Md Tamjidul Haider
@tamjid
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They reached a landing—a stone chamber etched with thousands of glyphs. The air was dry, still, and heavy with unseen motion.
Ern lifted his lantern. The walls pulsed faintly, illuminated line by line.
Names.
Carved in every language. Some recognizable. Some entirely alien. Many scratched out. Others burned in, glowing faintly gold, silver, or sickly green.
One name shimmered like heat haze at eye level: “Stay.”
Ern stepped toward it, drawn.
Myrr’s hand snapped forward and gripped his wrist. “Don’t touch the names.”
“Why?” Ern asked, not moving.
“If it knows your name, it can call you back.”
“To what?”
“To whatever you were before you chose your word.”
Behind them, Gellon let out a low moan and dropped to a knee.
Sarra was there instantly, hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s writing in my head,” he rasped. “Not words—just... changing me.” 1 reply
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