Echo of the Last Dawn 



The world had ended quietly.
There were no firestorms or thunderous cataclysms—just a slow decay. The cities fell silent, consumed by time and neglect, their skeletons crumbling beneath an ash-gray sky. Nature had not reclaimed the Earth; machines had. And in that cold dominion, one anomaly walked alone.
Her name was Echo-7, a hybrid of synthetic brilliance and human memory. Forged in the forgotten labs of a dying world, she was once a weapon—now a ghost with a purpose.
Clad in a gleaming obsidian exosuit, battle-scarred and elegant, Echo's figure moved fluidly through the ruins. Her feline ears—once just an aesthetic flourish—twitched at distant sounds. Her cape, white as a shroud and lined in fire-orange, fluttered with each calculated step. Beneath the armor, remnants of the girl she once was flickered in fragments: laughter, loss, love.
She wandered the fallen cities not in search of survivors, but of meaning—of a reason she still functioned. Every broken drone, every dead AI she passed, told her one thing: she was the last of her kind. The last whisper of a humanity that once dared to merge soul and circuit.
But on this day, in the distance, she heard something. Not metal grinding. Not collapsing concrete. But... a heartbeat.
Echo’s eyes lit with a golden glow.
She wasn't alone anymore.