The morning sunlight didn't reach the inn's storage loft.
Instead, golden motes of dust drifted lazily through the air, caught in the thin glow of a lone candle wedged into an old wine bottle. The room was cluttered with mismatched books, ink-stained parchment, and Elias's very loud, very persistent internal screaming.
He sat cross-legged in the center of it all, half-crumbled scrolls and unopened grimoires scattered around him like a research graveyard. His coat was wrinkled, his shirt had one too many ink smudges, and the mug in his hand had long gone cold—but he kept sipping it anyway, as if regret tasted better that way.
Across from him, perched atop a too-tall wooden stool like some impish queen presiding over her cluttered kingdom, sat the girl.
Small. Horned. Wrapped in a threadbare blanket like it was royal regalia. Her red eyes reflected the candlelight, flickering with something ancient… and something stubbornly childish.
Elias stared at her. She stared at the candle flame.
"You still don't remember anything?" he asked, his tone casual—but with just enough forced calm to suggest he'd asked this question five times already.
She shook her head slowly, legs swinging beneath the stool, her gaze locked on the flickering light like it might whisper secrets to her.
"Not even your name?"
Her lips parted. Her voice, when it came, was soft and uncertain. "Re… va…"
Elias leaned forward instinctively. "Reva?"
She squinted, as if trying to draw the sound from a well deep within her chest. "...Re…van…"
His stomach dropped.
He straightened sharply. "Okay, stop. That's fine. That's totally fine. No need to force it."
She blinked at him. "Why?"
"Because your half-remembered name," he said, standing now and pacing the length of the room, "happens to sound very suspiciously like Revantra, one of the most catastrophically dangerous demon queens in the history of… well, everything."
The girl tilted her head. "She was bad?"
"She bathed kingdoms in hellfire and summoned plagues with her laughter," Elias exclaimed, gesturing so wildly he nearly tripped over a tome. "She turned cities into salt and convinced nobles to eat each other for fun!"
The girl's eyes widened.
Then sparkled.
"Cool," she said, grinning.
"No! Not cool! That is the opposite of cool!"
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're lucky you're small and wearing a blanket like a cape, or I'd be sprinting to the nearest holy ward and barricading us inside."
"But you said I'm not her," she pointed out, voice almost innocent.
"Right, I did, and I stand by that… technically. Probably. Spiritually. The point is, you're not her yet. But we can't risk anyone thinking you are. If people hear you muttering that name, someone's going to start connecting very inconvenient dots."
She squinted at him. "That was a long sentence."
Elias let out a dry laugh. "Yeah. You'll get used to those."
Silence settled between them, broken only by the occasional creak of the building's bones and the scratching of her toes on the stool leg. Then she spoke again, voice eager now.
"So… I get a new name?"
Elias stopped mid-pace.
He hadn't thought about it that way. He was trying to keep her hidden, not… personalize the relationship. Naming things meant responsibility. Connection. Intent.
But she was looking at him with glowing eyes full of hope and a strange sort of trust. Her little tail wagged behind her like an overeager puppy, and her horns shimmered faintly in the dim light.
Elias felt something crack, and it wasn't the floorboards this time.
He sighed and lowered himself onto a nearby crate. "I'm terrible with names. I once named a stray cat 'Meal Plan' because I found it during ration season."
The girl made a face. "That's awful."
"Exactly," Elias said, gesturing hopelessly. "You see my dilemma."
She hugged her knees to her chest, eyes watchful as he began muttering half-baked name ideas while rifling through a box of old spellbooks and scrolls.
"How about Lira?"
"Too watery."
"Vexa?"
"Sounds like I'm sneezing."
"Nyra?"
"Sounds like someone who dies in chapter three."
He slumped back with a groan. "Alright, your turn, Miss Critic."
She perked up and started whispering syllables to herself, then proudly announced, "Laloona. Sparkledoom. Or… Bun-Bun."
Elias stared.
"Are those demonic titles or flavors of cursed candy?"
She beamed. "I like Bun-Bun."
"No one is calling the last surviving soul-fragment of Revantra Bun-Bun."
"But I already named my blanket that."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did."
She folded her arms and huffed. "You said I need a name."
"I said you need a cover. A normal, inconspicuous human-sounding name. Something that won't make librarians scream and set wards on fire."
She kicked her feet. "You pick, then."
Elias sat in silence for a moment, letting the dust swirl in the still air. He studied her face—the soft curve of her cheeks, the sharp glint in her eyes, the unsettling mix of innocence and unspoken power. She looked like a child, yes. But something coiled beneath the surface. Something old. Something vast.
"Rhea," he said at last.
She blinked. "Rhea?"
"Short. Soft. Human-sounding. It fits. Sweet enough to go unnoticed… strong enough to break someone's jaw if they push too hard."
She tilted her head, considering it.
Then smiled.
"Rhea," she said again, testing the shape of it in her mouth. "That's me."
Elias felt the Contract Mark on his hand pulse faintly. Like it approved.
Like the world had just shifted a fraction to make room for the girl and her new name.
He swallowed.
"You good, Rhea?" he asked, trying the name out in full.
She nodded.
"Great. Then can you not touch anything that glows ominously while I figure out breakfast?"
"No," she said brightly.
Elias paused. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I'm hungry. And your rules are boring."
He turned around just in time to see her poking the black rune-stone that had fallen from her cocoon the day she arrived.
"Don't touch that—!"
It flared red. The candle went out. The ceiling cracked.
Then, with a banshee screech and a burst of shadow, a floating orb of condensed void magic erupted from the stone, zipped around the room like an angry jellybean, slammed into a pot, disintegrated a chair, and lodged itself into the rafters before fizzling out with a pop.
They stood in stunned silence.
Rhea clapped once. "That was fun."
"You just summoned a void wisp!" Elias shouted. "Do you even know what that is!?"
"Nope. But it looked like a ghost jellybean."
"I need a health potion. And a priest. And maybe an exorcist."
She edged closer, tugging at his sleeve. "What's for breakfast?"
"Not earned," he muttered.
She pouted. "I can do more tricks if I get food."
"No more tricks!"
"But what if it's a useful explosion?"
"There is no such thing in this house!"
Two bowls of half-stale grain porridge later (her official verdict: "better than socks, worse than dreams"), Rhea sat curled up beside Elias, drawing squiggly shapes in the dust with her finger. Her horns had dimmed, and her energy had finally settled into something resembling calm.
"Was I really that scary?" she asked suddenly.
Elias, scribbling new warding circles in his notes, looked up.
"Huh?"
"The… Revantra person. You said she was all fire and plagues and… laughter."
He hesitated.
She wasn't joking. Her tone wasn't smug or teasing—just quiet. Tentative.
"Yeah," he said at last. "She was a walking apocalypse. The kind of name parents used to scare their kids into eating vegetables."
Rhea looked down at her hands.
"Do you think I'll become her?"
Elias set his quill aside.
Her voice was small. Not afraid. But uncertain. Like a child asking if she'd grow into a monster she didn't understand.
"No," he said, gentle this time. "You're not her. Not unless you choose to be."
She tilted her head toward him. "And if I don't remember?"
"Then we start new," he said. "With Rhea."
She leaned against his side, her horns lightly bumping his shoulder. "…Rhea's a good name."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. It suits you."
"Better than Bun-Bun?"
"Infinitely."
She smiled.
And somewhere, deep within the unseen threads that bound them, the Contract Mark pulsed again—this time warm. Gentle.
Like a bond slowly being woven.
Far Away…
Beneath miles of scorched earth, in the hollow bones of a battlefield no one remembered, something stirred.
A dull stone pulsed.
Then another.
Embers flickered along the cracks of a broken throne.
And from the deep, a voice older than time whispered:
"…The Seal has fractured."
To be continued…