The silence had weight.
Not the soft, peaceful kind that followed the end of a song. This silence pressed against their skin, coiled around their spines, and settled deep in the lungs like ash. It was the kind of silence that came before something ancient spoke—when the world held its breath, waiting to be judged.
They stood at the threshold of the forgotten temple, buried beneath the blackened sands of the Virean Expanse. The structure was older than maps, carved from obsidian veined with violet light. It pulsed faintly, like a slumbering heart remembering it was once alive.
Varis placed his palm on the obsidian gate. It was cold, but beneath the surface he felt it twitch, as if it recognized him.
"They built this place to hold something," he said.
Ilyen nodded. "Not something. A name. One that tried to rewrite the world just by being spoken."
They'd learned it from the glyphs now permanently etched into Ilyen's skin. They were no longer words. They were instructions. Rituals. Triggers. Blueprints for unmaking reality.
"You don't have to come in with me," Varis said.
Ilyen gave a breathless laugh. "You think I've come this far just to run now? We crossed a rift in the sky. We saw our own futures die and be born again. No—if this is the place where the name was first whispered, then I want to hear the echo."
Varis pushed the gate.
It didn't creak. It didn't grind. It opened—eagerly, like something inside had been waiting, aching, for someone to return.
Inside, there was no light—yet they could see. Shapes without form hovered in the air. Architecture obeyed dreams rather than gravity. Stairs twisted into themselves. Doorways opened into storms. There were altars that bled from the stone and statues whose mouths moved, whispering things just below the threshold of hearing.
At the center stood a monolith—smooth, featureless, yet impossibly vast. As they approached, it began to unfold, like a flower blooming in reverse.
Then, a whisper:
"You are not the first."
It came from everywhere and nowhere. It wasn't a voice—it was an intent.
"I know," Varis said, teeth clenched.
"But you will be the last."
He reached for his blade, forgetting it had shattered.
And then Ilyen stepped forward.
The symbols on his arms glowed blindingly, casting shadows that didn't belong to them. He raised his hand toward the monolith.
"You locked the name here," Ilyen said. "You buried it beneath silence. But silence can't hold a storm forever."
The monolith cracked.
A low moan echoed through the temple—not pain, not fear. Joy.
Something had waited so long to be remembered.
And now, it was waking up.