Most people don't realize how loud silence is until they've survived something violent. Then it's deafening.
The day after the encounter with the old man — the one who froze time and named what I am — the world felt too still. Like it was holding its breath. Like it was watching.
I didn't leave the apartment.
Nocturne stood in the corner of my room, unmoving, like a statue of something long forgotten. Occasionally, he tilted his head, as if listening to things I couldn't hear.
I tried to sleep. Couldn't. I kept seeing that man's eyes.
You are what happens when the world tries to remember…
Yara was humming in the kitchen, singing some made-up song about warriors and shadows.
She stopped mid-verse and looked up.
"Your shadow's humming with me," she said.
My blood turned cold.
"What do you mean?"
She pointed to the floor — to Nocturne's reflection stretched beside mine.
"I sang the words. It repeated them. Like… like it liked it."
Nocturne's head turned toward her.
A slow, deliberate movement.
Then he bowed
The morning came slow, bleeding through cracked blinds and casting thin lines of light across the floor. I barely noticed it. The silence inside the apartment was broken by the sudden chirp of my old comm unit—an encrypted message waiting in the inbox.
I hesitated. The sender was marked "Unknown," but the timestamp was from five years ago.
Curiosity — or maybe desperation — made me press play.
The screen flickered, revealing the face of a man I'd never seen but whose eyes held the same tired weight I knew too well.
"If you're hearing this," he said, voice raspy, "then it means the Ashborn have returned. You don't know me, but I knew your mother. I knew what you would become."
His words chilled me.
"How could he know my name?" I muttered.
Outside, the city was waking up. Somewhere beyond the windows, the Guild's machinery was turning again. Their interest in me had clearly deepened.
Minutes later, my comm buzzed again.
A private channel opened with a new contact: a voice sharp and low, careful.
"Crispin David. I don't have time to explain. You're in danger — but not from the Guild. From those who watch it. Be wary of shadows that aren't yours."
Arlen looked over my shoulder, eyes narrowing.
"Who the hell is that?"
"I don't know," I said, heart pounding.
Later, in a quiet corner of the city's underbelly, I felt it — a presence.
Not threatening. Watching.
Nocturne stirred beside me, more alert than ever.
And deep inside, I knew this was just the beginning.
K
That night, sleep finally came—but it brought no peace.
I found myself drifting through a dreamscape that felt more like a memory. The air was thick with ash, and the sky burned red with embers. Somewhere in the distance, a faint, haunting melody whispered—soft, cold, and endless.
Then, the voice came.
Clear.
Calling me.
"Malrik."
I jolted awake, heart hammering. The name echoed in my mind like a secret long buried. Malrik. Who was he? Was it me? Someone else?
Nocturne stood silently by the window, watching the city lights flicker like distant stars. For the first time, I felt that the Echo wasn't just an extension of me—it was a gatekeeper to memories and power I didn't understand yet.
---
The next morning, news spread fast: a D-rank Gate had appeared near the industrial district—a mess of rusting factories and narrow alleys.
What caught everyone's attention was the threat inside.
A Beast-Class Echoborn—the first in centuries—was reported rampaging.
The Guild tried to keep it quiet, but word got out.
Yara lived just blocks from the Gate.
And when the call came to evacuate civilians, I knew what I had to do.
---
Arlen stared at me, worry etched deep.
"You don't have to do this alone."
I shook my head.
"This isn't just about me anymore."
With Nocturne at my side, I stepped toward the Gate's looming maw.
The city held its breath.
And so did I.