The Vault of Names

The Ruined Spiral Mountains loomed like jagged scars across the northern horizon.Stone arches twisted unnaturally—remnants of battles between ancient cultivators and forbidden gods.

But tucked within the highest of those peaks, hidden beneath ice that refused to melt, stood the Vault of Names.

Or so the legends said.

"This is it?" the boy asked, staring at the towering crevice choked with black mist.

"This is the gate," Lian Xue said, pulling her hood over her silver hair. "But the Vault isn't just hidden—it's alive."

"Alive?"

"It senses intent. If it believes you're not ready to remember, it'll trap you inside with everyone you tried to forget."

He touched the edge of the mist.

For a moment, the memory root on his arm flickered… and the mist parted, just slightly.

Enough for them to pass.

"You're carrying more weight than before," Lian Xue said as they entered. "The slab's names… they're still speaking to you?"

"Whispering. They don't know who they are. Only who they used to be."

"Be careful. Sometimes memory is heavier than death."

Inside, the world turned silent.

Utterly silent.

No footsteps. No breath. Not even their own thoughts echoed.

They walked for what felt like hours through halls carved from forgotten stone—shimmering with fragments of old languages that shifted when stared at directly.

Then… a door.

No handle. No keyhole. Just a glowing question engraved upon it:

"What is a name worth if no one remembers it?"

The boy reached out and answered aloud:

"Everything."

The door opened.

The Vault of Names was nothing like he expected.

It looked like a temple made of scrolls. Millions of them floated, orbiting a central well of silver fire. Each scroll had a name. And each name had a story.

And in the center…

Sat an old man in gray robes, eyes closed.

He had no aura. No cultivation. No presence at all.

But as the boy stepped forward, he opened his eyes.

They weren't eyes.

They were endless libraries.

"The Archivist," Lian Xue whispered.

The old man looked at the boy, unblinking.

"You brought the root," he said in a voice older than the mountain. "And it's burning again."

"I need answers," the boy said. "About who I was. And why my name was removed."

The Archivist nodded.

"You want to remember, but do you want to accept?"

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't just erased. You were voted out—by the very people you saved."

The boy froze.

"They feared you. Even your allies. Especially her."

He glanced at Lian Xue.

"You burned too bright, child. The first to cultivate the Root of Memory. The only one who could remember every timeline, every betrayal, every lie."

"Then show me," the boy demanded. "Show me who I was."

The Archivist raised his hand.

From the well of fire, a scroll floated toward them.

It hovered, then burst open.

Flashback: 10,000 Years Ago

A battlefield drenched in black fire.

The boy stood on a mountain of corpses—his enemies, his allies, even his master.

At his side: Lian Xue, drenched in blood.

"They turned on us," she had said then. "They chose to forget. But I won't let them erase you."

"You already have," he had whispered, bleeding from his eyes. "You're holding the Memory Knife."

She'd stabbed him with it. Not out of hate.

But out of fear.

"You knew too much. You remembered everything. Even the day we killed the Heavenly Throne."

Back in the present, the boy staggered as the vision ended.

His nose bled.

"I wasn't a hero," he murmured. "I was a weapon."

"No," the Archivist said. "You were a flame. And flames burn, even when they don't want to."

"There's more," Lian Xue said. "Isn't there?"

The Archivist nodded.

"Your real name wasn't lost. It was locked away."

He raised his finger and pointed to the deepest part of the vault.

"Go there. Touch the scroll that glows. And you will learn it."

"What's the cost?" the boy asked.

The Archivist smiled sadly.

"You will never be able to forget again."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you'll remain a hollow root. Sprouting. Twisting. But never blooming."

The boy turned toward the path.

"I want to remember."

"Even if it means becoming him again?" Lian Xue asked.

He looked at her, eyes clear.

"Yes. Because I think that version of me… wasn't wrong."

As he stepped toward the glowing scroll, the walls trembled.

Suddenly, a scream echoed—impossible in the vault.

Lian Xue turned sharply.

"Someone else entered!"

"No," the Archivist said, rising slowly. "Something else. A Name-Eater."

From the shadows, a black creature slithered forward—faceless, eyeless, dripping liquid letters from its mouth.

"It devours names. And memory roots like yours… are a feast."