CHAPTER 31 — The Name That Shakes the Upper World

The mountain path was silent after the curse shattered. Aren slept peacefully in his mother’s arms, his breaths steady for the first time in his short life. Selra clung to him as though he might vanish if she loosened her grip. Dorian stood frozen, staring at Ivan with disbelief and reverence, his sword forgotten at his side.

Maelis, the wizard, was the first to break the quiet. She rose slowly, her staff trembling in her grip, her voice hushed and shaken. “…You didn’t heal him,” she whispered. “You rewrote what was happening to him.”

Ivan blinked, his expression unreadable. “…What do you mean?”

Her eyes glowed faintly with mana as she studied him, every word heavy with awe. “The Wither Vein is not a sickness—it is a concept. A law. A rule that clings to life until it devours it.” She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. “And yet… you severed it.”

The knight stepped forward, armor clinking with each cautious movement. His expression was no longer hostile—only shaken. “Who are you?” he asked again, his voice carrying both fear and respect.

Ivan turned slightly, his cloak brushing against the stones. His tone was calm, almost distant. “…I’m just someone looking for someone important.”

But Maelis shook her head violently, her eyes wide. “No human… no mage… no knight… no Archon… can cut something like that.” Her lips parted in disbelief. “Only beings who break rules instead of obeying them. Concept-breakers.”

The knight flinched. Selra gasped softly. Even the wind seemed to pause, as if the mountain itself listened.

Ivan stiffened, his jaw tightening. “…I’m not one of those monsters.”

“No,” Maelis said softly. “Yours is different. Your aura… it answers only to your heart.” Her lips parted in shock. “You didn’t take a power. You became one.”

Ivan looked away. He didn’t care about titles, or fear, or awe. He cared about one thing. Elen. Always Elen.

He turned toward the winding path descending the mountain. His voice was quiet, steady. “I need directions to the kingdom of Ridmann.”

The knight stepped forward, his tone grave. “Ridmann is far from here. Days away on foot. Through the forests and the Silverwind plains.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “But the road is dangerous. Even seasoned adventurers die crossing it.”

Ivan walked past him without hesitation. “I’ll manage.”

But before he could take another step, Dorian’s voice rang out. “Wait!”

Ivan turned. Dorian bowed deeply—so suddenly the sword at his waist clattered against the stones. His forehead pressed to the ground as he spoke. “Please… at least tell us your name. So we can remember the man who saved our son’s life.”

Ivan hesitated. He hadn’t spoken his name aloud in the Upper World yet. For a moment, silence stretched. Then he exhaled softly. “…Ivan.”

The name hung in the air like thunder.

Selra dropped her supplies. Dorian’s sword slipped from his hand. Maelis stumbled back, whispering: “…Ivan…” The knight’s voice trembled, his eyes wide. “A name… that will not be forgotten.”

Ivan frowned. He didn’t want attention. He wanted Elen.

The wind picked up, swirling faintly around him, responding to his presence. He turned toward the path, his cloak snapping in the gust. “I’m not here to shake nations,” he said. His voice was steady, resolute. “I’m here to find the woman I love.”

And with that, Ivan walked down the mountain. Toward Ridmann. Toward the truth. Toward Elen.