The rain had stopped, but the sky still hung heavy with gray. Outside the Harmonization Center, families huddled beneath the arched awnings of steel and crystal, watching nervously as their children filed inside. It was the Day of Resonance—the moment every six-year-old would receive their first Echo and begin their path as a Tamer.
Kiel didn't walk in with a parent. No one held his hand. He stood alone under the cold awning, the water dripping off his black jacket like the tears he wouldn't let fall.
He didn't remember his real name. He didn't remember his family.
All he remembered was waking up two years ago in a hospital bed—no memories, no Echo, no past. The doctors said his mind had been shattered by "resonance shock." A phenomenon so rare that most considered it a myth.
He was adopted shortly after by an old, retired Tamer named Vane Arven—a man known for living quietly and keeping to himself. Vane gave him a name. A bed. A new life.
But even now, as Kiel stood before the entrance to his future, something in his chest felt… missing.
---
Inside the Center, the room pulsed with blue light. At the center stood a massive obsidian sphere—a Resonance Core. Ancient, powerful, humming with energy.
The children were called one by one. Each placed a hand on the Core, and within moments, a creature of light would emerge—one of the Three Initiate Echoes native to the continent: Frynte, Cavice, or Lunibolt. Small, loyal, and balanced.
"Next… Kiel Arven."
The room went quiet.
Kiel stepped forward slowly. The stares didn't bother him. He was used to them. They always looked at him like he was broken.
He approached the Core and rested his hand on it.
Nothing happened.
Five seconds passed. Then ten. Whispering began. Concerned murmurs. The lights above flickered.
Then—
CRACK!
The Core didn't glow.
It shattered.
The sound rang like glass thunder. Shards floated mid-air, defying gravity, swirling with black lightning. The ground trembled.
And from within the void, it emerged.
Not one of the Initiates. Not one of anything registered.
A creature cloaked in cracked obsidian armor, glowing with pale red light. It hovered, limbless, like a shattered core trying to piece itself together. One glowing eye stared at Kiel.
Kiel stared back, completely still.
Then a voice—not from the creature, but from inside him.
> Do you remember me?
His heart stopped.
> I remember you.
The light burst between them.
Screams. Technicians rushing forward. The system flashing warnings.
But it was too late.
The bond had been made.
Kiel collapsed to one knee, clutching his chest as the Echo—silent and hovering—floated beside him, almost protectively. The display screens glitched wildly, unable to scan the creature.
One technician whispered, pale as snow, "That's not an Echo… that's a Fragment."
"A what?"
"A creature from before the First Era. They're not supposed to exist."
---
Outside the Center, word spread quickly.
Inside, the officials argued. Debates about quarantine, risk level, whether Kiel should be taken or studied. But none dared approach the creature.
Kiel sat silently on the floor, the creature beside him. He didn't know why, but his hands had stopped shaking. His heartbeat was calm.
And deep down, past the cracks in his forgotten memory, something stirred.
He didn't know who he was.
He didn't know where he came from.
But he knew this:
He would tame them all. Every Echo. Every Fragment. Even the Progenitor.
Because something… or someone… was waiting for him.
And the path forward would be paved in death, loss—
—and resonance.
---