The moon loomed over the city, an ominous, pale disk shrouded by a thin veil of clouds. Ashar stood on the old stone bridge, the wind tugging at his hair. It whispered secrets he couldn't quite understand, stirring the cold mist that drifted over the river below. His hands trembled as he tried to steady himself, his mind still reeling from what had happened earlier.

He rubbed at the mark on his forearm. It was still there, an intricate black pattern twisting around his skin, alive and pulsing faintly. Ashar knew now that he couldn't wash it away. No matter how much he wanted to pretend this was just a nightmare, the Echo's touch was real.

"What do I do now?" he whispered, his voice carried away by the wind.

He glanced around nervously. The city was quieter than usual tonight, and every shadow seemed to watch him. Ashar couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, like the world had shifted imperceptibly, leaving him in a place he didn't quite recognize. The streets felt empty, lifeless, as if the city itself was holding its breath.

A sudden rustling made him turn sharply. A stray cat emerged from the shadows, its eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Ashar exhaled, but his heart still pounded against his ribs.

"Jumping at cats now?" he muttered.

"Get a grip, Ashar."

But deep down, he knew it wasn't just nerves. The mark burned on his skin, and he couldn't help but feel like he was being hunted.

He had to figure out what the Echo meant. The Veil, the voice, the dying world—it all seemed like something out of a dark legend, the kind of story elders told to scare children into staying home after dark. Ashar had heard those tales, but he'd never imagined living in one.

Before he could ponder further, he heard footsteps approaching. They echoed off the cobblestones, slow and measured. Ashar stiffened and backed away, retreating into the shadows of the bridge's archway.

Two figures came into view. They wore dark cloaks that billowed like liquid shadows, hoods pulled low over their faces. They moved with an unsettling grace, and Ashar could feel the air grow heavier with each step they took.

He held his breath, pressing himself against the cold stone of the bridge. Maybe they wouldn't notice him. Maybe they'd pass by, and he could—

"Where is it?" one of them spoke, a woman's voice, soft but commanding. Her words made Ashar's blood run cold.

"The Echo's presence is fresh here," the second figure replied.

"It cannot have gone far."

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Ashar's pulse thundered in his ears. They were looking for the Echo—for him. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest. He wasn't safe. Nowhere was safe.

He dared to inch backward, his movements painfully slow. If he could just slip away quietly—

Suddenly, the first figure tilted her head, as if she'd heard something. Ashar froze, every muscle locked in place.

"Did you hear that?" she asked.

The second figure didn't respond, but he stepped forward, turning in Ashar's direction. A small sphere of light flickered to life in his palm, illuminating the shadows beneath the bridge.

Ashar clenched his teeth, feeling the mark on his arm pulse painfully. The light washed over the place where he was hiding. For a moment, he thought he was exposed, caught—

But then the light wavered, and a soft hiss interrupted the tension. The cat from before had leaped onto the railing, arching its back.

The two figures relaxed slightly. The woman sighed.

"Just a stray."

Ashar used the momentary distraction to bolt. He sprinted from his hiding spot, his feet pounding against the cobblestones. The wind roared in his ears as he rounded a corner, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He didn't know where he was going—only that he had to run.

"Over there!"

A voice shouted behind him.

Ashar cursed under his breath. His legs burned as he pushed himself faster, weaving through the maze-like streets. He couldn't let them catch him. He had no idea who they were, but the way they talked about the Echo told him everything he needed to know: they were dangerous.

Up ahead, the market square loomed, the stalls deserted at this hour. Ashar veered into the open space, but his luck ran out. Another cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, blocking his path. Ashar skidded to a halt, nearly stumbling.

The figure raised a hand, and Ashar felt something invisible slam into his chest. The force sent him sprawling backward, skidding across the cobblestones. His vision blurred, pain searing through his ribs.

He struggled to get up, but the figure was already approaching. The others were closing in, trapping him like a cornered animal. Ashar's mind raced, panic flooding his senses.

"Stay back!" he yelled, though he had no weapon, no plan. He was helpless.

The figure tilted his head, as if amused.

"You don't even know what you are, do you?" he sneered.

"Pathetic."

The mark on Ashar's arm flared to life, and he gasped as a wave of energy coursed through him. The world around him seemed to shift, the edges of reality blurring. Shadows thickened, bending unnaturally, and he felt something inside him stir.

"Don't... come closer,"

He warned, his voice trembling.

But the figure only laughed, stepping forward.

"You can't even control it. What a joke."

Ashar's fear twisted into desperation. He clenched his fist, feeling the mark burn hotter. The shadows around him pulsed, drawn to his panic, and for a brief moment, he felt a connection—an instinct, primal and raw.

The world seemed to hold its breath. Then the shadows lashed out, erupting from the ground like living tendrils. They wrapped around the figure's legs, pulling him down. The man's laughter cut off with a choked gasp as he struggled against the inky restraints.

The other two figures hesitated, taken aback. Ashar didn't wait for them to recover. He turned and ran again, his limbs aching but driven by a newfound will to survive. The shadows that had answered his call faded, leaving no trace behind.

His heart pounded as he ducked into an alleyway, leaning against the wall, gasping for air. What had just happened? How had he done that?

He didn't have time to question it. He knew he had only bought himself a few moments. They'd come for him again, and next time, he might not be so lucky.

Ashar clenched his fist, the mark still pulsing. Whatever power he had, he had to learn to control it. His life, and perhaps the world depended on it.