The alley's violet tear snapped shut, its discordant hum fading like a plucked string breaking, leaving Joshua Wise gasping on the rain-slicked pavement. His oxfords scraped against the wet cobblestones, hands trembling as the whispers—take her, claim her—dissolved into silence, the Regret Shade's oily tendrils retreating into the rift's collapsing violet glow. His chest throbbed, the sharp pain from the library dulled but persistent, a haunting echo of Yumi's alarmed face—"Josh, you're scaring me"—clashing with her soft, hesitant smile in his memory. The young male stood before him, silver-white hair catching the flicker of a streetlight, turquoise-blue eyes steady, piercing through the night. His shadow, its glowing white eyes fixed on the vanishing Shade, dissolved into wisps, merging seamlessly into his form. Joshua's breath caught, a jolt of recognition striking him—that same shadowy figure with white eyes, skittering in the rift at Raj's garage alongside a metallic, spider-like creature, its memory a splinter in his mind.
"Who… are you?" Joshua rasped, his voice raw, golden-yellow eyes dim with exhaustion, catching the streetlight's faltering glow. His palms prickled, a restless warmth—not fire, but a latent spark—stirring in his veins, unfamiliar yet undeniable.
The young male's gaze dropped, deferential, his voice soft but resonant, carrying the weight of servitude. "You're entangled in a tide greater than yourself, Joshua Wise. The shadow fed on your doubt, your fear. I am Nyro, servant of the huntress." He stepped closer, his black coat's tattered hems trailing like moonlight unraveling into blue wisps, his posture submissive yet poised, as if awaiting a command from an unseen force.
Before Joshua could speak, a silver light erupted, blinding, sharp as a drawn blade. London's cacophony—car horns, distant shouts—vanished, replaced by a gentle rustle, like leaves dancing in a twilight breeze. The air thickened with the scent of moss, starlight, and a faint, melodic hum, like a hymn carried on the wind. Joshua stumbled, his oxfords sinking into soft, loamy earth, and blinked as the world coalesced into a twilight forest. Silver-leaved trees shimmered under a sky ablaze with endless stars, their branches twisting like veins of light, pulsing with a rhythm that echoed in his bones. Shadows danced, not menacing but alive, weaving through the undergrowth with purpose. The Silvergrove Sanctuary, though unnamed to him, felt both alien and achingly familiar, like a melody he'd forgotten but longed to recall. Among the trees, ethereal figures moved—nymphs with skin like polished bark and eyes like morning dew, their laughter a soft chime blending with the forest's song, and starlit spirits, their forms flickering like candle flames, gliding silently through the glade.
"Where are we?" Joshua whispered, his voice barely a ripple against the forest's hum, his school bag heavy on his shoulder, the notebook inside a tether to his old life.
Nyro stood nearby, his shadow—those white eyes seared into Joshua's memory—merged with him, a faint outline flickering at his edges. "Beyond the Mortal Veil, my lady's sacred domain," he said, eyes sweeping the trees, tone hushed, reverent, as if speaking to the forest itself. "The Silvergrove, sanctuary of Artemis, home to her nymphs and spirits. You've been marked, Joshua, by the fire stirring within you." A nymph drifted closer, her hair cascading like willow branches, eyes glinting like starlit pools. "Sylvara," Nyro murmured, acknowledging her with a nod, his voice soft but deferential. Sylvara's gaze lingered on Joshua, curious yet wary, her whisper—a lilting melody in an ancient tongue—blending with the forest's hum before she glided back, her form shimmering into silver mist.
Joshua's gut twisted, the Regret Shade's tendrils coiling in his memory, their hunger a shadow over his heart. "Marked? I'm just… me," he said, voice cracking, Yumi's fear, his harsh words to Leo, the whispers crashing together like waves. He clutched his head, palms pulsing with that restless spark. Sylvara tilted her head, her dew-like eyes narrowing as if sensing his turmoil, her presence a gentle pressure, then retreated into the trees at a rustle of leaves, as if summoned elsewhere.
A presence surged, the air sharpening with wildflowers and the cold bite of steel. A woman strode from the glade—tall, auburn hair tightly braided, silver armor gleaming under a cape woven of starlight. Her eyes, sharp as a predator's, pinned Joshua with unrelenting force, commanding absolute obedience. "Silence, boy!" she roared, her voice a thunderclap that silenced the nymphs' chimes, the forest itself bowing to her will. "I am Artemis, mistress of this Silvergrove, and you are no mere mortal. The parasite hunted you because your soul burns too bright—a spark the shadows crave to consume."
Joshua froze, disbelief tangling with the forest's undeniable reality, the starlit spirits watching from the shadows, their forms flickering like distant flames. "Artemis? The goddess?" His laugh was nervous, brittle, but it withered under her searing glare. "This is insane. I'm just a kid from London. I write lyrics, go to school—"
"Enough!" Artemis bellowed, her voice shaking the silver leaves, starlight flaring in her cape, the ground trembling beneath her wrath. "Your prattle insults my realm! You are a vessel, boy, bound to an ancient fire, and you will face it or be shattered!" Her gaze flicked to Nyro, a silent command, her authority a blade cutting through the air. A cluster of nymphs—Sylvara among them, her willow-hair swaying—gathered near her, bowing low, their whispers stilled, their forms trembling under her presence.
Nyro bowed deeply, his shadow rippling, its white eyes a faint echo. "You saw my shadow in the rift before," he said, voice low, obedient to Artemis's will. "At the garage, tethered to me as I am to my lady. The rifts widen, Joshua, drawn to your spark—creatures like the Regret Shade, born of the Endless Tower's echoes." He gestured to the forest, where violet shimmers flickered between trees, like wounds torn in reality. A starlit spirit, its form half-human, half-smoke, drifted closer, its violet-glowing eyes studying Joshua with silent judgment before fading into the undergrowth, its hum lingering like a warning.
Artemis's eyes narrowed, her tone unyielding, a decree carved in stone. "The Shade fed on your weakness—your love, your doubt, your rage. Face them now, or it will return to claim you!" She thrust a hand forward, silver leaves pulsing, the forest's hum rising to a sharp, commanding song. Sylvara and the other nymphs joined in, their voices weaving a haunting melody, amplifying the forest's power. Images erupted in the air, a fractured mirror of Joshua's soul: the library, confessing to Yumi, his heart pounding like a drum; Leo's laugh, his own voice biting back, sharp as a blade; Yumi's door shutting, her fear slicing deeper than any wound.
Joshua stumbled, oxfords catching on gnarled roots, Sylvara's starlit eyes glinting from the shadows, her presence both curious and accusing, joined by other nymphs whose gazes pressed like a weight. "Stop it!" he shouted, voice raw, but the images surged closer, his emotions laid bare—love for Yumi, raw and unguarded, blooming like a wound; shame for scaring her, heavy as lead; anger at himself, at Leo, at the whispers that weren't his own. His palms warmed, the spark restless, but Artemis's gaze held him, unyielding, the forest's inhabitants a silent chorus of judges, their hum a relentless tide.
"You will not flee your truth!" Artemis commanded, her voice booming, shaking the trees, the nymphs bowing lower, Sylvara's form trembling as starlight flared around her. "The Shade struck because your heart is bound to an ancient fire, a flame the rifts crave. Confront it, or it will consume you!" She turned to Nyro, her tone sharp as a drawn bow. "Guide him, servant. He falters, and my patience wanes."
Nyro knelt beside Joshua, turquoise eyes steady, subservient, hands clasped in deference. "Focus," he urged softly, his shadow flickering, its white eyes a silent anchor urging clarity. "Your turmoil feeds the rifts. Let the memories pass through you. The Silvergrove sees all truths." Sylvara drifted closer, her willow-hair swaying, fingers brushing Joshua's shoulder, cold as dew, her touch a fleeting calm before she retreated at Artemis's sharp glance, her starlit eyes lingering with unspoken questions.
Joshua's breath hitched, Yumi's face searing his mind, her fear a weight he couldn't shed. "Why me?" he asked, voice hoarse, hands trembling, the spark in his veins pulsing like a heartbeat. A starlit spirit hovered nearby, its form rippling like a heatwave, whispering in a language of hums, echoing his question as if the forest itself demanded an answer.
Nyro's eyes held a flicker of starlight, his voice low, obedient, carrying Artemis's will. "You are a vessel, Joshua, more than human, tied to the sun, to rebirth. The Shade sensed it, as others will. The rifts grow, and you are part of their tide." He stood, shadow rippling, glancing to Artemis for approval, his posture a silent vow of service. Sylvara and the spirits watched, their presence a chorus of silent witnesses, their eyes glinting with curiosity, caution, and something deeper—anticipation.
Artemis stepped forward, her cape shimmering like a galaxy, her voice a cold, unyielding decree. "Worse than Shades await beyond the Veil. Train here, boy, or the next rift will shatter you and all you hold dear." She pointed to a silver path winding deeper into the forest, where violet shimmers pulsed stronger, guarded by Sylvara and a cluster of nymphs with eyes like starlit pools, their forms glowing faintly as if ready to guide or judge. "Begin by facing yourself. Now."
Joshua's heart pounded, the spark in his veins stirring—not fire, but a promise, a weight he couldn't escape. The Silvergrove's hum, woven with Sylvara's melody and the spirits' silent songs, pulled him forward, their watchful gazes pressing against his soul, urging him toward truths he wasn't ready to face, under Artemis's unyielding command. The forest seemed to breathe with him, its rhythm a call to something greater, something he could neither deny nor fully grasp.