The air trembled.
It wasn't the kind of tremor that followed an earthquake or the roar of a storm. No, this was something worse—a stillness so profound that it crushed all sound beneath its weight.
The Sentinels of Dominion, once the arbiters of fate itself, stood paralyzed. Their celestial armor flickered, unstable. Their decree, which had once bound the universe itself, quivered at the edges, struggling against an unseen force.
But it wasn't just them.
The Forgotten Legion, battle-worn warriors who had never bowed to gods or kings, suddenly knelt.
And in Vaelor's trembling hands, the Unshackled Codex pulsed with an unnatural heat. The ink upon its pages twisted, shifting, reshaping itself as if resisting what had just been written.
But it was too late.
A ripple passed through the battlefield—not wind, not energy, but reality itself bending inward. The sky folded, the stars above flickering like dying embers. The ground recoiled, as if the very fabric of existence was rejecting what was coming.
And then, a voice.
"Who dares write my name?"
It wasn't spoken. It wasn't whispered. It wasn't roared.
It was simply there—a presence, a command, a shattering of all things unworthy of hearing it.
Vaelor's heart stopped.
The Sentinels staggered, their once-impervious forms splintering as the name etched onto the Codex burned brighter.
Something was waking up.
Something that should have never been called.
And now, it was here.
---
The Forgotten One Walks Again
At first, there was only a shadow.
Not an absence of light, not an empty void—but a presence that should not exist.
Then, something stepped forward.
It did not belong to the past, nor the future. It was something beyond time's reach, beyond the Sentinels' decree, beyond the Codex's pages.
And yet, it was real.
Its form was impossible. Not shifting, not hidden—just wrong. Looking at it was like staring into the heart of a paradox, where meaning itself came undone.
It took a step.
The ground rejected it.
Not cracked, not shattered—it rewrote itself to erase the presence of the foot that had stepped upon it.
Vaelor gasped.
The Forgotten Legion remained kneeling.
The Sentinels of Dominion—beings who had fought gods and rewritten fate—now trembled in silence.
One of them spoke.
"You should not be."
The figure tilted its head, its gaze something that should have never been perceived.
"And yet, here I am."
It raised a single hand.
The first Sentinel ceased to exist.
Not destroyed. Not erased.
Unmade.
The second Sentinel turned, attempting to invoke a decree, to bind fate once more—
But the moment it spoke, its own words devoured it.
No battle. No struggle.
Only the return to nothingness.
The remaining Sentinels desperately recalibrated, their celestial armor reforging itself in real time, attempting to counter the presence before them.
But against this, they had no dominion.
Their decree had been undone the moment Vaelor wrote the name.
And the one who bore that name… had returned.
---
The Price of a Name
Vaelor's fingers tightened around the Codex. His breath came in rapid, shallow gasps.
He had summoned something beyond gods, beyond fate, beyond comprehension itself.
And it was looking at him now.
The Forgotten Legion remained kneeling, their heads bowed—not in reverence, but in submission.
The figure stepped closer.
And reality wept.
Every moment it moved, existence around it tried to correct the mistake of its presence. But the figure did not care. It had been erased once before, and it had returned regardless.
It spoke—
And the universe listened.
"You wrote my name."
Vaelor could not move. Could not breathe.
The figure raised its hand, not to strike, but to touch the pages of the Codex.
The ink bled outward, warping, twisting, resisting, obeying.
"Do you even know what it means?"
He did not.
But he knew one thing.
He should have never written it.
His voice came in a whisper. "I had no choice."
The figure's expression did not change.
Then, finally, it nodded.
"Then neither do I."
It turned its gaze to the Sentinels—the last who had yet to be unmade.
One of them, defiant even in the face of obliteration, stepped forward.
"You are an error."
The figure tilted its head.
"I am the first story."
The Sentinel raised its hand—not in decree, not in power, but in pure defiance.
And the figure smiled.
"Very well."
It stepped forward—
And placed a single finger on the Sentinel's forehead.
The decree collapsed.
Not broken. Not rewritten.
Simply returned to before it ever was.
The last Sentinel did not scream. It did not resist.
It simply ceased.
The weight of silence settled over the battlefield.
And then, the figure turned back to Vaelor.
It took another step forward, and reality struggled to accommodate its presence.
Vaelor felt the Codex fight against his grasp, the pages writhing, as if trying to undo the words he had written.
But the name remained.
And so did the figure.
"Do you understand what you have done?"
Vaelor's voice trembled. "No."
The figure nodded, as if that was the only answer it had expected.
Then, it reached for him.
Vaelor flinched, but the figure did not strike him. It did not destroy him.
It simply… placed a hand on the Codex.
And spoke a new decree.
"Let us rewrite everything."
The battlefield collapsed.
The stars burned out.
Time fractured.
And Vaelor's final thought before the world came undone was a single, terrible realization.
He had written a name.
And now, that name would write the rest of existence in return.
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Guys the things me and my friends are going through to write this is crazy. First of all thank you if you read it till here. If not no worries you have your choices. I know to some people I might sound cocky but I don't care if you read my work or not. Just read it for the journey as I will improve my work as the days pass by. There's no guarantee that I will improve but hey we don't lack gamblers in our economy.