Chapter 1 – Flicker
Hirasaka never slept.
It only flickered.
Neon signs buzzed like dying insects, their colours bleeding across rain‑soaked pavement. The city’s heartbeat pulsed through the alleyways—sirens, distant shouting, the hum of electric rails—but beneath it all was something quieter. Something only she could hear.
A whisper.
“Kyou…ka…”
She didn’t turn. She never did. The Echo clung to her shadow like a second silhouette, small and trembling, its hollow eyes glowing faintly in the dark. It tugged at the hem of her coat with a hand that wasn’t really a hand.
She kept walking.
Her boots splashed through shallow puddles, each step measured, controlled. She moved like someone who had memorized the city’s rhythm and refused to let it touch her.
The Echo whispered again—Mika’s voice, but wrong.
Stretched.
Frayed.
As if pulled through static.
“Kyouka… don’t…”
She stopped.
Not because of the Echo.
Because the streetlight above her head flickered twice—once, twice, then died.
A curse was nearby.
She exhaled slowly, letting the cold air settle in her lungs. Her breath didn’t shake. It never did. She had trained herself out of that.
A distorted shape crawled out from behind a vending machine. Its limbs bent at angles that defied anatomy, its body a mass of writhing shadows. An Echo‑spawn—born from someone else’s grief, someone else’s wound.
It screeched, a sound like metal tearing.
Kyouka didn’t flinch.
The Echo behind her shifted, its small form trembling violently. Its eyes widened, glowing brighter, reacting to the threat.
“Stay back,” she murmured.
Not to the monster.
To the Echo.
But it didn’t listen. It never did.
The creature lunged.
Kyouka moved with surgical precision—sidestepping, pivoting, her coat slicing through the air. She raised her hand, and the Echo surged forward, its shadow stretching, twisting, forming tendrils that lashed out with impossible speed.
The Echo struck the creature, slamming it into the pavement hard enough to crack concrete.
The monster shrieked.
The Echo shrieked back.
Kyouka’s jaw tightened.
The resonance was getting stronger.
“Enough,” she said sharply.
The Echo froze.
The creature didn’t.
It lunged again, mouth splitting open into a jagged maw.
Kyouka stepped forward, her voice cold and steady.
“Disappear.”
The Echo obeyed.
Its shadow expanded, swallowing the creature whole. The alley fell silent except for the hum of distant neon.
Kyouka lowered her hand.
The Echo returned to her side, small again, trembling. It tugged at her coat, just like Mika used to when she was scared.
Kyouka didn’t look at it.
She couldn’t.
Instead, she stared at the cracked pavement where the creature had been. The residue of emotional energy shimmered faintly—fear, despair, loneliness. Someone nearby had lost something. Someone nearby was breaking.
Hirasaka was full of people like that.
Full of people like her.
A soft chime echoed from her pocket. She pulled out her phone—an old model, cracked screen, no SIM card. Only one app remained installed.
A message blinked on the display.
Unknown Sender:
“Kyouka. It’s been a while.”
Her blood ran cold.
Another message appeared.
“I’ve been reviewing the data from the incident.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
The Echo whimpered.
A third message.
“Mika’s resonance was extraordinary.”
Kyouka’s vision blurred for a moment—just a moment—before she forced it back into focus.
Her voice came out as a whisper, colder than the rain.
“Moriyama.”
The phone buzzed again.
“Let’s talk.”
The streetlights flickered back to life.
The Echo clung to her leg, trembling violently.
Kyouka closed her eyes.
For the first time in years, she felt something break.
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