8: The Name Beneath The Ash

The name hit like thunder behind her eyes.

Chronicle Flame.

The sound of it unraveled something inside her, as if an invisible thread that had kept her thoughts tied together had just snapped. The bridge around her felt farther away, the air suddenly too thin to breathe.

Ezra stepped in front of her. “That name was purged. Sealed. You should not remember it.”

“But I do,” Lili whispered. Her voice didn’t sound like her own—it was older, heavier. It came from somewhere deeper than her throat. “Why do I remember it?”

The masked figure at the gate of the ruined citadel tilted their head slightly. Their silver mask glinted under the ghost-light. “Because remembering was always inevitable. Denial can only last for so long when fire lives in your veins.”

Ezra narrowed her eyes. “State your allegiance.”

The figure took a step forward. “You can call me Maren. And my allegiance lies where all stories begin—with the truth.”

Elira frowned. “Truth isn’t an allegiance. It’s a weapon.”

“Exactly,” Maren said softly. “And Lili forged it first.”

Lili blinked, trying to stay grounded. “Why are you here? Why now?”

Maren gestured toward the corrupted citadel behind them. “Because you’re finally standing at the edge of your memory. Everything you need is inside—your past, your name, the first flame.”

“I don’t want to remember everything yet,” Lili muttered.

“But the Hollow Realm does,” Maren replied. “And if you don’t take it back yourself, they will do it for you—and twist it into something else.”

Ezra growled. “You think you can guide her? You're a fragment. A remnant.”

Maren’s eyes, though hidden, seemed to flick toward Ezra with something like pity. “I am what she made me—when she tried to lock the door behind her. I’ve waited in this ruin longer than either of you have drawn breath in your current bodies.”

Elira stiffened. “She created you?”

Maren didn’t answer. He simply turned and stepped backward through the citadel gates, vanishing into the gloom.

“Do we trust them?” Lili asked, though her feet were already moving.

“No,” Ezra and Elira said in unison.

“But we follow,” Ezra added.

---

The ruined citadel was colder than Valdris, though no snow fell. Its walls bore cracks that breathed—a strange rhythm, as if the building itself still remembered being alive. Each column twisted toward the ceiling as though reaching for stars long extinguished.

Lili walked behind Maren slowly, the others behind her, glancing at the warped statues that lined the main corridor. Some had missing faces. Others bore too many. One looked like her—almost.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Your first haven,” Maren replied without turning. “You built it when the Obscura refused to shelter what you had become.”

“I built… this?” she said, staring at the cracked floor beneath her boots.

Ezra kept one hand near her side, ready for any sign of illusion. “You were fractured by then. You were many things at once.”

“And one of them made me,” Maren added.

Lili stopped walking. “Then what are you, exactly? Some twisted echo of me?”

Maren finally turned, slowly removing his mask.

Beneath it was a face that stole her breath.

Not because it was horrific.

But because it was hers.

Masculine, yes. Older. Weathered by grief and knowledge. But the curve of the mouth, the tilt of the eyes—it was her reflection cast through time.

“I was the memory you burned away,” Maren said quietly. “The half of you that remembered everything… when you couldn’t.”

Lili staggered backward. Elira caught her by the elbow.

“This can’t be real,” she said. “I wouldn’t create something like this.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Maren said. “But when you fractured, I remained. And I’ve been keeping the last piece safe.”

He turned again and led them down another corridor. The ceilings here arched impossibly high, stars painted across the stone—some constellations familiar, others from skies Lili had never seen.

They reached a sealed chamber at the very end, its doors marked with glowing chains.

“This is where it’s kept,” Maren said, stepping aside.

“What is?” Lili asked.

“Your true name,” he replied. “Not the one the Hollow whispers. The one that burns through illusions. The name you gave up… to protect everything else.”

Ezra stepped forward, inspecting the chains. “These glyphs are old. Dangerous.”

“They were carved by her own hands,” Maren said.

Elira looked to Lili. “Only you can break them.”

“I’m not ready,” Lili said.

“You are,” Maren replied.

She looked at the chains. They pulsed like veins—soft, waiting. As if they could feel her approach.

Lili took a trembling step forward, placing her palm against the seal.

The chains pulsed.

Images flared through her mind—flashes of fire, of her holding a sword made of light and memory. A girl standing beside her, bleeding. Elira. Screaming her name.

The pain hit like lightning. Lili dropped to one knee, gasping.

Ezra stepped forward—but Maren raised a hand. “She has to finish it.”

Lili’s vision blurred. Her hand pressed harder into the door.

“I don’t want to see it,” she whispered. “I don’t want to remember what I did.”

“But you must,” Maren said. “Because no one else can carry this.”

With a cry, Lili pressed her forehead against the door and whispered:

“Let me see.”

The chains dissolved.

The door creaked open—revealing a chamber filled with swirling light. Suspended in the center, glowing softly, was a single scroll wrapped in violet flame.

Lili stepped toward it, drawn like a moth to its warmth.

Ezra whispered from behind her, “That’s it. That’s your name. The soul-name.”

Elira’s voice trembled. “We shouldn’t be here. Not this soon.”

But it was too late.

Lili reached for the scroll.

And as her fingers touched it—light burst through the room, followed by a scream that did not belong to any of them.

Far away, in the Hollow Realm, the Readers jolted.

“She’s found it,” one whispered.

Another hissed, “She remembers.”

In the darkness below, the Forgotten Maw stirred.

And smiled.