The creature remained motionless, crouched in the shadows of Ren's closet like it had always been there—like it belonged there. Its long limbs were folded in impossible ways, and its glowing white eyes pulsed once, slow and steady. "The Gate has found you," it said, its voice like broken glass scraping against wood.
Ren didn't know what to make of the statement. Was it a threat, a test, or simply a truth? He took another step forward, his bare feet brushing against the cold floor. That's when he noticed something strange—the air was silent. Too silent. There was no hum from the fridge downstairs, no distant traffic, not even the sound of wind. It was as if the world had held its breath.
Ren opened his mouth to speak, but the moment he did, the shadows surged outward. They wrapped around him like a living wave, cold and heavy, not just enveloping his body but also invading his thoughts, dragging something out of him. Ren tried to scream, but before he could, the world shifted.
Ren blinked, and he found himself no longer in his room. The floor beneath him was black stone, cracked and uneven, and mist swirled around his legs like it had a mind of its own. The sky above wasn't a sky at all but a dome of gray fog, pulsing like lungs, hiding something huge and distant. This place felt wrong, like a memory someone tried to forget.
Ren's breath left visible trails in the cold air as he looked down at his hands. His mark was glowing now, brighter than ever, buzzing under his skin like something alive. "Where am I?" he whispered.
"The boundary," the voice said again, echoing from behind him, in front of him, and inside him. Ren turned around, but the shadow creature was gone. In its place stood a tall figure in a dark cloak, its face hidden, except for its mouth, which was stitched shut with silver thread. Somehow, it still spoke.
"This is the edge between your world... and the Echo," it said. "You have been chosen. A Gatebearer."
At that moment Ren remembered the professor. "Was the crazy old man actually right? Did another dimension really exist?" these questions ran through Rens head.
Then Ren stepped back, his mind reeling. "Chosen for what?" he asked, but the stitched mouth moved, and the words poured into his head like thoughts he didn't ask for. "To guard what others cannot see. To hold the line. To face what must not cross."
A deep rumble shook the ground beneath him, and far off, in the mist, something roared. Not an animal, not a machine, but something bigger. The figure raised one hand and pointed to the side, where a jagged doorway stood in the fog, made of old stone and wrapped in glowing chains—a gate.
Ren's mark pulsed in sync with the gate. He took a step toward it, and the whispers in the air grew louder, like fragments of voices, laughter, crying, screaming—all overlapping. "What happens if I go through?" Ren asked, but the figure didn't answer. Instead, it lowered its hand and vanished like smoke in wind, leaving Ren alone.
Ren hesitated, his heart thudding in his ears. But something in him whispered, _You've already taken the first step. So he touched the gate. The chains unraveled instantly, turning into threads of light that drifted away. The stone door opened with a low groan, and a rush of cold wind hit him in the face. Inside was nothing but darkness, endless and thick. But his mark glowed brighter now, like a lantern in the void.
Ren swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped through the gate.
As Ren stepped through the gate, the world vanished. There was no floor beneath his feet, no sky above. He was falling, yet he didn't scream. The air was too thick, like sinking through oil instead of space. Then, he hit the ground hard, his knees bending into a crouch he didn't remember preparing for. The stone cracked beneath his, but somehow his knees didn't shatter. The mark on his palm pulsed once, bright white, then faded. Wherever this place was, it was alive.
He stood up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. A vast expanse stretched around him, lit only by small glowing embers floating in the air. Some were red, some blue, others white or gold. They drifted silently, like fireflies made of memory. In the distance, a crooked tower jutted up from the fog. Around it, black shapes moved. Some crawled, some stood tall. None of them noticed him—yet.
And then he heard it—a voice calling his name. "Ren..." He spun around, but there was no one there. The voice was unmistakable—it was his mother's voice. Except it couldn't be; his mother had been dead for six years. He started walking toward the sound, each step echoing like a whisper. The mark on his hand flared again, glowing brighter as he moved.
Then he saw it—a figure standing between two broken stone pillars. Her back was turned, wearing the same green coat his mom always wore to work. Her hair was the same length, and even the way she stood was all too familiar. "Mom?" he called, his voice trembling. The figure turned around, and it wasn't her. Her face was wrong—stretched too long, eyes black like pits, mouth filled with too many teeth. It smiled.
"You let me die," the figure said, its voice like ice. "You stayed hidden while I screamed." The boy's stomach dropped, and he whispered, "No, that's not true." But the shadow of his mother stepped forward, each footstep leaving frost in its wake. Her hands cracked like glass as she raised them, and then she lunged.
Ren barely rolled aside as the shadow's clawed fingers slashed through where he had been standing. The stone floor exploded into shards. He ran, driven by instinct rather than logic. But the voice followed him, echoing in his mind. "You were supposed to protect me. You hid." He didn't know where he was going, but the darkness twisted around him, forming new paths, new walls. He turned left, hit a dead end. Turned right, only to find a chasm too wide to cross. Trapped.
The shadow-mother appeared at the other end of the narrow corridor, gliding toward him. "Coward," she hissed. Ren clenched his fists, his mark burning hotter than before. Suddenly, a voice echoed in his mind: "Face what must not cross." Maybe this was it—the trial. A fear he had to confront.
He turned to face the shadow, who screeched and charged. At the last second, the boy raised his marked hand—without thinking—and light burst from his palm. Pure, white, and humming, it hit the shadow, making her form crack and splinter like dry bark. But she didn't disappear. Not yet.
"You'll always be afraid," the shadow hissed. The boy's breath shook, but he stood tall. "Yeah, but not of you," he said, stepping forward. He pushed his palm against the shadow's chest and unleashed everything. Light exploded, and the shadow shrieked one last time before shattering into a storm of black dust.
Silence returned, and the mark on his hand faded to a soft white glow. A small orb of light floated where the creature had been. The boy reached out and touched it, and something rushed into his—memories, skills, a strange awareness. Words appeared in the air before him, burning into the fog:
"[You have absorbed: Echo Fragment – Shade of Regret]" "[Trait Unlocked: Fear Ward – Resist fear-based illusions and whispers.]"
He came realized the nature of the Echo. He didn't just fight shadows; he could claim them. He looked up at the tower in the distance, his legs still shaking, his mind still swirling with questions. But something inside him had changed. He had passed his first trial, and he knew now that this realm wasn't just a nightmare—it was a battlefield. And he had just taken his first victory, just barely.