Banished to the Abyss After Defying the Author-Chapter 17: The Name Given at Dusk

The plains stretched endlessly beneath them.

Grass bent and flattened under dark unicorn hooves as the dark unicorn ran—fast enough that the wind itself seemed to trail behind them, yet smooth, almost effortless.

Noah sat steady on his back, coat fluttering, gaze fixed on the horizon where Kurugshetra waited like a rumor.

"How far is Kurugshetra?" Noah asked at last. "Have you ever been there?"

There was a brief hesitation before his voice answered inside his mind.

I’ve never gone myself, he said. But other unicorns have. They say it takes twelve days—if you run without rest. At this speed.

Noah’s brow lifted slightly.

"Twelve days," he repeated. "At faster than sound."

He faltered for half a heartbeat. You noticed that?

Then, quieter: You aren’t afraid of the curse. You aren’t surprised that I speak. And you know things you shouldn’t.

Noah rested a hand against dark unicorn mane, fingers steady.

"There are truths that don’t need explanation," he said. "Just keep running."

He obeyed, though curiosity lingered like a second shadow.

They ran in silence for a long while.

The land changed subtly—hills smoothing into wide plains, travelers appearing in the distance like drifting dots, then vanishing again.

Noah’s gaze wandered upward, to the vast blue sky, and then inward.

Was it Elonore who intervened to save me... or save the worlds themselves?. The thought came uninvited.

Venxiyie’s words echoed faintly in memory. The goddess of happiness cannot smile anymore.

Noah exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.

Maybe Xenovia is also angry because I killed her Sister, Altantriasa. He thought.

I brought her back, he told himself. That should be enough.

It wasn’t. He knew it. And he didn’t like knowing.

"Hey," Noah said suddenly. "Do you have a name?"

The unicorn didn’t answer immediately.

I don’t think so, he said after a moment. When unicorns are born, their parents leave. We see them once. After that... we walk alone.

Noah’s hand stilled.

The wind rushed past them, carrying the words away, but not the weight behind them.

"That’s inconvenient," Noah said finally. "Walking without a name."

He tapped his lightly between the ears. "Then I’ll give you one."

The dark unicorn slowed, just slightly.

"Nyx," Noah said. "It means night. Darkness—yes. But also stars. Light that exists with darkness."

For a moment, unicorn said nothing.

Then...Nyx.

The word felt tested. Accepted.

I like it.

Noah nodded once. "Then run, Nyx. Night doesn’t stop for anyone."

They continued until dusk bled into night.

Stars emerged one by one, sharp and distant. Nyx’s breathing deepened, stride finally easing.

May I stop for a while? Nyx asked. Just a short rest.

Noah slid down from his back. "You’ve earned it."

Nyx lowered himself into the grass, folding long legs beneath him. Noah sat nearby, letting the softness of the ground register—a strange novelty these days.

Even without my senses, he thought, the world is still... here.

The calm didn’t last.

Something moved at the edge of the field.

Nyx’s head snapped up. Astrogile, he warned. They hunt at night. But they’re weak—

His horn flared, a beam of pale energy cutting across the dark.

It struck the creature.

And bounced.

Nyx froze. That shouldn’t—

The Astrogile surged forward, scales glistening, venom hissing through the air.

Noah stood.

"No need to panic," he said calmly, stepping past Nyx. "Someone is stacking the deck again."

Venom sliced past his shoulder. Noah twisted aside and drove a single punch forward.

Not fast.

Not flashy.

Just absolute.

The Astrogile collapsed inward, body imploding into ash as if the world itself rejected its presence.

The others fled instantly.

Silence returned.

Nyx stared. Astrogile reflect physical force, he said slowly. How did you—

Noah looked at his hand.

Thin cuts marked his knuckles. Blood welled—real blood.

"...Hmph."

He clenched his fist, then relaxed it.

"Looks like I’m worse off than I thought," he muttered.

Nyx lowered his head slightly, no longer questioning—just observing.

Noah tilted his face toward the stars.

Immortality without authority, he thought. A king who can bleed.

Noah tilted his face toward his fist.

Dragonforce I know you are doing all this, he thought. Even i cant sense you right now but i can feel its your doing.

After an hour of stillness, Nyx rose again.

Noah mounted him without a word, settling naturally as Nyx broke into a steady run, hooves whispering against the grass. The night had deepened. Stars wheeled slowly above them, distant and indifferent.

They ran for a long time in silence.

Then Nyx spoke.

May I ask something?

His voice was hesitant now, no longer sharp with curiosity—something softer had crept in.

Noah opened his eyes. "Ask."

I know your scent. I know your presence. But I don’t know your name.

Noah blinked once.

"...Noah," he said. "That’s my name."

Nyx seemed to smile—not with a face, but with the way his thoughts warmed.

Noah, he repeated. It sounds like a name that belongs in stories. Dependable. Gentle. A name that people lean on.

Noah’s breath caught—just for a fraction of a second.

"...Yeah," he said quietly.

The wind carried the rest away.

Nyx kept running, unaware of the small fracture he’d opened. Noah leaned back slightly, eyes returning to the sky.

Alextruo, he thought. Why you?

The question lingered unanswered. No memory surfaced. No instinct warned him. Only a hollow absence where certainty should have been.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep came without resistance.

—

Darkness.

Not the violent kind. Not the void.

Water.

Noah floated, weightless, suspended in a vast black sea that reflected nothing. He recognized it instantly—not a dream, not an illusion.

"...So I fell inward," he murmured. "My own mind."

He turned, drifting downward. The water welcomed him, cool and soundless. With a slow motion, he submerged—deeper and deeper—until shapes began to form below.

Figures.

Alextruo.

Xenovia.

Their images hovered in the depths, unmoving, waiting like unopened doors.

Noah slowed.

He could feel it now—the difference.

This isn’t like Nostradus’s memory, he realized. That was his pain. His history.

This—

"...This is mine."

He extended a hand toward the figures, sensing the boundary thin as glass.

If he touched them, he wouldn’t just watch.

He would remember.

And for the first time since losing his crown, Noah hesitated—not out of fear, but out of something unfamiliar.

Reluctance.

The water rippled gently around him as the memories waited, patient as the night.