The light faded like a curtain.
When their eyes cleared, they weren't in a tower anymore.
They were in a room.
Not large.
Not loud.
But alive.
Its walls shimmered with words, not spoken, not written, but remembered.
Elira reached out.
The nearest name pulsed under her fingers: Talis.
And the wall whispered: "She waited at the gate every morning, even when it never opened."
The Room of Names did not shout.
It confessed.
Each name, when touched, breathed its story. Some short. Some aching. Some barely there.
Solin pressed a hand to the wall.
"Jore. He laughed at thunder so children wouldn't cry."
Sera found one etched lower.
"Min."
Just that. But her eyes softened.
"I knew him," she said. "He gave me an apple once."
Then Elira's flame tugged her toward a name so faint it was nearly gone.
She brushed dust away and saw it:
"Elira."
Her breath caught.
She pressed her palm to it.
The room whispered:
"She thought she had no magic. But magic had her, always."
Flick stepped forward.
The flame in his chest flickered wildly. So many names lit up around him, it looked like stars blinking awake.
He turned in a slow circle.
"Why are they here?"
"Because your fire remembers what you don't," said Amaryn gently.
Sera added, "These are the names of those who fed the flame. Who held it, carried it, even broke for it."
"And us?" Flick asked.
Varn stepped up beside him.
"We're just the ones holding the lantern now."
At the center of the room stood a table.
Carved from roots.
Atop it lay six blank stones.
One for each of them.
A seventh hovered above the center, glowing faintly.
"What do we do?" Solin asked.
The room answered with a sound—
Like chalk tapping a board.
And the seventh stone whispered: "Speak what was not spoken."
They each stepped forward.
Solin went first.
"My name is Solin. My father thought I'd never make it. He was wrong."
The stone pulsed.
Amaryn: "I am more than a number. My name is Amaryn. And I am not broken."
Pulse.
Sera: "I have failed. I have bled. But I have not stopped. I am Sera."
Pulse.
Varn: "I watched my brother die. I blamed myself. But I'm still here. Name's Varn."
Pulse.
Flick: "I don't know who I was. But I know who I'm becoming. Call me Flick. For now."
Pulse.
Then Elira.
She stepped up last.
"I was born without a spark. That's what they said. But I had hope. And others. And you. My name is Elira."
The seventh stone blazed.
And then—
It cracked.
From the crack, a new name spilled out.
One none of them had spoken.
"Ori."
The room whispered: "He was the first flamekeeper. And he is waiting still."
Elira turned to Flick.
"Do you feel that?"
Flick nodded.
The fire in his chest roared.
"Ori's inside me. Or part of him."
"Then we find the rest," said Sera.
The door appeared with no sound.
Made of woven names and old breath.
They passed through it quietly.
Behind them, the Room faded.
But the names stayed with them.
Etched in heart.
Held in flame.
Far away, deep in the Veiled Wastes, a figure made of ashes stirred.
"Ori burns again," it whispered.
And the ground split in reply.