfound force awakening inside him, there was nothing left to hold him together.
The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was the fractured sky rippling above.
Then—nothing.
---
When he woke again, he wasn't in the Trial anymore.
His senses returned in pieces.
A faint beeping. The sterile scent of antiseptics. The feeling of something soft beneath him—a bed.
His body still ached, but the raw pain from before had dulled, wrapped in something almost… warm.
Slowly, his eyes cracked open.
A dimly lit room. White walls. Machines lined against one side, faintly humming. He tried to move, but his body felt like lead.
Then he noticed them.
Three figures stood nearby, half-shrouded in the artificial light.
The Lifted who had saved him.
Their eyes were locked onto him—watching.
They looked different now. Less like the powerful beings he had once thought them to be.
More… wary.
Like they weren't sure what he was anymore.
One of them, the girl with short dark hair, was the first to speak.
"You're awake."
Her voice was steady, but there was something underneath it. Something she was trying to hide.
He swallowed, his throat dry. Memories came rushing back.
The Trial.
The fight.
The power.
And then… Darkness
He exhaled slowly, voice hoarse as he spoke for the first time.
"Where… am I?"
The older one, the guy with sharp features and a bandaged arm, crossed his arms.
"The Noctis Academy hospital. You were unconscious for two days."
Two days.
He let that sink in.
They had carried him out of the Outskirts. Out of the place he had always been left to rot in.
And now—he was here.
Where the Lifted belonged.
Where he apparently belonged.
His fingers twitched against the blanket, his voice quieter this time.
"...Why?"
The girl exchanged a glance with the others.
Then she said, "Because we saw what you did."
Her gaze hardened.
"And whatever the hell you are now—you're not normal."
The silence in the room stretched, thick with unspoken words.
He could feel their stares—not just curiosity. Suspicion.
Like they were trying to figure out if he was even still human.
The older guy leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You should be dead."
No hesitation. No softening of words.
Just fact.
The girl glanced at him but didn't argue. None of them did.
Because they were right.
He should be dead.
But he wasn't.
And none of them could explain why.
A sharp knock broke the tension. The door swung open, and a man in a long coat stepped inside, his presence filling the space immediately.
The doctor.
His eyes swept over the boy like a scientist examining a strange specimen.
He approached the bedside, glancing at the monitors, then at the bandages wrapped around the boy's body.
"You're stable," the doctor murmured, almost to himself. "Which makes no sense considering your condition when they brought you in."
He met the boy's gaze, scrutinizing.
"Your wounds were severe. You had multiple fractures, torn ligaments, internal bleeding. Yet, despite all that—you're conscious. Awake. Healing faster than any normal Lifted should."
The doctor tilted his head slightly.
"Who are you?"
The boy stared back.
He opened his mouth—then stopped.
Because he didn't have an answer.
Not because he didn't know what to say.
But because there was nothing to say.
No name. No identity.
Just existence.
The silence stretched too long. The doctor's expression barely shifted, but the others… they noticed.
The girl's brow furrowed slightly. Oh yh "You don't have a name?"
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The way his gaze dropped slightly, the flicker of something in his expression—it was enough.
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly, she exhaled, shaking her head.
"That's annoying."
He blinked.
She met his eyes, something firm and decided in her expression.
"Fine. Then I'll give you one."
The other two Lifted glanced at her, but she ignored them, staring at him like she was claiming ownership over this moment.
She studied him for a long second—really looking at him.
The dark, unkempt hair barely brushing his shoulders. The pale skin that looked almost ashen in the artificial light.
The boy who had crawled out of the Outskirts, survived a Trial, and now sat here—a complete anomaly.
Her lips parted.
"Ash."
The name hung in the air between them.
Simple. Short. Final.
She tilted her head slightly. "It fits."
He stared at her.
Not because he liked it.
Not because he hated it.
But because this was the first time anyone had ever given him something.
He exhaled through his nose, eyes closing briefly.
"...Sure."
His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. But it was enough.
A name was a small thing.
But for the first time in his life, he had one.
Ash.
The doctor nodded, making a note on his tablet.
"Good. Now that that's settled—" he glanced toward the door, where several uniformed figures were now standing.
"The Academy has some questions for you."