Chapter 2: Echoes of a Name

The morning after the dream was heavy with stillness.

Aiden sat on the edge of his bed, the sunlight spilling through the curtains in golden streams, warming the floor but not the strange coldness in his chest. He had barely slept, and when he did, he drifted through half-formed visions—fragments of places that could not exist. Towers of light. A sky split by lightning. A mirror where his reflection whispered a name.

Kairos Vale.

It echoed in his head like it belonged to him. But it did not. It could not. His name was Aiden. Always had been. And yet, every time he tried to shake it off, that other name settled back into place like a weight on his thoughts.

He stared at the book on his desk. Its cover was still plain and cracked, the sigil faint and cold now. No matter how many times he flipped through its pages, they remained blank. But he could not bring himself to throw it away.

It felt... connected to him.

He stuffed it into his backpack and left the apartment, locking the door behind him. The air outside smelled of rain and concrete. Puddles shimmered with oil slicks under the pale sky, and the city's usual buzz was muffled, like everything was caught in a breath waiting to be released.

As he walked toward campus, Aiden tried to focus on normal things. Class schedules. Homework he had not finished. A history paper he would likely fake his way through.

But none of it mattered.

His thoughts circled the same spiral: the dream, the voice, the name, the book.

It felt like something had shifted. Something inside him and around him. Like a veil had torn and nothing fit quite right anymore.

When he arrived at the university library, it was quieter than usual. A few students were scattered across the main floor, hunched over screens and notebooks. The air was dry, thick with the scent of old pages and recycled heat.

He climbed back to the upper loft, back to the place where it all began.

The chair he had knocked over yesterday was upright again.

There was no sign of disturbance. No one had come looking for the book. No warnings. No messages. It was as if the whole event had never happened.

But he knew better.

He sat at the same table and pulled out the book, running his fingers across the cover.

"What are you?" he murmured.

No answer came. Only the silence of the shelves around him.

He opened the book again.

Blank.

But then—just as he was about to close it—something shimmered at the corner of his eye. A flicker of movement across the page. He stared harder.

A faint ripple ran through the parchment.

Words began to appear.

Slowly.

One by one.

Do you remember yet?

Aiden froze.

The letters were written in the same silvery ink as before, curling across the page like they were being etched in real time.

You have forgotten your name. Forgotten the gates. Forgotten the fire.

His hands trembled. "What is this?"

The ink pulsed.

But the Rift has not forgotten you.

Aiden slammed the book shut and backed away, nearly knocking over the chair again.

He turned and looked around. No one. No one had noticed. Everyone was still focused on their own lives, untouched by whatever madness was now unraveling inside his.

He grabbed the book and rushed out of the loft.

Outside, the clouds had thickened. The wind carried a sharpness that made his skin prickle.

He did not go to class.

Instead, he walked. For hours.

Through side streets and alleys he barely recognized. Past old cathedrals swallowed by moss. Along cracked pavements lined with rusted vending machines. The city felt older today, like its bones were showing.

At some point, he found himself at the edge of Velhollow Park.

It was an overgrown place, more forest than park now, with crumbling stone paths and trees that had long since broken their manmade boundaries. He followed the winding trail past the old archway, deeper into the green.

And that was where it happened again.

The wind stopped.

The trees froze.

The world fell utterly silent.

And a voice—calm, distant—spoke from nowhere and everywhere at once.

You are standing where worlds converge.

Aiden turned in all directions, but he was alone.

The voice continued, as if reading his thoughts.

You have touched the Riftstone. It remembers you, even if you do not remember it.

He took a step back. "Who are you?"

No answer came. But ahead, beneath the roots of a massive, ancient tree, something shimmered faintly in the earth.

Aiden approached.

Half-buried beneath layers of moss and dirt was a stone tablet. Circular. Marked with the same sigil as the book.

He reached out, brushing the moss away.

The moment his fingers made contact, a pulse of energy shot up his arm, blinding and warm. His knees buckled, and visions surged into his mind—thousands of them, too fast to hold.

Silver towers. A burning sky. A gate of stars. A war of silence and flame. And again, that name:

Kairos Vale.

But this time, the voice said it with finality.

You are Kairos Vale. The world does not remember you, but the Rift does.

Aiden collapsed to the ground, gasping.

The world snapped back.

The wind returned.

Birds chirped.

The trees swayed gently.

The stone tablet was gone.

Only the imprint remained, faint in the earth.

Aiden lay there for a long time, staring at the sky through the leaves.

Nothing made sense.

But he knew two things.

The world he thought he knew was cracking.

And he was no longer just Aiden.