The Throne of Truth
The whispers rose like a storm.
From each throne came voices—not shouts, but murmurs. Multitudes layered in time and tone, all speaking at once. They spoke names, events, sorrows, triumphs—echoes of the lives that once sat in each seat. Mira felt the weight of their stories press against her skull, as if each whisper begged her to remember them.
"We cannot hear them all," Lena said, shielding her ears. "It's too much."
"They are not meant to be heard by ears," the child said. "Only hearts can remember truth."
The child approached the burning throne, its fire flickering with emotions rather than heat. Regret. Hope. Betrayal. The flames curled toward them, licking at their feet without harm.
"This is where my name was kept. Where it was taken."
Mira stepped closer, the orb thrumming in her satchel. "What must we do?"
"Give me your memories," the child whispered. "Not all. Only the ones that matter. A name cannot be reclaimed unless it is mirrored through another's soul."
Mira hesitated. Then she stepped forward, placing her hand against the throne's arm.
A rush of sensation overwhelmed her—her childhood beneath the old elm tree; the moment she first touched the Tree's orb; her mother's lullabies; the pain of Caelen's betrayal; the unity when they faced the Fracture.
The throne flared.
Lena followed, then Bram, then Elric. One by one, they placed fragments of themselves into the fire. The flames changed with each of them—grew clearer, warmer.
The child stood trembling now, their hands clenched at their sides.
"I remember… the first sun. I remember the song of stars before they faded. I was not born. I was sung."
Suddenly, the throne exploded with light.
And the child screamed.
The fire engulfed them—but instead of pain, it was revelation. Their form blurred, shifted, expanded. No longer a child, but a figure made of light and shadow, their voice now rich and singular.
"My name is Valien."
The world shook.
At the edges of the Vault, thrones began to dissolve—released. Freed. The voices faded into peace.
But from above, a new crack split the mirrored sky.
From it poured black flame.
Valien turned to Mira. "In reclaiming myself, I've awakened the others. The Forgotten are not all as I am. Some chose to remain forgotten—for a reason."
A scream echoed across the mirrored sky—a voice ancient and terrible.
"They are coming."
Mira drew the orb again, its light blazing.
"Then we'll face them. Together."
The Vault of Names began to crumble as the black flame spread. One last path opened, leading beyond the Vault, toward a horizon none had ever seen.
The last journey had begun.