Five hundred years ago, all of humanity was mundane. People went about their lives quietly, chasing their own interests.
Countries waged war—not with Resonance Strings, but with nuclear bombs and missiles. Cities fell, rose, and fell again under the relentless pressure. The world had become a stage where the rulers were those with the biggest nukes.
Then everything changed.
The change didn't arrive with a massive explosion or a cataclysmic burst of power. No. It came in something deceptively harmless, almost artistic in its execution.
A Song.
Those who lived to witness it said they had never heard a voice so beautiful, so primordial, so wondrous—and yet tinged with sorrow. It resonated in the minds of everyone on Earth, like a lullaby whispered simultaneously into every ear. Sweet. Haunting. Leaving a strange, almost surgical taste in the mouth.
And then it ended.
The realization hit: this wasn't a trick of the mind. Everyone had heard it.
And in that moment, mass hysteria erupted—an uncontrollable, unparalleled wave of chaos the world had never known before.
Citizens began to crumble under panic. Crime surged. Governments held emergency meetings behind closed doors, desperately trying to understand the incident—though no solution presented itself.
Because, for all that was said and done, the power of a being capable of singing a Song to every living soul on Earth was beyond comprehension. And worse, it was a force the world had never seen before.
Cities and nations dissolved into chaos as fear rippled through minds everywhere. The Song felt like a prelude to calamity—a forewarning of something horrific yet to come.
And they didn't have to wait long.
The day arrived.
A day that would be remembered in history as the Inversion Epoch. A catastrophe that destroyed over half of humanity through a broken song.
It began with a crack in the sky. The heavens didn't explode—they fractured. Space itself inverted, reflecting light like a mirror. Humanity barely had time to comprehend the abnormality before creatures poured out from the rift—incarnations of pure nightmare.
These were the creatures that would later be called Echoforms.
They carried no explosives. They wielded no overwhelming physical strength. Yet they conquered humanity with a weapon so unthinkable, so impossible, that no one would have believed it if it hadn't happened before their very eyes.
A Song.
But this one was broken. Wretched. Malicious. A symphony of sound that drove half the world into madness.
The Echoforms fed on humanity's darkest emotions, savoring despair as nourishment. Nuclear bombs were useless against them—they phased through attacks as if they existed in a frequency entirely alien to the world.
Humanity's greatest weapons had failed.
They showed no mercy. Not for children, not for fathers or mothers. All of humanity was food to them, the same as any other.
When they were done, all that remained was humans driven to madness—stripped of emotion, stripped of their very humanity. Survivors named these hollow shells Echolings, and to kill them was considered an act of mercy.
With the momentum of the war, humanity seemed a lost cause.
And yet, before hope vanished entirely, fate finally smiled upon them.
The first generation of Chordbearers awakened. Children who could feel the pulses of strings ignite with emotion. Children who could fight back, strike down an Echoform, and sing the Songs of the gods.
Humanity protected these young chosen as though their lives depended on it—because they did.
In a few years, as most of the generation mastered their Songs, humanity began to reclaim lost territories, pushing back the Echoforms inch by inch.
Humanity finally began to win.
But the war was far from over. New Mirrorths still opened in conquered lands, and half the world remained unclaimed, crawling with Echoforms.
Still, this time, humanity was no longer hopeless. They would fight back. They would survive.
And they would finally show those invaders who was in charge.
***
"MOMMY! I DON'T WANT TO DIE! ARE WE GOING TO DIE?!"
Lizzy's tearful screams echoed through the dark, oxygen-starved bunker for what felt like the hundredth time. One look at her was enough to tell—she was minutes away from a full panic attack.
The bunker shook again.
"Wahh!" Lizzy sobbed. "Wahhhh!"
"Shhh… that's enough, sweetie," their mum murmured, pulling the girl into her arms. "Mummy's here. You'll be just fine."
Elias pressed his fingers to his pounding forehead, the ache worsening with every shrill sob. Come to think of it… was it just him, or were little brats crying around him a lot lately?
"The building's been breached," Mr. Ferborn whispered to Elias's dad.
Elias heard it anyway.
"They're only a few meters above us."
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
Elias looked at his sobbing sister. Then at his own trembling hands. He bit down on his lower lip until he tasted blood.
This hopelessness.
This despair.
It was happening because he was weak.
It was his fault.
If only he wasn't useless.
If only he had awakened.
If only he—
"The bunker… should hold," Elias heard his dad say. His voice sounded firm, almost convincing—like he was trying to lie to himself more than anyone else.
A hologram flickered to life in front of Mr. Ferborn, layers of complex algorithms and equations scrolling rapidly.
"Calculating the thickness of the steel walls and the intensity of their attacks," Ferborn said tightly, "the bunker will hold for approximately five minutes and thirty seconds."
He paused.
The sound of his teeth grinding echoed through the bunker.
Elias shuddered.
"I refuse to believe—" his dad shouted, voice cracking as it bounced off the walls.
"Dad, shut the fuck up!" Elias snapped.
His hand tangled in his hair as he fought the urge to rip it out.
"We're all going to die pathetically if you don't get your shit together!"
"I—" His dad's voice collapsed. He slid down the wall, shoulders shaking as sobs tore out of him. "I failed to protect you. All of you. If only I had listened… Elias, I'm sorry—"
"Save it for later, old man," Elias growled.
"There's no time anyway. That bastard who warned me? He probably knew we weren't going to make it regardless. The sick fuck just wanted us to struggle a little longer before we died."
His fists shook.
"By the gods," Elias hissed, eyes burning, "if we make it out of this alive, I swear I'm going to kill him."
"How exactly are you going to manage that with your pathetic—"
Mr. Ferborn stopped.
The look on Elias's face made his words die in his throat.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't fear.
It was something far worse—an expression so disturbingly calm it sent a shiver crawling down his spine.
"Old man," Elias said quietly, "you don't look too scared for someone with a whole community of Echoforms above us, all craving to feast on your darkness."
His eyes didn't blink.
"So I'm assuming you already have a way to save yourself."
It wasn't a question.
Mr. Ferborn hesitated, then studied Elias with renewed interest.
"It's commendable," he said slowly, "that you're still capable of clear thought under such strain. Even more so than your father—"
The bunker shook violently, dust raining down as the walls groaned.
"Aaaah! Mummy!" Lizzy screamed, spiraling into another full-blown hysteria.
Elias didn't look away from Ferborn.
"Can you save anyone else along with yourself," he asked, voice steady despite the chaos, "without risking your life?"
The shaking grew worse.
Ferborn fell silent.
A second passed.
Then another.
In that moment, time seemed to stretch into eternity.
Finally, he spoke—his voice hesitant, yet calculating.
"I can save one additional person," he admitted. "But my own chance of survival drops by three percent."
He paused.
"That's… quite a lot."
"Selfish motherfucker…" Elias muttered, barely holding himself back from giving the old bastard a vicious uppercut.
Mr. Ferborn's eyebrow twitched. He'd clearly heard it.
"I believe," he said coolly, snorting in mild displeasure, "that I've changed my mind."
Elias dropped to his knees.
His forehead slammed against the cold floor with a dull bang.
Then again.
And again.
He raised his hand and slapped himself across the face.
"Elias! What are you doing?!" his mum cried from across the bunker.
His dad had already collapsed against the wall, muttering incoherently, eyes vacant as he stared into nothing.
"Mr. Ferborn," Elias choked out, bowing his head again. "Please. I beg you. Save at least one of my family."
Bang.
He slapped himself harder.
"Please."
"Elias, stop! Stop this right now!" his mum screamed, her voice breaking as she rushed to him.
She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, restraining him as his body trembled violently.
Lizzy's cries rose even louder, syncing with the violent shaking of the bunker as dust rained down from the ceiling.
"Boy," Mr. Ferborn said, his eyes narrowing. "Fine. You've succeeded in getting my interest."
He exhaled slowly.
"But understand this—I can only take the risk of saving one person. I'm not heroic enough to throw my life away for your entire family." His gaze sharpened. "That's why I'm curious. Who will you choose?"
A pause.
"The most reasonable answer would be yourself. But I get the feeling that isn't what you have in mind."
Elias slowly lifted his bloodied head.
A crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"Save my sister," he said. "Please. Get her out of this hell."
Mr. Ferborn raised an eyebrow. "Why not one of your parents? Aren't they important to you as well?"
Elias laughed quietly.
"They won't leave," he said. "Not while Lizzy and I are still trapped here. They'd never accept it."
His smile widened, brittle but certain.
"So the choice was always between the two of us. And I choose her." He glanced toward Lizzy. "Isn't that what a big brother is supposed to do?"
The rumbling intensified.
Dust, stones, and chunks of twisted metal rained down as the bunker groaned under the pressure. From above, hands began to punch through the steel—pale, distorted fingers clawing blindly as broken songs leaked from countless mouths.
Elias's vision blurred as blood streamed from his eyes and ears. He clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out.
His mother's arms tightened around him, trembling violently.
Lizzy had gone still.
Elias looked up just in time to see her—eyes closed, body limp.
She wasn't dead.
He knew that.
She'd simply slipped into unconsciousness, her small body unable to withstand the terror any longer.
"You will die," Mr. Ferborn said.
"I know," Elias replied.
Mr. Ferborn stepped forward and gently lifted Lizzy into his arms. He paused, then looked back at Elias, something solemn settling into his eyes.
"You are wrong, Elias," he said quietly. "Not all big brothers would be willing to do what you've just done. Not when faced with certain death."
There was genuine respect in his gaze.
"I hope that, by some miracle, you survive this calamity. Losing an apprentice like you would be… regrettable."
Elias gave him a bitter smile.
Who the hell wants to be your apprentice, you old fart, his mind screamed.
Then it happened.
The metallic roofing above them let out a long, tortured groan.
And finally—
It tore apart.
Steel, concrete, and nightmare flesh crashed down together, drowning the bunker in debris and darkness.
And with it came hell.
A chorus of broken songs.