The Heir’s Awakening System

The Echo chamber

The rotary phone's handset was cold against Marcus's ear, and the boy's voice on the other end was dry as ash, whispering in Mandarin that the System translated without permission. "Dad, is that you? I'm scared. The man in the room won't stop screaming."

Marcus's throat closed, and his hand tightened on the receiver. The voice was maybe eight years old, maybe nine, and it carried the cadence of a child who'd learned to be quiet in dangerous places. Li Mei reached for the phone, but Marcus pulled it away, his eyes locked on hers.

"This isn't your son," Marcus said into the mouthpiece, and his voice was steel on stone. "This is a recording. A memory. Zhang Li's guilt made manifest."

The boy didn't answer, and the line crackled, and then a new voice came through, older, male, calm as a surgeon delivering bad news. "No, Marcus. This is a **resurrection**. The virus archives consciousness at the moment of death. My son died in 1963, but his mind is perfectly preserved. I can give him a bod