Cherreads

Chapter 27 - The Land Where His Name Was Erased

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The wind didn't carry his name anymore.

It carried dust. Ash. Whispers of gods no one remembered.

Not even him.

EXIN walked through what used to be a kingdom.

He didn't recognize the ruins.

But they recognized him.

Statues half-swallowed by time twisted as he passed.

Not to follow—

But to turn away.

As if the stone itself had been taught to forget.

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He came upon a field of silence.

No wind.

No birds.

Just black grass and broken pillars marked by shattered halos.

He knelt and brushed his fingers against the earth.

A tremor ran through the ground.

It didn't welcome him.

> "Designation not found," the mana hissed.

> "You do not exist here."

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He smiled.

> "Good," he whispered.

"Then I don't have to follow the rules."

He stood, and the Fifth Mark across his chest—☩ The Collapsed Faith—burned cold.

And the world flinched.

The land itself remembered what he was.

And for a moment…

It hated him for it.

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He continued walking.

Through a gate carved in bone.

Into a village made entirely of rope and salt.

Faces peeked out from curtains—blank, painted white.

Not in fear.

But in devotion.

Warped, twisted devotion.

A child walked up to him.

Eyes hollow.

Hands burned with symbols he'd carved in another life.

> "You're late," she said.

> "The gods already died."

> "But the Choir still sings."

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The girl led him to a shrine made of mirrors.

But none of them reflected him.

Only light.

Only echoes.

Only a version of the sky that bled when looked at too long.

Inside the shrine, a body hung from threads.

It was still alive.

Still singing.

Each note twisted reality.

He had to clench his mind to stay whole.

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> "This is what became of belief," the girl whispered.

"When your name was erased, they filled it with… anything."

> "Now they worship the idea of silence. They call it salvation."

> "They call it… The Faithless Choir."

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EXIN stepped forward.

The hanging figure stopped singing.

And turned its head.

Where eyes should have been—only mouths.

It spoke through all of them at once:

> "We remember you…"

> "Not as god."

> "As mistake."

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> "Then remember this," EXIN said quietly—

And raised his hand.

The Sixth Mark — 🜂 The Broken Return — ignited across his forearm.

Reality peeled backward.

EXIN dragged the Choir's voice into a past it wanted to forget—

To a moment it believed in him.

To a child kneeling at an altar, whispering his name with hope.

That memory screamed.

And so did the body hanging in the shrine.

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Glass shattered.

Threads snapped.

And EXIN whispered:

> "I don't want your worship."

> "I want your truth."

The corpse collapsed.

The girl smiled.

And in the distance—

A bell rang.

Made not of metal.

But of weeping.

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The girl turned to dust in his arms.

She had been a dream.

Not his.

But someone else's memory, still clinging to this place.

> "The Faithless Choir will hunt you now," a voice said behind him.

He turned.

A man in crimson.

Skin made of paper and ink.

Eyes like sealed letters.

> "They do not accept forgotten gods."

> "They burn them to keep the silence pure."

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EXIN didn't respond.

He stepped into the light leaking through the cracks of the shrine.

And whispered to himself:

> "Then I'll give them a silence they can't endure."

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From above, the wind shifted.

Carrying his name.

Once again.

Soft.

Tattered.

But real.

EXIN walked on.

Toward the next war.

One made not of armies…

…but of meaning.

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