The journey to Echo's Fall was not marked by signs or maps. There were no carriages, no roads, no safe checkpoints. Only a narrow path winding through hills soaked in fog, where even the birds kept their silence.
Kairo's boots sank into damp moss as he moved.
The envelope from Elder Mourn remained untouched in his inner pocket—sealed in thorny wax. He hadn't dared open it yet. The weight of it was more than paper and seal.
"There… you will learn to scream."
That line haunted him.
Even inside Vaultspace, the phrase lingered like smoke on stone.
He practiced Veilstep nightly, sharpening his movements between imagined enemies and shadowed walls. His technique had grown sharper since Veilroot. But sharper still had grown the unease in his chest.
He could sense it. The next Master would not offer comfort.
Arrival at Echo's Fall
The first thing Kairo heard upon nearing the cliffside was a distant, shuddering wail—like a scream caught between thunder and steel.
He rounded a final bend.
The land dropped sharply into a deep basin where winds howled in chaotic bursts. At the center of this carved valley stood a lone black spire—weathered, cracked, and jagged like a sword plunged into earth.
Around it, echoes resounded. Cries. Screeches. Gasps.
They weren't real—at least, not anymore.
This was Echo's Fall.
The birthplace of the art known as Sonic Fist, and a grave for those who couldn't master it.
Kairo stepped forward.
And the spire screamed back.
The Keeper of Echoes
At the base of the spire, seated cross-legged on a ring of broken stones, sat a man who looked half-carved from obsidian. His skin bore jagged etchings like sound lines. His left ear was missing. And his eyes… were shut tight.
But Kairo felt it immediately:
This was not a quiet man.
This was a storm holding its breath.
"You finally came," the man said without opening his eyes. His voice wasn't loud—but it struck the air like a bell.
"I'm Kairo," the boy answered, steady.
"I am Korrin Vale. Keeper of the Echo. Screamer of the Ninth Peak. You'll refer to me as nothing until you deserve to."
Kairo blinked. "I'm here to learn."
Korrin rose.
"No. You're here to survive."
Then he clapped his hands.
The mountain screamed.
The First Trial – Break the Silence
Vaultspace could not protect him here.
Korrin led Kairo to a ring of standing stones just outside the spire.
"Every sound you make, every breath, will reflect back with intent. Echo's Fall doesn't tolerate liars or cowards. You want to train? Prove you can stand against yourself."
Kairo stood in the center. Alone.
Korrin vanished into the mist.
For hours, there was only wind.
Then, his voice came.
Not Korrin's.
His own.
"You're weak."
"You're still the E-rank reject."
"You think time alone makes you a warrior?"
"You couldn't even protect your mother when she needed you."
The echoes weren't illusions.
They were reflections—drawn from his deepest Vault.
Kairo clenched his fists. He didn't shout back.
Instead, he whispered, "I know."
The echoes paused.
"That's why I'm here."
The air shifted.
And the circle fell silent.
Training with the Echoblade
Korrin returned the next morning.
"You stood your ground. Good. But understanding pain is not power. Not yet."
From the spire, he pulled a strange staff—coiled with rings of hollow metal.
"This is an Echoblade. It doesn't cut. It shakes the spirit."
He handed Kairo a smaller version.
"Every strike must harmonize. No wasted energy. Your heartbeat, your footstep, your exhale—all must become one. Only then can you speak through your strikes."
For days, Kairo trained.
He struck stone until it cracked—not from strength, but from vibration.
He practiced breathing in rhythm with crashing waves on Vaultspace's cliffs.
He meditated under the screeching winds of the spire.
At night, Vaultspace was his haven.
But the crack… had returned.
This time, it pulsed.
The Return of the Vault's Whisper
On the fifth night, inside the Vault, the air shimmered.
The floor beneath Kairo trembled.
And then…
"You're late again, Kairo."
The whisper was clearer now—almost kind.
"You scream louder with your silence than with your mouth. But do you know why?"
He turned slowly toward the crack.
It was wider than before. Something moved behind it—like a mirrored version of himself.
"You're not just walking toward strength. You're running from truth."
The whisper faded.
But the words remained etched in his mind.
The Final Lesson – Echo Pulse
Korrin stood at the cliff's edge.
Behind him, the spire.
Beneath him, the chasm where hundreds had once fallen.
"You're ready," he said simply.
"Ready for what?"
"To scream."
He turned and pointed to the sky. "The Echo Pulse is the purest expression of grief. Anger. Hope. Everything that lives inside your soul. But if your spirit wavers—even for a second—it will break you instead."
Kairo took a breath.
Then another.
And then—he screamed.
The air rippled.
The cliff cracked.
The spire sang.
And for the first time, the echoes did not answer with doubt.
They answered with recognition.
A Name Remembered
Before Kairo left, Korrin handed him a shard of the Echoblade.
"This will not cut enemies. But it will cut through lies."
He paused, then looked at Kairo's chest.
"You carry guilt like a second skin. That's why the Vault stirs. It's not just storage—it's memory. Yours. And someone else's."
Kairo froze.
Korrin gave him a nod.
"The next Master won't help you forget. He'll make you relive it."
With that, he handed him a black envelope marked with the emblem of two crossed spears:
The Iron Temple awaits.
Closing: The Vault Expands
That night, back inside Vaultspace, a new terrain formed—a canyon of echoing walls. At the center stood a single black spire, pulsing with light.
Kairo placed the Echoblade shard at its base.
The Vault didn't resist.
It welcomed him home.
But he didn't smile.
He knew the next part of his journey would not be about mastering techniques.
It would be about facing his past.
And it would hurt more than any wound yet.