The temple stairs were old.
Most people only came up once a year during the big festival. But Ren had climbed them three days in a row now.
Each time, they felt a little less heavy.
This time, though, something felt different.
The air was still. No wind. No sounds. Even the birds were quiet.
Ren reached the top and paused.
The bell was there. So was the scroll, still blank.
But something new was waiting.
A single step. One stone tile right in front of the bell. It hadn't been there before.
It was a little brighter than the rest, like it had just been placed.
Ren stepped onto it without thinking.
The air shimmered.
Just for a second.
Then—he wasn't in the temple anymore.
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't the village. It wasn't even real, maybe.
Ren stood in a wide open space. All white. No sky, no ground, no sound.
Just light.
Floating in front of him was a book.
Old. Thick. Wrapped in thin red string.
It opened by itself.
Pages flipped quickly, like it was searching for something.
Then it stopped.
Ren looked at the page.
It had just one line.
"The one who walks without a Name must write his own."
The page glowed. A small quill floated next to it, made of silver light.
Ren stared.
"Write... my own?" he whispered.
His hand reached for the quill.
Then he stopped.
What would he even write?
He had no training. No power. No path.
Just questions.
But still... he wanted to try.
He took the quill and pressed it to the page.
But the moment it touched the paper—FLASH.
The world pulled him back.
Ren opened his eyes.
He was lying on the temple floor.
The bell was quiet. The scroll was gone.
Everything looked normal again.
But something was different.
He felt it.
Inside him.
He didn't get to write anything... but the quill had touched him.
Something had changed.
He looked at his palm.
There was a faint mark now.
A shape. Like a tiny open book.
Soft and glowing.
He smiled.
He didn't know what it meant yet.
But it was his.
His first real step.
To be continued...