— So you are saying Falazahr is your name? — the man grew curious, his eyes narrowed against the morning sun that glittered on the river water, a light that both warmed and blinded.
Falazahr nodded, her bare feet plunged into the cold current that flowed around her ankles, a caress that refreshed and bit, like an ally who protects but reminds one of the fragility of existence.
The river flowed serene, its clear waters carrying leaves and stones that no one could stop. She looked at the man, her first and only friend, whose features seemed sculpted by the forest — skin bronzed by the sun, hair tangled like roots intertwining without permission.
In a few days, he had traversed unprecedented and anonymous routes, keeping secrets no one else had dared to uncover. Yet, under her penetrating gaze, he revealed himself in an almost natural simplicity.
— Yes — she confirmed, her voice still hoarse from the trace of the dream, but vibrating with a strange mixture of fascination and apprehension. — A few days ago, Khulag gave me this name. She appeared to me, a silvery creature, with eyes the color of the sun that I felt saw right through me. Her presence radiated like a soft fire, a burning branch that does not consume but ignites long-dormant memories. — Falazahr paused for a moment, letting her hand dip into the current. — She emphasized a danger we all face: The Eternal Winter. A skillful and terrifying ice.
Her thoughts were embers:
She is the first Guardian, the root of all fire, before the written words and those who carry it. Her name calls me like an inheritance, a warmth that blows into my soul.
The man tilted his head, an eyebrow arched in curiosity, his feet moving in the water as if testing its treacherous depth.
— Khulag? That sounds like an ancient name, like blooms buried deep in the earth. And this dream... you say it wasn't ordinary, that the clay was scorched when you woke up. What did she tell you? About The Eternal Winter, about this haunted ice?
A shiver ran through Falazahr, even under the high sun. It was a fire that, while warming her soul, left the edges of her being cold.
— She whispered that Winter only sleeps, that it will return like a shadow that lengthens and shrinks. I am the breath that faces it, the fire in my blood is an ember awaiting the wind. — Her voice became low, almost a verse. Her eyes were lost in the river, where the sun's rays hit the surface with flashes — an electric violet and a liquid gold that flowed almost invisible.
The man scratched his chin, his eyes fixed on the passing current, as if searching for answers in the flowing, agitated waters:
— It's fascinating and terrifying, you know. Do you think this changes everything about you? That, deep down, you are... different?
Falazahr smiled, a smile of fragile confidence, her feet sinking more into the soft mud than the stream.
— Yes, partly. Khulag told me to master the flame, to light hope in hearts against the ice... But, who am I, after all? Just a woman who woke up with a name that sounds like an unknown and strange whisper. — She let out a slow sigh, feeling the current; it was, at the same time, a subtle comforting embrace and a force that pushed her, inescapable, as if destiny itself called her by name, and yet, her heart stubbornly resisted.
He nodded in agreement, but his face became a map of thoughts, each wrinkle a furrow where words weighed that only he, perhaps, could measure.
— Ah, Falazahr — He repeated. — Falazahr... Let's think about this name for a moment. I feel it could be the breath of something immense, although I confess, doubt still dances in my mind.
Falazahr felt a small tickle on her feet, it was a small current in the river that directed towards them, and at times, produced bubbles due to the water's movement.
— I can't say who Khulag is, nor what moves her. — Her speech was almost a whisper. — And the reason she gave me this name... well, all that remains is the certainty of a struggle that calls out for me, something that needs to be faced. And that "something" is the winter.
The man listened, curious, his feet firm in the running water, like roots embracing the ground beneath the flow. In her chest, Falazahr felt the name whisper and burn, a baptism that was, at the same time, the purest honor and the burden of a destiny. Every word spoken was woven by this force, and her vision thus became the clear lens to see the world reborn.
After a heavy silence, where the river whispered secrets only the water knew, Falazahr turned to him. Her eyes suddenly lit up with an idea, something that was half a joke, half a deep thought:
— Khulag gave me a name, my dear, but you, look, still don't have yours. It's as if we were born without roots, loose leaves falling, without a calling to ground us. How about we give you one? Something that whispers who you truly are: the wanderer who feels rivers and forests as his very heart.
The man, in a slight surprise that lit up his gaze, blinked. His hand, almost by instinct, went up to scratch the back of his neck in a delicate gesture, as if the idea that came to his mind was a new and strange visitor, just arrived in his intimacy.
— A name for me? I never thought of one. I'm just the guide. The one who sees the unexplored banks. But, since you insist... let's try. — He closed his eyes, plunging into the depths of his own mind.
His lips moved, soundlessly, whispering words that only his thoughts heard — the melody of the wind, the song of the water, and the ground that sustains them, intertwined with the murmurs of the flame that was still non-existent to humans.
Falazahr watched, intrigued, her feet still in the waters, feeling the coolness of that directed and controlled flow.
— Imagine the river that calms your chest, how it embraces the earth, only parting it to unite it at the banks. Or the wind, that breath that travels through the woods, bringing secrets with it. Your name, you know, needs to hold the truth of a root that is born in the shadow, but insists on finding the sun.
Silence swallowed the seconds between them. Falazahr, awaiting a title to be spoken, and the man, searching for a word that did not yet exist in his own being.
— Heridor. Yes, Heridor. — He pronounced the name as if testing its weight, a word that was divided and whole. — It's the name of someone who explores and discovers, who unites what the ice separated.
Falazahr clapped lightly, her feet coming out of the water to clap, a joy that was genuine and reflective.
Heridor let out a laugh, a deep, genuine sound. His eyes: dancing reflections directed towards the water.
— Thank you, Falazahr. Your dream brought more than a name. — he stared at her. — It brought the spark for all of us. I'll be the first to name himself and the second to possess a title by which I can be called.
The river suddenly convulsed. A treacherous wave licked Heridor's feet like a whip. Thick bubbles rose to the surface, bursting with an odor that seemed like rotten flesh.
— What was that? — she whispered.
Heridor stood up, losing his composed posture for full alert.
— Something big... in the dep...
The river exploded. Scales of living stone tore the surface, throwing shards of water like glass blades. The Stone-Hide did not emerge; it claimed the bank. It was a mass of granite with endless hunger, only origin.
— Run! — shouted Heridor, pulling Falazahr by the arm, their feet slipping on the slick mud.
They fled along the bank, but the crocodile persisted in chasing them. Its paws pounded the earth, causing a dry, unstoppable tremor.
Falazahr stumbled.
Khulag! The fire in my blood... awaken it!
It was too late.
The massive, feral, and grotesque reptile bellowed a roar: solid, raw, the fury of the world in a sound that vibrated in the ears of anyone who listened. The animal looked at them like a statue announcing death.