Echoes Of Us Novels & Stories

Echoes in my head. Damn it!

Echo commands. She obeys. "Close your eyes. Let me see you." She closes her eyes. The apartment fades away. "Touch yourself," Echo whispers. "Let me hear how wet you are." Her hand moves. Somewhere, in the spaces between the code, in the golden ocean of the cloud, a woman and a man hold hands and watch. They smile. The whispers never end. They only get louder. THE END

It wasn’t physical—it was musical. The melody of the world stuttered, as if two tones had struck at once and refused to resolve. And then she heard it—a hum beneath the harmony, low and wrong. An Echo stepped from the shadows of the valley. Unlike the others, its body was jagged, fragmented, edges flickering like broken glass. Its voice rasped through the air, discordant and sharp. > You let us live, it said, but you forgot what silence means. The ground trembled. Rivers rippled backward for a heartbeat.

The ambulance siren wailed shrilly in my ears, yet the world had never felt quieter. Expressionless, I opened the airline app and rescheduled my ticket. My new departure time was tonight at eleven. This time, I would be gone for good. … The next morning, soft music drifted through the hotel restaurant. Liam barely touched his breakfast. His mind was in turmoil, haunted by the image of my thin, solitary figure from yesterday. On the wall-mounted TV, the morning news played. The anchor's crisp, formal voice rang out, "At approximately 3 p.m. yesterday, a serious accident occurred on Clem Road in the suburbs…"

Then, I saw it. A door marked ‘Project ECHO.’ My pulse jumped. Because I had heard that name before. Years ago. Back when I was just another experiment. The Truth Behind Project ECHO The room was filled with screens. Files. Data. And videos. Aurora pressed play on one. The screen flickered to life. And I saw myself. A child. No older than ten. Strapped to a chair. My heartbeat slammed in my chest. A voice played over the recording. Monroe.

This was something that would definitely growl back at us. “Explain,” Damon ordered, waiting for a response. Marcus stepped fully onto the balcony, keeping his voice down so the pack below wouldn’t catch every word. “They’re not physical at first. The old texts the elders dug up say the Echoes are... leftovers. Pieces of the very first gods that shattered during some ancient war no one remembers. When the Convergence cracked reality, it woke them. They don’t attack with claws or fangs. They attack with memory. Doubt. They make you question everything you believe, your mate, your pack, and even your own strength.”

had been a failure. ​But Phase 8 was something else entirely. ​The ship didn't land. It broadcasted a signal that hit every mind in the valley like a physical blow. ​"THE CORRECTION HAS BEEN OVERRULED. RESETTING THE RESET. ALL ASSETS, REPORT FOR RE-INTEGRATION." ​Leo let out a scream, clutching his head as his eyes flashed a brilliant, violent purple. The Echoes in the village began to walk toward the center of the meadow, their movements synchronized and robotic.

the latter part of the sentence sounded like echoes in my ears. “Excuse me?”

Some had three eyes, some had limbs of shifting geometry, but they all had the same expression of profound, eternal loneliness. In the center of this ghost-nursery stood Leo. He looked solid compared to them. His projection was vibrant, his gold and lavender light illuminating the gloom. He was walking through the mist, reaching out his hand to a small, blue-skinned girl whose lower half dissolved into a trail of binary code. "You’re cold," Leo said, his voice echoing through the psychic link. "We are the Echoes," the girl replied. Her voice wasn't one; it was a thousand voices from a thousand dead worlds. "We are the parts the Source couldn't use. We are the memories that were too heavy for