"I felt your restraint today," the voice whispered. "The echo of the seal trembled because you wanted to move. To release. To be seen."
Outside, the academy grounds were silver-lit and still. Mana lanterns swayed faintly, their glow almost fragile against the dark. The dungeon towers loomed in the distance — black outlines against the pale horizon.
Asher's eyes flicked to the window, where his reflection shimmered faintly against the moonlight. For a heartbeat, another shape wavered behind his — tall, indistinct, hair like smoke, eyes that glowed faintly violet.
A woman-shaped shadow — not formed, not solid, but aware.
He said quietly, "You mistake survival for desire."
"Survival is desire."
"Even your silence aches to be heard."
Her tone softened, turning almost curious — like she was studying him.
The shadows behind him deepened, forming ripples in the air as if the darkness itself breathed in sync with him.
"You keep denying what you are, little vessel but you will be mine and you and I will rule this world. Every time you deny it, your shadow remembers for you."
His fingers tightened on the edge of the desk. "You're talking about the dungeon."
"No." A faint sound that might have been laughter drifted through his mind — dark, musical. "I'm talking about the thing beneath it."
"The thing that remembers your voice," he murmured.
"Ah…" The whisper lengthened into a sigh. "So you were listening."
He didn't answer. The air had grown heavier now — not choking, but thick, like the boundary between him and the rest of the world had thinned. Every flicker of light moved slower, softer, as though time itself hesitated.
"Something in those depths calls to you," she went on, her tone quieter now, almost affectionate. "It feels your pulse, your mana, your fear. It remembers its master."
He looked down. "And you think that's me."
"Not yet."
The shadows rippled once more — waves rolling through darkness, smooth, deliberate. His pendant vibrated faintly, responding to some hidden current.
"The seal weakens," she whispered. "The one who made it can no longer hold it shut."
"Who made it?" he asked.
"Someone who feared you."
His heartbeat quickened. He didn't notice until the shadows around him pulsed in rhythm with it, like a reflection of his own blood.
Her voice grew softer still — close, as though she stood right beside his ear.
"You were born from what they sealed, Asher. They thought they buried me."
"But they buried you."
The words cut through him like wind through ice. He swallowed once, his throat dry. "Then what are you?"
Pause.
"A memory."
"A voice that loved you before you had a name."
He froze.
Something inside him stirred — not pain, not fear — something else, something deeper. A faint thrum in the marrow. The kind that whispered of truths too vast to fit inside words.
The light flickered.
And just as suddenly as it began, the sensation faded. The voice softened, distant again.
"Soon, my echo will have a shape again."
"And when it does… you will stop calling me it."
"Asher?"
He blinked. The sound wasn't from within. Someone was knocking at the door — distant, faint, real.
He turned sharply — but when he looked back at the window, the reflection was his alone. The shadows were still.
The air no longer moved.
He straightened his collar, forcing his breath even. "Not yet," he murmured, voice barely audible.
But in the back of his mind, a whisper brushed against his thoughts one last time:
'Not yet… but soon.'
"Who is it?" Asher said softly, expecting an answer from whoever was behind the door.
"It's Selene. I came to return the book you lent me. Is this a bad time— "
The door creaked open revealing Asher's outstretched arm, his gaze as indifferent as ever.
"Here!" Selene placed the book in his hand. "I wanted to talk about the things I learnt....."
"You can tell me tomorrow. It's late."
"O...okay. Tomorrow then."
Asher closed the door, forcing her to leave.
He dropped the book on his desk and peeked through the window. And as he looked out the window toward the distant dungeon towers, the moonlight trembled — as if the world itself shivered at the name he had yet to remember.
The word vibrated through him, deep and resonant. The shadows along the walls flickered, stretching slightly toward him — as if drawn by something unseen.
He didn't move. He simply stood there, unmoving, letting the cold air wash over him.
"Something in that place remembers my voice," the Abyss continued, its tone lower now, smoother — almost coaxing. "And it reached out. The pulse that touched your world was not power… but memory."
Asher frowned. "That doesn't make sense. The abyssal traces were—"
"Residual. Nothing more. Yet they panic above, don't they?"
"They fear the unknown and try to keep it down at all costs."
The words hung in the air, strange and heavy with implication.
Asher turned away from the window. "You sound amused."
"Because the veil thins."
"And when it falls, you will understand what you are meant to become."
He stopped mid-stride. "…What I'm meant to become?"
No answer this time — only the faint hum of mana trembling through the air. The shadows around him flickered again, then recoiled back into stillness.
But the voice wasn't gone.
It shifted — closer, quieter now. Whispering directly beside his thoughts.
"You hide your nature well, my dear."
"But the deeper you suppress it, the stronger the echo grows."
Asher's expression hardened. "And if I stop suppressing it?"
Silence. Then—
"…Then you stop being Asher. You'll be mine and mine only." a small chuckle came afterwards.
He exhaled slowly, steadying the faint pulse of unease that had crept into his chest. "Then I'll keep suppressing it."
"You cannot."
"The abyss is not a curse to resist. It is your reflection. You will understand when the seal breaks entirely."
The words echoed once, then faded like smoke dissolving into air.
The moonlight shifted.
The air stilled.
And just like that, the presence was gone.
Asher sat for a long while, breathing evenly, his eyes locked on the reflection in the glass — where, for just a moment, a faint shimmer of violet rippled through his own pupils before vanishing.
He flexed his fingers. They trembled slightly.
"…You're growing louder," he murmured.
No reply came.
But the moment he lay down, the dreams began again.
He stood in a vast expanse of black water — no sky, no ground, just ripples stretching endlessly in every direction. The surface reflected nothing. Even his own reflection wavered and vanished when he tried to focus on it.
Then, somewhere in the distance, a voice whispered again — deeper now, echoing as if from beneath the water.
"The world above forgets… but the depths remember."
"And you, Asher… will bridge the memory."
He turned toward the sound — and for a heartbeat, saw the faint outline of something vast and coiled beneath the surface, like the suggestion of wings or chains shifting in the dark.
His pulse hammered once — and he woke.
Moonlight still spilled through the window.
The air was still.
But he wasn't alone.
Something — not seen, not heard — watched him.
He didn't move. Didn't even breathe. Only whispered, voice flat and quiet:
"You're disturbing me."
The presence stirred faintly — and then receded, silent once more.
Asher sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and looked out toward the dungeon towers again.
"Do you ever sleep? Cuz if you do, now would be a great time."