The rain was cold, heavy, and sharp like falling glass. It came down hard on the boy's shoulders as he walked along the dirt path just outside the village walls. His thin shirt was soaked through. His hair, black and messy, stuck to his face. Mud clung to his bare feet, and his legs shook from hunger.
He was alone.
He always was.
Nobody wanted him.
He was Nameless.
He didn't know who his parents were. Didn't know how old he was. Thirteen, maybe fourteen. Nobody told him. Nobody cared enough to remember.
In this world, when a baby is born, a glowing mark appears on their chest. A True Name. That name decides everything. Your rank. Your magic. Your place in life.
But when he was born, his chest was empty.
No name.
No glow.
Nothing.
The healers had whispered. The priests had panicked. His mother, whoever she was, left him at the temple steps in the middle of the night. After that, the village raised him—if you could even call it that.
He slept in old sheds. Ate scraps from the market floor. Some days he stole. Some days he starved.
Everyone else had names. Even the weakest ones. E-rank farmers. D-rank cooks. B-rank knights. But him?
He had no name, so they treated him like he wasn't real.
He wasn't a person to them.
He was a curse.
Thunder rumbled in the sky as he sat beneath an old tree at the edge of the forest. His hands were shaking. His stomach hurt. He hadn't eaten in over two days.
He closed his eyes. Tried to pretend he was somewhere else. Somewhere warm. With food. With a real name.
A real life.
But pretending never lasted long.
The cold wind cut through his soaked clothes, and the pain in his belly was too sharp to ignore.
He lay on the grass and stared up at the dark clouds.
"I don't wanna die," he whispered.
His voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear.
"I don't wanna be nothin'..."
Behind him, something cracked.
A twig snapped under a boot.
He sat up fast, eyes wide.
A man stood a few feet away. Tall. Dressed in a black cloak, hood up, silver mask covering his face. The man's boots were dry. No mud. No prints behind him.
It was like he'd appeared out of nowhere.
"Easy," the man said. His voice was calm, smooth, too calm for the storm.
The boy didn't say anything. He watched the stranger with narrowed eyes, ready to run.
"You're not dead yet," the man said. "That's good. I was worried I'd find bones here."
The boy stood up slowly, legs shaking.
"Who are you?"
The man tilted his head. "Nobody important. But I know what you are."
The boy blinked. "What?"
"You're Nameless."
His hands curled into fists.
"I ain't—"
"You have no mark. No name. No rank. No place," the man said. "In this world, that makes you... nothing."
The boy looked down. He couldn't argue.
The man pulled something from under his cloak.
Bread.
Real bread. Still warm. Steam rising from it despite the rain.
He tossed it.
The boy caught it, stared at it for one second—and then tore into it with both hands. He ate fast, like he hadn't eaten in weeks.
The man watched him.
"I've seen a lot of broken things," he said. "But you're different."
The boy didn't answer. He just kept eating.
"You want a name?" the man asked.
The boy froze.
He looked up slowly, eyes wide.
"What?"
"A real name," the man said. "Not just any name. Something ancient. Something powerful."
The boy stared. For a second, he forgot about the rain. Forgot about the cold. The hunger.
"You can give me a name?"
The man didn't smile. Didn't blink.
"I can give you the last name the gods ever spoke."
The rain kept falling, but the boy didn't feel it anymore.
He just stared at the man.
"The last name the gods ever spoke?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.
The man gave a slow nod. "A name forgotten by the world. Buried by kings. Burned by priests. A name too dangerous to live."
"Why would you give it to me?"
"Because no one else deserves it," the man said. "Only someone who was born with nothing... can carry something like this."
The boy looked down at his chest. At the skin where a name should've been all his life.
"I want it," he said.
The masked man studied him for a moment. Then he turned.
"Follow me."
They walked into the woods, deeper than the boy had ever dared to go.
The trees were older here. Twisted. The bark was black, and no light shined through the branches. It was quiet. Too quiet. No birds. No wind.
The boy's heart was pounding, but he kept walking.
He didn't care if it was dangerous. If this was a trap. If the man was mad. He didn't care.
He just wanted to be seen.
He just wanted to exist.
After what felt like hours, they reached a ruined stone building covered in vines. Half-buried. Its roof had collapsed. Carved pillars stood crooked, broken by time.
The man lit a torch with a snap of his fingers. The flame was green.
"Magic," the boy whispered.
The man didn't answer. He led the boy inside.
The inside was colder than outside. The floor was cracked stone, but in the center, a strange circle had been carved. It was full of lines, spirals, teeth, and eyes. None of it made sense.
It didn't look like any magic the boy had ever seen.
The man placed the torch in a slot on the wall. The green light spread across the carvings, and slowly... the symbols began to glow.
Red. Then purple. Then black.
The boy stepped back.
"What is this place?"
"This is where your name will be born," the man said.
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small dagger. The blade was curved and dark, like it was made from shadow.
The boy's eyes widened. "What are you gonna do?"
"I told you," the man said. "It will hurt. The gods sealed this name with pain, not ink. Blood is the price."
The boy swallowed. His hands were shaking again.
But he stepped forward.
He took off his shirt. His skin was pale. Thin.
"Do it," he said.
The man nodded.
"Stand in the circle."
The boy stepped into the middle. The symbols under his feet lit up brighter. They pulsed like a heartbeat.
The man walked to him, knife in hand.
"Last chance," he said. "You can still walk away."
The boy shook his head.
"I don't want to be nothing anymore."
The blade cut across his chest.
He screamed. The pain was hot. Burning. Like fire crawling under his skin.
Blood dripped down, hitting the symbols on the stone.
The circle reacted. It lit up all at once, and the whole room began to shake.
The green torch turned blue.
The air grew heavy. Too heavy to breathe.
Then... the boy heard it.
A voice. Not outside. Inside him. In his head. His bones. His blood.
"I see you…"
The symbols on the floor shot upward, like chains of light, wrapping around his body.
"You have no name. No rank. No fate."
The boy's back arched. His eyes rolled back.
The wound on his chest glowed bright red. Then black. Then gold.
"You will carry what no one else can."
His skin began to burn—not with fire, but with letters. Strange, ancient letters appeared across his chest, glowing and twisting into a name he could not read.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out.
"This world forgot me... but I did not forget it."
The light exploded.
When the boy opened his eyes, he was lying flat on the stone floor.
His chest was still burning.
He sat up slowly.
The dagger was gone.
The man was gone.
The torch was out.
Only the rain could be heard, tapping softly on the broken ceiling.
The boy looked down at his chest.
There was a name there now.
Not in normal letters. Not in any language he knew.
But he could feel it.
It was powerful.
Heavy.
Alive.
He reached out—and sparks danced across his fingers. Real magic.
Not weak.
Not dirty.
Not borrowed.
His.
But deep inside his mind… the voice was still there.
"Now we are one."
He fell to his knees, breathing hard.
Was this what power felt like?
Then the voice said one more thing.
"They will come for you."
The boy sat still for a long time.
His heart thumped like war drums. His body was cold, but his chest burned like fire. The glowing letters on his skin hadn't faded. They were alive—like a second heartbeat.
He touched them, slowly. His fingers sparked with gold light. It felt strange. Too big. Too wild. Like holding a thunderstorm inside his hands.
He looked around the ruin.
The masked man was gone.
He had brought him here, done the ritual, and disappeared.
Why? What did he want?
Why give something this dangerous… to someone like him?
The boy stood up. He staggered a bit. His legs felt weak, but his chest was full of something heavy.
Magic.
He had never felt it before—not in his body. Not in his blood. And now, it was everywhere.
He closed his eyes.
He could feel the stones under his feet.
The wet air. The way the light bent around the torch brackets.
He could even feel something far away—outside the ruins—like metal, moving fast.
Wait.
No... not just metal.
People.
He ran outside.
The sky was still dark. The rain hadn't stopped. Trees swayed in the wind.
Then he saw it.
Down the hill, through the woods — firelight.
Dozens of torches, bobbing like stars in the fog.
And soldiers.
He could hear the metal of their boots. The shaking of the earth beneath them. Their voices shouting orders.
They were coming.
The voice inside him whispered.
"The Name Court has sent them. They smell the power. They will kill you."
The boy backed away from the edge, heart pounding.
He didn't understand.
Why would they kill him for having a name?
But deep down, he already knew the answer.
This wasn't just a name.
It wasn't meant to be found.
It was forbidden.
He turned and ran back into the ruins.
Inside, he looked for a way out.
There were carvings on the back wall—old writing, covered in dust. He wiped it off with his sleeve.
Symbols twisted into a message.
"The True Name is not spoken. It is awakened in silence.
Speak it out loud, and the world remembers."
He didn't know what it meant. But the voice in his head was getting louder.
"They're close. You must leave."
The boy grabbed a broken stone and hit the back wall. Again. And again.
A crack opened.
Behind the wall was a dark tunnel—narrow, damp, leading into the earth.
He didn't think.
He just ran.
Outside, the soldiers reached the ruin.
They wore silver armor, capes flowing in the storm wind. Holy sigils glowed on their chestplates.
One of them stepped forward—taller than the rest.
A woman.
Long golden hair tied behind her back. Sword strapped to her hip. Her eyes glowed faint white. Not magic. Something older.
She stepped into the ruin and looked around.
The symbols were still faintly glowing.
Her face darkened.
"He found it," she said.
The soldier beside her bowed his head.
"Lady Seraphine... could it really be the divine name?"
She touched the stone floor, then looked at the bloodstain in the middle.
Her voice was cold.
"It's not just divine. It's the last."
The tunnel went on forever.
The boy ran, even though his legs were shaking. The light from the ruin had vanished behind him. His only light was the glow from the name on his chest.
He didn't know where it would lead, but he couldn't stop now.
He had something to protect now.
Himself.
His heart burned.
His body ached.
The voice spoke again.
"Your life has ended. But your story begins now."
He kept running.
Back in the ruins, Seraphine stood over the altar.
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a black crystal. It glowed when she held it over the name-circle.
"He's already bonded with it," she said. "That name... it's not just awakened. It's choosing him."
Another soldier stepped forward.
"What do we do?"
She closed her eyes.
"Send word to the capital. Tell the High Order the Last Name of God has returned."
"And the boy?"
She turned, slowly.
"We hunt him. No matter how far he runs."
The tunnel twisted beneath the earth like a snake. The walls were rough stone, wet and cold. His feet splashed in shallow puddles with every step.
The only light came from his chest — from the glowing name carved into his skin.
It pulsed with every heartbeat, alive like a second soul.
He kept going, even when his legs burned.
Even when the air got thin.
Even when the voice in his head started whispering things that didn't make sense.
"Power must be taken."
"Names are chains."
"Burn the world that forgot you."
He shook his head.
"Shut up," he whispered.
But it didn't stop.
It never stopped.
After what felt like hours, the tunnel opened into a hidden cavern. It was wide and black, filled with old bones and broken roots. The ceiling stretched high above like the inside of a giant mouth.
In the middle of the cavern stood a massive stone door — half-buried, chained shut with rusted metal.
He didn't know what it was.
Didn't care.
He needed to rest.
He collapsed beside the door and leaned his head back against the cold wall. His whole body ached. His hands were dirty and cut. His chest still glowed softly.
The name hadn't faded.
It wasn't going away.
He wasn't sure if that was good… or terrible.
"You are chosen," the voice said.
"But you are not alone."
His eyes opened.
"What?"
"Another awakens."
Then the cavern trembled.
A faint noise echoed from the tunnel behind him.
Footsteps.
He jumped to his feet.
Was it the soldiers?
Had they found the tunnel?
His eyes darted around the cavern. He saw nothing he could use as a weapon — only a broken torch on the floor, soaked and useless.
The voice whispered again.
"Do you want power?"
He didn't answer.
"Call the name. Let it answer you."
He didn't know how.
"Say it in silence. Let your heart speak it."
He didn't understand what that meant. His heart was pounding too loud for anything else.
The footsteps were getting closer.
Then — a figure appeared in the tunnel.
But it wasn't a soldier.
It was another boy.
Maybe a year older than him. Pale skin. Silver eyes. Wearing dark clothes, wet from the storm. He looked like a shadow walking on two feet.
The new boy stopped just outside the cavern, staring.
Then... he smiled.
"I felt it," he said. "You have it too, don't you?"
The Nameless boy stepped back.
"Who are you?"
The stranger walked closer, slow and calm. "One of the broken. Just like you."
His chest glowed faint blue.
Not a normal glow.
A cursed one.
"You have a name," the boy said.
"So do you," the stranger replied. "A name that shouldn't exist."
The boy felt heat rise in his hands.
His fingers sparked again.
"Stay back," he warned.
The stranger's smile widened. "You don't even know what you are yet."
"Burn him," the voice said inside his mind.
"He is a threat. He is competition."
"No," the boy said aloud. "I'm not killing anyone."
But the stranger raised his hand.
And the ground shook.
Magic.
Dark magic.
The boy stumbled backward as a shockwave of air exploded from the stranger's palm.
"Defend yourself," the voice screamed.
The boy raised his arm on instinct — and the name on his chest flashed white.
Everything around him went silent.
Like the world had paused.
Then —
BOOM.
A blast of light and force shot from his chest. It hit the cavern wall behind the stranger and shattered stone like paper. Dust and fire filled the room.
The stranger flew back, hit the wall, and slumped down.
Silence.
The boy stood there, shaking.
He hadn't meant to do that.
He didn't even know how he did it.
The voice inside him laughed.
"You are beginning to understand."
He ran.
Out of the cavern.
Through the second tunnel behind the door. He didn't know where it led, but he couldn't stay.
Not after that.
Not after what he just did.
Hours later, the boy climbed out through a crack in the earth, far from the ruins.
The night sky had cleared. The rain had stopped.
Stars blinked quietly above the trees.
He sat on a rock and stared at his hands. They were glowing.
He didn't feel like himself anymore.
He felt like something else had climbed into his body and refused to leave.
He had wanted a name.
But this…
This was a curse.
He wasn't sure who he was now.
But the world had changed.
And he could never go back.
Far away, back in the capital, an old man knelt before a stone altar.
He held a scroll sealed in red wax.
He broke it.
Read it.
Then looked up with wide eyes.
"The Last Name… has awakened."
Behind him, seven cloaked figures stood.
One of them spoke.
"Then the world will burn again."