They found him in the rain.
He wasn't wet.
That was the first strange thing.
The second was his eyes.
Not scary.
Just empty.
Like he was waiting to be told what to feel.
Elira spotted him first.
Curled beneath a thistle tree.
Arms around his knees.
Shivering, but not from cold.
More like… from not knowing where else to go.
She knelt beside him. "Hey."
The boy looked up.
No fear.
No surprise.
Just one word:
"Elira."
Everyone froze.
"Do you know him?" Sera asked.
Elira shook her head. "No."
But the boy leaned in.
"I don't know anything else. Just your name."
Varn stepped closer. "He's not marked."
Solin nodded. "No tattoo. No bond. No crest."
Flick whispered, "He's not from here."
Amaryn touched her temple.
"Even the Archive doesn't remember him."
They brought him back to camp.
Gave him broth.
A dry cloak.
Space.
He never stopped watching Elira.
"My name is… I don't know," he said.
"Everything in my head feels… blank."
She handed him a book.
"Try writing something. Anything."
He did.
But when they looked, the page was empty.
Even though they'd all seen him move the pen.
Sera whispered, "He's a boy with no story."
The fire crackled uneasily.
Elira stared into the flame.
"Then maybe he's a story that hasn't started yet."
That night, she had a dream.
Not like the others.
No mirrors.
No monsters.
Just a hallway made of stars.
And a door made of ink.
The boy stood on the other side.
Not waiting.
Not calling.
Just watching.
And in his hand—
He held a pen.
When she woke, he was gone.
So was the book she gave him.
But on the spot where he'd slept, a new page fluttered in the wind.
One sentence written clear:
"I'll find my story. But I think you're in it."
Elira smiled.
Folded the note.
Slipped it in her pocket like a secret.
Solin stood nearby.
"He's important, isn't he?"
She nodded.
"I don't know why yet."
She looked at the stars.
"But I will."
Some stories start loud.
Some crash through walls or shout across skies.
But some—
The best ones—
Begin with a whisper.
And the smallest question of all:
"What if…?"