The path to the village wasn't a road. It was a scar. Cracked stone, half-melted in places, and scorched bone light flickering from lanterns carved straight into skulls. He followed Koji in silence. There was no choice. Not because Koji was trustworthy — but because standing still in this place felt worse.
Each step echoed inside him like a whisper he couldn't understand. His legs hurt. He didn't know why. Like he'd been walking for longer than just now. As if the pain wasn't from here — but from before. Wherever before was.
They passed a husk of some beast. It might've been a dog once. Or a lizard. Its jaw hung open, teeth split down the middle, fossilized in mid-scream. Koji didn't glance at it. Just walked. As if all of this had long stopped being strange.
The MC tried to look away. But his eyes dragged back. It was like everything in this world demanded to be seen, remembered, named. But he had no name to trade. No words to hold.
The village loomed larger.
Not above — below. Everything was carved downward. A spiral pit, like a reverse tower, dug deep into the cavern floor. Small bridges crossed from one carved level to another. Fires burned low in shallow bowls. Shadows moved. Some hunched. Some dragging limbs. Some missing parts.
People?
No.
Survivors.
He hesitated.
Koji stopped at the edge of the pit and turned. "Welcome to Kairon's Spine."
The name didn't echo.
Nothing echoed here.
The MC stared. His own reflection flickered in the torchlight — thin, hollow, foreign. He didn't recognize himself. Maybe he never had.
Koji crouched by a torch and tapped it with his finger. "There's no sense looking back," he said. "There's nothing there for you. You don't remember. That's the blessing."
The MC blinked. Slowly. He couldn't argue. He couldn't agree. He couldn't speak.
Koji tilted his head. "You will remember. It just won't help."
Something in that tone didn't feel like comfort. It felt like a warning.
Koji stood and began descending into the spiral.
He followed.
No choice.
Each layer of the spiral showed another kind of survival. The top ring was quiet. Watchful. By the time they reached the second, the air grew warmer. Fires. Movement. Eyes.
The people stared. Or rather — they noticed. Staring required energy. These ones didn't waste any. Eyes sunken. Skin grayish in the dim light. All shapes, all types. Most clothed in stitched rags, mismatched cloth, and hardened scraps. One wore a mask made of twine and bark. Another had metal plates nailed into their arms.
They looked at him like they knew what he was.
Or what he might become.
A boy — maybe twelve — passed him on the ramp. Limping. Carrying bones in a sack. He didn't speak. Just stared for a second too long. And moved on.
[ SYSTEM NOTICE: OBSERVATION MODE ENGAGED ]
[ WARNING: INTERFERENCE LEVEL — LOW ]
[ CAUTION: NO COMBAT. NO INTERFERENCE. ]
The MC felt that strange static inside him again. Like cold breath in the lungs. He pressed a hand to his chest. Still no voice. Still no name. Still no answers.
Koji stopped at a fire pit near the second ring and sat. No invitation. Just presence.
He joined him.
The flames didn't flicker. They pulsed.
"This place," Koji muttered, pulling a sliver of dried meat from a pouch, "isn't your enemy. It's just what's left."
He chewed, then handed the rest to the MC.
He took it. Bit down. It tasted like stone and old salt. But he swallowed anyway.
"You ever kill something?" Koji asked.
The MC looked at him. Blank.
Koji laughed once — dry. "Didn't think so."
He pointed toward the center of the pit. A tall slab of rock, covered in carvings, stood there. Deep grooves. Marks etched with care.
"Those are Names. Not real ones. Earned ones. We all start with none. Eventually, if we survive, we carve ours there."
The MC's eyes traced the markings. Some looked like runes. Others like wounds.
Koji leaned back. "Mine's near the bottom. Took me eight years to put it there. I thought it meant something. Still do, I guess."
The MC rose without thinking.
He walked.
Down the spiral.
No one stopped him.
He passed others — a woman boiling roots in bone water, two figures sparring with sticks, a half-blind man whittling teeth into arrowheads. No one spoke. But they noticed. Everyone did.
He reached the stone.
The Names stared back.
Not words. Not letters.
Symbols. Shapes. Personal and strange.
One looked like a tear, curved sideways.
Another looked like a hand split down the middle.
His fingers hovered over the surface.
He didn't carve.
[ SYSTEM NOTICE: CARVING DISABLED ]
[ CONDITION: NAMELESS ]
[ SUGGESTION: SURVIVE FIRST ]
He lowered his hand. Something trembled in his chest. Not fear. Not exactly. Something older.
Koji watched from above.
Didn't say a word.
A figure stepped near the stone.
Female. Roughly his age. Short hair, burned at the ends. Eyes sharp. She didn't speak either. Just looked at him, then at the stone, then at his hand.
Then she walked past.
Another Name waited to be carved.
And hers, too, wasn't ready.
He returned to Koji.
Koji tossed something. A cloth pouch. The MC caught it.
"Sleep spot. Don't lose it."
The pouch had a bone token inside. Circular, marked with a single line.
[ SYSTEM NOTICE: ITEM RECEIVED — DORM TAG ]
[ FUNCTION: SHELTER ACCESS ]
He turned the token over. The line was jagged. Not straight. Not clean.
Koji leaned forward. "You'll be tested. Soon. Don't volunteer. Don't resist. Just watch."
The MC nodded slowly.
Koji stood. "And when they ask for your name..." He paused. "Lie."
The MC looked up.
Koji's face hardened. "They don't trust nameless ones. Too many vanish. Too many go Hollow."
Go Hollow?
The system didn't answer.
He didn't understand.
But he would.
Later that night, under the stone archway of a carved-out dorm, the MC lay still. He held the token in one hand. The blackstone shard in the other. And somewhere beyond the walls, the Hollow screamed once.
Only once.
But it was enough.
He didn't sleep.
Not yet.
Not tonight.
[ SYSTEM NOTICE: FIRST NIGHT COMPLETE ]
[ CONDITION: STABLE ]
[ MEMORY TRACE: INACTIVE ]
[ STATUS: NAMELESS ]
He stared at the stone ceiling.
And waited for the world to make sense.
And deep inside him, in the part that hadn't forgotten — just hidden — something shifted.
Not a memory.
But the shape of one.