Chapter Four: Echoes Between the Stone
Part Four – Names Never Said Aloud
They sat near the water's edge again, just far enough to feel the mist when the wind carried it wrong.
Selka stretched her legs across the moss. Her boots were off, resting beside her.
Zephryn sat with his arms on his knees, necklace twined around his fingers. The pulse had faded from it again.
But the warmth hadn't.
He didn't look at her when he asked:
"Did you ever… say my name while I was gone?"
Selka didn't answer right away.
The falls behind them filled the silence—steadily, softly, never stopping.
She finally nodded.
"I said it once."
"Out loud. Right here."
Zephryn turned slightly.
"Why only once?"
"Because I was afraid if I said it again… I'd realize it didn't belong to anyone anymore."
He went quiet.
Then said:
"I didn't forget yours."
Selka smiled, but didn't let it stay.
"You didn't forget anything."
"They just took the wrong pieces."
—
He turned toward the water again.
Let his hand skim the surface once more.
The water clung to him again. Not like before.
This time it pulled—lightly.
Like a thread in reverse.
He closed his eyes.
And whispered:
"Caelus."
"Vael."
"Tether."
"Solara."
The last name shook in his mouth.
Like a wound reopening just to breathe.
Selka didn't look at him.
She looked at the water.
Because the moment that name left his lips—
The waterfall echoed it back.
But not in his voice.
Not in hers.
In a voice neither of them had heard since the Lyceum was still whole.
"Solara…"
It was soft.
Like the name had waited beneath the surface for someone brave enough to remember it.
Zephryn didn't move.
Didn't cry.
Didn't ask.
He just sat there.
Letting the sound curl around him like a blanket that had been buried too long.
Selka leaned back against a stone.
Didn't say anything else.
Because sometimes, you don't chase a name that comes back.
You just listen.