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Sam sat with her back against the rock Rosa had led her to, the cool stone grounding her amidst the storm of revelations. The air was still, save for the distant hum of the strange terrain surrounding them—alien, yet familiar in ways she couldn't quite name. She listened, head lowered, as Rosa spoke in a calm, steady tone that somehow made the impossible feel tangible.
The world Sam thought she knew was unraveling at the seams, revealing layers far deeper than she had ever imagined. A universe that stretched beyond stars and silence, filled with truths that had always lingered just out of reach. And in Rosa's words, a quiet clarity began to form. Puzzle pieces long scattered in her mind clicked into place with a subdued finality.
There had always been things about her life that didn't quite make sense—blank spots in her memory, especially surrounding her father's death. Echoes of that day haunted her, but parts of it were just… gone, erased or hidden behind some mental veil. And then there were the other things—subtler, stranger things. The sense that she didn't belong. That she moved through life slightly out of phase, like a song out of tune with the rest of the world.
But now, with Rosa's explanations, that dissonance no longer felt like a flaw. It felt like truth. She wasn't broken—just different. And in this newly unveiled world, different might finally mean something.
She lifted her gaze, eyes meeting Rosa's with a flicker of wary curiosity.
"So let me get this straight," Sam said slowly. "Extraterrestrial life is real. There are other races—more than just humans."
"And our planet..." She paused, searching for the right phrasing, "It's also hiding some kind of secret civilization? One that exists… what, alongside us?"
Rosa gave a small nod. "Alongside, and within. We call it the Hidden World. It's a parallel layer of reality—an extra dimension that overlaps the mundane world. The Hidden Civilization has coexisted with regular society for who knows how long. Maybe even predates it. Terra, the planet itself, has some kind of natural veil—a barrier that conceals all evidence of..."
"Supernatural forces," Sam finished, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked down at her hands, turning them over in the dim light as if expecting to see something new—something glowing, something magical. But they were just her hands. Familiar. Ordinary.
"And you… You can use magic?" she asked, glancing up again.
Rosa smiled faintly, the kind that held both pride and humility. "No, I'm not a Mage. I don't command the Arcane arts. I'm what's called a Mystic Artist—someone who channels mystical energy, not magic. It's a different kind of power, rooted in essence and resonance rather than spells and incantations. Mages... well, they're something else entirely. A different path. A more complicated one."
Sam nodded slowly, absorbing every word like it was a language she was only now beginning to understand.
Mystical artist," Sam echoed, the words tasting strange on her tongue—foreign, yet uncannily familiar. They stirred something deep within her, like a forgotten chord vibrating faintly in her soul. A question flickered in her mind before she could stop it: What am I, then? Where do I fit in this hidden design?
"So, we're living in some kind of fantasy world now?" Henry muttered, his voice pitched between sarcasm and unease, as if laughing might keep the panic at bay.
"Does this look like a fantasy to you?" Trini snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. Sam turned to look at her more closely now—the petite, brown-haired girl who had said little until now. Despite her small stature and youthful face, there was something in her bearing—an unflinching sharpness, a confidence built from survival—that made Sam's pulse quicken. This girl had seen things. Survived them.
"An Echo Field is not a place mundane humans can survive in," Trini added coldly, arms crossed, her stance defensive yet commanding.
Sam's brows knitted. "I still don't understand what an Echo Field even is."
"All you need to understand," Trini replied flatly, "is that this place will kill you if you treat it like a playground."
Sam looked around again—at the uneven terrain, the fractured sky, the flickering edges of space where reality seemed too thin. It was like the world had cracked open, and they had fallen through into something deeper. Something wrong.
"How did we even end up here?" she murmured, rubbing her arms as if to chase away the chill that had crept under her skin. "I remember... an earthquake. And then that pillar of light." Her voice wavered. "Next thing I knew, I was here."
"Same," Henry said, nodding grimly. "Felt like we got ripped out of the world."
"I have no idea," Callum admitted, his tone unreadable as his dark eyes flicked toward Rosa.
Rosa gave him a look—arched brow, lips set—but said nothing.
Trini wasn't so silent. "You don't know?" she asked, her voice edged with scorn. "I figured a Guardian would have more answers than that."
Sam's attention snapped back to the word. "Guardian?" she repeated. Her gaze darted between Trini and Rosa. "What does that mean?"
Leaning lazily against a gnarled tree trunk, Callum tilted his head, his posture too casual to be sincere. "Think of it like a magical cop," he said. "A peacekeeper for the Hidden World." Then, with a smirk, he added, "Though, no offense Rosa, you're pretty young for the role. What are you—nineteen?"
Rosa's eyes narrowed, voice dry and deadly. "Do I look like a hag to you?"
"Nope," Callum said quickly, lifting both hands in mock surrender, his grin not fading in the least. "I just thought maybe you were... experienced."
"I'm not one of them," Rosa snapped, the bitterness in her tone unmasked. "And even if I was, that wouldn't matter. My job is what matters. I know what I'm supposed to do—and that's all I care about."
Sam narrowed her eyes, suspicion rising like a slow tide. Her gaze drifted to a small group lingering near the edge of the clearing—students she recognized from Yesh University. They weren't panicking like the others. In fact, they seemed disturbingly calm, their focus laser-sharp as they observed the exchange.
"Tell me it's not a coincidence," Sam muttered, her voice cutting through the silence like a thread of steel, "that I go to a university where some of the students apparently have... mystical powers or whatever."
The sarcasm in her tone was undeniable, but it couldn't hide the tension curling at the edges of her words.
Callum and Rosa exchanged a quiet glance before Callum finally spoke, the smirk fading from his face.
"Yesh University isn't what it looks like on the surface," he said, voice low and steady. "It's a front. A testing ground. The Golden Dawn uses it to observe outsiders—people like you—who awaken to Mystical Power."
Sam's heart thudded, each beat like a hollow drum echoing in her chest. A cold weight settled beneath her ribs—a sinking realization blooming like frost across her thoughts.
Awaken to mystical power...
The words clung to her like mist. Didn't she already have something strange—something unexplainable? That uncanny ability to sense what others felt, even before they spoke. Empathy so sharp it cut. It had haunted her for years, making her feel like an intruder in her skin.
Her eyes flicked to Rosa.
Sam scoffed, but the sound held no amusement. Her head was spinning, the weight of revelations bearing down like a stormcloud ready to split. And then came her aunt's voice in her mind—Stella's—calm, measured, full of veiled intent. Aunt Stella, who had insisted on Yesh University. Who had pulled strings?
"He's right," Rosa said quietly, the words falling like stones into the silence.
Sam's fists clenched at her sides, tremors threading through her arms. "What the hell is Golden Dawn?" she demanded, voice rising like a spark thrown to dry tinder.
Rosa hesitated, then exhaled, her expression tight. "It's the organization I work for," she admitted. "The same one your family belongs to, Sam."
The words hit like a slap.
"No. No, no, no!" Sam's voice cracked, rising with panic as she backed away, hands slicing through the air in wild denial. As if motion alone could carve her free of the truth. "That's impossible. My aunt was the one who recommended Yesh! She made the call—she got me in!"
"I know," Rosa said softly. "You weren't meant to find out like this."
Sam felt like she was being backed into the farthest corner of her own mind, where no thought could find footing, no breath felt deep enough. The world around her—the very fabric of it—was coming apart. Life on other planets. Hidden civilizations. Mystic forces. It was like stepping into the pages of a comic book she'd once clung to as a child. Back then, fantasy was a sanctuary. Now, it was a prison of impossible truths.
But even beyond the cosmic revelations, it was her own life that pressed down the hardest.
Her power—whatever it was—had always left her feeling other. She could sense emotions before they were expressed, ride the waves of sorrow, dread, joy. It didn't feel like a gift. It felt like a curse. And now, knowing it was real—real—didn't make it easier to bear.
Her thoughts turned to Stella. Always distant, composed. Her mother's sister. The aunt who had raised her after her father's death. A woman cloaked in layers Sam had never been allowed to peel away. Her father had never spoken of Sam's mother—not in any of the memories that clung to her, hazy and half-formed. Sam had always assumed she was simply… gone. But what if it wasn't that simple? What if her strangeness wasn't just hers?
A sudden, sharp throb bloomed in her temple, like a blade of pressure driving inward. She winced, pressing fingers to her head, trying to knead the pain away. But the ache was more than physical—it was the weight of unraveling.
Rosa's earlier words echoed, dredging up fresh dread.
The pillar of light… it hadn't just taken her.
It had swallowed the whole of the Lakefront metropolis. North Side, South Side, West. Metropolitan districts. Countless people pulled into this alien place—this Echo Field. And most of them hadn't survived the passage. Rosa had estimated it—ninety percent. Gone. Dead.
Sam's breath caught.
Ninety percent.
The number hung in her chest like lead. She didn't want to imagine their faces, the screams, the confusion. She didn't want to see the streets of her city repainted in shadow and silence.
The ache in her skull flared, sharp and pulsing. Her knees wobbled, but she forced herself upright, gritting her teeth. She had to focus. She couldn't fall apart now.
But the static in her mind was getting louder—splintered thoughts, fragments of emotion not her own. The crowd's fear. The echo of the dying. The buried grief in Rosa's voice. It was all bleeding into her.
It was too much.
Too much.
Across the vast, dimly lit cavern, the atmosphere among the survivors was beginning to fray like threadbare cloth. Anxiety thickened the air, a near-tangible pressure that grew heavier with each passing moment. Sam could hear it—the rising tension, the sharp bursts of muffled shouting, the scraping of feet as tempers flared and desperation began to boil over. The scent of fear lingered like smoke. Fights broke out over meaningless things—space, supplies, suspicions. People were unraveling.
Families clung together in tight circles, their eyes wide and hollow, children tucked beneath trembling arms. Some tried to offer comfort, but even their whispers carried the weight of fear. No leader had emerged to bring order, no voice strong enough to cut through the haze of confusion. And the Mystics—those who, in theory, should've been equipped to navigate this alien realm—stood just as lost as the rest. Their auras, normally steady and focused, flickered with instability.
Even those with some experience in mystical combat, like Callum and Trini, wore unease like armor that didn't quite fit. Because this wasn't about training or theory. It was about survival in a place that didn't play by any known rules.
The Echo Field, Rosa had warned, was unpredictable. It bent reality, twisted time, and fed off emotion. It left even the most disciplined Mystic disoriented. And this was Rosa's first time encountering one firsthand.
She drew her Zodiak from the shimmering halo of her dimensional storage band. The device shimmered with an ethereal glow, its sleek surface marked by sigils and floating interface nodes. For a moment, she held it aloft, letting the ambient light catch on its mirrored frame. Then, with a low exhale of frustration, she dismissed it in a flicker of dissolving light.
No signal.
No transmission.
No way out.
Sam watched her closely. Rosa moved with the calm efficiency of a seasoned operative, but the tension in her jaw, the faint furrow in her brow—Sam noticed it all. That composed facade Rosa wore was starting to crack, and beneath it, Sam sensed the quiet desperation clawing to the surface. She knew the signs. Rosa was trying to be strong for them. But strength alone wouldn't get them out.
"It's impossible to communicate electronically in an Echo Field," Trini said at last, her voice soft but edged with restrained frustration. She had been watching Rosa, eyes following the failed activation of the Zodiak. "We're cut off from normal space. Entirely."
Her words hung in the air like a closing door. There would be no help. No rescue. No connection to the world they came from.
Just the strange, pulsing energy of the Echo, and whatever waited deeper in its folds.
Sam's breath caught as she glanced around again. The stone walls of the cavern pulsed faintly with that same energy—iridescent veins of light crawling like roots just beneath the surface, alive and watching. They were trapped inside a reality not meant to be lived in. A place between places.
And now, they had to survive it.
Sam sat frozen, the world around her a storm of noise and sensation. Her thoughts looped in a suffocating spiral, tangled and echoing inside her skull like distant screams ricocheting through a cavern. She had been staring at the ground for what felt like hours, her gaze locked on the dust-scattered stone as if it held answers. But there were no answers—only weight. Heavy, immovable weight pressing against her ribs, her temples, her very sense of self.
When she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes met Rosa's—but only for a moment. It was like looking through a mirror warped by heat; nothing stayed in focus for long. Her attention wavered, scattered. Focus, she told herself, but the command was hollow. Her mind felt splintered, too full of impossible things—alien energies, the existence of hidden worlds, the terrifying truth of what she might be.
The pressure built behind her eyes, blooming outward like a migraine born of too many secrets. And then—softly, without thought—Sam began to hum.
The sound was barely audible at first, a breath of melody shaped more by instinct than intent. It slipped from her lips like a sigh, delicate and wavering, but it carried with it a strange resonance. The vibration seemed to settle inside her skull, weaving through the fractured static, loosening the knots of tension like fingers gently untangling a frayed thread.
She didn't understand what she was doing. Not really. But she felt it. Felt it. The song didn't come from her voice—it came from somewhere deeper, somewhere buried. A warmth flickered in her chest, slow and cautious, and the melody grew in strength.
As the humming deepened, the air around her began to shift.
Colors stirred—at first a faint shimmer at the edge of vision, like oil on water. Then they bloomed, softly, tenderly. Wisps of translucent gold and pale rose, hints of indigo and silver, curling through the air like brushstrokes on wind. They moved with her voice, drawn to its rhythm like moths to a lantern.
The energy in the Echo Field, once harsh and unstable, thickened into something gentle. Malleable. Her song became an anchor—a fragile harmonic thread that drew the chaos inward and spun it into stillness. The world hushed.
Her headache dissolved, the pressure receding into nothingness. In its place, a clarity bloomed—a warmth that stretched from her core to the very edges of her being. For the first time since stepping into this impossible space, she didn't feel lost. She felt… present. Whole. Real.
Then something strange happened.
The crowd, once a frenzy of movement and panic, began to settle. One by one, the survivors turned toward her, their gazes drawn by something they couldn't name. Their postures slackened. Faces unknotted. The fear that had dominated the cavern—raw, unchecked—drained away as if carried off on her melody.
Sam became aware, with startling lucidity, that the sound of her voice was no longer just hers. It was inside them, resonating through nerves and breath and heartbeats. It wasn't magic—not in the flashy, spell-woven sense. It was something subtler. Something more primal.
Even Rosa, ever composed, stood motionless. Her face had softened, her eyes slightly glassy with wonder. Around her, the crowd had fallen completely silent. Those who had once been huddled in panic now sat quietly, some even smiling faintly as if lulled into a waking dream.
Sam faltered. Her voice caught.
The moment shattered like a crystal dropped on stone. The melody ceased.
Silence.
Dozens of eyes stared back at her—unblinking, serene, expectant.
Sam's heart began to pound. The flush that crept up her neck to her cheeks burned hot. She wasn't used to this. To be seen. Not like this. Not felt. Her gift—if that's what it was—had always been something private, something she buried. Not something that could touch others. Not like this. And now all of them were watching.
"What's going on?" Sam murmured, her voice barely more than breath. The silence that had settled over the space was too thick, too still—it clung to her skin, pressed down on her lungs. The weight of all those eyes—silent, expectant—turned her stomach with unease.
"Was… was that you?" Callum's voice finally broke the hush, cracking like dry wood in still air. There was disbelief in his tone, yes—but something else, too. Reverence. Maybe even fear.
"Was what me?" Sam asked, her voice trembling just enough to betray her rising anxiety.
Rosa stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a fragile miracle. "I knew you had some kind of ability," she said, her voice hushed and awed. "But I had no idea it was that."
Her gaze swept across the crowd again. Dozens of people stood in quiet awe, faces softened, postures eased. Some had closed their eyes. Others stared at Sam with an almost childlike wonder. Moments ago, many of them had been drowning in panic, teetering at the edge of hysteria. Now they stood like flowers stilled by morning frost—calm, quiet, eerily serene.
Rosa's jaw tightened slightly. This wasn't just emotional regulation. This wasn't some passive empathic pulse. Sam's voice had wrapped around their fear, smothered it, and replaced it. The resonance had sunk into their bones.
No… into their souls.
Even Rosa, whose training had made her resistant to all forms of emotional and psychic influence, had felt the shift, like warm water poured intoa cold glass. Her mental defenses hadn't cracked, but they had bent, softened, and drawn open by the melody that had somehow bypassed conscious resistance altogether.
It wasn't manipulation.
It was an invocation.
Something primal. Sacred.
Sam, still unaware of the enormity of what she had done, blinked up at the air above. The colors had returned—ribbons of radiance shimmering in the cavern's gloom. They swirled lazily through the space, blues and golds mingling with faint purples, casting gentle light across the stone floor and onto the stunned faces around her. They danced like fireflies, like threads of starlight drifting through water.
Curiosity overtook her. She reached up, hand trembling slightly, brushing her fingers through a strand of luminous color.
Nothing.
No texture. No heat. Just the illusion of light. But the pull it exerted on her was undeniable—like a thread caught in her ribs, tugging softly.
Without thinking, she began to sing again.
This time, her voice held no fear. It was steady, warm, and clear—like the hum of an unseen tide moving through deep waters. As her song filled the space once more, the colors brightened, intensifying with each note. They didn't just hover now—they moved, spiraling upward in deliberate patterns, coalescing in radiant glyphs and geometric forms that shimmered like glass spun from divine light.
The ceiling above glowed as though lit from within—bathed in gold, silver, and deep violet. The energy wasn't just color. It was alive. It responded. It listened.
And it beckoned.
The light twined together, stretching skyward like a path made of stars, as if inviting Sam to follow.
Rosa's breath caught.
Whatever this was… it wasn't a performance.
It was a calling.
Sam's eyes followed the swirling colors as they twisted through the air, guiding her gaze toward the far end of the cavern. There, opposite the place where they'd all entered, was a jagged opening carved into the stone. Its edges were raw, as though something had ripped it open. It looked less like a doorway and more like a wound—unfinished, waiting.
She felt the pull immediately.
Her foot moved forward before she realized it, drawn by instinct more than intent. The colors pulsed around her, coaxing her closer. She took another step.
"Sam! Wait!"
Henry's voice cut through the air like a blade, halting her mid-step. She turned, catching the urgency in his expression—his furrowed brow, the tight line of his mouth.
"Don't go near it," he said firmly. "We don't know what's on the other side."
For a moment, she stood torn, caught between the safety of the known and the gravity of the unknown. The opening called to her. Not with sound, but with a feeling—deep, resonant, primal. As if some forgotten part of her knew it. Needed it.
She glanced back toward Henry, then to the dark hollow ahead.
"Something's calling me," she said quietly, the certainty in her voice surprising even herself. She couldn't explain it, not fully. But it wasn't just curiosity—it was recognition. The kind that gripped her chest and wouldn't let go.
Rosa stepped forward, her expression cautious. "What's calling you?"
Sam shook her head slowly. "I don't know. But it's... insistent. Like if I ignore it, something important will slip away." She didn't know what waited beyond that darkness. But it felt like part of her was already on the other side.
Rosa's brows furrowed, clearly working to piece things together, but she didn't press Sam further. Instead, she glanced at Trini.
"We should be careful," Trini said, her voice low and firm. "An Echo Field's unpredictable. You saw those Grandid ants—there could be worse lurking out there. This isn't the kind of place you just wander through."
Sam shook her head, her voice steadier now. "I don't think it's dangerous. Not for me." The pull was intensifying, a magnetic current she couldn't resist. Fear still lingered, but it was overshadowed by instinct—something deeper urging her forward. She couldn't sit in the dark, buried beneath the weight of questions and her past. This was motion. Escape. Purpose.
Rosa's gaze softened, briefly. Then, with a breath, she nodded. "We follow her," she said. Her voice was decisive now. Whatever was guiding Sam, it felt... important. Rosa didn't understand it, but she could sense the gravity of it.
Callum shrugged with practiced indifference. Trini rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, but joined them all the same. Rosa stepped behind Sam, her stance alert, eyes scanning the dark edges of the chamber.
Sam kept walking, unaware of the debate behind her. Her thoughts moved in rhythm with her steps, each one syncing to the silent melody that pulled her toward the jagged opening. The others followed, their movements tentative at first but gradually growing more assured.
Then she heard footsteps behind them.
Turning, Sam was surprised to see a few others falling into step—some students from Yesh, and a handful of the displaced, including the woman in the police uniform. They walked slowly, still uncertain, but willing. Trusting something in her, even if they couldn't name it.
The rest remained frozen where they sat, paralyzed by fear of the unknown.
"Let's go, Sam," Rosa called out, her voice steady, but edged with urgency.
Sam paused, glancing back, hesitation flickering in her eyes. "What about them?"
"Forget them," Rosa said coldly, cutting through the moment with chilling pragmatism. "We don't have time for the weak." There was no apology in her voice. No sentiment. Just truth, sharpened by the weight of survival.
"But—" Sam started to protest.
"Wouldn't it be better if we got out first?" Rosa interrupted, her voice firm. "Then I can request help. It's the only real chance we have to save them."
There was a quiet finality in her tone—a calm conviction that brooked no argument. Sam swallowed hard, her hesitation lingering only a moment before she nodded. She understood. Even if she didn't like it. Turning from the others, she stepped into the tunnel. The rest followed in silence.
Almost immediately, the darkness stirred to life. Blue flames ignited along the walls, flaring from embedded stone lamps. Shadows flickered, dancing across the jagged surfaces as the group moved deeper inside. Sam didn't flinch. The glow barely registered to her anymore. Her mind was fixed on the pull—subtle, persistent, leading her onward. Rosa followed close behind, spear drawn, eyes alert for any threat the Echo Field might conceal. Each step forward deepened the unknown.
Sam continued to hum softly. The tune—gentle, rhythmic—was one she'd always carried with her. A lullaby her Aunt Stella used to sing. Though the lyrics had long faded from memory, the melody remained, a quiet refuge.
"You never told me where you learned that," Henry said softly, just behind her.
Sam's voice was faint, faraway. "My aunt used to sing it at bedtime... I think. It's always been with me." The song echoed faintly through the stone, like a memory made audible.
Then the tunnel opened. A massive door stood before them, rough-hewn and deep blue. It wasn't like the smooth lamps or the natural rock—it belonged to something older. Something meant to be hidden. Etched across its surface was a strange symbol: an upside-down "T," its top flaring like tree branches, with a droplet-shaped loop encircling them.
Sam stopped cold. Her fingers went to her sleeve, tugging it back. There, just above her wrist, was a faint mark. A birthmark she'd long ignored. Now, it glowed soft green, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Drawn to the door, she raised her arm. As her skin touched the stone, the symbol ignited with a matching green light. The rock groaned as ancient mechanisms stirred. The door began to open. Sam stepped forward, heart pounding, the way ahead no longer shrouded in mystery—but waiting to be claimed.