The walk home was endless. My boots scraped against the dirt road, each step heavier than the last. The voices of the villagers still rang in my ears, sharp as blades, tearing at whatever hope I had left.
I used to imagine this walk feeling different. Victorious. Proud. I'd thought I'd return a hero, the kind kids dreamed of becoming. Instead, I was trudging home like a ghost, my steps weighed down by disappointment.
The village square stretched before me, its worn cobblestones glowing faintly in the fading sunlight. The ancient oak stood at its center, branches like tired arms reaching for the sky. I'd always thought its roots whispered stories of heroes long past. But today, it stood silent. Indifferent.
A few shopkeepers packed up their stalls, casting glances my way. Some pitiful, some indifferent. I heard quiet murmurs drifting on the breeze—nothing cruel, but nothing comforting either.
On the edge of the square, a group of children played, brandishing sticks as imaginary swords.
"Fire Step!" one shouted, leaping from a crate.
"No, no! I've got Sky Howl!" another yelled, spinning in place.
Their laughter was sharp and innocent, but it cut deeper than any blade. I'd played the same game once, dreaming of the day I'd stand tall like the heroes of the past.
But there I was now, shoulders low, head down, walking through the square like someone forgotten.
I pushed open the door of our home and stepped inside, the warmth of the kitchen doing little to thaw the cold inside my chest. The air smelled of rosemary and baking bread, comforting and cruel all at once.
Mom turned from the stove, a hopeful smile that faltered the moment she saw my face. "Keal...?"
I couldn't answer. My throat tightened, words caught in a storm of shame. I shrugged off my cloak and left it draped over the chair.
How could I tell them? How could I make them understand that my power—the thing meant to protect them—was useless noise?
Dad stood from his seat by the window, setting aside his farming knife. "Son."
Blanc's small voice piped up from the table. "Did you get Fire Step, Keal? Or Sky Howl? What is it?"
The words hit harder than any mockery. I tried to smile, but it crumbled before it formed. "It's... it's called Echo Step," I forced out, barely audible.
Blanc blinked. "Echo Step? That sounds cool! What does it do?"
I looked away. "Nothing useful."
I didn't deserve his excitement. Not when my power couldn't defend anyone.
Silence filled the room. Heavy. Suffocating.
Mom placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Come, eat something. We'll talk after."
But I couldn't. Not yet. I needed to be alone.
"I'm... going outside," I muttered, slipping past them before they could stop me.
I wandered to the old field behind our house where the grass grew wild and the wind spoke only in whispers. Long blades of grass brushed against my legs, damp with evening dew. Fireflies blinked like distant stars among the weeds. In the far-off hills, a lone owl called, its cry fading into the darkening sky.
This field had always been a place of peace for me. When I was younger, I'd lie on my back with Blanc, tracing the shapes in the clouds, dreaming of the day I'd earn my power. I thought the world would feel bigger when that day came. But right now, it just felt empty.
I sat down and hugged my knees to my chest. I remembered once telling Blanc, "One day, I'll protect this whole village. No one will ever have to be afraid again."
What a fool I'd been.
There, beneath the fading sky, I tried again.
"Echo Step."
I stepped forward—and my footfalls echoed unnaturally, delayed and distorted, like someone was following me just out of sight.
Like a shadow I couldn't outrun. Like a ghost of the person I was supposed to be.
Pointless. No power. No weapon. Just... noise.
I clenched my fists, my voice breaking. "What good is this?!"
Frustration boiled in my chest. I picked up a stone and threw it as far as I could, hearing it thud uselessly in the tall grass. For a moment, the only answer was the wind.
Tears burned at my eyes, but I wiped them away. Crying wouldn't change anything. But I couldn't stop the ache gnawing at my heart.
They needed a protector. I was supposed to be their shield. What kind of shield echoes when struck?
Hours passed. Darkness settled in. I sat on the grass, hugging my knees, cold and alone. The wind tugged at my hair, sharp and restless. Above me, clouds drifted over the moon, leaving patches of silver and shadow across the field.
Finally, footsteps approached—quiet, familiar.
"Keal?" Mom's voice called gently. "It's getting cold out. Come inside."
I didn't answer. But I didn't move away when she sat beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
"It's not the skill that defines you," she whispered. "It's what you do with it."
"But how, Mom?" My voice cracked. "How do I protect you... protect Blanc... with something like this?"
She smiled softly, brushing my hair from my eyes. "We'll figure it out. Together."
Her touch reminded me of that rainy afternoon, years ago, when I'd fallen from the old oak by the river. My knee had bled and my pride was worse. I'd cried then too, small and afraid, until she found me. She hadn't told me to stop crying that day—just held me until the storm passed.
And now here we were again. Different hurt, same comfort.
A moment later, Dad joined us, silent but steady, his presence like a mountain against the storm. He sat down beside us, his strong arms folding across his knees, the scent of earth and wood lingering on his clothes.
Then Blanc followed, small arms wrapping around my waist.
"I think Echo Step sounds awesome," Blanc said firmly. "Maybe it'll scare away monsters with how cool it is!"
I laughed through the tears, broken but real.
That night, we sat beneath the stars, my family beside me, their warmth pushing back the cold. The sky stretched wide and endless, dotted with light. Somewhere out there, my future waited. Silent. Uncertain. But still waiting.
The next morning, with sleep still heavy in my eyes, I tried again. In the open clearing, I whispered, "Echo Step."
The echo rang out again, trailing behind me. Still useless. Still strange.
But maybe... not hopeless. Not entirely.
Mom watched from the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. Dad leaned against the fence, arms crossed, observing. Blanc cheered every step I took, his laughter chasing away the lingering shadows.
I wasn't strong yet. Maybe I wouldn't be for a long time.
But every echo was a step forward. Even if it stumbled. Even if it faltered.
But their voices—kind, steady, and proud—echoed louder than any jeers from the crowd.
And for now, that was enough.
Tomorrow, I would try again.