The morning sun filtered through the canopy, scattering pale light over the forest floor, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing upon Arlen Frost's chest. The events of the previous day lingered in every step he took. The forest, usually alive with subtle whispers and rustling leaves, felt unnaturally still, as though the trees themselves were holding their breath, aware of the fragment stirring within him.
Lira walked beside him, her expression calm yet alert. Every now and then, she would glance at Arlen, noticing the faint pulse of energy beneath his skin, the shimmering veins that no longer glowed faintly but seemed to thrum like living conduits.
"Arlen… we should keep moving," she said softly. "Whatever that fragment is… it's not fully under your control. We can't stay here."
Arlen nodded, his mind heavy. He had barely slept, the fragment within him restless, leaking flashes of memory and sensation that were not his own. Each heartbeat carried the fragment's subtle authority, an invisible tug at the edges of reality. He had tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself that it was just instinct, but deep down he knew it was something far older, far wiser, and far more dangerous than he could yet comprehend.
A name… a faint whisper echoed in his mind, like a thread of sound from a dream. A memory… a name… forgotten.
The whisper was fleeting, almost imperceptible, yet it carried a weight that made him shiver. He stopped in his tracks, clutching his head as fragments of visions erupted in his mind. Scenes of battlefields he had never seen, of vast cities in ruin, and of beings whose faces he could not fully recall — all swirled around him like a storm of broken glass.
Lira immediately stepped closer, her hand on his shoulder. "Arlen? What's wrong?"
He shook his head, trying to clear the images. "I… it's nothing," he muttered, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "I keep… seeing things. Memories that aren't mine, yet feel… familiar."
That's not possible… he thought. Unless…
He remembered the fragment. The first of the seven — it was no longer dormant. It was active, and now it was trying to communicate, to remind him of something long buried. The images weren't just visions; they were fragments of a life he had lived, powers he had wielded, and responsibilities he had once borne.
They moved cautiously through the forest, the path littered with jagged rocks and remnants of ancient ruins. Arlen's senses were on edge, every sound amplified, every shadow suspicious. The fragment pulsed intermittently, like a heartbeat beneath his own, occasionally sending sparks of frost and lightning to dance across his skin.
"Arlen… you need to focus," Lira said, her voice firm but gentle. "Don't let it overwhelm you. I'll stay with you."
He nodded, drawing in a deep breath. The fragment was restless, seeking recognition, demanding acknowledgment, yet it still offered no answers. And then, amidst the chaos in his mind, it delivered something tangible — a single word.
"Frost…"
Arlen froze. The sound reverberated inside him, familiar and alien all at once. It was a name, yet not one he had ever consciously known. It carried weight, authority, and a strange sense of inevitability.
"Frost?" he whispered, almost in disbelief. "That's… my name?"
The fragment pulsed stronger in response, and this time he felt it in his chest. Power surged briefly, bending the air around him. A tree branch twisted unnaturally, frost forming on its edges, and lightning crackled in a silent arc across the ground. He staggered, unsteady, as the raw force reminded him of how small he truly was in comparison.
It's not the power… it's the identity, he realized. This fragment… it's trying to remind me who I am.
Lira's eyes were wide with concern. "Arlen… your veins…" She reached out instinctively, as a pulse of frost briefly leapt from his body to a nearby rock, carving an intricate pattern into its surface.
He shook his head, trying to regain control. "It's… not me. It's the fragment. It's… giving me something… showing me…"
The fragment's power surged again, and this time Arlen felt something he had never felt before: a connection to authority, to history, to a life beyond his current understanding. He stumbled through the ruins, drawn to a massive stone structure — a relic partially buried under moss and earth. Its surface was etched with ancient glyphs, depicting battles and beings of unimaginable scale.
A memory… a warning…
Arlen's hands trembled as he reached for the stone. The moment his fingers brushed the cold surface, the fragment reacted violently. Pain exploded in his head, and visions of a battlefield long past consumed him. Soldiers with weapons of light clashed under stormy skies, cities burned, and a being — vast and commanding — moved among them, unseen but undeniable.
"Arlen!" Lira shouted, gripping his arm. "You have to pull back! Don't let it consume you!"
But it was too late. The fragment forced a surge through him, and his body convulsed. Blood ran from his eyes and nose, droplets hissing as they hit the frost-covered ground. Pain and authority collided, leaving him staggering, gasping for breath.
I can't… I can't control it…
Yet, amidst the agony, clarity emerged. A single phrase echoed, unbidden and unfiltered:
"You are not merely Arlen Frost. You are a vessel. You carry history, authority, and fragments of what was once godly. Remember the name… for it will guide you."
The fragment receded, leaving him trembling and weakened, yet somehow more aware. He sank to his knees, hands pressed to the cold stone, trying to steady his breath.
Lira knelt beside him, worry etched on her face. "Arlen… are you okay? What happened?"
He shook his head slowly, still dizzy from the vision. "I… I don't know… I saw… something. A battlefield, a being… a name… Frost. It… it feels like it matters."
The fragment pulsed faintly beneath his skin, a reminder that its influence had not ended. It had shared a memory, a name, and a warning, yet it left him with no answers about its full scope.
Fragment 2… stirs, he realized. And it's only the beginning.
As they rose to continue their journey, the forest seemed to react subtly. Trees bent slightly, leaves rustling in patterns that mirrored the visions Arlen had seen. The air carried an electric charge, the faint taste of frost lingering on his tongue.
Lira's voice was soft now, almost a whisper. "Arlen… whatever this is… whatever power you're carrying… I'll help you. I won't let you face it alone."
He gave her a faint, weary smile. "Thank you… but I think… this is bigger than both of us. And yet… we have to understand it. We have no choice."
The path ahead was long, shrouded in mist and uncertainty. Yet, in the back of his mind, the fragment's pulse reminded him that the pieces of his past, the fragments of a god, were beginning to align. They were awakening in sequence, revealing history, power, and authority that he had never possessed in this life.
This name… Frost… it is more than identity. It is a key, a guide, and a warning. I must remember it.
And as they moved forward, the first hints of power — raw, unshaped, and terrifying — began to bleed into reality around them. Frost crept along rocks, lightning danced across broken branches, and the air itself seemed to hum with awareness, as though the world had taken note of the vessel that carried fragments of a sleeping god.
Arlen shivered, feeling the weight of history pressing down on him. The fragment had given him a name, but it had left him with questions that would take lifetimes to answer. The path ahead was uncertain, dangerous, and alive — yet he could not turn away.
I am Arlen Frost, he whispered to himself, the name grounding him, yet igniting a thousand new questions.
And the god inside me… has begun to stir.