The sky above the Elarion wastes turned a bruised violet as the group crossed the ashen ridge where the vault had once stood. Smoke still curled in lazy spirals from the crater Ember had left behind—her departure a violent flare of heat, rage, and memory. The blast had shattered more than stone.
It had shattered the silence inside Ash.
Each step forward now stirred echoes in him—of names not yet remembered, of voices that had once sung lullabies in tongues now foreign. Ember had called him "Sethar." The name burned in his mind like a coal that refused to die.
"Ash," Sarai called out, snapping him from his trance. "We should rest soon. Ira's feet are bleeding again."
Ash turned. The child Oracle trudged behind them, her white robes stained with ash and blood, eyes sunken with exhaustion. Still, she didn't complain. She hadn't since Ember vanished.
The fire had changed all of them.
They found temporary shelter beneath the arching ribs of a collapsed sky bridge. It stretched from the bones of old Elarion into the jagged cliffs bordering the northern Sky-Drowned Archives. Beyond that lay the Maw of Names—a ravine said to swallow those who dared to utter forbidden truths.
Sarai huddled close to the fire, scribbling something into her black journal. Ash sat beside her, watching the emberlight dance along the edges of her notes. Her brow furrowed, lips muttering silent translations.
"Anything useful?" he asked.
She nodded, brushing hair from her face. "This journal belonged to an Eidolon defector—a scholar who turned against the Mirrorfold. There's a map to a hidden gate leading west, toward the city's memory archives. And…"
"And?"
"Instructions for how to unlock memory seals safely. If your fourth ring is active now, we need to prepare you before the fifth breaks on its own."
Ash's gaze fell to the glowing lines on his palm. The seal had cracked and shifted in the past days—four bands now circled the mark, each pulsing faintly like veins of molten light.
He clenched his fist. "What happens when the fifth ring breaks?"
Sarai looked up. "That's when the real Ash wakes up."
Later that night, Ira stirred awake with a scream. Her visions came unannounced, often cruel, rarely kind.
Ash reached her first. "What did you see?"
Her hands trembled as she gripped his wrist. "The names… the names are falling."
"Whose names?"
"I saw them written on towers. Carved into stone. They crumbled. Turned to dust. And you—" her eyes went wide, "you were standing in the center, calling them back."
Ash swallowed hard. "Calling the names?"
She nodded. "The world is forgetting. But you… you remember too much."
The Path of Shattered Names began at dawn.
They descended into a gully marked by stone pillars, each carved with ancient names in a script long lost. Sarai translated some: "Tharos, Keeper of Hollow Fire," "Inel, Speaker of Threads," "Vaelys, Last Child of Ember."
"These are Eidolon project test subjects," she whispered. "Failed ones."
Ash paused at one pillar half-buried in the dirt. His fingers brushed a familiar name: Sethar.
"It's me," he said.
Sarai stepped beside him. "This is a grave marker. You were declared dead… long ago."
"I don't remember dying."
"Because you didn't. The real Ash—the one buried here—was overwritten."
He looked at her sharply.
"Ira told me," Sarai continued, "that you're not just Ash. You're a hybrid. A vessel made from someone else's mind… and someone else's memory. Ember's memory."
Ash's breath caught. "So who am I, really?"
She held up the journal. "If we reach the Archives, we might finally find out."
The Archives stood like a cathedral of sorrow, half-swallowed by sand and time. Massive vault doors lined the cliffs, each engraved with symbols older than the Eidolon Order itself. Stone librarians—sentient guardians—paced slowly between the passageways, their faces covered by scroll masks.
Sarai approached one. "We seek the record of the Ashborn."
The librarian extended a withered hand. "Only those who carry a name may read the names of others."
Ash stepped forward, unsure. "I have one."
The librarian's head tilted. "Speak it."
He hesitated. "Ash… or Sethar."
The mask glowed faintly. "One is a cinder. The other a corpse. You are neither."
It stepped aside.
Ash and the others entered the Chamber of Shattered Names.
The chamber was lined with crystalline shelves, each storing memory orbs: pulsating spheres of thought, experience, and truth. Ash felt dizzy. Some of the orbs glowed faintly as he passed, whispering in voices that tugged at his bones.
Sarai found a sealed cabinet with the emblem of a hand engulfed in flame.
She broke the lock.
Inside were three memory orbs—marked in red wax with the symbol of the Ashborn Project.
Ash reached for the first.
As he touched it, the world dissolved.
He was inside the lab again.
Bright white lights. Metal restraints. Cold air humming with the vibration of sealed magic.
A scientist in dark robes leaned over him.
"Subject 13: Sethar. Potential Eidolon resonance—unstable."
The door opened. Another subject was led in: a girl glowing with restrained flame.
She looked at him and smiled.
"Ash," she whispered.
Then the lab began to burn.
He woke gasping.
Ira was there, holding his hand.
"You saw it," she whispered. "Her name was Ember… but she gave it to you."
Ash looked down at his palms. The fourth ring glowed brighter than ever—almost ready to break.
He now understood: he wasn't just made to be a weapon.
He had once been someone's salvation.
Outside the chamber, alarms began to blare. A crackling voice echoed through the halls.
"Seal breach. Memory theft detected. Purge initiated."
Sarai grabbed the journal. "They're going to burn this whole place down."
Ash turned. "Not if I burn first."
They fled into the Maw of Names. The narrow chasm roared with unseen winds. Ethereal tendrils whispered names into their ears—some familiar, others terrifying. Ira wept as names brushed her soul.
Ash felt the fifth ring tremble.
Then, across the chasm, stood a shadow—cloaked in black, face hidden.
"You remember too much, boy," it said.
"I remember enough."
The figure raised a hand, and from its palm unfurled chains of forgotten light.
"You are not Ash. You are a fragment. A sin stitched into skin."
Ash clenched his fists. "Then I'll burn the stitches."
And with a roar, the fourth ring broke—flame bursting from his chest like a phoenix reborn.
End of Chapter 6