Echo

The capital was alive with torches and lantern light when they arrived, but the darkness of the night plunged the buildings into a still silence. The grandeur of everything still seemed just as majestic as the first time Haruki witnessed Goldspear. Kiera kept pace close behind, silent but alert, her eyes flicking from alley to alley as if expecting danger to spring out at any moment.

They cut across the main avenue and down a narrow side street, the city’s bustle dimming with every step, until the tall, spired silhouette of a Naikaia came into view. Its massive wooden doors loomed like a sentinel, flanked by worn pillars carved with ancient words of blessing. Without hesitation, Loto strode forward and pounded his fist on the wooden surface. A surprised Deacon cracked it open after a couple of minutes under the night’s sky. But Loto was already pushing past him, his voice low but burning:

“An Echo Rite. Now. Gather another Deacon. It’s urgent!”

There was no protest, only a silent nod. Wordlessly, the Deacon vanished down the hall to alert others, and Loto gestured sharply for Haruki and Kiera to follow. The air within was cool and heavy with the smell of incense, candlelight flickering along the vaulted ceiling.

They were ushered through a narrow archway to the back of the Naikaia, where a large circular sigil was etched into the stone floor. The design was intricate, radiating out from a central point in delicate, swirling lines that glowed faintly in the candlelight. Loto’s movements were brisk as he commanded Haruki:

“Stand in the circle. The Rite will begin soon.”

Haruki swallowed his fear and obeyed despite his legs shaking and chills crawling down his back. Kiera stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching everything with a careful, simmering concern.

The other Deacon returned with their third, both men wearing their robes rich with embroidery that marked their years of service. Loto moved toward them swiftly, leaning in close to whisper something Haruki couldn’t hear.

Whatever he said, however, wiped the calm from their faces. One of their brows furrowed deeply, while the other stiffened up, casting a sharp, searching glance at Haruki. They exchanged a wordless nod with Loto, and without further delay, all three took their places at the edges of the glowing sigil.

The air shifted. A hush fell over the space as the Deacons clasped their hands in prayer, their voices low, murmuring ancient verses that seemed to seep into the stone itself. The circle responded faintly, its lines glowing brighter, like embers being coaxed into flame.

The first Deacon stepped forward, his sandals echoing silently against the stone floor. He carried a small wooden tithe box in his hands, plain but polished smooth by years of use. His voice was calm but commanding as he stopped in front of Haruki.

“Do not think. What will you give?”

Haruki blinked, confused by the question. He simply shook his head:

“I… I don’t have anything.”

The Deacon studied him for a long, silent moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Without a word, he backed away, his hands still clasped tightly around the box as he retreated to his place in the circle.

The second Deacon moved forward next, his face solemn. In his hand was what looked like a slender tree branch, its end soaked in a strange unidentifiable liquid that shimmered faintly as though it were alive. He raised it carefully and sprinkled Haruki three times, each flick of the branch releasing droplets that clung unnaturally to his clothes and skin, glowing faintly for a heartbeat before fading.

His eyes never left Haruki as he stepped back, his face still as unreadable as the others.

Finally, Loto approached. His expression was tense, jaw set tight, but his hands were steady as he carried what looked like a thick, well-worn volume of their Scripture, its cover bound in deep blue leather and etched with silver markings. The identity of the book seemed to holler inside Haruki’s mind, though he knew not why nor how.

He stopped just inches away from Haruki and held the book out.

“Don’t think,” he said firmly. “Open. Read.”

Haruki hesitated. The weight of the room was pressing in on him, the circle’s faint hum resonating in his bones. But something about Loto’s voice – sharpening while laced with a quiet urgency – it seemed to urge him on, pushing with an invisible hand.

Slowly, Haruki opened the book to a random page, his eyes scanning the first words his gaze fell upon.

“In the beginning,” he read aloud, his voice steady at first, “the Voice Spoke.”

The moment the words left his lips, a wave of pressure struck him, like the very air itself had grown heavy and hostile. His throat tightened as if the invisible hand had reached out to stop him from speaking. The sigil beneath his feet began to glow brighter, no longer a dim ember but a blinding white light that spilled across the room, throwing stark shadows onto the stone walls.

The white color seemed final, binding somehow.

Gasps escaped the Deacons as they recoiled instinctively, shielding their faces from the sudden brilliance. Loto’s eyes widened in shock, his fingers tightening on the Scripture.

The glow pulsed, a soft hum filling the air, and for a moment it felt as though the world itself was holding its breath. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the light dimmed, leaving only the faint afterimage of the sigil burned into Haruki’s vision.

Loto slowly lowered the book, his face pale and unreadable, but his voice carried the weight of revelation.

“Impossible,” he muttered under his breath.

Kiera’s voice cracked through the tense silence like a whip:

“So what does this mean then? I… I’ve never seen that color before in my life. Sirs? What is his Echo? Does he… even have one?”

Loto, however, didn’t flinch. He stood frozen for a heartbeat, the tome still clutched in his trembling hands, his face paler than Haruki had ever seen. Finally, he exhaled sharply through his nose, as if forcing himself to steady. His voice carried a strange weight when he spoke.

“What you said is true,” Loto told them. “Haruki does not have an Echo.”

Haruki and Kiera blinked at the Deacon, unsure of what to make of something that sounded so mundane.

But they knew there was more to it than just that.

“That’s it?” Kiera asked. “What’s the point of rushing back here then? You still haven’t told us about everything you said back in that forest. What’s going on here? How did Haruki survive you blasting a hole in his chest? I don’t… get it…”

But none of the Deacons moved to answer. Not one of them looked at him like this was supposed to be a routine Rite for the usual Follower-level Hunters. They knew there was much more to this. What they didn’t know, or rather what they couldn’t figure out was whether this was supposed to be horrifying – or enlightening.

Loto finally moved, his face twisting with something unreadable.

“This,” he hesitated, “is not for me to decide. Not here. Not now.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward a heavy wooden door at the far end of the Naikaia. His robes swept behind him as he disappeared into the back rooms, his pace just shy of a run.

And just like that – he was gone.

The silence he left behind was oppressive, broken only by the creak of armored boots as the heavy doors at the front of the Naikaia swung open. Soldiers entered in formation, their black-and-gold armor gleaming faintly in the candlelight. The two remaining Deacons called them forth, commanding them clearly:

“By the authority of the Naikaia, you are to be put under custody until further notice. Seize him.”

Haruki felt his stomach twist, though he tried to keep his expression neutral.

“Wait, what? Me?” he shouted.

The soldiers didn’t answer. They simply moved forward, forming a half-circle around him.

“Hold on!” Kiera’s fire surged brighter at her hands, but the nearest soldier turned her way and raised a disciplined palm to her face.

“Please leave the premises,” the soldier told Kiera, “this no longer concerns you.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t just…” Kiera then noticed the soldiers closing in, so she called out to him: “Haruki!”

They took him firmly by the arms, with the strength of professionals he dared not resist. Not that he had any strength to even oppose them in the first place.

The last thing he saw before being led away was Kiera standing in the circle that had just been lit mere moments before. The fire she summoned in her hands was now reduced to sparks, as she hesitated to fight against the higher-ranked Deacons as well as the sea of soldiers. But her expression still formed in what seemed like a storm of defiant fury, determined to get to the bottom of this.