ECHOBURN

 In the morning light felt stale.

Aoto sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the book. It hadn't changed. Still blank. Still quiet. Still unbearably heavy, like it was made from compressed silence.

No matter how many times he flipped through its pages, there were no words. No ink. No hints. Just parchment that whispered nothing.

And yet—he couldn't look away.

His chest felt tight. Not with fear, but need. A gnawing itch behind his ribs, pulling him toward something. It wasn't the book that had answers. It was something else. Somewhere else. But the book... pointed.

He grabbed his coat, slid the book into his bag, and left the house without breakfast.

The city was already humming when he stepped outside, all sirens and scooters and buildings stacked like bricks. But Aoto didn't care. He walked fast, like the pull in his chest might break if he hesitated.

The city library stood forgotten between two office blocks. It was old stone, bruised and soot-streaked, with lion statues worn down to near featureless shapes. Inside, it was cooler. Dusty. Still.

He walked past the digital check-ins and glass elevators, past the crowds of students and workers looking for textbooks or free Wi-Fi. Past where the lights worked properly. He kept walking—down.

Floor B1. B2. B3.

His fingers brushed along rusted railings and rows of untouched shelves. He didn't know where he was going, only that he'd know when he arrived.

Eventually, he found a room. Half-lit. Metal door. A broken sign hung crooked above it:"Frameworks of Potential – Restricted: Decoded Records."

He pushed it open.

No one stopped him.

Inside, the air was heavy with dust and quiet. Long shelves curved into the gloom, packed with fat tomes and faded scrolls. There were no computers. Just paper. And time.

Aoto ran his hand along the bindings. Something pulled his fingers to one book in particular—thick, leather-bound, its spine marked with gold-thread kanji.

He opened it, carefully.

"There are three known paths of power among humans: Blood, Enhancement, and Tech."

His eyes flicked down the page, faster now.

Blood.Power by birth. Inherited, branded into your very body. The most common.

It came in three forms:

Elemental: Control over natural forces. The rarest had dominion over ash or lightning. The strongest could burn cities or freeze hearts with a thought.

Manifestation: The conjuring of a fixed set. Objects, tools, creatures, even phenomena—always bound by strict internal rules. A blade that changed with mood. Puppets sewn from memory. Smoke that sang when shaped.

Tethering: A bond shared with a real beast. Not a ghost. Not an illusion. A physical, living creature whose power intertwined with your own. The bond dictated everything—strength, speed, stability. Some beasts obeyed. Others consumed.

In recent centuries, the records noted, all Blood users had begun to naturally integrate Enhancement—body and ability growing together. Strength. Reflex. Resilience. Born better. Trained better. The system evolving on its own.

But it didn't stop there.

Many Blood users weren't stuck to one form. A Manifestation user could awaken an Element. An Elemental could someday Tether. It varied by person, will, lineage. The deeper the bloodline, the more doors unlocked.

Aoto turned the page.

Enhancement was once separate. Now it bled into Blood.Pure Enhancers still existed—those with raw physical gifts: those who could leap rooftops, crush steel, run like beasts. But they were fading. Drowned by Blood's dominance.

Tech came after. Artificial. Cold. Built, not born.

Grafted limbs. Brain-spike circuits. Engine-tethered exoskins. Expensive. Rare. Restricted. Some Tech users were brilliant. Others were monsters.

Then came the last entry.

Zero.

No Blood. No Enhancement. No Tech.Common. Weak. Powerless.

"The majority of humankind falls under this category. Labeled as Zero."

"However, extreme cases have shown variance. Certain Zeros have been observed to resist Scripture entirely—unreadable by systems or scans. In even rarer cases, they become anchors—dangerous nulls that distort surrounding powers."

"Their existence is tolerated. But in some regions, watched."

Aoto stared at the page. Cold sweat prickled his neck.

Zero.

That was him.

He'd never shown signs. No family power. No beast. No spark. No edge. Just a decent sprint time and a persistent sense that he was behind. Always behind.

Then why—Why did he have this book?

Why did it find him?

As he placed the text back on the shelf, a quiet voice echoed from the dark corner behind him:

"You read well for someone without Verse."

Aoto spun, but saw no one.

Only the silence.

He left the room quickly.

Upstairs, the world resumed. Distant horns. Elevator dings. People breathing.

He walked out into the noise, the book in his bag, heavy as ever.

He glanced down at it one more time—unthinking.Still blank.

But now, faintly etched on the inside cover, where he had never noticed it before—was a symbol.

Not written. Pressed into the page like a brand.