Two years passed in the quiet rhythm of shadow and steel.
The town of Vensar had not changed much on the surface—its markets still hummed with chatter, its guards still strutted with arrogance—but beneath its order, two figures carved their legend, unseen and unnamed.
At night, when the city slept and torches burned low, the Echoes trained.
We trained not as children, but as predators learning the edge of their own teeth.
Kael had grown tall and lithe, her movements sharper now, her eyes calm as wind before a storm.
The air around her no longer simply responded—it obeyed.
Each breath she took shaped faint ripples in the atmosphere, invisible threads that extended like nerves through the space around her. She had learned to "see" with the wind—to feel movement through pressure and flow, to read intent through disturbance.
If someone threw a stone in her direction, she could sense it before it left their hand.
If a man lied, she could hear the falseness in his tone by how the air vibrated against her skin.
She was no longer the uncertain girl from the outer village. She was wind given form—grace with purpose.
As for me—my body had become a vessel of restraint.
Every night, I honed my telekinetic control until I could lift and rotate a dozen objects at once, from knives to stones, weaving them into orbiting shields or striking lines.
The energy flowed from my Red Core, pulsing through nerves and veins, extending into the world like unseen limbs. But the true evolution came not from strength—it came from stillness.
When I focused, I could feel intent before action.
In combat, every breath, every twitch of a muscle, every flicker of emotion carried a signature in the flow of Life Energy. By reading these patterns, I could predict an opponent's move before their body committed to it.
To an onlooker, it looked like foresight.
To me, it was harmony—mind, body, and world moving in rhythm.
Over the months, I learned to condense the pressure of my core, releasing it outward in short bursts that struck not flesh, but the spirit. Those who met my eyes during such moments felt their will tremble, their minds stagger. It wasn't magic—it was dominance, resonance forced into another's flow.
It was the art of breaking intention.
We lived double lives.
By day, we were quiet helpers—two obedient Hollows who fetched supplies and handled errands for the Naturals. By night, we became their shadowed reflection.
We challenged rogue Naturals—those who had fallen from their cities, criminals hiding in the outskirts. They were stronger, faster, and far more ruthless than beasts. But they were also arrogant and predictable. Each fight was a lesson written in blood.
Some nights, it was Kael's wind that carved through the dark, slicing open branches and throats alike. Other times, I crushed blades mid-swing with unseen force or disarmed enemies by twisting their own weapons through the air.
We never revealed our faces.
Whispers spread through Vensar and beyond—rumors of the Silent Ghosts, unknown warriors who hunted criminals in the wilds and vanished before dawn.
The city lord dismissed them as superstition.
The elders called them "foolish tales."
But we knew the truth.
Every strike honed our instincts.
Every kill deepened our resonance.
Every heartbeat drew us closer to the next threshold.
Training was no longer about discovery—it was refinement.
The Red Core inside us pulsed with quiet rhythm, a steady flame tempered by will. It resonated perfectly with our bodies now, not as something foreign but as an extension of who we were.
Our techniques were no longer experiments; they were art.
Kael's wind had grown sharper—literally. She learned to condense air pressure into visible blades, forming a short, curved wind sword she could wield as naturally as her own arm. With a twist of her fingers, she could shape wind ropes that bound or redirected attacks.
Once, during sparring, she sliced a boulder cleanly in two, the edges smooth as polished glass.
Her greatest talent, however, was movement. When she fought, she flowed. Every spin, every step, carried purpose. Her core fed the air around her, turning the battlefield into an extension of herself.
To fight her was to fight the wind itself—impossible to catch, impossible to still.
My own power took a different form.
Telekinesis, once clumsy, became precision incarnate. I could feel the density and resistance of every object—its weight, shape, and texture—through my energy field. The world had become a language of pressure and motion.
In battle, I mixed my swordsmanship with it.
I learned to let my blade move with the smallest motions, adjusting its angle mid-swing using subtle pushes of force. The sword was no longer held—it was guided.
With this, my attacks became unpredictable, flowing from impossible angles, each strike heavy with the weight of my core.
The greatest evolution came in what I called Resonant Pressure—the ability to release my energy outward as an aura that suppressed others.
The stronger the will, the heavier the air became.
Against weaker foes, it made them falter. Against equals, it forced them to focus. Against Kael, it only made her smile.
"It feels like fighting a mountain," she once said after training, wiping sweat from her brow. "But mountains can erode, Sam."
"And wind can break," I replied, smirking.
We sparred until dawn, every match harder, faster, sharper. The bruises we earned became our teachers.
Outside the town's safety, the wilderness tested us differently.
The beasts that roamed the forests near Vensar were remnants of the old world—creatures touched by Aetherka itself. Their hides carried energy veins, their roars sent tremors through the ground.
Most patrols avoided them. We hunted them.
The first one that truly tested us was a Dire Fang, a wolf-like predator the size of a horse. Its aura alone could flatten a novice Bearer.
We tracked it for hours through the fog, following claw marks and the scent of iron.
When it appeared, it came like a storm—silent until the moment of death.
Its body blurred, Aetherka threads pulsing red beneath its fur as it lunged.
Kael moved first. Her wind split into three blades that crossed its path, but the beast twisted midair, dodging with unnatural grace. Its tail lashed, scattering her currents.
I caught its motion in the space before it landed. My focus expanded; the world slowed. I felt its intent—a killing lunge—before it happened.
I raised my hand, channeling my will.
A telekinetic wave struck its flank, throwing it sideways, but it recovered instantly. The ground split beneath its claws as it charged again.
Kael spun, feet gliding over the soil, shaping wind ropes that tangled its legs. I followed, closing in with my blade.
The moment my sword met its hide, I poured my core's pressure through the steel. The impact cracked the air, and the Dire Fang howled, staggering back.
It countered with a roar that pulsed energy outward, breaking the ropes. The shockwave threw Kael off her feet and numbed my arms.
Blood ran from my lip. My core pulsed wildly, heat flooding my veins.
We had fought many things—but nothing this relentless.
"Together!" Kael shouted.
Her wind surged, spiraling around her arms in visible rings. I extended my telekinesis outward, wrapping invisible force around her movements.
For a heartbeat, our resonance merged.
She moved—and I followed.
Each strike of her wind blade carried my unseen push, doubling its impact.
When she leapt, I propelled her higher.
When I struck, she redirected the air around my sword, sharpening it.
The Dire Fang lunged one final time. Kael twisted midair, her blade of wind cutting downward, while I sent a burst of pressure from below.
The combined force cleaved through the creature's neck.
It fell with a heavy thud. Silence followed.
For a moment, we stood still, breathing hard, the night wind carrying the scent of blood and ozone.
Kael's laughter broke the quiet. "We did it," she breathed.
"Barely," I said, wincing as pain caught up with me. My shoulder throbbed where the beast's claws had grazed me.
She smiled. "Barely is still alive."
We harvested the beast carefully. Its flesh shimmered faintly, saturated with Aetherka. Using our cores, we refined the meat—slowly absorbing traces of its energy through controlled resonance. The process strengthened our cores, deepening their color, compacting their density.
It was brutal work, painful even, but rewarding.
Over the next months, we continued the cycle: hunt, refine, adapt.
Each battle tempered us. Each death fed our resolve.
Our cores pulsed darker now—no longer the bright crimson of youth, but deep, rich red with hints of black threading through the light.
Our harmony was perfect—body, mind, and spirit as one.
We were not merely Hollows anymore.
We were something else.
By the time we turned thirteen, the change was undeniable.
Kael's aura shimmered faintly whenever she exhaled, her presence calm yet dangerous.
My own energy field had grown heavier, more stable. I could mask my power entirely or let it leak just enough to shake the air.
Our cores were complete harmonies of who we were—two Echoes, perfectly attuned.
Only one step remained between us and the Yellow Core.
The step from silence into recognition.