It began with birds falling from the sky.
Just three. Black feathers, broken necks.
But the meaning was clear.
To Kael, anyway.
A scout had entered the city.And something divine had recognized the name.
The scout came wrapped in silk and bone, walking like someone who had forgotten how not to be feared.
They wore no sigil.
They carried no blade.
But the glyph branded on their throat burned so brightly, even mortals could feel it if they got too close.
Hollowfire.The mark of a Name-Seeker.
Dain saw the figure first, on the academy's north terrace, speaking quietly with Master Haldran.
He moved closer. Listened.
Heard fragments.
"...Divine fluctuation traced to a sealed glyph...""...Echo resonance spreading. Three known hosts. Possibly more.""...Protocol demands containment... or erasure."
Haldran said nothing.
His face did not move.
But his fingers twitched—just once—over the hilt of his sideblade.
Later, Kael felt the presence before he saw the figure.
He stood alone in the shadow of the eastern tower when the scout arrived.
No introduction.No ceremony.Just presence.
"You smell like ash," the scout said.
Kael did not turn.
"And you reek of borrowed courage."
The scout smiled.
"You've been whispered, Ruinbearer. The glyph is echoing again. My master would like that to stop."
Kael remained silent.
"Do you know your name yet?"
"Do you?"
The scout's smile did not change. But their shadow twitched—wrongly.
"You are dangerous."
"So is memory."
At that moment, Kael should have walked away.
But he was tired. And the glyph beneath his skin was burning brighter than usual.
So instead…
He turned.
And looked the scout in the eyes.
The ground cracked.
Just slightly.
Enough for a spiderweb fracture to splinter the stone at his feet.
The scout didn't flinch.
But the glyph on their throat dimmed.
"That was a mistake," the scout whispered.
Kael said nothing.
"Now we know it's you."
That night, Dain stood in the training hall, alone.
The blade he had carried his whole life—his oathblade, forged from godbone—was humming so loud it made his teeth ache.
The scout had spoken to him, too.
Not with threat.
With purpose.
"You swore to protect the world from what broke it. If you want to keep that oath... you know who to point your blade at."
Dain looked at his sword.
Then looked at the scarred practice dummy in front of him.
And swung.
The blade cleaved through it like air.
But the glyph it left behind on the wall—
Namefire.