Chapter 2767: Story 2768: The Name That Shattered Heaven

“RONAN!”

Lyra’s voice pierced the darkness.

Ronan opened his mouth, and a sound emerged that was not a word but the memory of one. The golden door convulsed. Far above them, mountains split apart, and every grave in the First Kingdom burst open simultaneously.

Something beneath the world answered.

“I REMEMBER.”

The shattered crowns surrounding Ronan stopped spinning.

Then they turned toward him.

Elias fell to his knees, clutching his chest as black veins crawled across his hands. Aren’s silver chains wrapped around his body without his command. Darian’s violet flames erupted, forming the silhouette of a frightened child behind him.

“What is happening to us?” Aren gasped.

Cael stared at Ronan with horror.

“The name is awakening the blood that existed before the brothers.”

Ronan’s eyes burned gold.

A voice spoke through him.

“You divided me into fragments. You buried my memory in a child. You imprisoned my chosen heir and called the prison a kingdom.”

The darkness around the forgotten child twisted into enormous wings.

“But you forgot one thing.”

The child descended slowly until his feet touched the floor. His expression softened, and for an instant, he looked like an ordinary boy frightened by a nightmare.

“You cannot imprison what was never born.”

The ancient Father’s abandoned armor stirred among the ashes. A faint voice escaped it.

“Stop him. If the name becomes complete, there will be nothing left to inherit.”

“Nothing left?” Elias repeated, forcing himself upright. “What does that mean?”

Cael did not answer.

He was watching Darian.

The youngest brother’s violet flames had changed. Tiny golden sparks flickered within them, forming symbols Cael had seen only once—in the ruins of the first temple.

“Darian,” he whispered. “Hide your eyes.”

Too late.

The child looked at him.

“Fourth vessel,” he said. “You were never supposed to exist.”

Darian’s face hardened.

“Neither were you.”

He thrust both hands forward. Violet fire exploded across the corridor, striking the child and driving him backward. For the first time, the darkness screamed.

Ronan dropped from the air.

Lyra caught him before his head struck the stone, lowering him carefully to the ground.

“Ronan, listen to me. You are Ronan Draven. You chose that name. You chose your life.”

His golden eyes flickered.

“Lyra...”

“Yes. Stay with me.”

He gripped her hand, but another voice rose from his throat.

“She cannot save you from yourself.”

The darkness surged toward them.

Lyra drew a dagger and cut her palm. She pressed her bleeding hand against Ronan’s chest, directly over the golden mark.

“Then remember this, too,” she whispered. “You are not alone.”

The mark cracked.

A blinding red light erupted between them, forcing the darkness back. Ronan screamed as memories flooded his mind: the first throne, the six cradles, the stolen name, and a promise made before time began.

“When you remember me, my son, you must choose.”

The golden door opened another inch.

Behind it, something enormous began to breathe.

And the voice asked Ronan one final question.

“Will you remember who you were—or destroy what I have become?”