Character Spotlight: Oren’s Diary Entry

Written by firelight, the page balanced on his knee, Bran asleep against his shoulder

The fire’s low. I should add more wood, but I don’t want to wake Bran. He needs the rest more than we need the warmth. His breathing is steady against my arm. At least one of us can sleep.

Tavik’s writing too. I can see his face in the firelight, that crease between his brows. He looks worried. Probably writing about how I fell apart earlier. About how I shouted at shadows and broke down over a name. The name I’ve been carrying alone for two years. Father’s actual name. Aurelian.

I should feel lighter, having finally told them. And I do, in a way. The secret’s been pressing on me like a stone on my chest ever since Father died. Every time they called him Father or talked about him, I had to bite my tongue. Keep it locked away. Protect them from... what? I’m not even sure anymore. Father never told me why it had to be secret. Just made me promise. His last words to me. “My true name is Aurelian. Tell no one. Not even your brothers.”

But now they know. And instead of relief, I’m drowning in worry. Because the ravines sang that name. The stones and wind and water sang it, and that means something. I don’t know what. But it means something, and now my brothers are caught up in it too.

I keep thinking I should have kept quiet. Carried it alone like I was meant to. But I’d already lost control by then. Hearing the ravines speak his name, it was like the ground opened beneath me. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Just panic and grief and confusion all crashing over me at once.

Tavik had to grab me. Stop me from completely coming apart. Tavik, who’s always looked to me for answers, for direction. And there I was, shaking and shouting like a child.

Some leader I am.

Father always said I was strong enough. Steady enough. That’s why he told me his true name, not them. Because I was the eldest. Because I could carry it. But tonight, I proved him wrong. And now I’m terrified I’ll make the wrong choice. That I’ll lead us into danger because I can’t think clearly. Because I’m too rattled.

The weight of it sits heavy in my gut. Every decision feels too big. Do we move at first light? Do we wait? Do we trust Nix to guide us through? He said not to use the map, to trust our elvish blood. But what if I’m wrong to listen? What if I get them killed?

And Nix. That’s another worry gnawing at me. Something’s changed with him. He’s keeping distance. Sitting at the edge of things instead of with us. When Tavik asked him to move closer, he did, but barely. Just enough to say he’d complied without actually joining us.

Could be the ravines. This place presses on all of us. Makes everything feel wrong. But there’s something in the way he looks at us now. Wary. Watching. Like he’s reassessing something.

I want to ask him. Want to know what’s wrong. But with his hearing, he’d know I was going to speak before I even opened my mouth. And what would I say? “Why are you afraid of us?” That’s what it looks like. Fear. Or at least caution.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m seeing threats where there aren’t any because I’m wound too tight. Because I broke down and now, I don’t trust my own judgement.

Tavik’s stopped writing. He’s staring at the fire now, jaw tight. I should say something. Ask if he’s all right. But I don’t know what to say that won’t make it worse. Don’t know how to be the steady one again when I’m barely holding myself together.

Bran shifts against my shoulder. Trusting me to keep him safe.

I have to hold it together. Have to make the right choices. Get us through this.

I just hope I can.

The ravines are quiet now. No more singing names. But I keep expecting them to start again. Keep waiting for something else to go wrong.

I’m so tired. But I won’t sleep. Someone has to stay alert. Has to watch. Has to make sure nothing comes for us in the dark.

That’s my job. Even when I’m terrified, I’m not up to it anymore.

Father, I hope you knew what you were doing when you told me your name. I hope there was a reason. I hope I haven’t ruined everything by telling them.

I hope we make it out of here.