The underground space of the Temple of Mount had not yet had a chance to breathe again. The cracks that opened from the Proto-Speech pillars now spread to the walls and floor. A faint whisper filled the air, as if the sound came from something breathing but without lungs. The light of the roots glowed like small waves on the surface of water, creating a subtle distortion of reality. In the darkness, a faint shadow trembled, watching from an unseen vantage point, as if waiting for the right moment to step forward.
Fitran touched the wound on the pillar, which now opened like split skin. Small roots growing from the gap emitted a soft sound — like a chant in Proto-Speech, but played backward. In her ears, the echo of that sound formed unspoken phrases, swirling and twisting as if reminding her of something forgotten, erasing the boundaries between time and space.
Rinoa, standing nearby, squinted. Cold sweat trickled down her temples, signaling the rising tension.
"That sound..." she murmured. "It doesn't belong to us." As she uttered those words, a subtle tremor shook the foundation of the space, as if the sound traveled from the walls to their bodies.
And as she spoke that word — the air stopped. The silence felt rigid, as if time was facing a battle between presence and absence.
The ceiling of the underground space turned black. Not dark due to the loss of light, but because something was coming from outside the laws of light. Thick fog descended like a theater curtain, enveloping the two of them, and from within that fog, the first creature emerged. Before the creature was fully visible, a piercing cold penetrated their skin, making the entire room feel alive with anxiety. Every heartbeat seemed to echo clearly, blending with the impact sounds of the creature as it moved. Perhaps it was the creature that filled the emptiness they had felt all along.
It stood about twice the height of an ordinary human. It had no head. Its body was not flesh, but cracked crystal and mist that moved like frozen smoke. From its chest, a dark purple light glowed — the light pulsed in a certain rhythm, as if following the vibrations of the shattered Proto-Speech. In the thick fog, anxiety intensified, as if the wind carried unheard whispers from another dimension.
The creature stepped forward. Yet its steps were silent, as if time itself refused to acknowledge its existence. Each step seemed to create vibrations in the air, making Rinoa's hair stand on end. Between them, the atmosphere increasingly emphasized that something unnatural was approaching.
Rinoa took a step back. "What is that...?"
Fitran replied, his voice low and firm, "Echoes." In his voice, there was tension, as if he knew that the presence of these creatures was not merely a coincidence. "They are sounds trapped in the passage of time."
The creature now stood upright, and around it, three other creatures followed, all in similar forms: mist and crystal, without eyes, without sound. But from within their bodies came echoes that twisted tongues and meanings — voices of the past repeated in low and distorted tones. Rinoa felt trapped in a flow of energy that surged from these creatures, stirring up memories and doubts stored in the corners of her mind.
"Magic does not belong to you."
"The will is not to be passed down."
"We are the commands that were rejected."
With each word spoken, it was as if those voices etched deep tracks in the reality of Rinoa and Fitran. In the darkness, fear began to mix with a profound curiosity — were they facing the regrets of the past that gnawed at their existence in the present? When was the last time the wheel of time moved in the right direction? Those questions spun in their minds like shadows that would not fade.
Echoes are the manifestation of the first betrayal in the Genesis Era. When the creators of magic rejected the will of the world and claimed meaning for themselves. Now, these creatures returned, not to destroy, but to erase — meaning, names, and the existence of anyone who touched the wounds of the world. In the air, the atmosphere felt heavy, like fog containing thousands of whispers, creating a frightening and mysterious ambiance. Those present could feel a shift in reality, as if time paused for a moment, and everything that might have been forgotten was now remembered clearly.
Fitran stepped forward. Without speaking, he raised his right hand. A magic circle did not appear beneath him — but his shadow split into three, and from each of those bodies, spells emerged:
"Listen to the cries from the depths that have been forgotten," Fitran whispered, his voice blending with the echoes, as if coming from many voices at once. "Embrace the darkness that comes in the light."
Corpus Memoratum: Muram Interitus — a destructive magic that utilizes sad memories as explosive energy.
Corpus Memoratum: Vox Vulneris — the magic of the voice of wounds, creating echoes from old suffering that can penetrate the fog of reality.
Corpus Memoratum: Lux Nullum — light from an unnamed source, to illuminate the creatures that reject light.
The three spells were released simultaneously. In the silence before the explosion, it felt as if time had stopped, the wind whispered, conveying the fear that enveloped the atmosphere. The branches of the surrounding trees trembled, as if they too felt the surge of energy ready to explode. A silent explosion spread. The crystals from the bodies of the Echoes vibrated violently. One of them shattered — but did not scream. It simply exploded into particles of lost meaning, and the world became colder afterward.
A dark shadow passed among the flying particles, carrying a faint aroma of nostalgia; buried memories awakened for a moment before vanishing. However, the other two moved in a non-linear pattern. Their movements did not follow time, as if they were jumping from second to second randomly. In an instant, one of the Echoes appeared behind Rinoa and touched her back, and at that moment, the entire room was filled with unspoken sounds, sounds that stirred up deep feelings of loss.
Suddenly, Rinoa screamed. Her hands clutched her chest, and from within her mind, one memory vanished — her mother's name, Iris. She felt the intertwining of memories embrace her for a moment, only to then slip away, adding to the painful emptiness. "Mother..." she whispered. "Her name... what is it?" The voice touched the emptiness around her, as if her question transcended the limitations of time.
Fitran saw her and his murk exploded. The silence around them felt like air that had stopped, and dark energy began to flow between them. He opened a high-level spell, not from the Corpus, but from the Memoriorum Primordialis — an ancient magic that even Beelzebub himself only used in the eighth belly. An ancient energy, transcending living beings, began to take form, breaking the reality around them.
"Verba Nihili: Oblivionem Reverti." The Spell of Returning Meaning from Emptiness.
An ancient spiral symbol appeared in the air. It attached to the bodies of the Echoes and shrank them into dots — turning them back into unspoken words. However, the faint sounds of the lost memories continued to resonate, vibrating in the layers of reality, creating unexpected tension, awakening a deeper curiosity.
Yet one Echo remained, the largest, unaffected. A silent scream danced in the surrounding space, as if time slowed before this creature. Mysterious energy enveloped the Echoes, and the light of the symbol shining on its chest illuminated the darkness. This creature bore a Proto-Speech symbol glowing on its chest:
ꦱꦺꦴꦒꦺꦴꦤ ꦲꦤꦏ꧀ꦱ — Sogena Hanaks ("He who stands from the void.")
Hanaks did not speak. Yet the silent screams of thousands of voices in the void echoed in Rinoa's ears, painting a picture of the absence of presence. But the world spoke through him. The air around them began to transform into melting codes, as if reality was being re-rendered before their eyes. Every detail felt alive, as if every molecule in the air was trying to tell a story that had been buried before.
Fitran stood still. His breath was uneven, and his heart raced as he felt the pressure from Hanaks' presence. Magic could not be used against this creature, for it did not move based on meaning. It was the residue of the world when magic was first rejected, and every fiber of its being resisted the presence of that emptiness.
"Rinoa..." Fitran whispered, his voice affected by the energy fluctuations from the others. "You must sing the song of the world's wounds. One note."
Rinoa shook her head, her breath short. "I forgot... I forgot the song. It erased it... It erased my mother's name..." Confusion and deep fear enveloped her heart, as if every word was taken from her.
Hanaks moved forward, his movements filled with a terrifying calm. As if setting the tempo in Rinoa's heart palpitations. From the ground, roots began to writhe, pushing upward with uncertainty, as if wanting to embrace every part of the soul that had been lost.
The Proto-Speech pillars creaked, their resonance making Rinoa's teeth rattle. The stones above them cracked, and the light from Sheena's tomb began to glow. That light resembled the whisper of wind long imprisoned, releasing many memories that had been buried in darkness. A strong spirit began to rise, and the wind whispered softly, carrying the sweet and bitter aroma of the past.
Rinoa, despite her panic, began to hear something within herself. Not an outside voice. Not a memory. But a rhythm — a rhythm she had once heard when her mother sang to her as a child. She did not know the lyrics. But she knew the melody.
She sang three notes.
The first note: for the past that was left behind.
The second note: for the wounds that could not heal.
The third note: for the name that was lost.
And the world trembled.
Hanaks stopped. The symbol on his chest changed. His Proto-Speech melted into a question mark. He could not understand the song — because the song did not contain dominance, but rather acknowledgment.
As the song flowed, the air around them began to vibrate, creating an effect as if a magical wave radiated from Rinoa. Faint shadows floated between them, like memories that could not be erased, interacting with the rhythm created.
Hanaks turned to Fitran. And for the first time... he knelt.
"What is this?!" Fitran exclaimed, his brows furrowing as he witnessed the change occurring in Hanaks. "What are you doing?"
Rinoa's voice began to fill the space, her singing calling and weaving an unexpected power, with each note sung, creating threads of light that connected them to something greater. Her feelings overflowed, as if she felt the pulse of the heart of the world itself, an Echo drawing from afar.
The other Echoes shattered, returning to particles of language. Hanaks vanished in a reverse spiral, as if being returned to his original dimension. Around him, dark shadows danced, swirling in a rhythm reminiscent of a disappearing heartbeat.
The cracks in the floor began to merge. But not disappear. A dim light sparkled in the crevices of the cracks, as if offering fragile hope, but not entirely surrendering to the darkness. The sound of trickling water began to be heard, as if nature was trying to speak, even though the sound was distorted like a distant echo.
Rinoa fell silent, her body trembling. When those faint sounds reached her ears, she felt as if she were surrounded by spirits calling her name, invoking memories buried deep within her soul.
"I almost... lost everything," she whispered. The voice felt like a cold wind, touching her bones and giving a profound sense of the loss that existed.
Fitran approached and gently touched her forehead. His touch provided warmth, contrasting with the oppressive atmosphere around them.
"You have regained something more important," he said. "A voice that can conquer silence." That voice was indeed magical, like a melody created from lost memories, and in every word, there was an unexpected power.
And from behind the protruding roots... red light emerged. A new passage opened. And a soft voice was heard from within: Behind that light, something greater and more mysterious awaited, waiting to be revealed to those who dared to explore the depths of their souls.
"If you wish to know about the first wound, you must return to the place when the world had no meaning."