ECHOBURN

Night cloaked the city in shadows that blurred familiar shapes into dangerous figures. Aoto trudged along a rain-washed street, the weight of the blank book in his bag a constant, unsettling reminder of his newly discovered fate. The word Echo was etched inside the cover—a silent beacon he couldn't quite ignore.

As he crossed a narrow alley on his usual route home, the steady rhythm of his footsteps was suddenly shattered by a whisper of movement behind him. A flash of movement—then a sharp sting as a forceful blow struck his temple. Pain exploded, and he crumpled onto the cold pavement, his vision turning a murky haze.

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, two figures emerged from the shadows. They moved with an eerie smoothness, their bodies crackling with a subtle, manifest quality that suggested more than mere human agility. These attackers were not ordinary muggers—they harnessed a low-level form of manifestation that gave their knuckles a supernatural edge and their blades an almost otherworldly sharpness.

One of them leaned close, his voice hissing like a blade scraping stone."You sure it's the right one?" he murmured, as if confirming a grim order.

His companion, eyes glinting with cold resolve, continued as his hand materialized a thin, wicked knife formed purely out of fleeting energy—a low-level manifestation that faded only as quickly as it was forged. "Same face," he remarked, a sneer twisting his lips. "We know the book's here."

In a flurry of practiced brutality, they rifled through Aoto's bag. The attacker with the knife snatched the book from his grasp. For a moment, the blank pages seemed to shimmer, the edges glowing with a faint, unnatural hue. Aoto's heart hammered as he watched, powerless, as the intruders exchanged fleeting glances that spoke of plans and power.

"We always take it," one attacker muttered, his knuckles briefly crackling as if flexing a hidden strength. "It's not meant to be left behind."

Before Aoto could cry out, the second assailant—his hand manifesting a spiked knuckle weapon only inches thick—yelled, "Let's see if this one's useful!" and with that, tore the book apart. The sound of ripping leather and scattering pages echoed in the tight alley, each fragment fluttering like dark confetti in the cold night air.

In that instant, an inexplicable hollowness blossomed within Aoto—a mix of grief and inexplicable loss, as though a part of his fate had been ripped from him as violently as the book.

"Dispose of him," snarled the knife-wielder, but before his command could seal Aoto's end, a force intervened.

A swift, measured crunch of footsteps approached from behind. In a heartbeat, a voice—clear and commanding—cut through the tension: "Leave my brother alone!"

Aoto's eyes fluttered open to see his younger sister standing over him, framed by the dim glow of a streetlamp. Her gaze was steely; beneath her calm exterior, raw power simmered. She wore her school jacket carelessly unzipped, a braid falling loosely over her shoulder. In that brief moment, her eyes, lit with a subtle, luminous blue, betrayed abilities Aoto had never seen before.

Without hesitation, she launched herself at the attackers. With a graceful, almost dance-like agility, she intercepted the knife-wielding man. Her own hands flashed, and as though mirroring his low-level manifestation, she conjured a force that collided with his blade. The impact sent him crashing into the alley wall with a force that reverberated through the concrete.

The second attacker lunged again, knuckles arcing with manifested spikes aimed at her throat. But before he could reach her, she pivoted nimbly, her arm whipping out—a counter-move that rippled through the air and shattered the energy of his knuckle weapon. The assailant crumpled, convulsing in a way that suggested his power had been brutally overpowered by her innate strength.

Silence settled like a shroud over the alley. Aoto lay in the dirt, stunned, as his sister knelt beside him, her eyes hard and searching as they fell on the remnants of the book—a ragged heap of torn pages and a leather cover now marred by the violence of the encounter.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded, her voice both accusing and laced with worry.

Aoto struggled to gather his thoughts, voice trembling, "I… I found it. I—I didn't know…"

Her gaze hardened further as she picked up a fragment, turning it slowly between her fingers. "This isn't just any book," she said softly, almost in disbelief. "It's meant for someone… or something. But not you."

Her words pressed into him with unexpected weight as she steadied him to his feet. In that charged moment beneath the flickering streetlamp, the night seemed to pulse with unanswered questions, and Aoto realized his fate might be entangled with forces far greater than he had ever dared imagine.

As his sister led him away, her protective arm around his shoulder, the scattered pages of the book danced in the breeze, whispering fragments of a secret power that would haunt his every step—an echo of the life he thought he knew, now irrevocably altered.