The sky had not been meant to sound like this.
Aerin stood at the edge of the shattered terrace, the wind tugging at his cloak as if it wanted to pull him into the abyss below. Above him, the stars shimmered—too bright, too close—vibrating with a low, resonant hum that thrummed through his bones. It was the same sound he had heard in his dreams since the night his mark awakened. An echo. A calling.
Behind him, the others waited.
Lyra leaned against a broken pillar, arms crossed, silver eyes narrowed as she watched the sky like it might blink back. Kael crouched near the stairwell, fingers resting on the hilt of his blade, every muscle coiled and ready. Old Master Veyrin sat on the cold stone with infuriating calm, staff laid across his knees, as though the world was not on the brink of tearing itself open.
"It's louder," Aerin said quietly.
Veyrin nodded. "Because you are closer."
"Closer to what?" Kael snapped. "You've been saying that since dawn."
The old man's gaze lifted to the stars. "To the truth beneath them."
The terrace lay at the highest point of the Skyfall Ruins, a place abandoned long before the kingdoms learned to fear the heavens. Stone arches curved upward like the ribs of some ancient beast, fractured and blackened as if struck by lightning again and again. According to Veyrin, this was where the Starborn of the First Age had listened to the sky—and where the sky had answered.
Aerin swallowed. The mark on his chest burned, faint lines of light pressing against his skin as if trying to escape. He clenched his fist, focusing on his breath the way Veyrin had taught him.
In. Out.
The hum sharpened.
The stars shifted.
Lyra straightened. "They're moving."
She was right. The constellations twisted, lines bending into unfamiliar shapes. One star flared brighter than the rest, its light spearing downward like a blade. The air cracked.
Aerin gasped as the world seemed to tilt.
The terrace vanished.
He stood in darkness—vast, endless—until a single point of light bloomed before him. It expanded, forming a mirror-like surface that reflected not his face, but countless others: men and women marked like him, eyes blazing with starlight, standing on battlefields, atop towers, beneath falling skies.
A voice spoke, not aloud, but inside his chest.
Bearer of the Echo.
Aerin staggered. "Who are you?"
We are what remains.
Images flooded him—cities lifted into the air by radiant power, oceans split by light, and then fire. Betrayal. Screams. The stars burning red as they were torn from their paths.
The First Age fell because we listened without restraint.
Aerin clenched his teeth. "Then why call to me?"
The light dimmed, as if considering.
Because the sky is breaking again.
The darkness trembled. Cracks of light spread like fractures in glass.
And this time, there are too few of us left to stop it.
Suddenly, pain tore through Aerin's chest. He cried out, dropping to one knee as the mark flared white-hot. Power surged—not wild, but heavy, ancient, pressing a weight of responsibility onto his spine.
You will choose, the voice said. As all Starborn must.
The vision shattered.
Aerin collapsed onto the stone, coughing, the taste of iron in his mouth. Strong hands caught his shoulders—Lyra's, he realized distantly.
"You vanished," she said, her voice tight. "Just—blinked out."
Kael scanned the sky, blade half-drawn. "And the stars went mad while you were gone."
Aerin forced himself upright. The hum was quieter now, but it hadn't vanished. If anything, it felt… settled. Waiting.
Veyrin studied him closely. "What did you see?"
Aerin looked up at the heavens, at the one star still burning brighter than the rest.
"The First Age didn't end by accident," he said. "And whatever's coming next…"
He exhaled slowly.
"It's already started."
Far above them, unseen by mortal eyes, something ancient shifted its gaze—and the echo beneath the sky answered back.