Echo woke to the sound of faint clicking — metal tapping stone. His eyes opened, heavy and blurred from exhaustion. The morning fog clung low to the ground, still and silent. He sat up on the cold bench, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the haze in his head.
Perched on top of a streetlamp — far too high for comfort — a man sat still.
He didn't move nor speak...The man's presence pulled the warmth out of the air. Echo felt as if the time stopped for a second.
"Wh-"
Before the word even left his mouth, the world snapped into darkness.
Colors drained. The fog vanished. Darkness spread across the ground, and the street turned red beneath his feet. Eyes opened from every corner — staring at him, unblinking.
His hand shot up to his wound. The pain spiked again.
"This world is cursed.... No... I'm cursed..."
He didn't wait. He turned and ran, following the blood-red path, deeper into no matter what this place had become.
The red path stretched forward similar to a vein, pulsing faintly beneath his feet. The deeper Echo walked, the more the fog thinned — until it revealed something standing alone in the dark.
Up ahead, a door stood alone in the void. Plain, wooden, no frame, no walls, no floor. Just a single door, upright and waiting.
And behind it, her voice.
"Echo... come here, sweetheart."
He stopped in place, that voice — he hadn't heard it in so long. Gentle, soft, warm, familiar.
"Please.... I'm waiting..."
His chest tightened. He took a slow step forward, reaching out.
The ground around him writhed into a sea of watching eyes. Hundreds. Thousands. Every one of them wide open, unblinking, trained on him. Some stared with pity. Others with rage. Some full of fear. All of them staring, watching from his movement.
They didn't blink, nor move.But somehow, he felt Their warning.
"Don't open it!"
"Don't open it!"
"Don't open it!"
His hand hovered over the knob.
Her voice again — gentle, same as when he was a child, wrapped in blankets.
"Come inside. I've been waiting."
But the eyes — so many, watching from the dark.... they never stopped.
Echo stepped forward.
The door creaked open by itself, a slow, hollow sound that echoed into the emptiness.
Beyond it, he saw the hospital room again.
Dim lights, Pale curtains.
A woman lying on a bed, wrapped in thin blankets.
He walked in, footsteps silent against the cold floor.
He reached out a hand, holding them tightly.
"Mom?"
Her eyes snapped open. But they weren't her eyes anymore. They were black, empty. No light, no warmth. Silence fell like a blade.
"... You're not my mo-"
Cracks tore through the room. The bed, the walls, even the air itself shattered like broken glass, fragments spinning into the darkness.
Echo gasped as the ground beneath him gave way.
He fell deeper, swallowed by the dark.
Echo woke up, standing exactly where he had been before he ran.
No red path, no eyes. Only the empty street, swallowed in mist.
He wiped sweat from his forehead, breathing hard, heart pounding against his ribs.
His legs shook. His hands trembled.
He blinked once, trying to steady himself — Someone stood in front of him.
His body moved before his mind caught up. He staggered backward and hit the ground with a rough thud.
"Don't come any closer!"
He shouted, voice cracking from panic.
The figure didn't move. Cloaked in shadows. He extended a gloved hand toward Echo.
After a brief hesitation, Echo reached up and grabbed it.
The man's grip was firm, grounding.
As Echo stood up, the world tilted sideways. He steadied himself but couldn't shake the fog in his head.
"You'd better stay back.... John Doe... whoever you are. Do you have a name?"
"You may call me 'Detective'. The title will do. I perfer not to share my real name."
Echo stepped back, keeping a safe distance between them. He didn't lower his guard.
"Well, I suppose it's time I took my leave," the man said calmly. "Take care of yourself, Echo."
He turned and walked away, his footsteps soft against the ground. In seconds, his figure dissolved into the creeping fog, as if he had never been there.
"... Wait, How did he know my name?"
"What a Weird guy... then again, I'm not much better."
Echo sank down onto the bench, closed his eyes, and this time, sleep came for him without a fight.
The deep toll of a clock tower rolled through the morning air, pulling Echo from uneasy sleep.He stirred, lifting a heavy hand to brush the sleep from his eyes.
The weight in his body clung to him like a chain, but the sharp pain had faded.
"The sun's already up."
He pushed himself to his feet, every muscle stiff from the night.
Before him, the city stretched wide and endless, its streets threading into the foggy distance.Each step he took felt like stepping into something far bigger than he could yet understand.
Children darted between carriages, their laughter weaving through the morning air.
Men hauled crates and sacks onto rumbling wagons, boots striking heavy against the stone streets.
Groups of women gathered near the markets, long skirts whispering across the ground as they exchanged gossip and news.
Street vendors called out from their stalls, voices sharp and eager, selling fresh fruits, warm bread, handwoven fabrics, and strange trinkets from distant lands.
A newsboy weaved through the crowd, waving papers high, shouting headlines no one seemed to listen to.
Farther off, the distant chime of a blacksmith's hammer rang in rhythm, like a heartbeat for the waking city.
Chimney smoke curled into the brightening sky, carrying with it the rich smells of roasting meat, sweet pastries, and strong coffee.
Echo breathed in deeply, his stomach twisting in protest at the feast of smells.
He pressed a hand against his empty belly.
"... I really need to find something to eat."
As Echo wandered deeper into the city, the mouth-watering scent of roasted meat and baked pastries gnawed at his senses.
He paused in front of a restaurant window, eyeing the display of foods — golden Sunday roasts, crispy fish and chips, hearty meat pies, steaming bowls of stew, and crusty bread loaves stacked high.
His stomach tightened painfully.
".... I need to find a way to get some food..."
But in reality — he had no money, not even a single coin to his name.
With a frown, he turned away, his feet carrying him past the restaurant and into the crowded streets.
Maybe next time...
Further along the road, a small gathering caught his eye.
A magician stood at the center of the crowd, performing tricks with quick, practiced hands — pulling flowers from thin air, making silver coins vanish, and flipping cards into impossible patterns.
Children gasped and clapped, women laughed behind gloved hands, and a few onlookers tossed coins into a small hat at his feet.
Echo watched, fascinated.
Applause rippled through the crowd; someone whistled in admiration; a little boy danced in place, begging his mother for another trick.
The magician bowed dramatically, his cloak sweeping the ground.
"I need... money... "
He lingered until the crowd thinned out, then stepped forward.
"Excuse me, can you teach me your tricks?"