The silver luminescence of the new section of the Cursed Realm was a cold, alien comfort. Eriol stood before Akira, her white gown shimmering, her emerald eyes unwavering. "This realm feeds on memory, Akira. Not just the static images, but the raw emotion clinging to them. To survive, you must learn to navigate the currents of despair."
Akira shivered, the previous terror still a phantom ache in her limbs. "Navigate? What does that even mean? And what are these... echoes?"
Eriol's gaze drifted to the distant, shimmering forms, no longer contorted in agony but now moving with a disturbing, disjointed grace. "The echoes are what remains when a soul shatters here. Fragments of their last, most potent experiences. Their regrets, their betrayals, their ultimate despair. Most simply vanish, absorbed into the realm. But a select few... they become threads. And you, Akira, are uniquely capable of touching them." She extended a hand, palm up, not towards Akira, but towards a point in the silvery air between them. "We begin with a thread. A simple one, to start. To awaken your senses."
A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer began to coalesce in the air. It was like a heat haze, but instead of blurring the light, it seemed to draw it in, darkening. A low, persistent hum started, a vibration Akira felt more in her teeth than her ears. It wasn't the menacing voice from before, but something ancient and sorrowful.
"Focus," Eriol commanded, her voice cutting through the rising hum. "Do not fight it. Let it in. Feel what they felt. See what they saw."
As the shimmer intensified, Akira felt a sudden, dizzying lurch in her stomach. The scent of decay intensified, no longer just a background note, but sharp and acrid, mixed with the metallic tang of blood and the sickening sweetness of fear. The silver light around them flickered, replaced by a harsh, flickering orange glow.
She was no longer standing on damp earth. Her knees buckled onto something rough and splintered. Wood. Her hands, suddenly smaller, younger, clutched desperately at a splintered wooden floor. A man's guttural scream ripped through the air, vibrating the very floorboards beneath her. It was agonizing, drawn-out.
Akira cried out, her own throat raw. It wasn't her scream, but it tore from her nonetheless. Her vision swam, blurred by what felt like tears, but the air was too hot for tears. Smoke. She choked, a burning sensation in her lungs. Around her, shadowy figures moved, illuminated by bursts of orange light from unseen flames. Laughter, cold and cruel, mixed with the screams.
This isn't real, she tried to tell herself, but every nerve ending screamed otherwise. The terror wasn't hers, yet it consumed her. She felt the desperate, pleading urge to curl into a ball, to make herself invisible, to stop the horrifying sounds. The smell of burning hair, of scorching flesh, became overwhelming.
Then, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through her small, borrowed hand. A searing heat. She looked down and saw, through blurring vision, a cruel, sharpened shard of wood, gleaming orange in the firelight, piercing her palm. She cried out again, a high, childish wail that felt utterly alien.
Suddenly, as quickly as it began, the orange light vanished. The screams cut off. The scents evaporated. Akira gasped, collapsing onto the cool, silver-lit earth of the Cursed Realm. Her body trembled uncontrollably, her throat tight with phantom screams. Her palm throbbed, but there was no wound, only the ghost of pain.
Eriol stood over her, unmoving, her expression unreadable. "That was but a sliver," she said, her voice devoid of comfort. "A small regret. A swift end. There are deeper currents, Akira. Longer torments. And you must face them all. For within the suffering of others, you may find the key to your own lost self."
Akira stared at her, breathing hard, the remnants of the borrowed agony still clinging to her. "What... what was that?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
"The echo of a child's last moments," Eriol replied, turning and beginning to walk. "A minor tragedy. Now, come. The realm has countless others waiting for you to feel."
Akira scrambled to her feet, desperate to follow, desperate for any shred of sanity, even if it meant more torment. The journey through the Cursed Realm of Echoes had truly begun, and she knew, with a terrifying certainty, that this was only the first taste of its bitter medicine.