The sun rested high above the marble terraces of the Hill of Lessons, its golden rays shimmering off the white stone pillars and sun-warmed amphitheaters. Birds circled overhead, their cries echoing over the vast training fields where young initiates of divine arts honed their abilities beneath the watchful gaze of ancient bloodlines.
Among them danced a flash of pink—a long, loose braid trailing behind a girl who sprinted across the sparring grounds barefoot, laughing as she barely dodged a burst of divine energy from her sparring partner.
"You missed again, Glaukos!" she called, twirling mid-air and flipping behind one of the stone columns.
Her name was Dahlia.
Sixteen, daughter of a forgotten Norse-Greek lineage, she was not born into a contract like most of the others. A god didn't choose her—she'd chosen herself. No divine beast whispered in her dreams, no contract inked her skin. Her power came from inside, trained day by day through meditation, trial, and her own chaotic curiosity.
With light magenta eyes, baby-soft cheeks, and heart-shaped pupils that often got her mocked by newer students, Dahlia looked deceptively sweet. But beneath her clumsy jokes and playful persona was a fierce control of raw divine energy—one even some instructors privately admitted was terrifying in its potential.
"Dahlia, no teleporting mid-match!" a voice boomed from the edge of the arena.
Odysseus stood with arms folded, a crooked smile playing on his lips. His blue sash billowed in the wind, and his piercing gaze tracked every movement on the field. As the master of deception and tactician-in-residence, Odysseus taught the arts of misdirection, wit, and precision over brute force.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "That wasn't teleporting! That was evasive jumping with flair."
Odysseus smirked. "Then I suppose you won't mind if I let Arcas judge."
From the far edge of the trees that bordered the grounds, a silent figure emerged—bow slung across his back, golden eyes locked on her like a predator eyeing movement in the grass.
Arcas, the youngest of the instructors but no less formidable, walked like the forest was stitched into his bones. He rarely spoke unless necessary, but the moment he raised a single brow in Dahlia's direction, her face fell.
"Okay, fine," she muttered, sighing dramatically. "Maybe it was slightly teleport-y."
Behind her, Glaukos huffed and dropped to the grass. "I'm never beating you."
"You will," Dahlia said, grinning as she offered him a hand. "But you'll have to grow like, four more arms first."
As the students laughed and returned to formation, a tremor passed through the ground. Faint—so subtle it might've been missed by anyone else.
But not Arcas.
He turned slowly toward the east, golden eyes narrowing as a distant black shimmer flickered across the horizon. Not smoke. Not cloud. A ripple—like shadow threading through the seams of the world.
Odysseus felt it too. His smile faded.
"Everyone, back inside," he said quickly. "Now."
Dahlia froze. "What's happening?"
A crow landed near Arcas's shoulder, its eyes glowing with unnatural light. It squawked once before crumbling into black ash.
"Erebus," Arcas murmured, voice low and heavy.
The students quieted, the name enough to draw every breath from the air.
Odysseus turned to Dahlia. "You're not ready for this. Not yet. But there's something… odd. The veil between underworld and sky is growing thinner, and I think your kind of energy is going to matter soon."
Dahlia blinked. "My kind?"
"You generate your own divine current," he said, walking closer, suddenly serious. "No tether. No contract. Which means Erebus can't pull you like the others. You don't radiate in the frequencies of Olympus or Hades. You're free… and unpredictable."
"That's good, right?" she asked, smiling faintly.
"Potentially catastrophic," Arcas replied without emotion.
A faint chuckle came from Odysseus. "But valuable. And valuable things draw attention."
Suddenly, a glyph appeared mid-air—foreign, Egyptian in origin. A message burned across it, casting a golden glow on the marble.
The Pharaoh's seal.
Odysseus touched the glyph. His eyes darkened. "The Egyptian children… they've entered Erebus's domain."
Arcas was already tightening the strap of his bow. "If they're inside, they'll never get out alone."
Dahlia's heart skipped. "Wait, children? How old?"
"Your age," Odysseus answered, meeting her eyes. "You might have more in common with them than you think."
The sky above darkened slightly, as if responding to the name whispered beneath marble breath.
Erebus.
But across Olympus and Sekhmet's sands alike, the winds were beginning to move. Alliances would be tested. Paths would collide.
And Dahlia, with heart-shaped pupils and reckless power, was being called into the light of something far greater than a sparring match.
Dahlia's vision blurred as the ground beneath her rippled, not like an earthquake, but like time folding. The world twisted at the edges, and then, without warning or command, she vanished in a burst of shimmering pink light.
When her feet touched solid ground again, the warmth of the marble courtyard was gone.
The air here was cool and damp. The sky overhead was neither day nor night; twilight stretched endlessly in all directions. Moonlight drifted like breath through the branches of massive silver-draped trees. The wind whispered secrets in a tongue older than Olympus.
"Where… am I?
Dahlia turned slowly. Her breath caught.
A silver stag stood a few paces away, watching her. It didn't move. Its eyes, deep and glowing, held no fear, only calm. As she blinked, it vanished into mist.
In its place stood a figure.
He was tall, towering, really- and every inch of him radiated purpose. His skin was bronze, kissed by countless suns. Muscles coiled beneath a sleeveless tunic of silvery cloth and leather, and across his back was slung a long, curved blade paired with a moon-forged bow. Both shimmered as if alive with divine energy.
His hair was tied back, black as onyx, and his eyes were the color of storm-lit oceans, piercing, ancient, and calculating.
He stepped forward without hesitation, voice deep and composed.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Dahlia blinked, still dazed. "Trust me, I didn't mean to be here."
The man studied her, his gaze scanning the threads of divine energy coiled within her body. He frowned.
"You're contractless."
"Gee, thanks for the reminder," she muttered.
He arched an eyebrow. "Yet you entered the Grove."
"I didn't, wait… is this—?" She spun in place. "No way. Artemis' Grove of Silver Shadows?"
He didn't answer directly.
Instead, he said: "Few mortals walk here uninvited. Fewer still remain."
Dahlia's joking demeanor faded a touch as the full atmosphere of the Grove finally settled into her chest. She felt it, not just the cool air or the celestial silence—but the weight of it. This was no sanctuary. It was a place of reflection… and trial.
The man took a step closer, bow shimmering faintly.
"My name is Divince," he said. "I serve the Lady of the Hunt."
He tapped the hilt of his blade. It pulsed once with radiant silver energy, matching the glow of the moss above.
"She guides those who are lost… but only if they confront the shadows within."
Dahlia hesitated. "I didn't come here to be judged."
"No," Divince said. "But you came carrying fear. You mask it with jokes. You wield power you barely understand. You are afraid of what you might become."
Dahlia stiffened. "What, no, I'm not afraid. I'm—"
"You were pulled here," he interrupted, not unkindly. "Because the divine recognizes what the mortal tries to ignore."
She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again.
The Grove responded.
From between the trees, shifting shapes emerged, vague silhouettes, flickering between form and smoke. They weren't monsters in the traditional sense… but versions of her. Younger. Weaker. Scared. Ashamed. They circled her like echoes in the mist.
Divince didn't move.
"This is the first step. Artemis does not slay beasts of bone and claw. She slays doubt. Self-loathing. Fear."
Dahlia stood frozen.
One of the shadows stepped forward, her own voice, younger, warped:
"You'll never be enough. No god chose you. You're a mistake."
Another whisper followed, sharp and cutting:
"You joke because you're terrified. You fight because you don't belong."
Her fists clenched. "Shut up…"
Divince's voice rose, calm, steady. "Don't silence them. Face them."
The shadows swirled faster now, growing louder, more venomous.
"Unworthy. Powerless. Fraud."
Dahlia dropped to her knees, covering her ears, tears threatening at the edge of her vision.
Then, light.
A surge of silver flared from Divince's hand as he drew both blade and bow simultaneously. His body moved like flowing moonlight, striking two shadows mid-sentence, not destroying them, but forcing them to pause.
"I did not strike for you," he said. "I gave you the chance to stand."
Dahlia looked up.
The Grove was watching.
She rose, slowly. Heart pounding. The fear is still there, but no longer strangling her.
"I'm not a mistake," she said.
The shadows hissed.
"I'm not chosen… but that doesn't mean I'm nothing."
One by one, she reached toward the flickering shadows and embraced them. As she touched them, they changed, no longer terrifying echoes, but fragments of memory. Fear melted into strength. Insecurity into focus.
Divince nodded once. "Then you may walk forward."
The Grove pulsed. The silver trees swayed.
And Dahlia
for the first time, she felt steady.
The Grove had quieted, and the last of Dahlia's shadows melted back into the silver mist.
She sat now on a smooth, moonlit stone, her pink braids brushing her shoulders as she leaned back on her palms and looked up at the glittering canopy. Moss dripped from the trees like liquid light, and somewhere in the distance, a silver owl hooted once—then silence.
Divince stood a few paces away, arms crossed over his chest, watching her like one might watch an unpredictable storm.
"You've stabilized your center," he said, voice calm. "The Grove wouldn't keep you otherwise."
Dahlia glanced over, one brow raised. "That was the divine equivalent of free therapy, wasn't it?"
He didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to the silver moss above them, expression thoughtful. "Do you know why this place exists?"
"Uh, because Artemis thought building a celestial panic room in the middle of nowhere sounded aesthetically pleasing?" she replied, twirling one of her braids. "Moonlight moss and unresolved trauma? Very Greek, chic."
Divince gave her a long, unimpressed look. "Artemis built this Grove not to retreat from the world, but to understand it. The mortals she defends carry darkness. Pain. Doubt. She made this place to face it… not erase it."
Dahlia tilted her head, slightly more serious now. "And you? What, did you just stumble in one day and decide shadow therapy was your calling?"
A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips, just a flicker. "Hardly."
He stepped closer, gaze distant. "I was born in a time of conquest. My family trained warriors. I was expected to follow. Fight. Bleed. Win. But the battlefield was only ever destruction. I wanted… purpose."
He touched the hilt of his sword. "I came here, long ago. The Grove showed me the thing I feared most."
"What was it?"
"That I could kill anything… except my own emptiness."
Dahlia's smile faded.
"So I stayed," Divince continued. "Not as a warrior. As a progresser. A protector of growth. Artemis teaches not how to kill, but how to endure without losing yourself."
Dahlia leaned forward. "And here I thought I was the dramatic one."
He ignored the quip. "Now show me your divine energy."
She blinked. "Oh. Uh… now?"
"Now."
Dahlia stood, brushing moss from her legs. "Okay, okay. Let's hope this works and I don't explode into glitter."
She closed her eyes, placing a hand over her chest. For a few moments, nothing.
Then, her fingers sparked faintly with a soft pink glow. A shimmer of energy swirled up her arms and along her spine, faint patterns forming across her skin like runes drawn in liquid rose gold. The air around her changed—gentle, not forceful. Soft winds stirred the leaves instead of shaking them.
The Grove responded.
Silver petals fell from the trees, drifting lazily toward her.
Divince watched in silence. Then finally spoke.
"…Unusual."
Dahlia peeked one eye open. "Unusual bad? Or unusual, like, 'you're an icon and I fear you'?"
He stepped closer, studying the delicate ripples of power still trailing behind her.
"You don't burn like the others," he said. "Your divine energy doesn't push. It invites."
Her brows drew together slightly. "Invites what?"
"Possibility. Growth. Life."
He circled her once, like a hunter sizing up a wild but wondrous creature. "You don't have strength in the traditional sense. Your power doesn't destroy. It creates. Forms. Shapes. Heals. You're not a blade… you're a spark."
Dahlia blinked. "So… you're saying I'm the divine equivalent of a 3D printer with vibes?"
"You could rebuild a forest," he said simply. "Or breathe life into a battlefield. You're not a warrior, Dahlia. You're a maker."
Something about that stuck in her chest.
She looked down at her fingers, where the rose-gold light still shimmered faintly. "But I can still punch people, right?"
Divince gave the ghost of a smirk. "Only if they deserve it."
She grinned widely. "Good. I've got a list."
He turned, walking back toward the trees. "Come. There's more to teach you. Artemis doesn't waste gifts."
Dahlia jogged to catch up, pink braids bouncing behind her. "Hey, if I'm a spark, does that make you, like… a silver forest daddy?"
Divince didn't turn around. "You say that again, and I'll leave you with the shadow-therapy owls."
"Noted."