Waking in the After-World
---
Darkness wasn't supposed to hum.
It wasn't the kind of quiet you found in sleep, nor the comforting absence of sound that made you feel safe. No, this was a darkness that listened—a heavy, dense silence that pressed down on the boy's skin like ash after fire.
And he couldn't remember why.
He lay on something hard. Cold. A floor, maybe. Not concrete. Not dirt. It felt…smooth, like polished glass. He opened his eyes.
A sky stretched above him, but it was fractured like a mirror. Each shard floated like drifting ice in a frozen sea, reflecting a different color—gray, purple, crimson—and somewhere in the cracks between them, lightning sparked soundlessly. There was no sun. No clouds. Just a shattered dome of strange color, pulsing softly as if the world itself was alive.
He sat up slowly, clutching his chest.
No pain. No wounds.
No breath either.
He wasn't breathing.
The realization hit him like cold water, but his body didn't panic. His chest didn't ache. His lungs didn't scream. He just…existed.
"What the hell…"
His voice sounded thin. Echoed strangely. Like it didn't belong to him.
He stood, shakily, and looked around. He was in a hallway—no, more like the remains of one. A long corridor of stone and wood, shattered at the edges, like the ruins of an old school torn from the earth and dropped into this alien world.
There were chairs stacked against a cracked wall. Lockers half-melted into the floor. A blackboard hung in midair, its chalked notes shifting like smoke: "Final Exam – Memory Composition – Due before passing."
He blinked. He didn't understand the words, but they chilled him.
He tried to remember who he was.
Nothing came.
Exploring a Shifting School
---
He stepped forward. The floor creaked beneath his shoes—not wooden creaking, but something deeper. Like a pulse beneath stone. Each footstep felt like it traveled too far, echoing off walls that didn't stay still.
The hallway stretched longer now.
Hadn't it just ended twenty meters ahead?
Now it twisted slightly to the left, dipping down a gentle slope that hadn't been there a moment before. He stopped and looked back.
The door behind him—the one he had awoken near—was gone. In its place stood a blank white wall with an old wall clock embedded in it. Its hands spun counterclockwise at varying speeds, clicking with every second in reverse.
Tick—tick—tick.
Something inside him said: This place is wrong.
But something else whispered: You belong here.
He swallowed hard and moved on.
The walls carried more blackboards now. They hung like empty paintings in a gallery. Some were covered in strange, looping symbols. Others had familiar things—arithmetic problems, poetic verses, broken sentences.
One read:
> "If your memory is broken, you are not.
You are the space it once filled.
Welcome to the After-World."
> – Scribe No. 23
He stared at the chalk lines.
After-World?
Was this…death?
It didn't feel like the end. It felt like a pause. A glitch in the cycle.
"Is anyone here?" he called out, louder this time. His voice still echoed strangely. As if it passed through walls that weren't there anymore.
No answer.
But something shifted.
He turned. A door had appeared.
It wasn't there a second ago. Just a plain, wooden classroom door with a frosted glass window and no handle. A number was written across the top: 3-A.
The boy approached slowly. Through the glass, he could see the flicker of movement—like shadow across candlelight.
Cautiously, he pushed the door open.
The hinges groaned, not like wood but like bones grinding against themselves. He stepped inside.
Rows of desks.
A blackboard.
A chalk tray stained with red dust.
The room had no roof. Just the broken sky above.
And in the far corner—
A mirror. A tall, full-body mirror standing upright where a teacher's desk should be.
No reflection.
Not of him.
Not of the room.
Just…fog.
He approached it, drawn without thinking.
As he stepped closer, the fog inside the mirror rippled.
Then—
A flash.
A moment.
A flicker of something—
---
The Mirror in the Hallway
---
His hand reached toward the glass on instinct.
The mirror's surface warped, like water. The fog inside swirled violently, forming an image:
A boy—no older than seventeen—stood in a classroom much like this one. Students laughed in the background. The sun shone through tall windows.
The boy was smiling. Genuinely. Laughing at something someone off-screen said.
And then, like glass cracking under pressure—
A sudden jolt.
A bang.
The vision distorted. Blood. Screams. A chair flying through the air.
Then darkness.
The mirror shattered—
Except it didn't.
It stood untouched. Smooth. Cold. Silent.
The boy stumbled backward, gasping.
He had seen himself.
Or someone who looked just like him.
He had felt it. That wasn't a dream. That was a memory.
But it wasn't his.
Not anymore.
A sound broke the silence behind him.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps.
He turned quickly. Someone stood just outside the door he had entered. A silhouette—slim, small—holding a lantern that pulsed with pale blue light.
The person stepped into the room slowly.
A girl.
She wore an old school uniform, faded at the edges like it had been bleached by time. Her black hair was tied back. Her eyes were large, but distant—unreadable.
She looked at him.
And didn't say a word.
The Girl with No Voice
---
The girl stepped into the ruined classroom as if afraid the ground might vanish beneath her. The glowing lantern in her hand dimmed slightly as she moved, like it was breathing in sync with her.
She didn't speak.
Her eyes flicked across the room—the desks, the broken blackboard, the mirror that somehow no longer reflected anything.
Then they settled on him.
The boy took a step back.
She looked fragile, but not weak. Her presence carried the weight of someone who had wandered too long without finding a place to rest.
"H-hi," he tried, awkwardly. "Do you…know where we are?"
No answer. Not even a change in expression.
He gestured around vaguely. "I think I'm…dead? I don't remember much. I just woke up here and—"
She tilted her head. Just slightly.
Like she was listening to something else.
Then, slowly, she walked toward him.
He didn't move. Couldn't. Something about her steps made the air heavier.
She stopped about a meter away and held up the lantern.
It flickered. Inside it, faint shapes appeared—floating symbols, like glowing script made from wind and thought. They swirled until they formed a single word:
> "Echo?"
The boy blinked. "I… don't know what that means."
The symbols shifted again, faster this time:
> "You don't remember."
He frowned. "No. I don't even know my own name."
The girl's lips pressed into a line. Her expression wasn't pity—it was something deeper. A quiet ache. Like she'd heard this before, too many times.
> "That's what makes you dangerous."
The message faded. The lantern dimmed.
"…Dangerous?" he echoed.
She didn't answer. Instead, she turned and began walking out of the room, her lantern trailing a thin thread of glowing mist behind her.
"Wait!" he called, following. "Where are you going? You can't just drop that on me and leave!"
She paused in the doorway. The broken sky above groaned softly.
Then—without facing him—she lifted her free hand and pointed forward.
Down the twisting hallway.
And then, without another gesture, she continued on, her lantern guiding the way.
---
The First Hollow
---
He followed.
Not because he trusted her, but because he had no other direction to go. Something inside him itched—like the mirror had awakened a thread of memory just out of reach, and she was the only one who might help him pull it loose.
The hallway changed as they moved.
Walls became transparent. Desks melted into mist. Staircases folded sideways. Sometimes, the lantern light seemed to hold the world together—everything beyond its glow shifted slightly, like it was in danger of collapsing.
Then, the air changed.
Heavy. Metallic. Cold.
The girl froze.
So did he.
A sound emerged from the dark ahead—slow, scraping, wet. Not footsteps. Not breathing.
A dragging.
From around a bent corridor, something came lurching into view.
It was human once.
Or had the shape of a human. But its limbs were too long. Its head bent sideways, neck half-shattered. Its face—if it had one—was a void of static. No features. Just buzzing black distortion, like a broken screen.
It sniffed the air with a twitching jerk.
Then it shrieked.
A horrible, bone-hollow scream that echoed through the endless hallways of the After-World.
The girl raised her lantern. It flared—but the Hollow didn't flinch.
It charged.
The boy stumbled back, but the girl stood her ground, stepping in front of him like a shield.
Her free hand went to her chest.
She pressed her fingers to her collarbone. The lantern pulsed—and suddenly, from her palm, a circle of blue light burst outward like ripples in water.
The Hollow struck the light and reeled back, shrieking in pain.
But it wasn't gone.
It began pacing—skittering sideways like an insect, watching them.
"What the hell is that thing?!" the boy shouted.
The girl didn't answer. Her lantern dimmed further. She was weakening.
He looked down.
His hands were shaking. But somewhere inside—something burned.
The mirror. The classroom. The face he'd seen.
He knew that moment. He knew that pain. Even if he couldn't name it.
It wasn't gone.
A sudden crack echoed through the hallway—not from the Hollow—but from him.
His chest flared with heat. His heartbeat—if it existed—spiked. In his mind's eye, he saw that moment again.
The chair flying through the air.
The blood.
The scream.
His scream.
A word formed in his mouth.
He didn't understand it.
But he knew it.
"—Echo."
A burst of light exploded from his chest, throwing the Hollow backward in a wave of force and memory. The hallway cracked. The shadows recoiled. For just a moment, the broken sky above stitched itself together—
And then everything fell silent again.
The Hollow was gone.
The girl turned toward him, her expression unreadable.
But this time, she stepped back.
And knelt.
---
Glimpse of Power
---
The boy stood frozen, his chest still glowing faintly. Wisps of light spiraled upward from his skin, disappearing into the air like fireflies vanishing into smoke.
The lantern's glow had transferred to him. It wasn't a perfect light. It flickered slightly, unsteady—like a candle caught in a storm—but it was there. Something inside him had awakened.
The girl knelt before him.
She placed the lantern on the ground between them. Its glass had cracked during the encounter, but the flame inside remained intact.
Slowly, she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a thin chalk-like rod, pure white and slightly translucent.
She pressed it to the floor beside the lantern and began to draw.
A circle.
Intricate symbols inside it—runes, spirals, curves that flowed like script written by wind.
When she finished, she looked up at him. The blue of her eyes had deepened, like a lake seeing its first ripple after years of stillness.
Then, she pointed at the center of the circle.
Hesitant, he stepped forward and stood inside it.
The chalk lines glowed softly.
His body tensed—but not in fear.
The air thickened. He could feel it pushing against him. Not painfully, but like a hand pressing against a wound you didn't know was there.
The symbols rose into the air, swirling around him.
His chest burned again—this time less like fire, more like pressure.
His mind filled with fragments:
A school hallway
A friend shouting his name
A clock striking twelve
A scream—
A name.
"…Sora."
His eyes widened. The name rang inside his head, louder than thunder and yet somehow soft. Familiar.
He whispered it aloud. "Sora… Takamine."
The girl's lantern pulsed in approval.
The floating runes sank into his skin and vanished. The glow faded. The chalk lines broke apart like ash in wind.
She stood again, face calm.
He looked at her, breathless despite not needing to breathe.
"You… you helped me remember my name."
She nodded.
"But why? What… what even are you? And that thing—was that a ghost? A demon?"
The girl raised her hand again, and the lantern symbols reappeared.
> "That was a Hollow."
> "A soul that refused to let go."
> "You are not one of them."
> "You are a Luminary."
Sora blinked. "A what?"
> "A rare soul. One who can awaken Echoes."
> "The Ferrymen have been waiting for you."
Before he could ask what that meant, the hallway trembled. Dust drifted from above.
Far in the distance, a long, low horn echoed—like a mournful whale call carried by the wind. It wasn't a sound of alarm.
It was a call.
A summons.
The girl looked in its direction.
She didn't explain—but Sora didn't need her to.
He had no memories. No answers. No reason to trust anything around him.
But somehow… he felt like that sound was meant for him.