Ashar's heart still raced as he staggered into the shelter of an old, abandoned warehouse. The structure loomed over him, its skeletal frame casting jagged shadows across the cracked pavement. Rusted metal doors creaked as he pushed them open, stepping into the darkness within.

The city had never felt so dangerous. Every sound seemed magnified, echoing in his mind, reminding him of how close he had come to being caught. Ashar leaned against a wooden beam, his breath ragged, trying to steady himself.

He couldn't forget the way the shadows had answered his command—or how raw and untamed that power felt. The memory of it left a lingering unease, but also an undeniable thrill.

"Okay," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes and willing his breathing to slow.

"I need to think."

His mark still burned faintly, the energy within it restless. Ashar rubbed his forearm, his fingers tracing the complex lines of the tattoo-like symbol. It felt like a part of him now, an echo of something ancient and powerful. But it also felt like a burden, one he barely understood.

He had to learn what the Echo meant, and soon. The cloaked figures who had chased him wouldn't stop until they found him. And now, he knew there were people—or things—who were aware of the mark and its power.

As he pondered his next move, a sound interrupted his thoughts. The creak of a loose floorboard. Ashar's eyes snapped open, and he spun around, his pulse quickening. His vision adjusted to the dim light filtering through broken windows, casting pale beams across the dusty interior.

"Who's there?"

He called out, his voice steadier than he felt.

Silence. For a moment, he thought he'd imagined it. Then a figure stepped into the weak light, and Ashar's breath caught in his throat.

It was a girl, around his age. She wore a simple, tattered cloak over a fitted tunic and leggings, her boots scuffed from constant use. Her silver-blonde hair fell in wild waves around her face, and her blue eyes glinted with wary curiosity. She carried a dagger in one hand, the blade glinting coldly.

Ashar didn't move. He had no idea if she was friend or foe, but the look in her eyes suggested she wasn't just a random bystander.

"Nice trick back there," she said, her voice smooth and measured.

"Controlling shadows like that. Care to explain how you did it?"

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Ashar clenched his fists, his muscles tensing.

"Who are you?"

The girl didn't answer right away. She took a step closer, and Ashar instinctively backed away, his mind racing. If she was aligned with the people chasing him, he had no way to defend himself, not properly.

"I'm called Elara,"

She said finally, lowering her dagger slightly. Her gaze softened, but only a fraction.

"And I'm not here to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about. I'm just... curious."

Ashar studied her carefully. Her demeanor was guarded, but her stance lacked the predatory precision of the cloaked hunters. Still, he couldn't afford to trust anyone too quickly.

"You didn't answer my question,"

Ashar said.

"How did you find me?"

Elara tilted her head, a faint smirk touching her lips. "You practically lit up the city with that display of power. Anyone with a sense for magic could feel it."

Ashar swallowed hard.

"So, you're... one of them? The hunters?"

Her eyes flashed with something akin to amusement.

"Them? No. But I know who you're talking about. If they were here, you'd be dead or worse by now."

That wasn't reassuring, but it did make Ashar relax, if only a little. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. "Then why are you here?"

Elara sheathed her dagger, the blade vanishing beneath her cloak.

"Because people like us need to stick together. And if you've been marked by the Echo, you're in more trouble than you realize."

Ashar frowned, the weight of her words settling in his chest.

"People like us?"

She nodded.

"Awakened. Those touched by the Echo and tied to the Veil." Her gaze darkened. "The power you have—it's both a gift and a curse. And if you don't learn to control it, the Echo will consume you."

Ashar wanted to deny it, to push away the reality that had invaded his life so suddenly. But the pain in his arm, the power he had felt, and the terror of being hunted were all too real.

"How do you know all this?"

He asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Elara's expression turned grim.

"Because I've seen what happens when people lose control. And because I've been running from them—those hunters—for a long time."

The warehouse seemed to close in around Ashar, the shadows pressing closer. A thousand questions clawed at his mind, but he didn't know where to start. Why him? What had marked him as different?

Before he could speak again, Elara's head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. She motioned for him to be silent, and Ashar's stomach twisted. He knew that look—the look of someone sensing danger.

A faint rumble vibrated through the floor. The warehouse creaked, its old beams groaning under the strain of a sudden pressure. Ashar could feel it too, an oppressive energy that made the hair on his neck stand up.

"They're coming,"

Elara whispered, her hand reaching for her dagger once more.

"We need to move. Now."

Ashar's fear ignited into urgency. He didn't know where they were going, but staying put was no longer an option. He nodded, and Elara grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward a side exit.

They burst into the night, the cool air stinging Ashar's face. Elara led him through a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The pressure of the pursuing energy pressed at their backs, relentless and cold.

Ashar had no idea what awaited them or how he was supposed to survive in a world that suddenly felt so much darker and more dangerous. But he knew one thing for sure.

The shadows were no longer just a part of the night, they were part of him, and his fight for survival had only just begun.