Nyxborn-The Forgotten Etherium

Renar's jaw tightened.

"A name?"

The whisper curled around him, slithering beneath his skin, pressing against his thoughts.

"Yes."

Renar didn't move. His mind raced, searching for meaning, for intent.

A name.

To most, a name was just words. Just sounds.

But in magic, in Etherium, a name was power.

To speak a true name was to hold authority over it. To reshape, to command, to own.

And this thing—this shadow—was asking for a name.

Not coin. Not blood. Not an oath.

A name.

"Whose?" Renar asked.

The whisper laughed.

"You will know when you find it."

Renar's patience thinned. "Vague terms don't make good bargains."

"Neither does ignorance," the voice murmured.

Something pressed against his skull. Not pain. Not force.

A memory.

Fleeting. Fractured.

A voice—distant, echoing through time.

"Renar, listen to me—no matter what happens, never forget—"

The memory shattered.

Renar staggered, breath sharp.

The shadow rippled.

"You cannot recall it, can you?"

Renar clenched his teeth. No.

Whatever had been said, whatever had been taken—it was gone.

The whisper pressed closer.

"That is the price that was already paid."

Renar's fingers curled into fists. His past. His identity. His very existence—all of it stolen.

And now this thing—this watcher in the dark—was offering him a key.

For a cost.

"You are afraid," the whisper mused.

"Not of me. Not of this bargain."

The shrine felt smaller.

"You are afraid of what you will remember."

Renar stilled.

A part of him wanted to deny it. To fight. To reject the whisper's words.

But he couldn't.

Because deep down, in the part of his soul still untouched by lies—

He knew it was right.

Silence.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

"And if I refuse?"

The whisper chuckled.

"Then you will remain blind."

Another pause.

"But something else will find you first."

The air shuddered.

And in the distance, past the ruins—

Something moved.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hunting.