I sighed, glancing at the WPA officers who remained seated. The tall woman with brown hair turned her head to look at me. She took a sip of her coffee where she had gotten it from, I had no idea and then spoke. Her tone was usually professional, but this time it was a bit softer.
"Well, we were about to leave, but I thought of something you might be very interested in," she said.
I frowned, feeling my annoyance grow. "And what is that? Tell me."
I was exhausted and wanted to rest, though I knew I was fine. My mind was cluttered with unanswered questions. What had happened, and how had that man died? I had a nagging feeling that I was somehow responsible, but I didn't understand how. And what about that floating blood at the end? I still remembered the eerie sensation as if I had been controlling it.
An officer, speaking with a teacher-like tone, asked, "Let's start with something basic. Do you know why people are called 'nameless,' even though they could give themselves a name? Even if they do, no one recognizes it."
"Um, I don't know," I replied, my confusion evident. "I've tried to give myself a name, but people never recognized it."
"Well, they can give themselves a name, but it won't be considered a true name," the officer explained. "A true name can only be given by your blood relatives your parents, siblings, or any other close relatives. It will only work once, and if you want to change it, you'll need to perform a name-changing ritual. Changing your surname is a different matter altogether because that ritual is even more complex. You can't take an existing surname unless you have that blood running through your veins."
I listened, feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity. I wanted to rest, but this discussion was drawing me in. "That's okay, but why are you telling me this? What does it have to do with me?"
"There are some chances you might have a name," the officer said with a hint of a smile. "It's possible that you were given a name that you don't know about. There have been rare cases like that. If you're one of those cases, we might be able to find your true name."
A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. Despite my attempts to remain indifferent, the thought of having a true name something that would signify my existence beyond being a 'nameless' was stirring something deep inside me. I clenched my fists, trying to control the surge of emotion. My mind raced with thoughts of my past, the abandonment, and the lack of identity that had haunted me.
"I never thought I'd feel like this," I thought to myself, surprised at my reaction.
I looked at the woman, narrowing my eyes. "How will you know if my parents or anyone blood-related gave me a name? Didn't you say I don't exist in any records of your system?"
I had almost uttered the words "blood relatives" but stopped myself. They were people who had abandoned me, and I didn't want to acknowledge them. They had never been there for me, and the pain of their rejection was something I had long since resolved to ignore.
The woman seemed to catch my hesitation and paused for a moment before continuing. "Actually, when you're first given a name, it's added to something called the World Book."
"A World Book? What's that?" I asked, puzzled. The concept was new to me.
"It's like an information index or tab. Whenever a child is given a name by their parents, it gets automatically registered in the World Book. Researchers haven't figured out why this happens, but it's a known process. Every spiritual being with a name is registered there."
My confusion deepened. "And this is why 'nameless' exists?"
The woman nodded. "In the past, if parents had a child whose magical talent was unsatisfactory, or they felt the child didn't deserve a name, they would withhold naming them. It was a cruel practice intended to shame the child. Though it's rare today, it was quite common in older times. Some people were named 'nameless' as a form of degradation.
But there could be other reasons, like if you had no other blood relatives, or if your mother died giving birth and couldn't name you, or if your relatives were absent. Sometimes, parents did give a name but abandoned the child before they could remember it. Many factors could contribute to someone being nameless."
I absorbed her words, feeling a deep sense of injustice. It angered me that a child's future could be marred by the failings of those who should have cared for them. The thought of being punished for circumstances beyond my control was infuriating, yet it seemed to be a reality I had to accept.
The woman's gaze softened. "There's still a way to find out if you were given a name. Would you like to try?"
Despite the uncertainty, a glimmer of hope flared within me. I straightened up, my heart pounding with anticipation. "Let's do it," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I want to know."
The woman set her coffee cup down and stood up. She approached my bed, holding a piece of paper. A ring on her hand flashed briefly, possibly a storage ring.
"This is called Truthweave," she said, holding up the paper. "It's a magical paper that reveals your true name with a drop of your blood. It's very expensive, but the WMA provides it to us at no cost. It's useful only for ten seconds after the blood leaves your body. Beyond that, it's ineffective. If it weren't for this limitation, it would make our job much easier. Imagine being able to identify someone with just a drop of blood," she said with a wistful smile.
"Alright, give me something sharp," I said, looking at the officer with the short ponytail.
The officer quickly stood up, looking around in a flurry, as if searching for where to put her coffee cup.
"No need," the tall officer said, her tone indicating annoyance. She raised her hand and chanted softly, "Scarify." A gentle light shot towards my finger, making me flinch. I cursed myself for not being more guarded.
The spell made a small cut on my index finger, and I felt a brief sting.
"Calm down, kid," the woman said with a small laugh. "It's just a minor cut."
I bit back a retort, not wanting to seem more annoyed. I placed my wounded finger above the Truthweave paper. At first, no blood dripped onto it, probably because the cut was too small. I squeezed my finger to let a drop of blood fall onto the paper.
As soon as the blood touched the paper, the Truthweave began to transform. The once pristine white paper absorbed the blood, and within moments, it started to ripple and change as if it were alive.
The blood spread across the paper, its color deepening to a rich crimson, flowing like liquid silk. To my astonishment, the paper itself began to transform into a viscous, dark red liquid. The liquid started to float, defying gravity, and hovered in the air.
I looked at the officers, their expressions a mix of shock and fascination. The room grew darker as if the blood were absorbing the light. The temperature dropped noticeably.
The floating blood began to coalesce, and in the eerie silence, the crimson liquid formed into characters in mid-air. The name materialized slowly, suspended in the air, glowing with an otherworldly light.
LUCIAN VALENTINO
My heart raced as I read the name in the air. It was both surreal and thrilling to see it displayed so vividly. The name felt strangely familiar, like a piece of a puzzle finally falling into place.
The room was filled with a tense silence as everyone took in the sight. For the first time, I felt a profound connection to something that had been missing from my life a true name, an identity.