"When the first titan fell, the world did not celebrate. The world lost something."
Waves crashed against the cliffs beneath the blackened sky; the wind whistled, scattering ashes along the shore.
His heart beat for the first time. His forearms flexed; he felt sand—very fine, very soft. The sensation was pleasant. But this was not sand. It was ash.
Instinct lifted him up, emerging from beneath the ashes and among corpses. Men, women, and beasts. Thousands of them.
Kneeling, he felt the cold breeze against his skin. He looked at the valley around him: a restless sea, gray beneath rain-heavy clouds, the remains of a battle that had ended long ago. The flames had died out days before, and the banners were already torn and broken.
The sound of water made him turn his head. A tentacled monster swam past in a strange, twisting motion. It was immense—but only passing through.
'I need to get out of here,' he thought.
He stood up, his pale skin coated in ash and sand. Naked, with no memory of how he had arrived there—yet fully aware of how to walk. The concept of danger was already rooted in his mind.
He walked away from the sea, following a path of bodies. Small, scrawny quadrupeds with torn hides that exposed patches of raw flesh were feeding on the dead, scattering as they noticed the one who had just lived.
Some curious creatures approached him—pointed heads, beaks nearly two feet long, eyes no bigger than seeds. But when they failed to smell the rotting flesh they loved so much, they ignored him.
'I need to get out of here,' he thought again. 'Toward beauty. Light is beautiful. I'm curious.'
His only instinct was the need to walk for miles, toward where the clouds turned white and the sky cleared.
By dusk, his eyes lingered on the orange sky, birds flying in the distance. He gazed upward and said:
"What a beautiful place… Are there more places like this? I want to see them."
The neigh of a horse drew his attention to the right. It was pulling a cart with two figures seated atop it, both wearing white hooded tunics.
He turned to face them. He felt intrigue—and uncertainty—but above all, a desire to know.
Before they could fully approach, a beast burst from the brush with a roar. Saliva dripped from its fangs as it clamped down on the naked young man's left shoulder.
Blood spilled as he screamed in pain, lifted two meters off the ground. The beast shook its head violently, tearing into his flesh.
Adrenaline surged. Instinct awakened.
Gritting his teeth, the young man clawed his right hand into the creature's eye.
Its jaw snapped open, and he fell to the ground. He rose quickly, grabbing the beast's head—armless, supported only by two hind legs—and squeezed, trying to snap its neck.
His shoulder burned, his groans raw and audible. He roared in rage, forcing strength into his grip—but it wasn't enough to kill it, only to stop it from moving.
"Keep it steady!" shouted a man's voice, holding a pump-action shotgun.
Two shots to the torso of the one-meter-tall beast were enough to make it lose balance, allowing the young man to twist and break its neck.
The creature shrieked and convulsed for a few seconds before going still. The young man stood there, breathing hard, staring at it. He looked down at his hands—coated in ash and blood—and felt a chill run down his spine.
'What did I just do? Did I…?'
"Aren," said a female voice.
"Yeah. I know."
The adult named Aren chambered a round and lowered the shotgun.
"You—you were born recently, right? You're an Echo."
"Hm? An Echo?" the young man asked.
"Definitely," the woman said, standing up on the cart. "One born from ashes. Should we take him with us, or avoid getting involved?"
Aren studied her for a moment, then looked at the young man.
"Do you have somewhere to go? Someone waiting for you?"
The young man shook his head. A sharp stab of pain in his shoulder made him hiss. Blood smeared across his fingers as it dripped.
'What is this?' he thought.
"We'll help treat your wound. After that, you're on your own. You can climb up."
Sensing no hostility, the young man obeyed. He climbed in from the side and entered the back of the cart. As they began moving, he looked once more at the evening sky.
The woman, who had been watching him discreetly, whispered:
"It doesn't look like he feels much pain from that wound."
"They're tougher than we are. I just hope he's not a rogue," Aren replied, sitting beside her.
"No lab lets their creations wander off naked. He definitely emerged recently," she sighed, leaning back against the wood. "Well, at least our boring day turned interesting."
Night fell as they arrived at a village lit by a handful of lampposts. The sign at the entrance read: Ahklar Village. Beneath it, in smaller letters: Stay away from the mountains at night—unless you're an Echo.
"Aren, Nashira, you really shouldn't be coming back after dark," said the guard, his bronze skin weathered and unkempt.
He looked about forty, wore a hat, and carried a hunting rifle over his shoulder. Nashira replied from the cart:
"Our shipment was delayed by a landslide. We waited four hours."
"Yener, could you let Liani know we're bringing an injured person to her clinic? We ran into a foreigner, so we'll take him there."
"Sure. We'll meet later at the warehouse."
The village streets were dirt and mud. The houses and shops were wooden and cramped. Some people were decently dressed, but many others—adults and children alike—lay drunk or half-naked in alleys and streets.
The village smelled mostly of urine and alcohol. Turning right down the main road, they passed a woman squatting in the middle of the street, relieving herself without a care. Aren glanced at Nashira and shook his head.
Inside the clinic—just as run-down outside as the rest of the village—the interior had dull gray tile floors and decent lighting. It was large enough to hold four rooms with eight beds each.
The young man was taken to an empty one. When Liani arrived and saw him naked, she froze mid-step and blurted out:
"Wow."
"Don't fall in love with your patient," Nashira said.
"Oh—no! I'm so sorry!" Liani turned away. "That was involuntary, I swear. I deeply apologize for my rudeness. H-here are clean clothes—and I brought a gown for him to wear while I treat his wounds."
Nashira stepped forward and took the gown from her. During that, the young man looked at Aren and asked:
"What am I doing here?"
"We brought you to treat your injuries."
"No… What am I doing here?"
"I think he means his existence," Nashira said, stepping in front of him. "Stand up for a moment—I'll help you cover up."
As the young man obeyed, Aren answered:
"You're an Echo. Born from ashes somewhere. An anomaly. A mistake. Modern history classifies you as something between human and monster. You're not the only one—there are millions like you. Born without purpose, without a reason to exist. You're cursed by the goddess—"
"Aren."
Nashira's serious gaze said everything.
She always corrected him when he crossed the line. Aren sighed and relaxed his posture. Nashira turned back to the young man, her tone gentler.
"There. Feels better not being exposed all the time, right?"
The young man looked up at Nashira, barely thirty-five centimeters away. She studied his calm expression, almost innocent. His irises were emerald green—and he had no pupils.
"You have very beautiful eyes," she said. Then she tilted her head slightly. "Do you have a name?"
"A name?"
"Yes. Something we can call you."
She straightened and pulled back her hood, revealing a grown woman with pale skin, straight black hair with bangs, and green eyes.
"My name is Nashira. And his is Aren. Do you have something we can call you?"
"Nashira, we won't be with him long," Aren muttered. "His name doesn't matter."
"Don't be bitter. We don't often meet a newborn Echo."
The clatter of a metal cart rolled into the room, followed by two nurses. It carried everything needed to treat the young man's wound.
"I'm back," Liani said. "If you don't mind, could you wait outside? I'll join you as soon as we're done."