Deep beneath the city, far from neon lights and restless crowds, silence reigned. A chamber carved of black stone stretched like a cathedral, lit only by floating shards of crystal that pulsed faintly with violet light.
At the center stood a long table, and around it, shadows gathered. Their faces were hidden beneath masks of obsidian, but their presence weighed on the air like iron. Each one radiated an aura of control—Resonants, shackled and tamed by discipline, bound to the will of a single man.
At the head of the table sat Archon Veyra.
Tall, draped in dark robes, his mask differed from the others—a sculpted visage of silver etched with faint wave patterns. When he spoke, his voice reverberated unnaturally, echoing as though the room itself bowed to him.
"The anomaly is confirmed. A raw Resonant has awakened—unregistered, uncontrolled. He already clashed with one of our hunters… and won."
A murmur rippled through the masked figures. Hunters were trained for years, modified with Resonant grafts. For one to fall against an untrained boy was no small thing.
One figure leaned forward, her mask engraved with sharp lines like broken glass. "Then the rumors were true. A Primordial Echo has awakened."
Veyra's hand tightened on the armrest of his chair. "Rumors are dangerous. We deal in certainty." He raised a finger, and the crystals in the room vibrated faintly. "The boy's power is unstable, but raw. If it matures, it will destabilize everything we have built."
Another voice spoke, cold and precise. "Shall we eliminate him?"
Veyra's silver mask turned slightly, the reflection of the violet crystals dancing across it. "No. Killing him wastes potential. The Order does not discard assets."
He leaned forward. "Capture him. Restrain him. If necessary—break him."
The chamber pulsed once as though the stone itself obeyed his words.
Across the city, Echo stirred awake in a damp basement he had claimed as temporary shelter. His shoulder still burned from the hunter's blade, the wound raw and angry. He pressed a strip of torn cloth against it, grimacing.
The Resonance inside him hummed louder than before. Each throb of pain was mirrored by a vibration in his chest. He could feel it—like a second heartbeat that wasn't entirely his own.
They won't stop coming.
The thought clung to him. He remembered the hunter's words, the precision in their movements. Whoever these people were, they weren't normal.
His mind flickered back to the whispers—the phrase he had overheard before the rooftop fight.
The Order wants him contained.
"The Order…" Echo muttered under his breath, testing the word on his tongue. It felt heavy, like a chain.
A sudden ringing sound pierced the silence. Not from the room—inside his head. His ears buzzed sharply, and then he heard them. Voices. Distant, faint, but clear.
"Unit Three, spread to the east sector. The Resonant is injured."
"Unit Four, cut off the southern exits. Do not allow him into the tunnels."
Echo's eyes widened. He wasn't just overhearing random conversations—he was intercepting their communications. His Resonance had tuned itself to their frequency.
"Damn it," he whispered, stumbling to his feet. He couldn't stay here.
He grabbed his jacket, ignoring the blood soaking through, and forced himself toward the staircase. The voices grew louder, closer, pressing at the edges of his skull.
They're already moving. They're closing in.
He burst through the basement doors into the night air. The city loomed before him—towering neon spires, endless alleys, and shadows waiting to swallow him whole.
But the whispers didn't stop.
They followed.
Back in the chamber, Archon Veyra raised his hand. The crystals above him thrummed in perfect unison, resonating with his will.
"Bring the boy to me," he commanded, his voice rolling through the stone walls like thunder.
The hunters bowed their heads in silent obedience.
The hunt had begun.