The day began like most others lately — surreal in how normal it felt.
Ayame had just finished tacking up paper stars for Class 3-B's storytelling booth when she caught sight of the school gate.
A girl stood there.
Not just standing — *waiting.*
Her silhouette was unfamiliar, but something about her posture tugged at Ayame's memory. Like a word on the tip of your tongue. Like a tune you hum before remembering where it came from.
Kael approached behind her, chewing on a pocky stick. "You okay?"
She didn't answer right away.
The girl beyond the gate stepped forward, her long coat fluttering behind her. Her hair shimmered strangely — not dyed, but like it couldn't decide whether it belonged in sunlight or moonlight. And her eyes…
Ayame *knew* those eyes.
Not from this world. Not from the glade.
From somewhere *before.*
"I've seen her," Ayame whispered. "In the mirror."
Kael blinked. "Uh. Do we need to call someone?"
But Ayame was already walking, her feet moving before her mind caught up.
The girl smiled as Ayame approached.
"You remember," she said.
Ayame's breath caught. "You were in the in-between."
"The Echo Field," the girl corrected gently. "Where lost thoughts gather. Where abandoned stories whisper until someone listens."
Kael had followed, warily. "She one of the Composer's old interns or something?"
The girl's gaze flicked to him, amused. "I suppose you could say that. Or maybe I'm the version of Ayame that *never* came back."
Silence.
Ayame stared.
"…What?"
"I'm a fragment," the girl said softly. "Born from the part of you that almost gave up. I waited in the silence. Grew in it."
Kael took a step back. "Okay, this is either poetry or possession, and I need ground rules."
Ayame's heart pounded. "Why are you here now?"
The girl's eyes darkened slightly. "Because cracks are forming again. Not just here — *everywhere.* Someone's been tampering. Rewriting echoes. Snuffing out stories."
She stepped forward, reaching into her coat. From it, she pulled a tiny glass orb — filled with a swirling, ink-black mist.
Ayame recoiled.
"That's—"
"A memory that was erased," the girl said. "Stolen. It belongs to someone in your class. They don't even *know* what they've lost."
Kael's face twisted. "Why us? Why always us?"
The girl looked at Ayame. "Because you're not just storytellers anymore. You're guardians of the echo-thread. The melody you restored… it seeded new verses. But something — *someone* — is trying to sever them."
Ayame clenched her fists. "What do we do?"
The girl smiled faintly. "You find the stolen stories. You listen for what's missing."
She pressed the orb into Ayame's hand. It felt cold. *Too* cold.
"And you don't forget who you are. Even when they try to rewrite you."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "Who's *they*?"
But the girl was already fading, like a dream dismissed upon waking.
Ayame called out, but she was gone.
Only the orb remained — and a sudden stillness in the air.
Ayame turned to Kael.
"We're not done," she said.
He nodded grimly. "Nope. We're in Season Two now."
Ayame stared at the orb. Deep inside, something flickered — a broken lullaby, half-sung.
"Let's go find who this belongs to," she said.
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