The Silence Felt Alive

Soren’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

The congregation of hooded figures had not stopped writing.

Their quills still scratched against parchment, still repeating the same warning:

> Do not speak the forgotten name.

Do not write the forgotten name.

Do not remember the forgotten name.

But now, one of them was shaking.

Ink spilled from a broken quill.

The hooded figure’s breath came in ragged, unnatural gasps.

And the whisper—the whisper that had sent cold dread crawling through Soren’s chest—

It had not come from them.

It had come from somewhere else.

The Name That Should Not Exist

Soren’s eyes darted toward the altar.

Toward the open book.

Its pages were thick with ink, filled with names that blurred and twisted the longer he looked at them.

But at the very bottom of the page—

Below the countless scratched-out inscriptions

There was one name still visible.

His own.

Soren Blackwood.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

Written in his own handwriting.

A sharp, twisting pain stabbed through his skull.

Memories threatened to rise.

But before he could process them—

The figure at the altar spoke.

"Now do you understand?"

The Keeper Speaks

Soren staggered back.

The hooded figure rose from their chair.

Slow. Unhurried.

Their voice was neither male nor female.

Calm. Measured.

Like someone speaking from a great distance away.

"You were never meant to leave this place."

Soren's breath came short, shallow.

This wasn't just a ritual of forgetting.

This was something else.

Something bigger.

The congregation wrote to erase a name from existence.

And yet—

His was still here.

The Stranger Who Was Watching

Soren opened his mouth.

To question.

To demand answers.

But before he could speak—

Another voice cut through the stillness.

A new voice.

One that did not belong to the congregation.

One that did not belong to the Keeper.

"Interesting."

Soren’s pulse slammed.

He turned sharply—

And there, standing in the shadows near the back of the chapel—

Was someone else.

Someone who should not be here.

A man.

Or at least—something that looked like one.

The Man with the Silver Ring

He was tall, his frame lean but elegant.

Dressed in an old-fashioned black suit, the kind that felt out of place even in Luthathel’s twisted world.

A long coat draped over his shoulders.

His hair was silver, but not with age.

And his eyes—

His eyes were sharp. Too sharp.

Like they saw more than they should.

Like they saw Soren.

Really saw him.

And on his left hand, he wore a ring of silver.

Soren’s chest tightened.

Something about this man was wrong.

And yet—

For the first time since stepping into the chapel,

Soren was more afraid of him than the Keeper.

The Outsider’s Game

The silver-haired man took a few slow steps forward.

Not threatening.

Not aggressive.

But with the kind of confidence that said he did not fear anything in this place.

Not the Keeper.

Not the congregation.

Not even Soren.

"You shouldn’t be here," he mused, tilting his head.

"Or perhaps, I should say— you shouldn’t be here again."

Soren's stomach twisted.

Again?

The silver-haired man’s gaze flicked to the altar.

To the book.

To Soren’s name, written there in his own hand.

"A name that cannot be erased," he murmured.

"Now that is something I have not seen in a long time."

The congregation kept writing.

The Keeper remained silent.

But Soren could feel it now—

This man did not belong here.

Just like he didn’t.

A Dangerous Proposition

Soren's voice was hoarse.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled.

And somehow, that was worse.

"A traveler."

His silver-ringed hand gestured vaguely.

"A collector of strange things."

Soren's skin prickled.

The man wasn’t answering. Not really.

But before Soren could push further—

The stranger’s expression changed.

Just slightly.

A hint of amusement.

A flicker of something deeper.

"Tell me, Soren Blackwood…"

His voice was light.

Casual.

"How much do you wish to remember?"

The First Temptation

The chapel was silent.

Even the congregation’s quills had slowed.

The Keeper did not move.

Did not interfere.

This was not the city speaking to him.

Not the Chapel.

Not the masked figures.

This was something else entirely.

Something offering him a choice.

A way forward.

Or perhaps—

A trap.

But Soren knew one thing.

This man knew something he did not.

And the real question was—

Was he willing to pay the price for it?