Chapter Forty-Two
The Unspoken Name
from Have You Someone to Protect?
by ©Amer
The trail was narrow, half-swallowed by the forest. Moonlight threaded through the leaves in pale silver strands, casting faint shapes on the path ahead.
Caelum walked alone.
His boots stirred dry leaves and sleeping roots beneath him. Though Solara was no more than a ridge away—just a small mountain more—he paused at a clearing where the trees bent gently back and the stones rose like quiet watchers. He stepped toward one of them, a moss-worn boulder by the path's edge, and sat.
The moon hung in the sky, almost to half.
It was enough to measure time.
Not in days—but in what remained.
Caelum exhaled, gaze fixed on that moon like it could answer him. Like it might tell him how long before everything came undone.
He had no way of knowing how much time they had. Only that he had to be ready.
Ready to protect Lhady—not just from the world that now stirred around her, but from the storm curling inside her. Her magic, awakening. The threads binding her to another fate. And now—something else.
He felt it.
A presence.
Soft at first. Like a chill breeze brushing too long against the back of his neck.
Then—distinct.
A rustle in the underbrush. Too deliberate to be wind. Too quiet to be a beast.
He stood in one motion, eyes narrowing. His fingers found the hilt at his back with the ease of a practiced gesture.
No words.
Just movement.
He ran.
Through the trees. Over roots and hollows and stones. The forest twisted around him, and still he ran, giving chase to something he could feel but not see.
The deeper he went, the more the air thickened—not with fog, but with intention. Something was leading him off path. Away from Solara. Away from her.
And he followed.
Because something was watching.
And he meant to catch it.
Across the forest, closer to the foothills near Solara…
A branch cracked underfoot.
The sound wasn't loud—but it was enough.
Silas stopped walking.
He didn't turn around. Didn't need to.
His voice, when he spoke, came from a colder place. Not the warmth he'd offered earlier in the bookshop. Not the silence he'd shared over tea.
"Reveal yourself."
The command was unmistakable.
From behind a split-trunk tree, a younger man stepped out. His stance was rigid, but his eyes flicked away—uneasy.
"Commander." A nod, nothing more. "The upper is waiting for the report."
Silas didn't move. The moonlight caught only the edge of his profile, drawing the line of his jaw—sharp, unreadable.
"They'll receive it."
"They expected it three days ago. They asked for specifics."
There was no irritation in Silas's face—only unfaltering steadiness.
"Then tell them I don't give specifics without certainty."
A beat.
"Is that what you want me to say?"
"Say what you like," Silas answered coolly. "But I don't submit rushed reports on things still unfolding."
The younger man frowned. "They're beginning to question your—"
Silas stepped forward once. Silent. Controlled.
The scout went still.
"Let them question," Silas said, voice even. "That's their privilege. Mine is knowing when I'm being sent into something half-explained and twice-manipulated."
The scout swallowed.
"You're not denying the assignment?"
"No." His voice lowered. Not softer—just deeper. "I accepted it. And I'll finish it. On terms that won't get her killed."
The man hesitated—then gave a single, clipped nod. "Understood."
He began to retreat, but Silas added, quieter now, like steel sheathed in velvet:
"If they're impatient, remind them—I'm not the one they should be watching."
And then, he was alone again.
The wind stirred the trees above.
Silas let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He leaned back against the bark, tilting his head toward the night sky. The bookshop wasn't far. The one place that still smelled like peace.
But peace had never been his to keep.
He touched the ring on his right hand—a simple band never worn in the open. Not a badge of command. A vow.
One he had no idea how to honor without breaking her trust again.
He hadn't lied to her.
But he hadn't told the truth, either.
With a quiet sigh, Silas sat at the base of the tree, resting his head back, closing his eyes—just for a moment.
A clang of metal split the forest stillness.
A sword struck bark with violent precision.
Pinned. And targeted.
Leaves flew in startled spirals. The air snapped with magic.
Caelum stood before the tree, sword driven clean through the shoulder cloak of a figure cloaked in black. His breathing was even, but his eyes burned gold in the moonlight.
The blade hummed—faint runes pulsing down its center, lit by the force it took to hold this figure still.
The man did not flinch.
He watched Caelum with calm, unreadable eyes. No fear. Only knowing.
"Tell me why you've been following me," Caelum growled. "Why you're circling Solara. What do you want from her?"
The cloaked man tilted his head, deliberate.
"She is the key."
Caelum's grip shifted.
"To what?"
"To linking worlds."
The forest seemed to pause.
Even the leaves above fell silent.
Caelum pressed the sword closer, the metal biting deeper into the cloak's edge.
"Try again. What worlds? Who sent you?"
The man's voice was unhurried, low.
"You already know. Or maybe… you've chosen not to remember."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "Speak plainly."
The figure smiled—only slightly. The kind of smile meant to wound.
"It's your lineage that betrayed her."
Silence.
Caelum's expression faltered—only for an instant.
"What did you say?"
"She's in this fate because of you. Because of what your bloodline did. You, prince of the dying sky. You wear a sword forged to protect her—but it was your kind who chained her to the role."
Something inside him cracked. Caelum staggered, only slightly—but it was enough.
The glow in the runes dimmed.
And in that split-second, the figure twisted.
A flare of shadow—an incantation—and the air cracked.
The tree groaned as the sword was knocked loose. Caelum lunged, but the figure slipped from the hold, disappearing into the dark like smoke.
"Wait—!" Caelum shouted, but the forest had swallowed him whole.
Silence returned.
Only his breath remained, rough and uneven in the hollow clearing.
He stared down at his sword, now embedded in the earth.
The figure's words echoed louder than the fight.
Your lineage betrayed her.
He turned slowly, eyes searching the night—but there was nothing to chase anymore.
Nothing but the truth he didn't understand.
And the direction he now had to walk.
His gaze lifted to the trees.
To the way Solara waited beyond them.
To the place where she waited, unaware of the danger creeping closer.
He picked up the sword.
Held it tighter this time.
Then walked.
The weight of what was said trailing behind him like a shadow he couldn't shake.
In Solara…
Elias drank the last sip of his tea.
Outside the window, moonlight caught the shimmer of something wrong—an invisible pressure brushing against the edges of the bookshop's wards.
His eyes didn't shift from the teacup in his hand.
With his free hand, he lifted two fingers and murmured something inaudible.
A faint vibration filled the room. Magic stirred at the threshold, something dark and half-formed trying to seep through—drawn not to the shelves or the ink-dust of old tomes, but to her.
Elias exhaled slowly. The room settled.
Without ever rising from his chair, he drew the encroaching presence into the curl of his fingers—and crushed it into nothing.
A breath of silence followed, thick and still. Then, like dust breaking under morning light, the threat dissolved.
Only then did he set the cup down.
He stood and made his way up the stairs, footsteps nearly soundless.
In Lhady's room, he moved with practiced quiet. She lay curled beneath the blanket, her breath steady, her brow untroubled.
Elias adjusted the fabric gently over her shoulder, then raised his hand over her chest, palm glowing faintly. A ward—soft and warm—settled around her.
Then he spoke, so low only the room would hear.
"You have to be strong. Stronger than they know. But for tonight…" His fingers brushed her hair from her cheek. "…rest soundly."
He lingered for a moment.
Then turned and left her in silence.
Outside, the stars above Solara flickered faintly—quiet witnesses to what was coming.
And what was already remembering its name.