(Dylan)

Panicking, Dylan yanked the door open. It hit a stop just shy of striking the skeleton in the face. Dylan dashed outside, the bell clanging wildly as he bolted behind the grav-slab. His breath came in shallow gasps as he peeked over the pile of clothes. “There are things in that shop!” he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger.

Nathan raised an eyebrow, amused. “I see you’ve met one of the lamprians.”

Dylan blinked rapidly, his heart still racing. “There are things in there,” he repeated.

“It’s not polite to call people names.” Nathan smiled, suppressing a laugh. “That’s the shopkeeper, and he’s a lamprian. I was about to warn you about their unusual appearance before you ran off.”

“Unusual?!” Dylan’s voice shot up a few decibels. He narrowed his eyes at Nathan, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper. “Unusual is a large mole, or unibrow, or, or,” he stammered, “cross-eyed. But there are…” He jabbed a finger at the shop. “Walking, talking, naked skeletons in there, Nathan!”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare you. Sounds like you startled him as much as he startled you.”

Dylan shook his head, catching his breath. “So, these lamprians—are they like the draconi and okamijin?”

“More like the draconi,” Nathan explained calmly. “Remember when we talked about the primal and mythical races?”

Dylan nodded, still eyeing the shop nervously as the door creaked open again. A skeleton’s head peeked out, scanning the street. Dylan ducked lower, muttering curses under his breath when he realized he was hiding behind a floating stone slab.

“The lamprians are mythical creatures that need a host to exist. They bond with mortals in a symbiotic union that starts during the host’s lifetime.”

Dylan’s eyes widened in horror as the skeleton stepped out of the shop, walking toward them. “He’s coming!” Dylan hissed.

“While bonded, the lamprian extends the host’s natural lifespan.” Nathan turned, sensing someone approaching behind him.

“Greetings,” the lamprian said to Nathan. Then it peered over the mound of clothes at Dylan, who was avoiding eye-to-eye socket contact at all costs.

‘If I don’t move,’ Dylan thought. ‘He can’t see me… Wait, that’s dinosaurs.’

The lamprian straightened, facing Nathan as he clasped his hands together. “I fear there’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

“That sounds about right.” Nathan gestured toward Dylan. “I was just explaining to my friend here about your people’s unusual appearance.”

The lamprian cocked his head. “He’s never heard of lamprians before?”

“He’s new to our world. Just arrived this week.”

“Ah, that’ll do it,” the lamprian said with a nod. “This sort of thing happens more often than you’d think.”

Nathan scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Please accept my apologies. I’m pretty sure I heard him screaming from out here.”

“It was more of a shriek than a scream. Quite impressive, the pitch he could hit.”

‘I can’t believe I screamed like a little girl,’ Dylan thought. His cheeks reddened as he stared hard at the ground.

“Anyway, I’m Echo von Sinata. But, as with all of my kind, you may simply call me Echo.” Echo extended a skeletal hand.

Nathan shook Echo’s hand politely before introducing them. “Hi, I’m Nathan, and this is Dylan.” Dylan lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave, eyes still glued to the ground.

“I’m curious if there’s anything I can assist you with?” Echo asked. “I assume you came into my shop for a reason before my appearance startled you.” He turned to face Dylan, who was still hiding behind the grav-slab.

Dylan’s shoulders slumped further as he sighed. He felt bad; this skeleton guy was being really nice about everything. With a grunt, he used the grav-slab to help haul himself up. “Sorry about that.” Forcing himself to meet Echo’s gaze, he stared directly at the skull.

Echo chuckled softly, his bones clinking together. “No apology necessary. I know how I appear. It’s rather ghastly.”

Dylan studied the moving skeleton, his eyes flicking between Echo’s bony face and hands, unsure where to look when talking to him. “Are you all skeleton people?”

Echo tilted his head. “No, this is just my host. I’m the entity possessing and holding it all together.”

“So, you’re like a ghost?” Dylan asked, frowning in confusion.

Echo lifted a bony finger, as if correcting a common misunderstanding. “No, I assure you, I am very much alive.” His glance drifted to the muted tones of the clothes on the grav-slab. “I take it these wonderfully crafted, yet criminally under-colorized garments were the purpose of your visit today?”

Dylan’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I mean, just look at these. Can you imagine having to wear the same thing every single day?” He waved his hand toward the slab dramatically.

Echo stared blankly, his bony hands resting on his hips. Nathan winced visibly at Dylan’s words.

Dylan frowned, lowering his gaze. “I feel like that was a poor choice of words on my part.”

“Perhaps a touch insensitive… but true.” Echo gave him a small, understanding nod.

Dylan’s gaze shifted to the ring on Echo’s hand, curiosity sparking. “You wear jewelry.” He pointed toward the band. “Ever thought of changing the color of your ring? Even a minor change can make a difference.”

Echo examined the ring as it rested on his finger, turning it slowly. “No, but now that you mention it, it seems obvious. Given my vocation.”

Dylan smiled, a little proud to have helped. He was slowly adjusting to the oddity of talking to a naked skeleton. “What colors do you have?” he asked, curiosity taking over.

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Echo’s frame vibrated with excitement. “All of them!” He motioned for them to follow, leading the way back to his studio. “Let’s go back to my shop.”

The bell chimed as they entered. Echo opened both doors, locking them in place while Nathan guided the grav-slab through. Inside, the walls were an explosion of color—swatches upon swatches, packed so tightly they seemed to swirl like optical illusions. Dylan’s eyes widened as he took in the overwhelming display.

“Whoa, that’s a lot of colors.” Dylan walked closer to the wall, fingertips brushing over the swatches.

Echo settled behind the counter, hands clasped in front of him, watching them with interest. “I’ve put together color palettes for patrons to choose from. People prefer to see their options rather than creating their own.”

Dylan nodded slowly, still absorbing the sheer number of options. “I can tell you’ve put a lot of work into this.” He stared at the endless cascade of hues.

“I apologize for chasing after you,” Echo said with a soft clatter of bones. “Business has been slow lately, and I thought we got off on the wrong foot.” He waited patiently, his hollow gaze following them as they browsed.

Nathan leaned in closer to examine the wall. “You weren’t joking. You really do have every color.”

“There’s more I can do, too. If you have a scrap with any pigment, hue, or saturation, I can match it. I’ve just run out of wall space to display everything.”

“This is all…” Dylan waved his hand at the wall, eyes sweeping over the colors. “A bit much. I’m having trouble picking.”

“I get that often…” Echo’s voice trailed off, hinting at his disappointment.

Dylan looked up from the wall, finally turning to face the lamprian. “Ever thought about making a book?”

Echo cocked his head in confusion. “A book?” He shook his head at the idea. “I’m not much of a writer—”

“No, not a book of words.” Dylan raised a finger, grinning. “A book of colors…” He let the idea marinate for a moment before continuing. “All of these,” he motioned to the walls, “run into each other. There’s no space between the swatches.”

Echo’s skeletal hand rose to his chin, contemplating. “Put all the swatches in a book?” he asked slowly.

Dylan nodded. “Yeah. Maybe organize them by season, occasion, mood—whatever you think is best. It’d be easier for customers to choose.”

“A book of colors…” Echo repeated and then pointed at Dylan. “That’s brilliant! And when I run out of space, I could just start another book.”

Dylan watched the gears turning in Echo’s head. “And use neutral paper. Gray, maybe? Just not black or white.”

Echo held his elbow in one hand and his chin in the other. “What should I do with all this space?” He motioned around the large room. “I always thought I’d need a large display area.”

Dylan shrugged. “I’d get mannequins and dress them in some of the most popular colors, or your personal favorites. Change them up every so often to keep things fresh.”

“An elegant solution.” Echo seemed lost in thought.

Dylan caught Nathan staring at him. “What?”

“That was… smart.” Nathan seemed surprised.

Dylan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why do I feel like that wasn’t a compliment?”

“It’s just…” Nathan’s lips parted as if to say more, but he stopped himself, glancing at Dylan with a faint smile.

Echo clapped his bony hands together, the sharp sound reminding Dylan of dice rattling across a table. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so inspired. If all you need dyed is on this grav-slab, consider it no charge.”

Dylan smiled, a mix of gratitude and pride welling up inside him. “Thanks.” In that moment, helping Echo felt like the first step toward reclaiming control—like shaking off the weight of helplessness.

“That’s very kind of you,” Nathan added.

Echo had already started taking down some of the color swatches but paused mid-motion. “Sorry, do you need more time with these before I take them all down?”

Dylan shook his head, waving off the overwhelming choices. “Nah, there are still too many options. Do you have any recommendations?”

Echo’s hands moved to his chin thoughtfully. “If I may, I have some ideas that would pair well with your complexion.” He was already gliding toward a section of swatches.

“May away.” Dylan cringed the moment the words slipped out of his mouth.

Echo didn’t seem to notice, his bony fingers plucking out a few swatches with an air of decisiveness. “This will take me a bit. You’re welcome to wait, or you can return tomorrow to pick it up.”

“We’ll wait.” Nathan gave him a nervous smile, not wanting to anger a certain judge.

Echo went to work with meticulous precision, lifting each item from the grav-slab and refolding them with a fluid grace that was oddly elegant for someone without flesh. He carefully arranged them on the counter—complete outfits and half-finished ensembles, all neatly categorized. Dylan watched in fascination as Echo searched around the room, collecting seven different swatches and pairing them with each outfit like a master artist considering his next creation.

“I think these would cover most occasions. Any objections?” Echo’s voice broke the silence.

Dylan felt pampered, like he was in some world class designer’s shop. Barely able to speak, he simply said. “Holy crap, those are great.”

Echo hesitated, glancing down at his translation ring. “Apologies. Does that mean you do or don’t like them?”

Nathan nodded with understanding. “I know it sounds odd, but excrement is a versatile word in his vernacular.”

The lamprian’s skull bobbed once in understanding. “Ah, I see.”

Behind the counter, a metal bucket of water clanged softly as Echo set it down. A few droplets escaped the pail as he placed it next to the neatly folded piles of clothes. He lifted each garment from the pile, laying it out flat, careful to avoid any creases. As he worked, a small brush appeared in his hand, summoned from thin air.

Dylan leaned forward, eyes wide. “Is that magic?”

“Yes.” Echo dipped the brush into the water. As soon as the bristles touched the fabric, the color began to shift. Waves of new hues spread out from each point of contact, rippling across the material like a living canvas. “It’s one of my abilities.”

Dylan watched, utterly mesmerized, as each article of clothing transformed under Echo’s careful strokes. “You’re an adventurer?” His eyes remained glued to the colors blooming across the garments, unable to look away.

Echo spoke calmly as he worked. “Sinata, my host, was.”

“You got to keep their powers?” Dylan asked.

“We get to keep everything—abilities, memories, skills, and, well, the obvious.” Echo paused, raising his bony hand and flexing his fingers for emphasis.

For the next hour, Dylan watched Echo dye his clothes with a mix of water and artistry. Each batch made its way back onto the grav-slab, perfectly folded and vividly colored. The entire process was oddly relaxing, almost like watching a Bob Ross video on YouTube. Yet, a question had been lingering in Dylan’s mind, and he finally gathered the courage to ask it.

“I’ve got to ask, but you don’t have to answer,” Dylan started, shifting on his feet.

Echo looked up. “Alright.”

Dylan hesitated for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Why naked…? Why don’t you wear any clothes?”

Though Echo couldn’t smile, amusement colored his voice. “I am wearing something. Technically, I’m wearing this body. You don’t go around wearing clothes on top of your clothes, do you?”

“Only in the winter. But I think I get your point.”

Echo stepped back to admire his work. “It’s been illuminating meeting the two of you, Dylan and Nathan.”

Dylan stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking sheepish. “Sorry I screamed in your face.”

“You weren’t the first, and probably won’t be the last. However, I appreciate the sentiment.” Echo moved toward the door, his skeletal hand closing around the handle. “May your newly dyed outfits brighten your day. And after I’ve made some changes, I do hope you’ll stop by to see what you’ve inspired.”

The pair said their goodbyes and left the shop. Outside, Nathan gestured to Dylan to push the grav-slab while he guided it from the side.

“That guy must be really old,” Dylan said as he pushed.

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s literally just bones at this point…” Dylan’s voice trailed off. “Honestly, now that I think about it. It’s probably for the best that I didn’t catch him during his zombie phase. I don’t even want to imagine the smell.”

“Zombie?” Nathan’s voice took on an uncomfortable edge. After a pause, he forced a chuckle. “That’s not what happens. Lamprians preserve the body—flesh and all. It’s why hosts have such a long life before they die.”

Dylan wore a confused expression. “Then why does he look like Nudist Skeletor?”

“They strip the flesh from the bones by boiling them,” Nathan explained in a detached tone. “It’s uncomfortable, but tolerable for lamprians. Then the boiled remains are cremated and given to the host’s family for funeral rites.”

“That…” Dylan blinked in disbelief. “Is some intense imagery.” He worked up to his next question. “But why?”

“How would you feel if a friend or family member passed away, but someone was still walking around wearing their face?”

‘That’s pretty fucked up,’ Dylan thought. He shook his head, frowning. “There’s not enough therapy to answer that question.”

Nathan guided the grav-slab around the corner. “That’s why lamprians choose to appear as they do—out of appreciation for their host and courtesy for their family.”