Chapter 8: The Name That Whispers Back
Raen didn't sleep anymore.
Not because he couldn't. Because he wouldn't.
When his eyes closed, he wasn't met with silence or peace. He was dragged back into a screaming void—his soul torn between what was once human and what was becoming something else. He saw eyes stitched with stars, teeth made of gold, and thrones that bled names like wine. The sword—his cursed companion—always hummed beside him, hungrier than before.
The godmarked's death hadn't brought calm. It had brought echoes.
Raen now saw things in the corner of his vision—twisted silhouettes of gods whose names he had not yet learned. Their presence was thick, watching him. Waiting.
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Lyra was healing slowly.
The house they sheltered in was a quiet ruin on the edge of the cursed town. Her bed was surrounded by protective runes. Raen sat beside her every night, sharpening his sword, not to prepare for battle... but to keep himself tethered.
Her eyes fluttered open. Pale. Strained.
"I dreamt of a garden," she murmured. "There was no sun. Only roots. And someone was waiting beneath them. A woman. She knew your name."
Raen's hands stopped. He turned.