The Room of Names

Jessica stood motionless before the altar, the weight of the keeper’s words pressing against her ribs like a vice.

“You are the last. The final vessel. The memory lives in you now.”

The monastery was silent. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but filled with something unseen. It was a presence woven into the walls and into the stone beneath her feet.

Leanna and Olivia stayed close, their postures tense, waiting for Jessica to decide how to respond. But Jessica wasn’t sure what to say because something inside her already knew the answer.

The man in the cassock moved to a hidden panel in the wall behind the altar. Jessica’s breath slowed as she watched him press his palm against the stone.

There was a quiet click. With the creak of centuries-old hinges, the stone door slid open. Beyond it, a narrow staircase spiraled downward into the dark.

Jessica’s pulse thrummed. She had seen this before. Not here. Not with her own eyes, but in the memories and dreams that had plagued her. She remembered the faint glow of candlelight and the smell of burning wax as if she had just lived them. She felt the cool, damp air curling along ancient steps. This was the moment she had relived in her dreams. This was where she had been meant to go all along.

The keeper gestured toward the darkness. “Come,” he said simply.

Jessica exhaled, forcing her voice to stay even. “What’s down there?”

His expression didn’t change. “The truth.”

Jessica took the first step without thinking, her body moving before her mind could catch up. The air grew colder as she descended. The scent of wax and dust thickened. The stone walls pressed close, damp with time.

Leanna followed without hesitation, her hand resting near her gun. Olivia muttered a curse under her breath but came anyway. The stairs ended at a wooden door, reinforced with bands of iron. The keeper moved past them, producing an old key. Jessica felt her heartbeat hammer once. And then, the door creaked open.

The room beyond was vast, far larger than the monastery should have been able to hold. Candlelight flickered against the domed ceiling, illuminating walls covered in writing. No, not writing. It was covered with hundreds of, or thousands of names. Some were carved into the stone. Some were inked onto ancient parchment, stacked high along the walls in careful bundles.

Jessica stepped inside, her breath coming slower now, her chest tight. Her gaze moved across the inscriptions. And then she saw her own name. Jessica Sanchez. Her throat closed. The year next to it: 1992.

She swallowed hard, her fingers hovering over the letters. And then she looked closer. Because it wasn’t just her. It was all of them. Every name she had ever carried. Every alias, every forgotten identity. Jessica… Isabelle… Marie… Elena… The names stretched back centuries. And beside each one—the same year, written over and over again. 1992.

Jessica’s vision tunneled. She turned to the keeper, her voice a whisper.

“What does this mean?”

His expression was unreadable, “You have always been.”

Jessica shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

But her breath was shallow now. This wasn’t just a pattern. This was a cycle.

The keeper watched her carefully. “Every time the world nears the threshold of revelation, you awaken. And every time, you choose.”

Jessica clenched her fists. “Choose what?”

The candlelight flickered. And then the keeper said the words that split the world in half.

“To reveal, or to erase yourself again.”

The room felt too small. Jessica staggered back, shaking her head.

“No—”

Memories flashed through her mind. A monastery in another lifetime. A hand pressed to a stone wall. A decision made in the dark.

“Erase it.”

She had said those words. Not yesterday. Not last year. Lifetimes ago. The realization hit like a flood. This wasn’t the first time she had stood here. This wasn’t the first time she had known, and it wouldn’t be the first time she had chosen to forget.

Jessica’s breathing came sharp, uneven. She closed her eyes. Because she knew this time would be different. This time, she wasn’t alone. And this time… She wasn’t going to run.