The silence that followed the entity's disappearance was heavy, oppressive. Ryn could still feel the imprint of its touch on his forehead, the lingering echoes of the visions it had forced upon him. He staggered, gripping the hilt of his sword as his breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. His mind reeled from the images—battlefields drowned in darkness, warriors falling beneath something far greater than themselves. And that name…
The Silent Name.
It felt like an anchor sinking into his very being, drawing him further into the unknown depths of his past and the path before him.
Korin was the first to break the silence, his voice a low murmur. "You alright?"
Ryn exhaled, forcing himself to steady. "I don't know."
Serafina rubbed her arms as if warding off a chill. "That thing—whatever it was—wasn't just talking. It was remembering. And it recognized you."
Lyara approached the mural again, tracing the faded outline of the lone warrior depicted in battle. "It said you were walking a path already tread before." She glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "What if this isn't the first time?"
Ryn clenched his fists. He didn't want to admit it, but the possibility had already rooted itself deep in his mind. The amulet at his chest continued to pulse faintly, responding to the words spoken in this place as if confirming them.
"The question is," Korin said, crouching near the mural, "if that was a warning or an invitation."
Before Ryn could answer, the chamber rumbled.
The shadows that had receded in the wake of the entity's departure began to stir once more. This time, they did not take form but slithered along the walls and floor, moving toward the opposite end of the great hall. There, a massive archway loomed, half-buried in rubble. As the shadows coiled around its edges, the debris shifted, stone grinding against stone.
Something was waking up.
Serafina's fingers twitched near her spellbook. "I don't like this."
"Then we have two options," Korin said, rising to his feet. "We either stay and see what's behind door number one, or we get the hell out of here."
Ryn didn't hesitate. "We go forward."
His certainty surprised even him, but something in his bones—something older than his own understanding—told him this was the only way. Whatever lay beyond the archway, it held the answers he needed.
The others exchanged glances, but none of them argued. Lyara sighed. "Alright then. But if we die, I'm haunting you."
With that, they advanced.
The archway led to another corridor, narrower than before. Unlike the decayed grandeur of the hall, this passage was different—intact. The walls were smooth, seamless, as if untouched by time. Strange symbols flickered along the stone, responding to their presence.
Serafina ran a hand over them. "They're… reactive. But not hostile."
Korin narrowed his eyes. "Doesn't mean they won't turn hostile."
Ryn barely heard them. His attention was drawn to the end of the corridor, where another door stood waiting. This one was different from the others—no carvings, no sigils. Just a single emblem embedded in its surface: the same sigil that burned on his chest.
He stepped forward, reaching out.
As his fingers brushed the metal, the sigil ignited, flaring to life in a burst of cold, blue-white light. The door groaned, unlocking itself with an audible click.
Then, it swung open.
Beyond it was a circular chamber, its walls lined with ancient tomes and scrolls. At its center, atop a stone pedestal, rested something unexpected—a mirror.
Not just any mirror.
Its surface was dark, shifting like liquid glass. As Ryn stepped closer, it rippled, responding to his presence.
Korin let out a low whistle. "That's never a good sign."
Serafina frowned. "A scrying device?"
"No," Ryn murmured. "It's something else."
The moment he spoke, the mirror trembled—and then, without warning, it pulled him in.
Ryn fell through darkness. Not the cold, suffocating void of death, but something different. It was deep, endless, filled with whispers just beyond his understanding.
Then, he landed.
Not on stone. Not in the ruins.
But in a memory.
He stood on a battlefield, the same battlefield he had seen in his visions. The sky was a swirling mass of black and crimson, torn apart by streaks of light and shadow. Around him, warriors clashed—some bearing sigils similar to his own, others monstrous figures wreathed in darkness.
And at the center of it all, a throne stood broken, shattered beyond repair.
A figure loomed over it.
Ryn turned—and found himself staring into his own face.
Not as he was now. But older. Harsher. His armor was heavier, adorned with sigils he didn't recognize, and his eyes—his eyes were filled with something deep, something terrifying.
Not rage. Not grief.
Purpose.
The other Ryn studied him, as if assessing. Then he spoke, his voice layered like the entity's had been, reverberating with a power Ryn did not yet understand.
"You should not be here."
Ryn took a step forward. "What is this?"
His older self tilted his head. "The end."
And then the battlefield collapsed around him.
Ryn gasped, stumbling back into the chamber.
His hands trembled. The others surrounded him, concern evident on their faces.
"What happened?" Lyara asked.
Ryn struggled for words. He glanced back at the mirror, but its surface had gone still once more.
"I saw…" He swallowed hard. "Myself."
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Korin exhaled. "Well, that's not ominous at all."
Serafina placed a hand on Ryn's shoulder, her eyes searching his. "Are you sure it was you?"
Ryn hesitated. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.
But one thing was clear.
The Silent Name wasn't just a legend.
It was a warning.
And he was at the center of it.