On the night the kingdom lost its name, the stars went silent.
No one noticed at first.
The rivers still flowed. The bells still rang at dawn. Children still laughed in the streets of the capital. But something invisible had been stolen, and the world was holding its breath.
Liora felt it.
She was grinding herbs in the apothecary when the mortar cracked beneath her hands. A sharp pain bloomed behind her eyes, and a single word slipped from her mind like smoke.
She dropped the pestle.
"What was it?" she whispered. "What was the word I just forgot?"
Her master looked up. "Did you say something?"
Liora shook her head, her heart racing.
Outside, a man screamed.
People gathered in the street, voices overlapping in confusion.
"What city is this?"
"Where are we?"
"What kingdom do we serve?"
Panic spread like wildfire.
By sunset, no one could remember the kingdom's name.
The elders called it The Nameless Curse.
Without a name, treaties unraveled. Maps turned blank. Spells that protected the borders faded, as if they had never been spoken.
Names were power. And someone had stolen theirs.
Liora discovered the truth by accident.
That night, while everyone else slept, she heard whispers drifting from the old well behind the apothecary.
"Namekeeper…"
The word wrapped around her bones.
She leaned over the well and stared into the darkness. Something stared back.
You hear us because you remember, the voice said.
"I don't," Liora replied. "I forgot like everyone else."
No, it whispered. You remember the feeling of it. That is enough.
The water shimmered, forming symbols older than language. Liora's breath caught as understanding rushed through her.
She had been born without a true name.
A mistake. An anomaly.
That was why the curse could not fully touch her.
By morning, soldiers stood at her door.
"The Council demands your presence," they said.
Liora followed them to the Tower of Echoes, where the last remaining magic still pulsed faintly in the air.
At the top of the tower waited a hooded figure, chains of glowing runes wrapped around his wrists.
"The thief has been caught," the High Elder announced. "He stole the kingdom's name."
Liora stepped closer—and froze.
The prisoner lifted his head.
His eyes were silver.
"You," he said softly, as if tasting her existence. "You are the only one who can give it back."
"Why me?" Liora asked.
The man smiled, tired and dangerous.
"Because," he said, "the kingdom was named after you."