The First Echo.
A cart running through the forest. The cart creaked as it rolled across the dirt path, chains rattling with every bump. The air was thick with the smell of iron and dust, and soldiers in dark armour marched alongside. Inside the cart sat Kaelira, wrists bound, her eyes sharp with unspoken fury. Across from her, Edward leaned lazily against the wooden boards, as if he were on some casual ride instead of being dragged to execution.
Kaelira's glare cut through the silence.
Kaelira coldly: "This is all your fault, Edward."
Edward blinked, feigning innocence.
Edward: "What? Mine? I didn't do anything!"
Kaelira's eyes narrowed even further.
Edward raised his hands slightly, sighing: "Okay, okay… maybe it's kind of my fault. But come on, who's counting? Besides…"
His tone carried that infuriating edge of humour, as though death itself was a minor inconvenience. Kaelira bit back a reply, turning her thoughts instead toward escape—her mind already calculating, searching for any opening.
Edward leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to sound both careless and oddly reassuring.
Edward: "Don't worry. I believe we won't die today."
The cart rattled on, filled with tension and chains.
Far away, a dim light glowed inside a dressing room. The air was heavy with velvet curtains and the faint scent of polished wood. A single mirror stood before a figure in a black coat. His face was half-hidden by a simple mask, the kind worn before stepping onto a stage. Alan West.
Alan adjusted the collar of his coat, his hands trembling—not with fear, but with the weight of something unspoken. On the chair beside him rested a violin, its wood gleaming under the soft light, a silver bow laid neatly across it like a blade waiting to be drawn. Beside it, a silver dagger gleamed like a shard of moonlight.
Alan picked up the dagger first. He held it before his masked face, staring into the reflection of his own eyes.
_ "Life… It's a strange rhythm. People are born, they chase dreams, they suffer, they love, they break… and in the end, they vanish, leaving only fragments behind. I've seen faces twisted by hope, others crushed by despair."
His grip on the dagger tightened.
"I've watched laughter bloom in the same breath as sorrow. Perhaps that is the essence of being human… to walk blindly between light and shadow. But where do I stand in all of this? Am I just another fleeting life… or something that doesn't belong to either side?"
The reflection seemed to look back at him, questioning. Slowly, Alan set the blade down and picked up the violin instead.
A knock came at the door.
"Hey, are you ready? The show's about to begin."
Alan looked down at the violin, then at his own reflection in the mirror—his masked face unreadable, the dagger of his thoughts hidden beneath. He lifted the bow, holding it like a weapon cloaked in elegance.
Alan "Yeah… I'm ready."
The torchlight wavered across the mirror, as though the world itself was waiting for his first note.