I stepped onto the rooftop, leaving behind the oppressive gloom of the hidden chamber.
The city below sprawled like a rusted maze, dimly lit by a perpetual twilight that seemed to smudge the boundaries between night and day.
I still felt the aftershocks from the fight—every muscle ached as if I'd been run over by a runaway steam engine.
But there was no time to wallow in pain. I had to move on.
The streets of the lower city were quieter at this hour, but the air was thick with smog and the distant clang of machinery. The Demon Realm was never truly asleep, factories churned, foundries burned, and somewhere in the distance, metal screamed against metal.
Aiden led the way, weaving through narrow alleys without hesitation. I followed, barely paying attention to the route, too busy trying to keep the Echo from flaring up again. It still pulsed under my skin, restless, like a beast pacing inside a locked cage.
I clenched my fists, exhaling slowly.
'I need to get this under control before it turns me into a liability.'
Eventually, we stopped in front of a rundown building wedged between two towering steel structures. It might have been an inn once, judging by the shattered sign hanging above the entrance. Now, it was just another forgotten ruin.
Aiden kicked open what was left of the door and strolled in like he owned the place.
"Hope you're not picky about accommodations."
I followed, eyeing the dust-covered furniture, the warped wooden floorboards, the cracked walls. It smelled like rust and damp stone.
"Yeah, real luxury."
Aiden shrugged.
"Could be worse. Could be the Pit."
I didn't argue.
I sat on what used to be a couch, testing my breathing. The Echo inside me was still unstable, reacting to my emotions. I needed to stay calm, but every small movement made it twitch, like a current waiting to surge.
Aiden leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. He hadn't said much since we'd left the tunnels.
And he was watching me.
Not openly, not in an obvious way. But every time I shifted, every time the Echo flared even a little, his gaze flicked to me, his body tensed just slightly.
I ran a hand through my hair.
'The hell is his deal? He's not offering advice. He's not stopping me from losing it, either.'
I could press him about it. Confront him on why he was so damn interested in what I was going through.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
Instead, I rolled back my sleeve, my fingers tracing the sigil on my wrist.
Emil.
If he was watching, he had to know what had happened. Had to know about the Echo, about the beast, about whatever the hell that was back in the vision.
I could activate the mark. Call out to him. Demand an answer.
But I hesitated.
The moment I used it, I'd be inviting his cryptic bullshit again. And knowing him, he wouldn't just answer me—he'd twist the words, give half-truths, tell me just enough to keep me on the path he wanted.
I let my hand drop.
Not yet.
I needed answers, but I'd find them myself first.
Aiden finally spoke, breaking the silence.
"You keep staring at that mark. You expecting it to do tricks?"
I glanced up. His expression was unreadable, but I caught the faintest edge of something—curiosity? Annoyance?
"Something like that."
Aiden huffed, shaking his head.
"You overthink too much."
Maybe. But considering my options were "overthink" or "lose control of a power that shouldn't exist," I figured I was making the right call.
I took a deep breath.
I needed something to fight with—a weapon.
I remembered the stories I'd written about the legendary blade Howl, the one that could harness an Echo's true resonance, making each swing echo with relentless force.
A sword wasn't just an accessory in that tale; it was the key to unlocking the full potential of the beast's power.
I glanced at Aiden.
"Hey—what year is it?"
Aiden looked at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes before his mask of nonchalance returned.
He shrugged, then replied,
"Same as it always is. But it's not about the year, Damien. It's about where you're headed."
I frowned.
'Same as it always is?'
I'd been so caught up in the chaos, I wasn't sure if time had even moved normally since the fight.
But something told me that, at least for now, I was still at the beginning of the story I once wrote.
I scanned the room.
Amid the rubble and scattered debris, a glint caught my eye from beneath a collapsed crate.
I knelt and pushed aside a pile of old, rusted tools.
There, half-buried in dust, was a battered sword.
Its blade was nicked and worn, but even in its dilapidated state, I could sense a faint aura along its edge.
I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around the hilt, a tremor ran through me.
The connection wasn't as strong as I'd hoped—but it was there.
For a brief moment, the dull thrum of my Echo flared, as if testing the metal.
Then it stilled again.
'Not quite Howl, but it might do for now,' I muttered to myself.
It wasn't perfect; the resonance was weak and uncertain.
Yet in that moment, it felt like a key—a tool to bridge the gap between the fragmented Echo and what it could become.
I lifted the sword and examined it under the weak light filtering through a broken window.
The metal bore ancient runes that I didn't recognize, and the hilt was wrapped in worn leather.
It was as if someone had once imbued this weapon with a piece of history—a piece of raw power that had been forgotten over time.
I flexed my fingers along the blade's length, feeling a subtle vibration.
This wasn't the legendary Howl from my pages, but maybe it was a relic from the same era—a tool for those who could still hear the echoes of the past.
Aiden broke the silence.
He stepped closer, his voice calm, yet laced with something I couldn't quite place.
"That sword... it's seen better days."
I gave a half-smirk.
"Yeah, but it might be exactly what I need right now."
Aiden studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing just a fraction.
He didn't comment further—he just nodded, as if accepting that I'd chosen my weapon despite its obvious wear.
I took a step back and swung the sword experimentally.
The blade cut through the stale air with a whisper—a sound that felt like a memory of battles long past.
But the resonance wasn't strong; it barely stirred the Echo within me.
'Emil… are you watching this mess unfold? Or did you really have nothing to do with it?'
My thoughts churned.
The Echo inside me was still unstable—like an instrument missing half its strings.
In the original story I had written, the beast's Echo was a prize, a simple remnant of power to be absorbed without incident.
The protagonist's party had taken it, no trouble at all, and with it came a weapon: Howl.
That sword didn't just enhance strength—it made every cut resonate, each swing multiplying the force of the original strike.
One blow would ripple out like a shockwave, leaving enemies reeling.
But now I was left with a half-formed power and a battered sword that barely sang when I swung it.
'Bullshit'
I thought under my breath.
Echoes weren't supposed to be so damn picky, yet here I was, missing the key element—a fully attuned weapon that could harness its full might.
I ran my hand along the hilt of the sword.
It was cold, heavy, and as broken as I felt inside.
I needed to train.
I needed to forge a proper connection between my will and this raw, unpredictable force pulsing beneath my skin.
I picked up the sword again and gave it another swing.
This time, I tried to focus, willing the Echo inside me to resonate with the metal.
For a moment, a faint hum vibrated along the blade—barely there, like the sound of a dying engine.
'Not enough'
I muttered.
I needed more.
I needed to channel this raw power into something that worked.
I set the sword down, exasperated.
Blackthorn was my next step—a place where I was supposed to prove my worth, where I could finally master this power.
But if I couldn't even make this crude weapon respond, what was I going to do?
The thought stung, and I let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
'Well, shit. I always wanted to be a badass, not a bumbling amateur.'
I exhaled sharply, resting the sword across my lap. The weight of it felt wrong—too dull, too lifeless.
Aiden watched from the corner of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His usual smirk was there, but it was subdued, like he was debating whether or not to say something.
Eventually, he just shook his head.
"You look like you're expecting that thing to start talking to you."
I snorted, running a hand over the battered blade.
"That'd be an improvement. At least then I'd know if this piece of junk actually works."
Aiden pushed off the wall, stepping closer. His gaze flicked over the weapon, his expression unreadable.
"You sure that's what you need?"
I tensed slightly, fingers tightening around the hilt.
"Got a better idea?"
Aiden didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, rusted piece of metal—looked like a broken piece of an old weapon, dull and useless. He turned it over in his fingers, then tossed it onto the table beside me.
"Sometimes, things that are broken stay that way."
I stared at the scrap metal, then back at him.
"...The hell is that supposed to mean?"
Aiden just shrugged.
"Means maybe you're trying to force something that isn't meant to work for you."
I exhaled through my nose, irritation creeping in.
"Not like I have many options."
Aiden hummed, stepping away again.
"Maybe."
Maybe.
I hated that word.
I leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The cracks in the stone stretched out like veins, twisting in random patterns, leading to nowhere.
I needed more time. More control. More power.
I sat there, gripping the sword like it had answers.
It didn't.
Neither did I.
I needed to get my shit together. This Echo, this power—it was all useless if I didn't have a proper way to channel it. Blackthorn Academy was supposed to be my next step, the place where I could refine what I had and learn how to fight properly.
But then a thought hit me like a brick to the face.
I didn't know when the damn entrance exam was.
I blinked.
Slowly.
Then, just as slowly, I turned my head toward Aiden.
He was still lounging against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like I was a puzzle he hadn't decided if he wanted to solve yet.
His expression was relaxed, but there was an amusement in his eyes, like he already knew what I was about to say.
I sighed.
"…Hey."
Aiden raised an eyebrow.
"When's the entrance exam for Blackthorn?"
There was a beat of silence. Then, Aiden let out a short laugh, pushing off the wall.
"Wait."
He tilted his head, looking way too entertained.
"Are you telling me you don't know?"
I clenched my jaw.
"Just answer the damn question."
Aiden whistled, shaking his head.
"Wow. And here I thought you had everything figured out."
I ran a hand down my face.
"Aiden."
"No, no, really, this is great."
He smirked, tapping his chin.
"You've been moving around like you knew exactly what was going on, and now you're telling me you don't even know when the entrance exam is?"
I exhaled sharply.
'This fucker, I hate that he's right.'
I should've asked sooner. Should've checked with the informant back at the bookstore. Should've prioritized this instead of nearly getting torn apart by an Echo that apparently had preferences.
Aiden let out another chuckle, then, finally, he shrugged.
"You've got five days."
I blinked.
"…Five?"
"Five."
A slow realization crept in. That was even sooner than I expected.
I had less than a week to figure this all out.
The sword in my grip suddenly felt even heavier.
Aiden watched as I processed that, his smirk still lingering.
"Thought you had more time, huh?"
I didn't answer.
Because, yeah. I did.
Five days. That was nothing. I had barely gotten a grip on this Echo, and now I was expected to show up at Blackthorn and fight against people who had spent their whole lives preparing?
I needed training.
I needed control.
I needed a miracle.
Aiden stretched, rolling out his shoulders like this wasn't my biggest existential crisis of the day.
"Well, good luck with that."
I gave him a deadpan look.
"That's it? No advice, no snide remark about how I should've been more prepared?"
Aiden grinned.
"Oh, you definitely should've been more prepared."
I groaned, leaning my head back against the wall.
'Five days.'
I had five days to make sure I didn't get obliterated the moment I stepped onto academy grounds.
Great.
Perfect.
No pressure.
Aiden clapped a hand on my shoulder, smirking down at me.
"Look on the bright side."
I raised an eyebrow.
"There's a bright side?"
"You'll either figure it out in time…"
He patted my shoulder, stepping away.
"…or you'll get your ass kicked so hard it knocks some sense into you."
I scowled.
"Helpful."
Aiden winked.
"I try."
Five days.
I needed a plan.
And I needed one fast.