The city of Nadris stood on the edge of the world, its towering spires reaching up into the sky like the fingers of a forgotten god. Once, it had been a thriving metropolis, filled with the hum of life and the vibrant pulse of progress. But now, the streets were silent, the grand halls empty, and the air thick with the weight of time.
It had all come to an end so suddenly. One day, the sun simply stopped rising, its warmth fading into an eternal twilight. The stars vanished from the sky, leaving only the pale, lifeless glow of a moon that never waned. The great machines that powered the city fell silent, their gears frozen in time. The people of Nadris had waited for answers, but none came. The days turned to weeks, and then months, with no explanation. The winds no longer whispered their secrets, and the earth no longer trembled beneath their feet. There was only the stillness of a forgotten world, a city once filled with life now abandoned by all who had called it home.
And so, they left.
At the heart of the city, beneath the shadow of the tallest tower, stood a single figure. Arya. She had not left, not because she was stubborn or foolish, but because she was the last of her kind—an Echoer. Her family had been the keepers of the city's ancient secrets, the ones who could hear the echoes of the past and speak with the forgotten voices of the world. It was a gift, or perhaps a curse, that she had inherited. The Echoers were a rare line of individuals who could commune with the remnants of history, who could hear the voices of those long gone and speak their truths to the living. But now, even that gift felt like a burden.
As a child, Arya had been taught that the city would one day fall silent, that the echoes would fade, but she had never truly believed it. Nadris was built upon the foundation of magic and science, a fusion of two forces that had shaped the world for centuries. It was inconceivable to her that such a place could simply vanish, swallowed by time or some force beyond their understanding. But here she was, alone in the heart of a city that was dying, its power slipping away, and no one left to hear the story.
She had tried everything—rituals, prayers, incantations, even meditations that had once brought clarity. Yet, no matter how hard she searched, no matter how deeply she reached into the fabric of the world, the echoes were gone. The magic that had powered Nadris had been extinguished, its light fading into the ether like the last ember of a dying fire. The ancient machines that once thrummed with power were cold and lifeless, their gears frozen in place. The city, once vibrant with the pulse of progress, was now a ghost town—a place where only the wind dared to roam.
Arya stood now before the Heartstone, a massive crystal embedded deep within the earth beneath the tower. It was said to be the source of all life in Nadris, a conduit through which the energy of the world flowed. It had once pulsed with a brilliant light, its warmth filling the city with life. The people of Nadris had always believed the Heartstone to be a symbol of their greatness, the foundation upon which the city had been built. But now, it was cold, lifeless, its glow reduced to a faint shimmer that barely illuminated the shadows. The Heartstone was no longer the heart of Nadris—it was merely a remnant of what had once been.
Arya placed her hand upon the stone, her fingers trembling as she made contact. She closed her eyes, reaching out with every ounce of her being, trying to hear something—anything. The stone's surface was rough and worn, its once-pristine surface cracked and scarred by the passage of time. But there was no answer. No hum, no pulse. Only the silence. She had been here countless times before, each attempt a futile effort to reawaken the magic that had once flowed so freely through the land.
For a long time, there was nothing. Just the emptiness of the world.
Then, slowly, a faint sound began to form—a whisper, barely audible at first, like the rustling of dry leaves. It was distant, foreign, but unmistakable. The echo of something old, something ancient, something forgotten. Arya's heart quickened, and she focused, trying to draw closer to the sound, to understand it. The whisper grew louder, clearer, and the stone beneath her hand began to thrum with energy.
"The world is ending."
The words echoed in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine. Arya's breath caught in her throat. The voice was clear now, but it was not meant for her. It was a warning, a message from a time long past. The Heartstone pulsed beneath her hand, and the air around her seemed to crackle with energy. She had heard this before, in fragments, in dreams—but never like this. Never so clear, never so direct.
"The sun has gone to sleep, and the moon will follow. The echoes fade, and the world grows still. Only those who remember will see the dawn."
Arya gasped, pulling her hand away from the Heartstone. The silence returned, but it was no longer the same. It was not an absence of sound—it was a weight, a presence. A stillness that threatened to swallow her whole. The message was unmistakable. The world was dying, and with it, all the stories that had ever been told. The echoes, the voices of the past, were fading, leaving behind only a hollow void.
For a moment, Arya stood there, paralyzed by the enormity of what she had just heard. The city, the world—it was all slipping away, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was the last Echoer, the last person left who could hear the voices of the past. And soon, there would be no more voices to hear. No more stories to tell.
But as the weight of the silence pressed down upon her, something stirred within Arya. A flicker of determination, a glimmer of something she had not felt in so long. The voice had spoken of those who remembered, and she remembered. She remembered the city, the people, the lives that had filled the streets. She remembered the magic, the pulse, the life that had once thrummed through the veins of Nadris. And she knew, deep in her heart, that it was not too late. Not yet.
She turned away from the Heartstone and walked toward the gates of Nadris, the ancient city that had once been a beacon of progress and magic. The sun had long since stopped rising, but now, as she walked through the silent streets, she could feel a sense of purpose growing within her. The world was not lost yet. She had heard the truth, and it was a truth she would carry with her—no matter what came next.
The echoes still lived, buried in the dust of time. And it was up to her to find them, to carry their stories, and to keep the memory of Nadris alive. The world might be silent, but it was not forgotten.
The last echo had spoken.
And Arya was ready to listen.