The Stranger Who Remembered
604 Words
The old traveler did not take his eyes off the Nameless One.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
The village square, usually alive with chatter, fell into an uneasy silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
“You know him?” the village chief asked, stepping forward cautiously.
The traveler tightened his grip on his weathered staff.
“I know what he is,” he replied.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
The Nameless One frowned. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“No,” the traveler said softly. “You wouldn’t remember me. You were only a newborn.”
Those words struck like thunder.
The villagers exchanged nervous glances.
“A newborn?” one elder whispered. “What is he talking about?”
The traveler ignored them. His gaze remained fixed on the young man.
“What day were you told you were born?”
“The Night of Endless Rain,” the Nameless One answered.
The old man’s face paled.
“Then the prophecy was true.”
The chief’s expression hardened. “Enough riddles. Speak plainly.”
The traveler sighed.
“Seventeen years ago, I served as a royal scholar in the Kingdom of Elyndor. On the night the capital fell, the royal family was slaughtered—or so the world believed.”
The crowd listened in stunned silence.
“But there was one child who vanished before the soldiers reached the palace. An infant whose existence was erased from every record.”
The Nameless One felt his heartbeat quicken.
“You… think that child is me?”
“I don’t think,” the traveler replied. “I know.”
The words hit him harder than any blow.
His whole life he had been treated as though he belonged nowhere. Now, a stranger claimed he belonged to a kingdom he had never heard of.
Before anyone could speak again, a deafening horn echoed from beyond the forest.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The traveler spun toward the sound.
“They’ve found you.”
“Who has?”
“The Order of Ash.”
Fear flashed across the old man’s face.
“They’ve spent seventeen years searching for the last royal child.”
The ground began to tremble.
From the edge of the village, black-cloaked riders emerged through the mist. Their horses wore dark armor, and each rider carried a spear marked with a silver eye.
The villagers backed away in terror.
The leader removed his hood.
A long scar ran across his face.
He smiled coldly.
“After all these years,” he said, “our hunt is finally over.”
The Nameless One instinctively stepped back.
“I don’t even know who I am.”
The rider laughed.
“It doesn’t matter whether you remember.”
He lowered his spear.
“It only matters that you die.”
Without warning, the traveler shoved the young man aside.
A black arrow sliced through the air.
It struck the old scholar in the shoulder instead.
“Run!” he shouted.
The Nameless One hesitated.
“I can’t leave you!”
“You must!” the traveler cried. “The truth can survive only if you do.”
The rider signaled his soldiers.
“Take the boy alive.”
The forest erupted with pounding hooves.
For the first time in his life, the Nameless One ran—not away from cruel whispers or lonely stares, but from enemies who knew exactly who he was.
Behind him, his village disappeared into chaos.
Ahead of him lay a path that would either reveal his forgotten past…
…or lead him to his death.
- Writer
