Echo's body was still sparking, aura rippling around his limbs like a pulse of angry thunder. His expression was blank, eerily detached. His lips parted, but no words came—only the faint hum of static dancing on the back of his tongue.
Eun Hae's hand lingered on his shoulder, her nails curling slightly as her smirk deepened. "Go on, darling," she murmured. "Let them feel your music."
The command clicked somewhere deep in Echo's bones.
A sharp, shrill crack of compressed air burst beneath his boots. The tiles shattered. He launched forward like a thunderbolt fired from a railgun—blurred, bent around edges of space, a living missile hurtling toward Kang Hyun.
Hyun's eyes didn't widen. Didn't twitch.
He simply sighed.
"Sorry about this..." he muttered, already lowering his stance.
His bow didn't move. But his fingers twitched.
The arrows came—not from his fingers, but from every joint in his body.
