⚠️ Content WarningThis chapter includes psychological trauma, magical imprisonment, and depictions of ritualistic torture. Please read mindfully.

The sun didn't rise on the day I chose my name.

It waited.

As if the sky itself held its breath.

The empire had already taken the throne room.

The queen's blood hadn't dried yet.

The crown had been melted into slag.

Kael was gone — somewhere beneath the palace — and no one said his name anymore.

Not even me.

The servants moved around me like I was glass.

Like I might crack if someone touched me too hard.

They didn't speak.

Didn't mock.

Didn't bow.

They just… passed.

Like ghosts.

Like I was one of them now.

Prince Elarion had been summoned to the inner sanctum that morning.

He didn't invite me.

I followed anyway.

Because no one stopped me anymore.

The room was not the throne hall.

Not a court chamber.

Not a sanctuary.

It was a circle of black stone, hollowed out from beneath the foundations. Lit only by candlelight and mirrored runes carved into the floor.

And in the center—

A pool of still water.

Shallow. Perfect. Silver as moonlight.

This was where names were chosen.

Where gods once whispered into the bones of kings.

Now it was quiet.

And I was alone.

Elarion didn't follow.

Not even the priest.

Just me.

And the water.

And the silence.

I stepped forward.

Slowly.

The seal in my chest didn't burn.

It watched.

The surface didn't ripple as I knelt beside it.

My reflection looked like something borrowed.

Eyes too tired. Lips too quiet.

But for once, I saw myself clearly.

Not Kael's brother.

Not the queen's mistake.

Not the Hollow.

Just… me.

And that's when I said it.

Not loud.

Not soft.

Just real.

A name no one had given me.

A name I had pulled from somewhere deep.

A name I could live with.

A name that belonged only to me.

"My name is…"

And I said it.

I won't write it here.

Because it was mine.

And in that moment — that breath — the pool shimmered.

Not gold. Not white.

But black. Like ink blooming in clear water.

Then vanished.

And the silence felt whole.

I stood.

And the seal behind my ribs hummed.

But didn't ache.

Somewhere far below, something screamed.

They had stripped him of his name.

Not by word.

But by silence.

They did not chain his hands.

They burned his magic.

Not the surface.

The core.

The chamber had no walls.

Only darkness.

But it knew him.

And it hated him.

The priests didn't speak.

They used tools.

Light-forged rods. Holy salt. Brands shaped like stars.

They didn't question him.

They didn't threaten him.

They studied him.

Like a creature.

Like something that had grown wrong.

Every hour, they returned.

Every hour, they peeled back another layer of silence.

Sometimes it was sound.

Sometimes memory.

Sometimes skin.

They tried to erase what he was.

The seal he'd carved into his brother's body pulsed whenever they got too close.

It fought.

It warned.

And they hated it.

They poured molten warding sigils over his chest.

They carved light into his shoulders.

But still, the brand on his brother's ribs answered.

And that made them fear.

One night, they tried to separate him from it.

A ritual.

A divine thread of severance.

They whispered a god's name.

Kael laughed.

And spat blood into their flames.

They beat him after that.

Not with fists.

With spells.

Purification rites.

The kind meant to tear souls.

He broke, once.

But not in body.

In silence.

When they branded his back with the words: FORGOTTEN.

His lips split.

Not from pain.

From fury.

He didn't scream.

He smiled.

And then he saw it.

Not in the dark.

Not in the flames.

In the silence between.

When the pain blurred, and the magic twisted.

When his heart nearly stopped.

When they thought he was finally gone.

He opened his eyes—

And saw him.

The demon.

Not in flesh.

In vision.

Tall. Terrible. Beautiful.

Long white hair. Horns like blades. Red eyes glowing with something ancient and unspeakable.

He didn't move.

He just… watched.

Kael stared.

Numb. Bloody. Silent.

The demon raised one finger.

And touched Kael's brow.

There was no fire.

No magic.

Just knowing.

Kael fell.

Collapsed like a marionette with cut strings.

He did not sleep.

But he dreamed.

Of a world not built for kings.

Of a throne made of bone.

Of a voice that whispered:

"When they have broken your body… return to me."

"I will show you how to break the world."

Kael woke.

He was alone.

The warding circle around him was shattered.

The chains? Melted.

The runes? Dim.

He stood.

 Bruised. Marked with blood and flame.

But alive.

He did not take the exit they built.

He carved his own.

When the priests returned in the morning, the chamber was empty.

No body.

No blood.

Only a single rune burned into the wall.

A name none of them recognized.

A language none could read.

But it was alive.

And it hummed.

And the palace held its breath.

Up above, I touched the seal on my ribs.

It was quiet.

But for the first time in my life—

It didn't feel like a shackle.

It felt like a thread.

Tied to something far, far below.

To something that had escaped.

To something that would return.