The city never truly slept, but that night Zerune felt wounded.
The molten veins beneath its streets flickered irregularly, their usual golden rhythm interrupted by violet tremors that whispered Nakala's name through the stone. She had not left the temple's lower halls since the Bound Names changed — she couldn't. The memory of that pillar, of the faces and the screams, still burned behind her eyes.
She sat at the edge of a balcony overlooking the inner city, her blade resting across her knees. The wind that swept through the molten channels below carried no heat now — only the scent of metal and rain. Behind her, soft footsteps approached.
Serah.
> "You haven't slept," Serah said gently.
"I tried," Nakala murmured. "The city keeps saying my name."
Serah came closer, stopping beside her. The faint glow of her skin reflected in the obsidian floor, haloing her in warmth that felt painfully alive.
> "The pulse remembers what you did," she said. "You didn't just restore that pillar — you rewrote it. The rhythm has never answered a mortal before."
"I didn't mean to," Nakala whispered.
Serah smiled faintly. "No one ever does."
Silence. Only the low hum of the city, irregular and strange now. Nakala looked at Serah — really looked. The priestess's amber eyes held something deeper than human exhaustion. Beneath her calm voice was a melody, almost inaudible but steady, like a lullaby for ghosts.
> "What are you?" Nakala asked.
Serah didn't answer immediately. Instead, she leaned against the railing, gaze turned outward toward the smoldering skyline. "Do you know what it means to bind a name?" she asked quietly. "To carve it into fire so it cannot be forgotten?"
Nakala shook her head.
Serah exhaled softly. "To bind a name, you must let go of your own. The Bound Names aren't written by priests — they're sung into existence. Each time one fades, a Keeper gives up a part of their own soul to renew it."
Nakala turned toward her slowly. "Then you—"
"Yes." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I've been dying piece by piece for longer than this city has existed. I thought I'd grown numb to it. Until you appeared."
For a moment, the world shrank to the space between them. The hum of Zerune dimmed, leaving only two heartbeats — hers and Serah's — pulsing out of sync, searching for alignment.
> "Why tell me this?" Nakala asked softly.
"Because when you touched the Bound Names," Serah said, voice trembling faintly, "I heard something I thought I'd forgotten. A rhythm that wasn't built from pain."
She stepped closer, close enough that Nakala could see the faint scars at her collarbone — old bindings, etched in the shape of runes now half-erased. "You reminded me of what it was like to feel… alive."
Nakala wanted to answer, but words fled her. All she could manage was a quiet breath. The goddess stirred within, restless.
Do not trust her, Esh'ra hissed. Love is the oldest chain.
But Nakala's pulse betrayed her — faster now, echoing the city's broken hum. She could see it in Serah's eyes too — the same conflict, the same pull between duty and desire.
Serah reached out, hesitated, then brushed a strand of hair from Nakala's face. The touch lingered. "You burn different from the rest," she whispered. "Like the world remembers you even when it tries to forget."
Nakala's hand rose halfway — almost to return the touch — but stopped. The moment hung there, charged, alive, then broke as Serah drew back.
> "Rest, Nakala," she said, her voice regaining its steadiness. "Tomorrow, the Bound Names must be rebalanced. The rhythm is unraveling. I don't know how long Zerune can hold."
She turned to leave, her flame-colored robes catching the faint light. Before she disappeared into the corridor, she paused. "When the city sleeps, listen for the silence. That's where your true Histinak waits."
Then she was gone.
Nakala sat alone, the wind whispering her name again — but softer this time, like a lover's breath instead of a warning. She stared into the glowing horizon until her eyes burned, wondering whether the goddess's voice or her own heart frightened her more.
Beneath the city, the rhythm stuttered — a skipped beat that carried through the streets like a sigh.
And somewhere in the dark, something else began to stir — something that did not belong to Zerune at all.