The Day Names Burned
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The village of Nsia has remembered.
But remembrance comes with a price.
The day after the Third Remembering, the sky breaks open — not with rain, but with embers. They drift down like soft ash, glowing with heat that doesn’t burn the skin, but burns the air.
And with them come the Whisperless.
Not spirits. Not people. Something between.
Figures wrapped in root and smoke. No eyes. No mouths. They move with a glide, not walking — floating inches above the ground, trailing vines wherever they pass.
They are memory-feeders.
And they have come to reclaim what was stolen.
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Mira and Esi spot them from the altar tree.
“There,” Esi points. “By the yam fields.”
Six of them, moving silently between the rows. Where they pass, the leaves wilt. Birds fall from the sky. The sound of the river fades to a whisper.
Tano appears behind them, breathing heavily.
“They came through my dreams.”
Mira turns. “What did they want?”
He doesn’t answer at first.
Then: “To be forgotten f
