THE NAME THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN SPOKEN
The village was profoundly silent. The central fire had burned down a little, and the reddish embers flickered like the last beats of a weary heart. The wind blew softly, carrying dry leaves that brushed against the walls of the huts, and every sound seemed higher than usual, as if the world itself were waiting for something.
Miranth and Psyrion were about to set off for the forest when an unexpected disturbance arose. Zyrion, who had been bedridden for days, barely breathing, moved for the first time. His hand trembled, and his chest rose with a harsh gasp, breaking the silence.
Miranth's eyes shone brightly. "Stop, Psyrion. Do you feel it? He's waking up."
Psyrion slowly turned his head, his pupils reflecting the faint glow of the bonfire. "Yes… his mind is stirring. His thoughts no longer wander in darkness… he returns to us."
Kyrahna was the first to jump up, rushing towards Zyrion. "Zyrion! Can you hear me? Zyrion, open your eyes!"
Caelithra, who was kneeling beside him, took his hand tightly, fighting back tears. "Come on... enough sleeping. You have to go back."
Zyrion's body arched slightly, and with a painful effort, he opened his eyes. His gaze was clouded, as if he had weathered a thousand storms, but there he was, conscious, alive. His voice came out hoarse, like a broken whisper.
"Where am I?... What happened...?"
Kyrahna lowered her head, stifling a sob. "You're in the village, you're safe... for now. You've been unconscious since that injury. You don't know how much we suffered seeing you like this."
Zyrion closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to clear his mind. Then he opened them again, with a strange glimmer, as if something else were speaking through him. "I dreamed… I dreamed of a place that shouldn't exist. Shadows… chains… and a name."
The silence became absolute. Even the wind seemed to stop, and everyone present bowed towards him.
"Umbraek," Zyrion said, barely a whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
The words hung in the air like an invisible poison. Kyrahna pressed her lips together, Caelithra froze, Karion clenched his fists. Miranth and Psyrion exchanged bewildered glances.
"Umbraek?" Velkran repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I've never heard that name."
Quindarion frowned. "Me neither. Who is it?"
Zyrion observed them all, his forehead covered in cold sweat. His breathing was heavy, and each word seemed to cost him more than usual. But seeing the confusion on the faces of the wielders, he understood that this was even more dangerous than he had imagined.
His eyes shifted to Caelithra, and with an intense gaze, he wordlessly instructed her on what to do. Caelithra understood immediately, lowered her gaze, and nodded silently. Then, leaning closer, she listened to the whisper in her ear.
"Be quiet. Don't repeat anything. Something very bad is happening, and if they know more than they should, they won't survive."
Caelithra felt a chill run down her spine. She knew Zyrion wasn't speaking in vain, that his warning wasn't a whim. She remained silent and turned to Kyrahna, Karion, and Taliena, whispering just enough for them to hear.
"Zyrion asks us to be quiet. Don't insist, don't ask. Just trust him."
Kyrahna swallowed, her gaze trembling with a mixture of fury and pain. "And I'm supposed to endure not knowing anything while he bleeds out secrets?"
Caelithra gripped her arm tightly. "If you trust him, trust what he keeps silent about."
Karion, standing behind, watched the scene with a stern expression. Finally, he spoke in a grave whisper. "If he asks for it, I will respect it. But this won't stay like this forever."
Taliena, still leaning over Zyrion, gently stroked his hair, not fully understanding, but with silent respect for the decision of others.
Meanwhile, the others in the group, further away, kept glancing at each other. Cilera crossed her arms, her expression a mixture of suspicion and worry. Valric spoke in a low voice to Ryvak, but they kept interrupting each other, unable to articulate their doubts. Maerisse kept her gaze fixed on Zyrion, as if trying to read something in his eyes. Ysmera, Nivhira, and Tzarelle remained silent, each lost in thought, each wondering who this young man really was, the one who seemed to carry more than anyone could bear.
Miranth broke the silence with a soft voice, but his gaze remained fixed on Zyrion, as if he understood more than he cared to admit. "That name you uttered… even though I don't know it, it's not an empty name. It's an echo that shouldn't exist. And if he appeared in your dream… then the wound you carry isn't merely physical."
Psyrion nodded, slowly closing his eyes. "I'll confirm it. His mind isn't wounded solely by the sword. It's scarred... by something older."
Zyrion lowered his gaze, avoiding answering. He knew he had revealed too much, and yet he couldn't back down.
Tension in the village grew like a dark cloud hanging over everyone. No one uttered Umbraek's name again, but everyone carried it etched in their minds, like a shadow that wouldn't easily fade.
Night had fallen heavily upon the village. The sky, darkened by heavy clouds, barely allowed a pale moonlight to escape, illuminating the huts and the figures keeping vigil by the fire. The wind carried a harsh murmur through the trees, as if nature itself had become witness to the secret Zyrion had just uttered.
The name still hung in the air: Umbraek . It wasn't just a word, it was a crack opened in the silence of the world.
Miranth stood motionless, the hood of his illusion robe partially obscuring his face. His eyes, however, were pools of uncertainty. Beside him, Psyrion breathed deeply, his gaze lost in the embers. They didn't speak, but both understood that staying there any longer would be a mistake. Something in Zyrion's tone, something in the tremor of his voice, had revealed to them that they were dealing with an unknown force, greater than themselves.
Miranth broke the silence. "Psyrion… we must leave. What we have heard cannot remain here. We do not know who Umbraek is, but the resonance of that name… it does not belong to this world."
Psyrion looked at him coldly, though his voice held an undercurrent of doubt. "Leaving now is abandoning them blindly. Zyrion is wounded, the group weakened. And yet… I understand what you say. That kind of strength cannot be countered with words of comfort. We need someone else."
Kyrahna, who had been listening to them with suspicion, stood up abruptly. Her hair fell in disarray over her shoulders, the reflection of the embers highlighting the tears she held back on her cheeks. "Leave? How can you even think of abandoning us? Zyrion needs you. We all need you! You have power, you have knowledge… and you abandon it in this state!"
Caelithra's voice also rose, though more restrained, with a quiet sorrow that only someone who had witnessed too many battles could bear. "If you decide to leave, at least have the decency to tell us the truth. Where are you going? Who are you looking for?"
Miranth turned to her, and for a moment his expression softened, as if in Caelithra he saw someone who could understand his burden. "We can't say for sure. There is a bearer… someone who might know more than that name conceals. Someone with a power capable of revealing what neither I, with my illusions, nor Psyrion, with his mind, can decipher. If we find that bearer, perhaps we will understand what mark it left on Zyrion."
Psyrion added, with an unsettling calm: "Understand this, Kyrahna. If we stay, we will only protect Zyrion for a few more days. If we leave, perhaps we will discover what can truly save it. But the price of waiting will be high."
The atmosphere in the village grew even heavier. Those present looked at each other, caught in a tension that burned in their throats. The fire crackled, throwing off sparks that looked like dying stars in the darkness.
Karion, from the shadow of a hut, spoke in a grave voice, barely raising his tone. "Then go. But if you do... come back with answers. Because if you return empty-handed, you will have no place here."
The ensuing silence was like a knife through the air. Miranth didn't reply. He merely bowed his head slightly in respect, his robes beginning to blur his silhouette, as if the shadows were devouring him. Psyrion, on the other hand, took one last look at Zyrion. His eyes scanned him as if trying to memorize every detail of his face, and in a low voice, so low that only Zyrion could hear, he murmured:
"Don't let the wound consume your soul. What you saw in your dream... is not the end yet."
With a sudden movement, both figures began to walk away toward the edge of the village. Their footsteps barely made a sound, but the emptiness they left behind was deafening. The figures faded into the trees, until nothing remained but the certainty of their absence.
The group watched them leave, some with anger, others with fear, others with silent anguish.
Kyrahna fell to her knees beside Zyrion, pressing her hands to his. "They're leaving... and now what? How much longer can we endure without answers?"
Caelithra knelt as well, though she didn't weep. Her eyes, fixed on Zyrion, were a sea of unspoken questions. "No matter how many leave. As long as I breathe, I will be here. Even if doubt consumes me, I will not abandon him."
Taliena, with her delicate hands, arranged the blankets covering Zyrion's wounded body. She didn't know the young man well, but there was something about him that made her treat him as if he were someone impossible to abandon. "Zyrion... you have to hold on. If you fall now, nothing we do will help."
The others—Cilera, Valric, Ryvak, Maerisse, Ysmera, Nivhira, and Tzarelle—watched in silence. Most of them barely knew him, but their thoughts were clear: if Zyrion was as important as its wielders made it out to be, then their survival was now the central issue.
The bonfire crackled louder, as if the night were mocking its fragility. The air was thick with a mixture of fear, loyalty, and distrust. Outside, the hooting of an owl broke the stillness, reminding them that even nature was watching.
And in the midst of that broken silence, the absence of Miranth and Psyrion weighed like an uncertain fate.
The kingdom carried a truth the world was not ready to face.