Chapter Three: Names from Nowhere
Amira woke with a name on her lips.
"Solène."
It clung to her tongue like salt. The syllables unfamiliar, yet spoken with the intimacy of memory. She sat up in the narrow guest bed at Iya Bola's house, heart pounding.
The sky beyond the window was still blue-black, the moon low, the sea breathing slow and deep. She reached for her notebook on the bedside table, scrawling the name down in the dark.
Solène.
Who was she?
And why did Amira's chest ache like she'd lost her?
Later that morning, Amira wandered the market—half-present, collecting herbs Iya Bola had sent her to retrieve. The world moved around her, vibrant and full, but she felt a step removed. The whisper of that name still rang in her head.
She passed a group of old women weaving baskets near the salt stalls. One of them, with skin like dry bark and eyes like glass, suddenly looked up and called out, "You've got her voice, you know."
Amira froze. "I'm sorry?"
"Your voice. I've heard it before." The woman pointed a wrinkled finger toward the cliffs. "In the wind, back when the sea still listened."
Another woman beside her hissed, "Shhh, Mama Odu. Don't start with your ghost stories."
But the old woman only smiled.
Amira felt chilled.
Back at the lighthouse that afternoon, Amira found Elias seated cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by old journals. Some were cracked with mold. Others so delicate they fell apart at the touch. His coat lay discarded beside him, sleeves streaked with ink and dust.
"Tell me about Solène," she said.
He didn't look up, but his hands stilled.
"What did you hear?" he asked.
"I dreamed her. Spoke her name in my sleep. It came from somewhere I can't explain."
He finally met her eyes. "Solène was the first."
"The first what?"
"The first to cross."
Amira moved closer, her pulse thrumming. "You mean she died?"
Elias shook his head. "Not exactly."
He opened a book and turned it toward her. A sketch—delicate, worn—of a young woman with long braids and defiant eyes, standing at the edge of a cliff.
"She was a seer," Elias said. "She heard the whispers long before I did. But the voices told her something different—they offered her a choice. To stay and suffer, or to cross and carry."
"Carry what?"
"Memory."
Amira stared at the drawing. Somehow, she already knew the shape of Solène's face. The curve of her jaw. The sadness in her stare. She could almost hear the wind call her name again, soft like prayer.
"Did she... choose to leave?" Amira asked.
"No one leaves willingly," Elias murmured. "But some don't get a choice."
A silence fell between them, dense and electric.
"Solène was the first," Elias added. "But you—Amira—you're the echo."
That night, Amira walked to the edge of the cliff again. The sky melted into its usual twilight bruise—violet, fading into dusk.
She closed her eyes.
And the voices came.
Clearer now.
"You are not the first."
"Her name is your beginning."
"You carry more than blood. You carry the crossing."
Tears slipped down Amira's face, carried away by the wind.
Whatever this path was, it wasn't just about Elias. Or love.
It was a summons.
And it had already begun.