"Some memories return not to haunt, but to guide."
The Echo didn't rush him.
It didn't posture, didn't hiss, didn't distort like the spawn or the fracture remnants.
It simply stood there with Aarav's face.
Same eyes.
Same shape.
Same posture.
Same breath.
Except hollow.
Like someone emptied Aarav out and left only the outline behind.
Meera yanked Aarav backward. "Nope. No. Absolutely not. We're not doing a multiverse showdown before breakfast."
Amar planted himself between Aarav and the Echo. "Arin. Tactical rundown. Now."
Arin didn't answer immediately. He stared at the Echo with the kind of dread that only came from history he wished he could forget.
"This shouldn't be possible," he murmured.
"Fantastic," Amar snapped. "But it is. So what is it?"
Arin tore his gaze from the Echo. "An Anchor Echo is a projection of what an Anchor might become if resonance overtakes identity. It's not memory. It's not illusion. It's a potential made manifest."
Meera grabbed Aarav's hand so tightly it hurt. "So that thing is…?"
Aarav swallowed, throat tight.
"My future?"
The Echo smiled faintly—his smile, but sharpened in all the wrong places.
_I am what you will be,_ it said.
Not threatening.
Just… certain.
Aarav's pulse hammered. "I don't believe that."
The Echo tilted its head.
_Your belief does not shape truth._
The ground beneath them trembled, reacting to the Echo's presence like it was a storm front made of identity.
Arin slammed his staff down. "Aarav, listen to me. That Echo isn't destiny. It's possibility. As long as you choose differently—"
The Echo cut him off.
_He will not choose._
It stepped forward, eyes dimming into a deeper, impossible color.
_He is already unraveling._
Aarav flinched. "I'm not unraveling."
_You are,_ the Echo replied.
_You lost parts of yourself. The Vale is simply showing you what rises in the empty spaces._
Meera spat, "He's not empty."
The Echo didn't look at her.
It didn't acknowledge Amar or the boy or even Arin.
Its gaze stayed locked on Aarav.
_You were always meant to break,_ the Echo said softly.
_All Anchors break. I am simply the version of you that survives it._
Aarav took a step back.
The Echo matched him—perfectly, like a reflection delayed by a breath.
Amar raised his dagger. "If it takes one step closer—"
Arin grabbed his wrist. "Don't. You can't fight an Echo physically."
"So what?" Amar snapped. "We vibe-check it?"
Meera hissed, "Shut up—Aarav's shaking."
Aarav wasn't just shaking.
His resonance was splitting—two frequencies clashing inside him, one his own, one the Echo's.
"Arin," Aarav whispered, "why do I feel it? Why does it feel like a part of me?"
Arin's expression darkened. "Because an Echo is built from what you fear most."
Aarav's breath faltered. "Becoming him."
"Yes."
The Echo took another step.
_I do not take your place,_ it said.
_You give it to me._
Aarav felt the words hit somewhere deeper than thought.
A place the child-echo had touched.
A place he still hadn't fully let himself look at.
"No," Aarav whispered.
_Yes._
The Echo lifted its hand.
_You carry doubt. Loss. Guilt. The cracks inside you widen, and resonance pours through. I am formed from every fracture you refuse to seal._
The ground beneath Aarav rippled again, reacting to the cracks inside him.
Meera squeezed his hand harder. "Aarav. Look at me. Not at it."
Amar stepped closer, bracing Aarav with one hand. "You're not that thing."
Arin raised his staff, voice steady now. "Aarav. Anchor yourself."
Aarav inhaled—
and the Echo inhaled with him.
Aarav exhaled—
and the Echo echoed it.
Aarav whispered, "Why are you here?"
The Echo's voice softened.
_To replace you._
It blurred.
One moment it was several paces away—
the next it was directly in front of him.
Amar swore.
Meera shouted.
Arin lifted his staff to strike—
Too slow.
The Echo placed its hand on Aarav's chest.
Aarav felt it like ice sliding down his spine—
cold, clean, cutting.
His vision doubled—two worlds overlapping, two selves colliding.
Meera screamed his name.
The boy cried.
Amar lunged—
—and Arin snapped his staff downward with a force that cracked the air itself.
A shock wave of pure, raw resonance exploded outward, blasting everyone back and tearing the Echo's hand from Aarav's chest.
The Echo staggered—first sign of weakness—but only for a breath.
Then it straightened.
Perfect.
Calm.
Unbroken.
Arin shouted, "It's trying to overwrite your identity! Back away from it—now!"
Aarav stumbled back, chest burning where the Echo's hand had touched.
The Echo's eyes dimmed again.
_We cannot both exist._
Its voice held no anger.
Just inevitability.
_Only one of us is true._
Aarav's breath shook.
"Then I choose to be myself."
The Echo blinked.
For the first time, its expression shifted—
minute, subtle, but unmistakable.
Surprise.
Aarav stood straighter.
His resonance steadied.
"I'm done running from myself."
The Vale reacted—
a pulse through the ground,
the air tightening,
the stones humming.
The Echo's voice lowered.
_Then you have made your choice._
It stepped back.
The horizon behind it split into light—
bright, sharp, searing through the air like a gateway opening.
Amar shielded his eyes. "What is that?!"
Arin went pale. "A convergence anchor-point. The Vale is initiating the next trial."
Meera scowled. "Already?! He just got here!"
Arin didn't blink. "The Vale has waited too long. It wants resolution."
Aarav felt his pulse sync with the shimmering light, even as fear clawed at him.
The Echo turned, stepping toward the tear of light.
Before it vanished into it,
it spoke one last time:
_If you wish to survive the Vale…
you must defeat me._
And then it walked into the light—
and disappeared.
Silence dropped hard and absolute.
Aarav's chest still burned.
The stones still hummed.
The path ahead glowed like a challenge carved into destiny.
Meera helped him stand. "Aarav… you okay?"
Aarav looked at the place the Echo vanished.
"No," he whispered.
"But I'm going anyway."
Arin nodded. "Then the Vale acknowledges you as an Anchor."
Amar sheathed his dagger. "Which means?"
Arin turned toward the glowing path.
"It means the hardest part begins now."
The Vale stretched in front of them—alive, watching, waiting.
Aarav took the first step.
The ground pulsed in answer.
"He didn't flinch this time, and the memory folded itself into peace."