Leona stood in the new world, her feet sinking with every step into the golden sand of the endless desert. Twin suns shone overhead, one warm and golden, the other faintly crimson as if dyed by blood. However big the landscape was, there was a hum in the air, soft but insistent-like the distant vibrations of a string stretched close to breaking.
Her senses were sharper now, tuned not just to her surroundings, but to the fabric of the story itself. Threads of possibility shimmered faintly in the air, some glowing bright and sure, others fraying at the edges. This world was young-untouched by the weight of time or preordained paths. Yet, something about it felt. off.
A cold breeze swept past her, raising the hair on her arms. For a moment, she could have sworn she heard faint whispers carried on the wind. They were too indistinct to make out, but their tone sent a chill down her spine.
"Why does it feel like something is already wrong?" she muttered to herself.
Leona walked toward a distant oasis, its emerald shimmer beckoning her forward. As she approached, she noticed a small group of figures gathered near the water. They moved mechanically, their actions repetitive and strange. A woman in a flowing blue dress bent to fill a jug but froze halfway, only to repeat the action moments later. A child chased a ball but never quite caught it, the same loop playing over and over.
Leona's breath caught. "This isn't normal."
She took a step closer, her presence causing a faint ripple in the air. The figures twitched, their movements stuttering as though struggling to break free from invisible chains.
"Help us," one of them whispered, their voice fractured and distorted, like a broken record.
The figures crumbled into a blizzard of light and vanished, leaving the oasis as deserted as an ancient tomb. For several seconds, the water wavered, before even it disappeared to be replaced by relentless sand.
By the sudden appearance of this illusory family, Leona was thrown into shock, so she turned back along her way, coming in sight of a stranger. That figure stood at the side of her vision, half in shadow despite the sunshine.
They were clad in a long, billowing dark coat that flapped in the wind, and their face was obscured by a hood pulled over it. But what really caught Leona's attention was their presence-it felt. familiar.
"Who are you?" she asked, trying to sound firm, though her skin crawled with unease.
The figure cocked its head. "You don't recognize me?" Its voice was so calm, almost amused, yet it carried an underlying hint of something darker.
Leona's heart skipped a beat. "Should I?"
The figure took a step closer, and for a moment, their features became clear—a sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and a faint scar running down their cheek. It was a face she had never seen before, and yet.
"No," she whispered, taking a step back. "You're not part of this story."
The figure smiled faintly. "Neither are you."
The stranger vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, leaving behind only a faint imprint in the sand. Leona stared at the spot, her thoughts racing.
The Keeper had said this was a new story, unshaped and unwritten. But the glitches, the looping figures, and now this stranger—they weren't supposed to exist here.
She knelt, running her fingers through the sand where the figure had stood. A faint, almost imperceptible thread of light glimmered beneath her touch. It pulsed weakly, like a dying heartbeat.
"This thread." she murmured. "It doesn't belong here."
The thread was unlike any she had seen before. It was frayed at the edges, and its glow was tainted with streaks of black, as though corrupted.
Leona closed her eyes, concentrating on the thread. Images flickered through her mind—fragmented, disjointed. A battlefield lay shrouded in mist, a tower crumbling to the sea, and the scream of a woman echoed through the void.
Opening her eyes, she saw the thread was gone, but the questions lingered on.
As Leona continued through the desert, the glitches grew in frequency. A flock of birds froze mid-flight, their forms flickering like static on a broken screen. A river she had crossed earlier suddenly reversed its flow, its waters defying gravity to rise into the sky.
Each time, Leona felt the faint pull of corrupted threads. They were scattered throughout the world, growing stronger with each passing moment.
"This isn't just a new story," she whispered, "it's being invaded by something—or someone."
Her mind returned to the figure. The memory of their words seemed to replay in her mind: Neither are you.
Leona stood at the top of a craggy cliff facing a wide canyon. A beautiful view, yet one that was secondary to a more important sensation-the light hum of energy coming from the canyon below.
Before she could investigate any further, a familiar voice called out from behind her.
"Well, if it isn't the intrepid Catalyst."
Leona whirled to see Elias, the rogue from Destined Hearts, leaning casually against a boulder. His signature smirk was firmly in place, but his eyes were sharp, scanning her for any signs of recognition.
"Elias?" she said, her voice full of disbelief. "What are you doing here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You think you're the only one who gets to jump between worlds?"
Leona narrowed her eyes. "This isn't your story."
Elias shrugged, pushing off the boulder. "Neither was the last one, but I have a knack for finding places where I don't belong."
Despite her frustration, Leona couldn't ignore the relief bubbling beneath her irritation. Elias had been an ally before, albeit a reluctant one. If he was here, maybe he could help her unravel the mysteries of this world.
Elias gestured for her to follow, leading her down a narrow path into the canyon. As they walked, he explained what he knew-or rather, what little he was willing to share.
"This world isn't stable," he said. "I've seen it before—corrupted threads, glitches, characters who don't fit the mold. It's a sign that something bigger is at play."
"Like the voice?" Leona asked, her mind flashing back to the manipulative entity that had nearly destroyed Destined Hearts.
Elias shook his head. "No, this is different. The voice wanted control, but this. this feels like chaos. Like the story is being torn apart from the inside."
Leona frowned. "And the stranger I saw? Anything to do with them?"
Elias's expression darkened. "If they're who I think they are, you're in trouble."
Corruption had lingered palpably at the foot of the canyon, its energies dancing through threads of tattered light and shadow, settling upon the landscape in web-work and pulsing to no rhythmic sound of its own.
Elias pulled a dagger from his belt. Its blade flickered bright beneath the dimming sun. "Stay near me," he said.
The closer they drew to it, the heavier the air felt, bearing down upon them like a weight. She could hear, distantly, whispers indistinct but insistent, a thousand voices speaking at once.
In an instant, without any warning, the web rippled, and from its tenebrous fold the stranger stepped forward.
"You should have stayed out of this," they said. Where before amusement danced in the inflection of his tone, his voice was now cold, empty.
Elias tensed, clenching his hand tighter upon his dagger. "So it is you. I was hoping I was wrong."
Leona stepped forward, her jaw hardening. "Who are you? What do you want?"
The stranger's gaze was fixed onto hers, and in that one second, it felt as if they stared directly into her soul.
"I am an echo," they finally said. "A shard in the night-a story never told. And I won't be wiped again."
Their hand rose, and with a sudden burst to life, those tugged and corrupted threads lashed about like whips of dark air. Leona and Elias barely had time to get out of the way as the threads tore through, cutting grooves into jagged scars in the rock.