CHAPTER 5: The Name That Should Not Be Remembered
The night had gone quiet—too quiet. Even the wind, which had whispered secrets through the leaves just hours ago, now held its breath, as if anticipating what was about to unfold. The moon, a sliver of silver hanging in the ink-black sky, seemed more distant than usual, casting a pale, uncertain light over the clearing.
Aria sat cross-legged beside the dying embers of their campfire, her hands wrapped tightly around the necklace that had haunted her dreams and pulsed with strange warmth ever since she crossed into this world. It was cold now—unnaturally so—as though it knew what she was about to see. She turned it over in her palm, and there it was again: a name, flickering faintly across the back of the pendant. The letters shimmered like heat waves above desert sand, then vanished before her eyes could make full sense of them.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" she asked, her voice barely louder than the crackle of a dying ember.
Caius didn't answer immediately. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the fire as though he could will it back to life with sheer intensity. His jaw was set. Muscles taut. Every breath he took felt measured, like he was weighing whether to lie or tell her a truth too dangerous to say aloud.
"Caius," she said again, sharper now. "I saw a name."
Finally, he looked up at her. His eyes—golden and ancient—gleamed in the low light.
"It's not a name we say out loud," he said. "It's not even supposed to exist anymore."
Aria frowned. "Cryptic much?" she muttered, trying to sound casual. But her voice had an edge to it. Fear? No. Recognition. Like a memory long buried was clawing its way to the surface.
He didn't laugh. Didn't even smirk.
"That name," he said, voice low and grave, "belongs to the first dreamwalker. The original. The one who broke the veil between memory and reality. The one who let the echoes in."
"Echoes?" Aria asked, sitting up straighter. Her fingers clutched the necklace instinctively, as though it could protect her.
Caius nodded slowly. "The lost dreams. The pieces of thought and time that were never meant to linger. After she opened the path, they didn't go away. They multiplied. Grew wild. Some whisper, some haunt, and some… possess."
Aria felt her blood run cold.
"And what happened to her? The original dreamwalker?"
"She was cursed," Caius said. "Trapped in the memory of her final mistake. Her name stripped from every book, every story, every mind. Until now."
She stared down at the pendant. "Why is it showing up to me?"
Caius hesitated. Then he said it:
"Because you're her bloodline. The last."
The words hit her like a punch to the chest.
"No," she whispered.
"Yes," he said. "And that pendant? It holds her final memory. The one the world tried to forget. If it's surfacing now, it means the seal is weakening. And if it breaks—"
"What happens?" Aria demanded.
He met her eyes. "Then the forgotten becomes remembered. And everything she buried with her will rise again."
The air turned heavy, as though gravity had doubled in that moment. Even the fire seemed to cower, flickering lower with every passing second.
Suddenly, the wind returned—but it wasn't gentle this time. It howled. It screamed. It tore through the trees like a warning.
The fire extinguished with a hiss.
Aria was on her feet instantly.
The ground trembled.
"Someone's coming," Caius said, standing beside her. His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade, but something told Aria that steel wouldn't help them this time.
"Villagers?" she asked, though she knew the answer.
"No," he said. "Worse."
From the trees came whispers. Not in a language. Not really. They were sounds—fragments of dreams. One whisper used her mother's voice. Another sounded like Aria herself, laughing as a child. A third whispered in tones she'd heard only in nightmares.
"I didn't dream this," Aria whispered.
"No," Caius said, grabbing her wrist, "you remembered it."
The forest rippled. Not like trees bending in wind—but like the world itself was shifting, turning inside out.
Then, without warning, darkness collapsed. It wasn't like the sun going down or shadows growing longer. It was as if the world folded in on itself. The trees bent. The sky inverted. And then—stillness.
When Aria opened her eyes, she was still standing.
Still in the forest.
Still clutching the necklace.
But something was different.
"This isn't the dream anymore," she said aloud.
Caius nodded grimly. "No. This is what the dream was hiding."
Before them, the forest had changed. It was no longer lush and green but twisted—wrong. Trees leaned away as if afraid to be seen. Shadows moved where there was no light. And in the distance, a faint hum echoed, like a memory trying to sing its way back into reality.
"What now?" Aria asked.
Caius looked at her, expression unreadable. "Now we walk into the forgotten. And hope it hasn't remembered us yet."
Aria swallowed hard. She looked at the necklace, at the place where the name had flickered.
Just for a second—it appeared again.
Not a name she knew.
But one that sent chills down her spine.
She didn't read it aloud.
She just closed her hand over it.
And stepped forward.