Hello there readers! This is volume 1 of Esutori Magazine! We have stories that span multipule volumes, so think of this like a mash-up of stories! Please hit me up if you want to submit your story! We only have one for this volume which is Aetherium Echoes written by your totally favorite editor (I'm holding you at gunpoint /jk) Izuku Kojima!

  Aetherium Echoes

  By Izuku Kojima :O

  Ordinary Echoes

  The summer sun hammered down on Veridia City, turning the air inside RAMEN-O into a humid soup. Sweat beaded on Aoi's forehead, trickling down her temples to dampen the short, white strands of her hair that stubbornly stuck to her skin. She leaned against the counter, the polished wood slightly sticky beneath her elbows. Her uniform, a simple red apron over a plain white shirt, clung uncomfortably to her back.

  Her coworker, Kendo, a burly man with perpetually flour-dusted hands, was the true engine of this tiny ramen shop. He expertly tossed noodles into boiling pots, ladled steaming broth into ceramic bowls, and chopped vegetables with a rhythmic precision that Aoi could only watch with a mixture of envy and relief. Her own tasks were minimal – wiping down tables, occasionally taking orders, mostly just… existing.

  It wasn't exactly thrilling, this near-invisibility in the bustling shop. The aroma of pork broth and soy sauce, initially appealing, had long since become a constant, almost suffocating presence. But Aoi couldn't deny the appeal of the paycheck that arrived every two weeks. Living in the East Sky district, even in her cramped apartment, wasn't cheap. Everything in Veridia City seemed to come with a hefty price tag.

  Kendo, she knew, had another job. He worked at the Gifted Registry, the government organization responsible for cataloging and, some whispered, controlling individuals with Gifts. He was an anomaly there, though – known for his quiet kindness and a genuine belief in fairness, a stark contrast to some of the more rigid and fearful individuals Aoi had heard about.

  “Stop using your gift to make the ramen. It’s inappropriate,” an old looking lady says to Kendo

  The bell above the door jingled, announcing a new customer – an elderly woman with tightly permed grey hair and a disapproving frown etched onto her wrinkled face. She pointed a bony finger at Kendo, who was currently heating a bowl of broth with a subtle shimmer of golden energy emanating from his hands.

  "Stop using your Gift to make the ramen, Kendo," the woman declared, her voice sharp and accusatory. "It's inappropriate. This is a place of business, not a demonstration of… abilities."

  Kendo’s shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. He offered the woman a smile, but Aoi, who knew him well enough to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor, could see the forced nature of it. His dark eyes flickered towards Aoi for a fleeting second, a silent roll of exasperation passing between them. "My apologies, Madam," Kendo said, his voice even but laced with a hint of suppressed annoyance. He carefully placed the bowl onto the stovetop. "Let me use the pot then."

  Aoi's jaw clenched. She hated customers like that woman. The casual dismissal, the ingrained prejudice against those with Gifts. It simmered beneath her skin, a familiar resentment. Even though she herself was ordinary, completely devoid of any special abilities, she felt a fierce protectiveness towards the Gifted. They were different, yes, but difference shouldn't equate to suspicion or outright hostility. She believed in the freedom to use one's Gifts, as long as it didn't harm others. The thought of being Gifted and having to constantly suppress a part of herself felt suffocating.

  The warmth outside was the kind that clung to you, thick and heavy. It was a typical summer day in Veridia, a small, densely populated nation. For the most part, Veridia was synonymous with Veridia City, a sprawling metropolis that pulsed with life, surrounded by a scattering of quieter villages nestled in the outskirts.

  Aoi was right in the heart of it all. Veridia City was a paradox, a vibrant tapestry woven with threads of cutting-edge technology and a distinct, almost nostalgic architectural style. Sleek, modern buildings of slim brick and polished metal soared towards the sky, their surfaces reflecting the intricate network of elevated railways that crisscrossed the city like metallic veins. Automated transport hummed along these tracks, a constant reminder of Veridia's advanced capabilities.

  Beneath the bustling streets lay another world – the Underground. A vast, interconnected network of tunnels and caverns formed a second, subterranean city. Here, the pace was different, a more relaxed and almost bohemian vibe permeated the air. The inhabitants of the Underground were known for their easygoing nature, their welcoming smiles, and their love of exploration. Numerous bars and cafes spilled out onto pedestrian walkways, and surprisingly green parks offered pockets of tranquility amidst the urban sprawl. The layout encouraged discovery, with distinct districts each boasting its own unique character and atmosphere.

  Her own small apartment was located in the East Sky district, a slightly more affluent area known for its stunning views of the aerial ports. From her window, on clear days, Aoi could see the hazy outlines of the Sorashinma Isles in the distance, literal landmasses suspended in the sky, their undersides often shrouded in mist. Sometimes, if she squinted, she could even make out faint flashes of light, distant echoes of the small-scale conflicts that occasionally flared up amongst the sky-islanders. It felt like another world entirely, so far removed from her own ordinary existence.

  "Ordinary." That word echoed in Aoi's mind, a constant, dull hum beneath the surface of her thoughts. She desperately wanted to be anything but. Standing at just a touch over average height, with her short, stark white hair that fell forward in a soft fringe, she knew she blended into the crowd. Her features were delicate, almost ethereal, and those who knew her often described her as sensitive, a trait she sometimes felt was more of a burden than a blessing.

  But beneath that gentle exterior lay a yearning, a deep-seated desire for something more. She longed to be among the Gifted. They were the ones who were noticed, who possessed abilities that set them apart. Society's reaction to them was a complex mix of awe and fear. While roughly half the population had manifested Gifts, they weren't always readily accepted. The "normals," the Giftless majority, often harbored a quiet paranoia, while the Gifted themselves, despite their extraordinary abilities, sometimes felt isolated and lonely, their very uniqueness setting them apart. Aoi wanted that uniqueness, that power, that notice.

  The afternoon dragged on, the heat relentless. Aoi mechanically wiped down tables, her gaze drifting out the window to the bustling street. Finally, a new customer approached her counter – a man with a confident stride and an air of nonchalance. He ordered a large bowl of spicy miso ramen. A flicker of genuine excitement sparked within Aoi. Finally, a chance to do something more than just stand around.

  As she turned to prepare the order, she glanced back at the man. He was casually reaching into what appeared to be empty air, and one by one, the necessary ingredients – a block of tofu, a handful of dried seaweed, a perfectly sliced green onion – materialized in his hands. It was a subtle display of a spatial manipulation Gift, effortless and undeniably cool. A small smile played on Aoi's lips. This guy clearly didn't care about societal expectations or the subtle pressures to hide one's abilities. He was using his Gift freely, and there was something undeniably empowering about that.

  She carefully assembled the ramen, the rich, savory scent of the broth and spices filling the air as she ladled it into a bowl. Serving it to the man, she felt a small surge of satisfaction. The aroma that wafted upwards as he took the bowl was intoxicating. RAMEN-O finally closing felt like a liberation, the last few hours stretching into an eternity. As she handed the man his change, the lingering smell of the ramen clung to her fingers, and for a fleeting moment, Aoi felt a sense of purpose. Gifts, she thought, should be celebrated, used to enhance life, not suppressed out of fear by the ordinary.

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  The chime above the door signaled the official end of Aoi’s shift. A wave of relief washed over her, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She collected her meager tips, the small stack of Uera bills a tangible representation of another day survived. Her apartment in the East Sky, while relatively inexpensive compared to some of the more luxurious districts, still swallowed a significant chunk of her paycheck each month. It was a constant balancing act, living from one payday to the next.

  But the East Sky had its perks. The aerial ports, vast platforms that jutted out over the cityscape, offered breathtaking views. On clear evenings, Aoi would sometimes stand by the railings, gazing at the distant Sorashinma Isles. They weren't just clouds; they were actual landmasses, suspended impossibly in the sky, their silhouettes often sharp against the setting sun. Sometimes, a faint flicker of light, like distant fireflies, would betray the ongoing skirmishes and power struggles that plagued those aerial nations. It felt like a drama playing out on a stage miles away, its impact on her own life minimal, yet undeniably present in the city's collective consciousness.

  Her worn, black boots, the leather softened and creased from countless days of walking, crunched against the uneven pavement. A recent summer storm had left the streets slick with puddles and scattered debris. As she made her way home, the sound of rushing water caught her ear. It was the rain runoff, still gushing down the grates of the city's extensive sewer system. Then, amidst the gurgling and splashing, she heard it – a sound that made her stop dead in her tracks. A high-pitched scream, thin and laced with terror, followed by a deeper, gruff male voice, laced with anger or perhaps something more sinister.

  The air in Veridia City, even after a storm, carried a distinct tang of salt, a reminder of its proximity to the coast. This fresh air, usually invigorating, did little to dissipate the chilling sound. It seemed to bounce off the sleek buildings and echo through the narrow streets, a raw cry cutting through the city's usual hum. The sound of violence, stark and unsettling, seemed to emanate from the depths of the sewer system, a dark underbelly to the vibrant city above.

  A knot of unease tightened in Aoi’s stomach. She had to check. The scream… it had sounded so desperate. This was her chance, a flicker of opportunity to finally be more than just ordinary. To stand out. To be the hero in someone's darkness. The thought, impulsive and perhaps a little naive, took root in her mind.

  Around her, other pedestrians hurried past, their faces etched with indifference or perhaps a practiced oblivion. They were just passersby, their lives continuing uninterrupted. Did they not hear it? Or did they simply choose not to? A bitter feeling rose in Aoi's throat. It felt like nobody cared, nobody noticed the small acts of desperation that surely unfolded in the hidden corners of the city.

  She found the alleyway the sound seemed to be coming from. It was narrow and choked with shadows, even in the late afternoon light. The brick walls were rough and scarred, bearing the marks of time and neglect. A dingy, permanent odor hung in the air – a mix of dampness, stale refuse, and something vaguely metallic. A low-lying fog, common in the city's lower areas, clung to the ground, swirling around her ankles. From below, from the sewer grates embedded in the alley floor, she could hear a faint but distinct rattling – the unmistakable sound of blows landing. Punches. But above that unsettling noise, there was an unnerving silence from the street level, as if the alley existed in a soundproof bubble, forgotten by the rest of the world.

  A surge of adrenaline coursed through Aoi. She had to act, and quickly. The closest entrance to the Underground, she vaguely recalled, was near the North Sky District. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. North Sky was a different world from the relatively safe and bustling East Sky. It was a grim district, a place where life seemed to stagnate, where poverty was rampant, and hope felt like a forgotten luxury. The buildings were older, more dilapidated, casting long, oppressive shadows even in daylight. It was a dark area, both literally and figuratively, where light seemed hesitant to penetrate, and where opportunities rarely escaped the cycle of hardship.

  Dangerous gangs were a common fixture in North Sky, their territories marked by graffiti and whispered warnings. The sound of gunfire was not unusual, a stark reminder of the constant tension and struggle for control. The flickering streetlamps cast weak pools of light on the grimy streets, barely pushing back the encroaching darkness. This alley, tucked away in a less frequented part of the city, seemed like the perfect breeding ground for illicit activities, a place where cries for help might easily go unheard. But instead of deterring Aoi, the inherent danger only fueled her desperate need to be noticed, to be the one who did something, unlike the silent, suffering person trapped below.

  As Aoi began to sprint towards the North Sky, the sharp crack of rifle fire echoed from a nearby street. The sound was followed by the shattering of glass, a discordant symphony of urban violence. It was clear a gang altercation was underway, a common occurrence in this part of the city. A few stray shots whizzed down the alley she was running through, the bullets singing a deadly tune as they passed alarmingly close. Aoi instinctively ducked and weaved, her heart pounding against her ribs. She saw the spent shell casings clatter onto the grimy pavement, their metallic gleam momentarily catching the sunlight before gravity pulled them down. A sudden burst of vibrant kinetic energy erupted from a building a few blocks away, a flash of light momentarily illuminating the surrounding area before dissipating into the sky. Aoi's curiosity tugged at her. What was happening over there? Was someone else in trouble? But the cries from the sewer were her immediate priority. That was a tangible suffering she could potentially address, unlike the distant, chaotic burst of energy. She had to focus.

  Aoi reached the entrance to the North Sky Underground station, a gaping maw of shadows descending into the earth. She didn't hesitate, her boots clanging against the worn metal steps as she rushed downwards. The air in the station was thick with the smell of damp concrete and something vaguely metallic. A quick glance at the departure board confirmed her frustration – no train for another forty agonizing minutes. And to make matters worse, most of the lights in this section of the station were out, casting long, eerie shadows that danced with her hurried movements.

  She had to rely on her hearing. The faint sound of sobbing still echoed from somewhere deeper within the tunnels. It bounced off the cold, damp walls, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact location. As she moved further into the darkness, the crying suddenly intensified, a raw, heart-wrenching sound that seemed to pierce the very air. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through Aoi's head, behind her eyes, and she stumbled, her vision blurring. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold, gritty floor, a gasp escaping her lips.

  The roar of an approaching train filled the tunnel, the ground vibrating beneath her. The wind from its passing whipped around her, and then, as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving behind only the lingering echo and a profound silence.

  An indeterminate amount of time passed. Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional drip of water. Finally, a groan escaped Aoi's lips, and her eyelids fluttered open. The pain in her head was still a dull throb, but the intense agony had subsided. She pushed herself to a sitting position, her body aching in protest. She had to go back. She had to know what happened. With a renewed sense of urgency, she stumbled to her feet and began running back down the tunnel, following the faint, lingering echoes of the earlier cries. She rounded a corner and stopped short, her breath catching in her throat. A group of rough-looking individuals, a gang by the looks of them, were gathered further down the tunnel.

  “Stay still and put your hands up!” a strong looking man says.

  “Umm… I’m just trying to navigate the sewer… this is my first time,” Aoi says naively.

  The tension was just waiting to snap. She would probably get hurt for being unprepared.

  “You’re not getting away that easy you liar,” the man says intensely.

  The man tries to punch Aoi, but Aoi dodges quickly. The punch ends up hitting the sewer wall, a course of pain flooding his body. Aoi counter attacked by kicking him in the gut with perfect timing. She could now see the hostage in the back.

  Their fists fly back and forth rapidly, the air rushing out. Aoi’s foot jutted out to hit his knees and it dealt significant damage. The skin cracked loudly as the grunt fell to his knees. Suddenly, another group of thugs jumped out from behind. One ended up locking Aoi in place while another set it on fire. The sound of the hostage getting abused echoed through the corridor.

  Aoi couldn’t move. Her legs locked up. Suddenly, she was tackled. Then the thugs seemed to leave. She lies on the floor defeated. The hostage fled out the sewer without a word. Aoi actually made a difference, but at a grave cost. Aoi felt traumatized by the events. After all, she failed her first attempt at redemption for being normal. As the girl sprinted away, she knew she would have to follow her. What if that girl was trying to do the right thing? She snuck swiftly through the silent alleyways, using the fog to her advantage. The dumpsters provided decent cover.

  She thought about what she just did and how it could change everything. She did something and did it in an absolutely sick way. She went from being the pathetic person nobody rooted for to a hero which she could never fathom. She felt like a powerhouse for saving somebody. That's what she thought would happen. Yet she failed again. Aoi dared to become a true star, but in the middle of it all, forgot how to perform the actions she would. She failed to save the girl she wanted to.

  She followed her trail cautiously, sneaking behind her with graceful speed until she caught up. Turns out, this would be the turning point.

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