The air in the underground sanctum was thick with ash and silence. The stone walls bled faint light from the runes etched into them, forming a dim cage of gold and red. Adrian sat on a fractured throne — not of royalty, but of consequence. His cloak was torn, his hands still trembling from the aftermath of his awakening.
The Echo's presence lingered behind his thoughts like smoke after a fire.
"You heard them, didn't you? They called you savior. They called you king."Adrian's eyes flicked open — cold, gray, and hollow."King?" he murmured, almost to himself. "No… not yet."
He stood, brushing dust off his coat. The sanctum, buried beneath the ruins of the old Heroic Academy, had become his new refuge — and his new prison. Across the cracked floor lay fragments of ancient weapons, some glowing faintly, remnants of fallen spirits. The Emblems of Heroes — once symbols of pride — were now shattered, stained with the dark energy that seeped from him.
He reached down and touched one. A sudden surge of memory hit him — screams, fire, and the day he was branded a failure. The crowd's laughter. His own helplessness.His hand trembled.
"That pain… it's the seed of your strength," whispered the Echo again. "But you're still holding back. Why?""Because," Adrian whispered, "I still remember what it felt like to be human."
Silence followed. Even the Echo, for once, said nothing.
Outside, the city burned.The "Heroic Syndicate," as the public now called it, had begun purging anyone tied to "corrupted spirits." People disappeared overnight — accused of heresy, treason, or madness. It was the same cleansing ritual that had once nearly erased him.
And yet, in the shadows of that chaos, Adrian's name was spreading again.The rejected hero, reborn. The man who commanded the dead Emblems.Some called him a ghost of vengeance.Others — a false messiah.
He didn't care what they called him. He only cared about the truth buried beneath it all — the one the Heroic Syndicate had erased from history.
Deep beneath the sanctum, he opened a sealed door. Inside was a long corridor filled with glass containers — each holding a faintly glowing crystal. Within them, fragments of "Heroic Echoes" drifted like trapped souls. Some looked peaceful, others twisted in agony.
Adrian walked slowly, tracing his hand along the glass."These were all people once," he murmured. "Dreamers. Soldiers. Sacrifices."
He paused at the last container — it was larger, its light pulsating faintly. Etched onto the glass was a name: Lucienne Veyra.His breath caught."…You."
Lucienne had been his partner once — a strategist, a friend, maybe something more. She was the only one who had ever defended him when the world laughed. The memory of her smile still haunted him.
The Echo's voice slithered through his mind again.
"She believed in heroes. She died for them. Will you keep believing in her lie?"
Adrian's jaw tightened."No. But I'll avenge the truth she died protecting."
He raised his hand, and the container cracked. The crystal inside pulsed violently, releasing a burst of blue light. The air shimmered — and for a brief moment, he saw her.
Lucienne's spirit hovered before him, eyes wide with confusion."Adrian…? What have you done?"
"I'm bringing them back," he said. "All of them. The forgotten, the broken, the rejected."
Her expression darkened — not with anger, but sorrow."You're walking the same path that destroyed the first heroes. Don't let the Echo consume you."
"I don't have that choice anymore," he answered quietly.
And as her spirit began to fade, her last words echoed like a whisper through his soul:
"Then promise me… when the time comes, you'll remember who you were."
The light vanished. Only silence remained.
Hours later, Adrian stood atop the cathedral ruins, the city's chaos glowing below. Fires burned through the streets — some caused by rebellion, others by the Syndicate's cleansing squads. The rain had begun to fall, turning smoke into steam.
He watched it all with distant eyes.
The Echo spoke once more, its tone colder now.
"They've chosen their side. You should choose yours."
Adrian didn't answer. Instead, he pulled his coat tighter and whispered:"I already have."
He extended his hand. The air cracked with energy as thousands of faint lights — fragments of fallen spirits — rose from the city below, drawn to him like fireflies. They swirled around him, forming a crown of burning silver.
The Echo laughed — not mockingly, but in awe.
"You've done it. You've become what they feared."
Adrian looked at his reflection in a puddle — half-human, half-shadow."…Then so be it."
By dawn, the Syndicate headquarters had fallen silent.No explosions. No grand battle. Just stillness.
When the scouts arrived, they found every soldier asleep — not dead, but trapped in a dream, their Emblems shattered beside them. On the highest tower, a single message was carved into the stone:
"The age of borrowed light ends here."
And at its base, the throne that once held the false king was empty — save for a single mark of ash in the shape of a handprint.