Beyond the River That Dreams stretched a vast silence a silence so thick that even birds dared not sing. It was the Forest of Forgotten Names, a realm said to swallow memory itself. Every tree was ancient, their roots coiling like sleeping serpents, their bark etched with words that had no sound. Kure stepped carefully, guided by a faint rhythm beneath the earth, as though a heartbeat pulsed deep within the soil.
He remembered the elders' warning: "Those who enter the forest must guard their name, for it is the thread that binds soul to self." But curiosity, that restless ember, drove Kure forward. The air shimmered with whispers countless voices calling his name, twisting it, reshaping it. "Kure... Kuree... Kuru..." Each voice tugged at his mind, tempting him to answer. He clenched his fists, remembering his mother's blessing: May courage find you before fear does.
Hours, or perhaps days, passed time was meaningless there. Then, from between the trees, a shape emerged: a woman woven from vines and mist. Her eyes glowed green like dawn on wet leaves. "You walk with courage, mortal," she said, "but courage without memory is an empty flame. Who are you?" Kure opened his mouth to speak, but the forest pulled at his words, devouring them like smoke.
He fell to his knees, the weight of silence crushing him. In that stillness, he carved his name into the earth with trembling fingers Kure each letter burning with his will. The forest sighed, its trees bending in respect. The woman of vines smiled faintly. "You remember who you are. Few do." She touched his forehead, and for a heartbeat, the trees sang again a melody of remembrance. Then she faded, leaving Kure alone, but stronger. He rose and walked on, carrying his name like a torch into the growing dusk.