Five hundred years ago, humanity was… ordinary. Mundane. People went about their lives, chasing their little interests, their petty ambitions. Countries waged war—not with Resonance Strings, but with nuclear bombs and missiles. Cities fell, rose again, fell once more, and the world became a stage where the kings were the ones with the biggest nukes.
Then everything changed.
Not with a bang. Not with fire or fury. But with something deceptively gentle, almost artistic.
A Song.
Those who heard it claimed they'd never experienced a voice so pure, so raw, so achingly beautiful—and yet so sorrowful. It resonated in the mind of every living soul like a lullaby, a sound so sweet it left a strange, sharp taste in the mouth.
And then it ended.
When everyone realized they had all heard the same thing, that it wasn't some trick of the mind… panic swept across the globe like a storm the likes of which the world had never seen.
Citizens cracked under the weight of fear. Crime surged. Governments held endless meetings behind closed doors, grasping at solutions that didn't exist.
Because however strong a man, a nation, or a weapon might be, nothing could compare to a Being capable of singing a song to every single soul on Earth. Nothing in the world—or out of it—was prepared for this.
Cities and countries unraveled. Fear spread like wildfire in the minds of people. The Song wasn't just a sound—it was a warning. A prelude. A whisper of something catastrophic that was yet to come.
They didn't have to wait long.
Because the day came.
A day that would be remembered as the beginning of the Inversion Epoch—a catastrophe that wiped out over half of humanity, all through a broken song.
It began with a crack in the sky. The heavens didn't explode—they fractured. The sky didn't light up; it shattered, revealing inverted space that reflected light like a broken mirror. Before humanity could even grasp what was happening, creatures poured out of the fracture—nightmares made flesh.
Creatures that would later be known as Echoforms.
These cursed beings didn't wield bombs or overwhelming strength. No, their weapon was far simpler—and far more terrifying.
A Song.
But this one was broken. Twisted. Malicious. A symphony of horror that drove half the world insane. The Echoforms fed on humanity's darkest emotions, thriving on despair. Nuclear bombs didn't touch them—they phased through attacks, existing in a frequency humans couldn't even perceive.
They showed no mercy. Not to children, not to parents, not to anyone. Humanity was simply food. And when the creatures were done, all that remained were shells of people, stripped of sanity, stripped of emotion. Humans called them Echolings. And to kill one… was mercy.
Humanity was fast becoming a lost cause.
Then, just when hope seemed gone, a glimmer appeared.
The first generation of Chordbearers awakened. Children who could feel strings pulse with their emotions. Children who could fight back. Children who could sing the Song of the Gods.
These young Chordbearers became humanity's lifeline. Every life was protected like it was precious—because it was. And in the years that followed, as these children mastered their Songs, humanity finally pushed back, reclaiming lost lands, striking fear into the Echoforms.
For the first time, humanity fought back. For the first time, it began to win.
But the war was far from over. New Mirrorths continued to open, even in reclaimed territories. Half the world was still overrun.
Yet humanity wasn't hopeless anymore. They would fight. They would endure. And finally, they would show the invaders who was boss.
***
"MOMMY! I DON'T WANT TO DIE! ARE WE GOING TO DIE?!"
Lizzy's terrified screams bounced through the dark, oxygen-starved bunker. One look at the girl and it was clear—she was seconds from a full-blown panic attack.
The bunker shook again.
"Wahh!" Lizzy sobbed. "Wahhhh!"
"Shhh… that's enough, sweetie," her mother soothed, wrapping her arms tightly around her. "Mummy's here. You're going to be fine."
Elias pressed a hand to his pounding forehead, the ache only worsening with Lizzy's relentless sobs. Lately, it felt like kids just… cried more around him. Or maybe it was just his imagination.
"The building has been breached," Mr. Ferborn whispered to Elias' dad, but Elias was close enough to hear every word. "They're just a few meters above us."
His heart nearly exploded. He glanced at his crying sister, then at himself, biting his lower lip until he tasted blood.
This despair, this hopelessness—it was his fault. All of it. If only he wasn't useless. If only he had awakened. If only he—
"The bunker… should hold," his dad said, his voice steady, as if saying it enough could make it true.
A hologram flickered to life in front of Mr. Ferborn, equations and complex algorithms spinning in midair. "Calculating the steel's thickness and the intensity of their attacks… the bunker will only hold for about five minutes and thirty seconds. After that…" His teeth gritted audibly, and Elias shuddered.
"I refuse to believe—" his dad shouted, voice reverberating through the bunker.
"Dad! Shut the fuck up! We're all going to die pathetically if you don't get your shit together!" Elias yelled, tugging at his hair, trying not to rip it out in frustration.
"I—" His dad's voice cracked, sobs breaking through as he slid down the wall. "I failed to protect all of you. If only I had listened… Elias, I'm sorry—"
"Save it for later, old man," Elias growled. "We don't have time anyway. The bastard who gave me this info probably knew we weren't going to make it. Just wanted us to suffer a little more before we die. By the gods, if we get out alive, I swear I'm going to kill him."
"How do you plan to do that with your pathetic—" Mr. Ferborn stopped mid-sentence when he saw the look on Elias' face. A terrifying, almost unnatural expression that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Old man, you don't look too worried that a whole community of Echoforms is right above us, craving our darkness. So I assume you've got a plan," Elias said, his words more statement than question.
Mr. Ferborn blinked, startled, then studied Elias with renewed interest. "It's commendable… thinking this clearly under such pressure. Even more so than your father—"
The bunker shook again, dust and debris raining down.
"Aaaah! Mummy!" Lizzy's screams tore through the small space, full-blown hysteria taking over.
Elias' reddened eyes fixed on the old man. "Can you save anyone from here without risking your own life?"
Mr. Ferborn paused. The silence stretched like it might last forever. Finally, he replied, voice cautious but calculating: "I can save one person… but the probability of my own survival drops by three percent. Which… is quite significant."
"Selfish motherfucker—" Elias muttered under his breath, fighting the urge to give the old bastard a clean uppercut to the jaw.
Mr. Ferborn raised an eyebrow, clearly hearing him, and snorted in annoyance. "I think I've changed my mind."
Elias immediately dropped to his knees and slammed his head onto the cold floor with a loud crack. Then he started slapping himself. Hard.
"Elias! What are you doing?!" his mother cried from across the bunker. His dad was useless now—slumped by the wall, muttering nonsense as he stared blankly into space.
"Mr. Ferborn, please—please save at least one of my family!" Elias begged, banging his head again before smacking himself across the face.
"Elias, stop! Stop right now!" his mother screamed, rushing to him. She grabbed him, hugging him tightly as if she could hold him together by force. Lizzy's cries only got louder, climbing with every shake of the bunker.
"Boy." Mr. Ferborn's voice cut through the chaos. His eyes narrowed. "Fine. You've gotten my attention. But I can only save one person. I'm not heroic enough to die for your entire family. So I'm curious—who will you choose? The sane choice would be yourself… but something tells me that's not what you're thinking."
Elias lifted his bloody face, a crooked smile stretching across it. "Save my sister. Please… just get her out of this hell."
"Why not your parents?" Mr. Ferborn asked, eyebrow arched. "They matter too, don't they?"
Elias laughed—a short, bitter sound. "Neither of my parents would leave if Lizzy and I were still stuck here. So the choice falls to me. And I choose her. That's what a big brother is supposed to do, right?"
The rumbling intensified. Dust, dirt, and chunks of metal rained down. Above the bunker, multiple hands clawed through the steel, prying it apart while their mouths spilled out that twisted, broken song.
Blood seeped from Elias' eyes and ears. He clenched his teeth, refusing to make a sound. His mother held him tighter, her hands shaking. Lizzy's screams suddenly stopped. Elias looked over—her eyes were closed, body limp. He knew she wasn't dead. She'd simply passed out from sheer terror.
"You will die," Mr. Ferborn said quietly.
"I know," Elias replied.
Mr. Ferborn stepped carefully toward Lizzy's limp form, lifting her gently into his arms. "Elias… you're wrong," he said, eyes locked on Elias with an unexpected respect. "Not every big brother would do what you just did. Not in the face of certain death. If by some miracle you survive this… losing an apprentice like you would be unforgivable."
Elias gave a bitter smile, but inside his head he was screaming: Who the hell wants to be your apprentice, you old fart!
Then the inevitable happened.
The metallic roof groaned like it was alive, protesting every second it held. And then it gave way, collapsing in a cascade of steel and twisted metal—falling debris that promised a symphony of nightmares.
And a hell of broken songs.