ECHOBURN

Dorm 7 was silent when Ren returned.

The front doors creaked closed behind him, muffling the outside world. His shoes tapped lightly across the cold tile. No voices. No greetings. Just shadows and the soft hum of electricity running through empty halls.

The central lounge was dimly lit—one low bulb hanging over the shared table. A chipped mug sat forgotten beside a stack of old notebooks. Someone had been here, but they weren't now.

Ren lingered, then walked past. Into the corridor. Past closed doors.

Into his room.

It was exactly how he left it: empty. A plain bed. A desk. No bags. No posters. Nothing to unpack.

He sat down slowly, then leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

The sound of laughter drifted through his mind—not real, but memory. Kara waving a chip in his face. Juno laughing at his reaction. Daisuke calling him a lab experiment.

He blinked. The ceiling stayed quiet.

In another part of the academy, Torin stood in a glass-paneled room overlooking a dark garden. Three others sat at a long table—each one older, marked by rank, scars, or silence.

A hologram buzzed softly above the table: a replay of the beach mission.

They watched as the Echo Caller evolved. As it changed.

As it targeted only Ren.

"It ignored the others," said a woman in a sharp uniform. "Even when injured. Why?"

Torin folded his arms. "It recognized something. In him."

"You think he's like them?" another asked. He was older, face drawn, voice dry.

Torin's expression didn't change. 

The third leaned forward. "Then we may not be the only ones watching."

Silence.

The woman said, "We should initiate containment. Before rumors reach the student body."

"Or before they reach beyond it," the older man added.

Around the academy, quiet ripples spread.

Kael trained alone in the practice yard, sweat gleaming on his brow, each strike heavier than the last.

Lyra sat cross-legged in her room, rewinding blurry combat footage, trying to find a face hidden in static.

Anya listened in the mess hall as two third-years whispered near her table.

"...Dorm 7 kid..."

"...the one at the beach."

Anya said nothing her hand tightened.

Ren couldn't sleep.

He sat at the window, the moonlight tracing pale lines across his floor. The wind moved, oddly rhythmic. Not natural.

He saw her again—the girl. Blood in her hair. Hand outstretched.

Her voice: soft. Afraid.

Don't let go.

His chest tightened.

He opened his eyes. Glass. Reflection.

Something flickered behind him—

—but when he turned, there was nothing.

He touched the window it was cold. "Why am I here?" he asked.

Elsewhere.

A room filled with old monitors flickered in the dark. Static lines crawled across screens. On one of them: Ren. Standing in the ruins. Bloodied. Silent.

A figure leaned forward—face never shown.

"He's changing," the figure said. Calm. Intrigued.

Another stood behind them, silent.

"We'll move soon."

Back in Dorm 7, Ren sat on his bed, staring at the door.

A knock.

Slow. Deliberate.

He didn't move.

The light buzzed above.

The knock came again.