Aot:The Silent Witness

Chapter 13 – A Name of One's Own

Night had fallen over the village, and with it came a stillness Ymir had not known in centuries. The cool air carried the scent of fresh earth and burning wood, a quiet reminder of the simple life these people led. The distant hum of conversation and the soft clatter of wooden bowls signaled that the villagers were winding down, retreating into their homes for the night.

She sat alone near the fire outside the small hut she had been given, absently turning the small wooden bird in her fingers. The carved wings were uneven, its beak slightly crooked—evidence of a child's eager but unskilled hands. And yet, there was something familiar about it.

Something grounding.

Ember hovered beside her, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering flames. His form shifted lazily, his presence weightless yet constant.

"You've been staring at that little thing for quite a while," he mused. "Planning to give it a name?"

Ymir exhaled, rolling the wooden bird over in her palm. "It's a piece of wood."

"And?" Ember smirked. "Names have power, don't they?"

She huffed, shaking her head. "You sound like an old myth."

"And myths last longer than most." Ember stretched his arms behind his head, floating idly above the fire. "Besides, it's not about the object—it's about what it means to you."

Ymir remained quiet, watching the fire dance in the breeze.

She had never been given anything before. Not freely. Everything in her life had been taken, forced upon her, or demanded of her. Even her own existence had been shaped by the will of others.

This was different.

A child had handed her this carving with nothing in return—no expectations, no fear. Just a simple gift.

And that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

"…What's on your mind?" Ember's voice was softer now, lacking its usual playfulness.

Ymir hesitated, running her thumb along the bird's wing. "…Do you remember when we first met?"

Ember tilted his head, curious. "Of course. You were just a frightened girl, standing in a void with nothing but questions."

She glanced at him. "And you were an irritating voice in my ear."

He chuckled. "Still am."

Ymir let out a breath—something close to a laugh, though it barely reached her lips.

She looked down at the carving again.

"A name…" she murmured, turning the thought over in her mind.

It was strange, the weight a single word could carry.

To Eldia, she had been Ymir Fritz.

A tool. A power.

But she had never chosen that name.

Never claimed it as her own.

She thought back to the story she had told Lifa, of the nameless girl who wandered the world in search of herself.

A girl who had no identity beyond what others gave her.

Ember watched her in silence, his usual smirk absent.

Then, finally, he spoke. "Do you regret it?"

Ymir turned to him. "Regret what?"

His gaze didn't waver. "Not having a name of your own."

She considered that.

For years, she had never questioned it. The world had named her, and she had accepted it. It hadn't mattered.

But now, in this quiet village untouched by war, surrounded by people who knew nothing of her past, nothing of her burdens—she found herself wondering.

"…I don't know."

Ember hummed thoughtfully. "Then maybe it's time you find out."

Ymir scoffed. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Ember grinned. "By choosing."

She frowned at him. "Choosing?"

"Yes." Ember drifted slightly closer, the firelight flickering against his form. "You may not have had a choice before, but you do now. Names are just words until you decide they mean something."

Ymir was silent for a long moment.

Then, her fingers tightened around the wooden bird.

"…I'll think about it."

Ember's smirk softened. "Good."

The fire crackled between them, the weight of their conversation settling into the night.

For the first time in centuries, Ymir wondered what it would mean to truly belong to herself.

She had been given power, had been used to shape the world—but never once had she been given the chance to decide who she was.

Now, with Ember beside her and the weight of the past still lingering, she found herself facing a choice she had never considered before.

Not of war.

Not of survival.

But of identity.