They descended.
Stone steps spiraled like a helix carved into the bones of forgotten books. Isha's lantern burned a pale azure, casting shadows that shivered as they passed. Beneath the Library of Ash stood the Sanctum of the Nameless — a prison for oath-breakers and memory-thieves.
"This is where the lost ones go," Isha whispered.
"Where those who rewrote fate too many times pay the price."
Yūma didn't speak. Vael'Ryn pulsed silently behind his heart, heavy — as if it remembered this place.
A Cage of Flame
The sanctum's final chamber glowed with emberlight.
There, suspended in a cage made of burning parchment and brass quills, was a boy. Shackles etched with runes held him aloft. His skin was pale gold — not by birth, but from burns long healed and re-burned. Chains sizzled with every movement.
He looked up and grinned.
"Took you long enough," he said, voice like cracked firewood.
"Thought the ink gods forgot me for good."
"Name," Isha ordered.
"Lost it." He winked. "But you can call me Kaelen. Or The Ember Scribe. Your choice."
The Ember Scribe
Kaelen dropped to the ground when the cage opened. It didn't unlock — it understood. As if the presence of Vael'Ryn was enough.
He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, flame tattoos twitching across his arms.
"Don't trust me," he said, catching Yūma's skeptical glance.
"I'm a liar, a thief, and a memory arsonist. But I do hate those bastards at the Citadel."
"Why?" Yūma asked.
Kaelen's grin faded.
"Because they erased my village. Said we weren't 'canon.' My Eidolon tried to defend it. So I rewrote their rules. And in return…"
He raised his arm. A single letter burned away from his tattooed name.
"I started vanishing."
The Oath of Flame and Ink
A sudden quake shook the chamber. Walls began writing themselves — ink spilling into new shapes. The Citadel had sensed their defiance.
"They're coming," Isha warned.
"Sentinels."
Kaelen extended his hand.
"We make this official, or we die unscripted."
"I fight with you, ink-born. But you must vow something in return."
"What vow?" Yūma asked, raising his Inkblade.
"Don't forget me. Even if I forget myself."
Yūma hesitated. Then nodded.
"By quill and curse… I remember Kaelen Virelith."
Flame and ink twined around their wrists. The pact sealed.
The Ink Sentinels
From the darkness, Ink Sentinels emerged — faceless, paper-thin warriors with quills for spines. They moved in sentences, each slash a syllable, each block a stanza.
Yūma stepped forward.
"Quill Step — erase the moment."
He blinked behind the Sentinel, carving a line through its chest.
Kaelen followed.
"Cinder Rewrite — pain becomes fire."
He took a slash to the shoulder, but instead of bleeding, he ignited — becoming a spinning pyre that melted two Sentinels with one motion.
Isha sealed the final one with a glyph that folded reality like a book shut mid-chapter.
A Name Forgotten
After the battle, Yūma saw Kaelen falter.
"Another letter?"
Kaelen nodded. His name burned: K A _ L E N
"Don't worry," he laughed, eyes glassy.
"Still five to go."
But Yūma knew.
This wasn't just a companion.
This was a time bomb made of memory and fire.