The journey to the Ruins of Oras was not just a passage through distance — it was a crossing between worlds. Jack, Lena, and Veyne left the relative safety of the Outpost behind, heading deeper into the wasteland where few dared to tread. The air grew thicker the further they marched, the Mist no longer a scattered veil but a living, breathing presence that slithered along the ground, curling around their legs like curious fingers.
Veyne walked ahead, his cloak dragging through the dust, his silver eyes scanning the horizon without pause.
> "Oras was once the crown of civilization," Veyne said, his voice muffled by the cloth wrapped around his mouth. "The first city to touch the sky with towers of steel and glass. When the Mist came, it didn't just kill the city... it merged with it."
Jack frowned, stepping carefully over a half-buried skeleton.
> "What do you mean merged?"
> "You'll see," Veyne said. "Oras is alive. In a way."
The ground itself began to change — soil giving way to broken asphalt and shattered highways, vehicles fused into grotesque sculptures of twisted metal and bone-like growths. The sky above grew darker, not from clouds, but from a dense layer of Mist hovering like a false ceiling.
As they moved, Jack's senses sharpened. The Echo stirred within him, resonating faintly with the environment, as if calling out to something unseen.
> "This place remembers," the Echo whispered. "The dead do not rest here."
Soon, the ruins of Oras rose before them — a sprawling cityscape of collapsed skyscrapers, crumbled bridges, and avenues choked with debris. But it wasn't just destruction. The buildings breathed, their surfaces pulsing with slow, rhythmic contractions like lungs inhaling and exhaling Mist.
Lena shuddered.
> "It's like the whole city's alive..."
Veyne nodded.
> "It is. The Mist didn't just consume Oras. It rewrote it. The city is a living monument to what the Echo can do when left unchecked."
Jack felt the Echo inside him pulse harder, almost in excitement.
> "We are home," it whispered.
They ventured deeper, navigating collapsed streets where shadows moved even when no one stood to cast them. Occasionally, ghostly figures flickered in the corners of their vision — memories of the dead replaying their last moments, trapped in endless loops of fear and confusion.
In a wide plaza, they encountered the first true danger.
Figures emerged from the fog — not Mist-Touched, but Mist Phantoms, semi-transparent echoes of the people who once lived in Oras. They walked aimlessly, murmuring to themselves, their faces contorted in sorrow or rage. But when they caught sight of Jack, their expressions changed — eyes glowing faint red, voices uniting into a chorus.
> "You carry it. The burden. The key."
Jack froze as the Phantoms surged toward him.
> "They see the Echo," Veyne said urgently. "You have to control it or they'll consume your mind!"
Jack closed his eyes, centering himself. He felt the Echo within, trying to respond to the Phantoms, to connect. But Jack forced his will around it, wrapping it in layers of his consciousness, asserting his identity.
> "I'm Jack," he whispered. "Not your kin. Not your tool."
The Echo pulsed, then retreated slightly — compliant, for now.
The Phantoms slowed, their forms shimmering uncertainly before dissolving back into mist.
Lena let out a breath.
> "That was... terrifying."
Veyne smiled faintly.
> "You're learning. Control is everything, Jack. If you lose yourself here, the city will own you."
They pressed on, finally reaching the heart of Oras — the central spire, still standing despite its cracked surface and half-collapsed upper floors. Veyne led them inside, where the air was thicker, and the walls pulsed with veins of glowing red mist.
At the core of the spire lay a chamber — vast, circular, with a platform at its center surrounded by floating shards of broken glass, each fragment reflecting not their faces, but memories.
Veyne stepped onto the platform.
> "This is where it began," he said. "The first pulse of the Mist. The first contact."
Jack stared at the fragments, catching glimpses of another world — alien landscapes, towering obelisks under black skies, and shapes that defied understanding.
> "What is this?"
> "A bridge," Veyne answered. "Oras was the first city to receive the Mist's signal directly. What you see are the origin memories of the Mist — echoes of the world it came from."
Lena stepped back, unnerved.
> "And what do we do here?"
Veyne turned to Jack.
> "You connect with it. Touch the memories. But be warned — if you let them in too deep, you might never come back."
Jack stepped forward, his heart pounding. The Echo within him was restless, eager, hungry.
> "We will remember," it whispered.
"We will return."
With a deep breath, Jack reached out — his hand brushing against one of the shards.
Instantly, his mind was dragged elsewhere.
The Vision
Jack stood on an alien world, its sky a deep crimson, with twin suns hanging like watchful eyes. Towering structures of impossible geometry stretched into the heavens, and figures moved among them — tall, elegant, but faceless, their forms shifting like liquid shadow.
They spoke without words — transmitting thought through vibration and light.
Jack saw them discovering a breach in reality — a rip that led to Earth. And through that breach, they sent the Mist — not as an invasion, but as a seed, a way to prepare Earth for their coming.
> "We will awaken. Through the Echo. Through the Host."
Then the vision twisted — Jack saw the Citadel, their scientists studying the breach, their experiments with the Echo, their attempts to replicate the Mist's effects artificially.
And then... the First Host — a figure clad in black, with eyes like dying stars — standing between worlds, watching everything unfold.
Jack gasped and pulled his hand back, collapsing to his knees.
> "What... what was that?"
Veyne knelt beside him.
> "You saw them. The ones who sent the Mist."
Jack nodded, trembling.
> "They're coming. They're not done."
Veyne's expression was grim.
> "And unless you master the Echo fully, Jack... you'll either be their herald — or their first sacrifice."