I woke up to a strange sort of silence. The kind that makes you feel like you've slept through the end of the world. My eyes blinked open against the warm sunlight pouring in through the window slats. Everything was still. Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
I sat up slowly, my hair a tangled crown of rebellious curls. Then I looked toward the wooden clock on the wall.
"Eleven?" I hissed under my breath. "This is what waking up early looks like now? Eleven?"
I rubbed my eyes and sighed. "Bravo, you majestic mess. Woke up before noon. Truly, a hero's tale."
But then—there were voices.
Muffled, hushed. Not far. Familiar.
I slipped out of bed, tiptoed across the room, and pressed my ear to the wall like a nosy squirrel in a mystery novel. My body was still small, but I knew how to sneak.
It was Harold.
His low, thoughtful voice carried through the wooden walls.
"Only three months now," he said, soft but clear. "My princess will be six."
Then came another voice—older, with a rasp like dry parchment.
"So the Naming Ceremony is near," the elder said.
I froze.
Naming Ceremony?
Wait, what?
Harold chuckled. "Yes. That day, Lisa and I decided something special... something unique."
I blinked rapidly. My ears buzzed.
I... I don't have a name?
No, no, that can't be right. I've always been Aria. Everyone just calls me "little miss," or "pumpkin," or "commander brat," but… oh my gods. They never called me by name.
How did I not notice?
I felt my ears burning. I had been reborn for nearly six years, parading around like some bossy noble with imaginary authority, and never once questioned if I had a proper name.
If I had ever, even once, let "Aria Clarke" slip from my lips—my old name, my true name from another life—would the world have cracked open? Would something, someone, have heard it?
I sat back on my heels, dazed. My brain was storming. My cheeks burned with the heat of shame and confusion.
I mean, come on. How did I miss this?
Lisa's voice called from the hallway. "Time to wash up, sunshine."
Still stunned, I stumbled to the wash basin and splashed cold water on my face. Maybe the freezing water would slap some sense into me. Nope. Still stunned.
Lisa came in moments later, a towel over one arm, a soft smile on her lips. "You're up early," she said.
I wiped my face and stared at her like she was the final piece of a very confusing puzzle.
"Lisa," I said slowly, "do I have a name?"
She blinked, taken aback. Then laughed. "Not officially, no. That's what the ceremony is for, sweetheart."
I squinted at her. "But everyone else my age already has one. Why not me?"
Lisa leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Well, that's because your 'friends' aren't really your age, honey. You keep bossing around kids who are two, sometimes three years older than you."
I blinked. Again. This was turning into a day of blinking and realizing things.
"Oh," I muttered. "Right. That makes sense."
Lisa ruffled my hair. "We've always known you were a little… different. You speak like someone far older. You lead like someone born with memories. We figured we'd wait. Let your soul mature. The Naming Ceremony is spiritual, you know."
I frowned. "Spiritual how?"
She knelt beside me. "When a child turns six, their soul aligns fully with their body. The cosmos reads you like an open book. That's when it grants clarity, purpose… a name that truly belongs to you."
"The cosmos?" I echoed, eyebrows raised.
She chuckled. "It's the energy that makes everything. The rivers, the sky, you, me. When you're born, your soul's like a traveler just arriving. At six, it unpacks and stays."
I tilted my head. "So you're saying the universe checks if I'm worthy of a name?"
Lisa smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. "Not if you're worthy. Just… who you really are."
Before I could ask more, Harold's voice called for her from outside.
Lisa stood up with a sigh. "Duty calls. Think about what kind of name you'd like, hmm?"
She disappeared down the hall.
I remained still.
Quiet.
I turned toward the little wooden chair by the window and climbed into it. My legs didn't dangle as far as I'd like. I sat there, gazing outside at the dirt paths and crooked rooftops of Asthraith.
My fingers curled around the armrests.
So, I had no name. Not yet.
I had been living off borrowed titles—"Commander," "Mayor," "Tiny Tyrant." All bark and drama, no real self.
And yet, I knew who I had been.
Aria Clarke. Twenty-five years old. Died pushing her little sister away from a cliff's edge. That memory never faded.
I breathed in slowly.
That girl had died protecting someone she loved. And now…
Now, I was becoming something else entirely.
My eyes narrowed. My back straightened. And for the first time in this new life, I let my voice settle into the silence—not loud, not dramatic, but sharp and final.
"My name is coming," I whispered. "And when it does… I'll wear it like a sword."