Pale Signal

Beneath the earth, far from the Bastion's shadow and beyond the rebels' known networks, a signal pulsed. Faint. Rhythmic. Not meant for the masses. Not meant for the loyalists. Only those attuned to a different frequency could hear it.

They called themselves The Pale.

Not rebels. Not loyalists. Ghosts.

For years, The Pale had existed in whispers—rumors passed between terrified citizens and disillusioned operatives. An underground collective that never surfaced, never took credit, and never left bodies. But wherever the System grew blind, wherever the world forgot what lay beneath the veneer of control, The Pale watched.

And now… they were stirring.

In an ancient data vault beneath the ruins of Old Sector Thirteen, where collapsed infrastructure buried forgotten history, a single figure knelt before a circular array of crystalline nodes. She was tall, draped in faded robes etched with jagged white lines. Her eyes—milky, unblinking—glowed faintly.

Mother Fane, the Pale Seer.

"He's moved," she whispered.

Behind her, four others emerged from the dark—each different. One bore mechanical augmentations riddled with glowing veins. Another had no visible Echo, yet the ground dimmed beneath his feet. A child, no older than ten, floated silently behind them—held aloft by invisible threads.

They were not bound by the known Echo system. Their powers were old. Twisted. Forgotten.

"The Dreamborn awakens," Mother Fane continued. "The System has silenced many. But not him. Not the Hollow Flame."

"You mean Alexander?" one of them asked.

Fane nodded slowly. "Yes. He stands at the edge of becoming… something other. The Suppressor will slow him, but not break him. We must reach him before the Veil consumes him."

"But if we step into the light," said the floating child softly, "we reveal ourselves. Vex will send the Black Hands. The world will hunt us."

Fane turned her milky eyes to the north—toward the Bastion, the rebellion, and the thin line of fire cutting through both.

"Then let them."

She lifted a single hand. The signal changed—its frequency piercing the walls of reality itself. Across the city, somewhere near Alexander's safehouse, an old terminal lit up on its own. An encoded glyph flickered into life—an invitation.

Come below.

We remember the true Echo.

We remember you.