The next morning unfolded like any other—gray light through thin curtains, the smell of instant coffee, the drone of morning anchors. The news was as dull as ever until one headline froze Maria mid-sip.
[Breaking News: Twenty-year-old Isabela Moreira, otherwise known as the notorious hacker "ObsidianForest," has escaped federal custody. Her current whereabouts are unknown. The government has issued a substantial reward for any information leading to her capture...]
The screen flickered off with a click. Michelle turned from the counter, brow raised.
"Crazy, right? I heard some guy say a living shadow broke in and grabbed her. Said it looked like a ninja."
Maria's pulse slowed—deliberately. The porcelain mug trembled once against the table before she stilled it.
'So… the Demon's Head dares to meddle with my children,' Maria thought, her eyes narrowing.
'Either that—or Danielle's lessons have proven far more effective than I anticipated. I suppose I'll need to find Isabela's shadow to see who's taken her.'
Closing her eyes, she let her awareness expand outward. Shadows unfolded before her mind like ink spilling across the surface of the world — billions of silhouettes shifting, overlapping, breathing in the light of every continent. Each whispered of motion, of secrets, of humanity.
And then—
There.
Through the tether of Isabela's shadow, she saw it clearly: a dimly lit chamber, stone and steel, the air heavy with tension. Across from Isabela stood none other than Damian Wayne, voice cold and precise.
"Where is my sister? I want answers now!"
Isabela's lip curled in defiance. Spit struck his cheek as she snapped, "Não vai acontecer, ela é uma irmã querida para mim!"
(Not happening—she's a dear sister to me!)
Maria exhaled slowly, amusement and irritation threading through her tone.
'It's getting far too heated. Time to send Isabela to Evangeline before she gets beheaded.'
With a thought, the shadows around Isabela stirred—like the world itself inhaled. The darkness beneath her chair rippled, swallowing her whole in a silent cascade of void.
When it passed, only the chair and bindings remained.
Damian stumbled back, eyes wide, scanning the now-empty room.
"What in Ra's name—?" he hissed.
The darkness gave no answer.
Maria opened her eyes so fast the light in the apartment seemed to strike at her pupils. For a breath she tasted the Grove on the air—cold silver grass and the tang of abyssal lakes—before the memory flickered away and detergent and cinnamon reasserted themselves. Her human body flexed, small and ridiculous under the cheap blanket. The thought that rose in her like a small, dangerous laugh was practical and terrible all at once.
She could retreat—pull back to Nullbloom Grove and manifest in full. End this human farce and take whatever measures she pleased. But Michelle would wake to an empty bed, and grief would bloom where there was, for a rare moment, something like peace. For now, at least, the human mask served a purpose.
So Maria sat up, smoothing a stray blanket with hands that had once shaped nebulae. 'I will stay,' she decided, the sentence iron-clad in her mind. 'Until this vessel dies—or until it is useful no longer.'
(Meanwhile)
Isabela arrived in a wash of light and static—and then the world snapped into focus: low ceilings, soldering iron smoke, a dozen half-built devices cluttering every surface. She staggered to her feet, breath shallow, wrists numb where the bindings had been.
A ragged laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "What the—" She blinked, eyes sweeping across the cramped basement. Paper blueprints wallpapered the far wall; a whiteboard was marred by spirals of equations; a thin electric hum thrummed underfoot.
A movement in the corner—a small figure bent over a circuit board—looked up. Evangeline arched an eyebrow, eyes sharp as a lens. Recognition flared instantly, the sort born from long nights and shared devotion.
"By the Grove," Evangeline breathed. "You actually made it."
Isabela's laugh broke halfway to a sob. "Barely. She… pulled me out. I felt Her reach through the dark."
Evangeline crossed the room quickly, steadying her by the shoulders. "Then you were never lost," she said, voice gentler now. "If Yltharae intervened herself, the Demon's Head has made a very dangerous mistake."
Isabela nodded, exhaustion softening the edge of her grin. "Always thought I'd die in a server room, not a League dungeon."
"That's because you plan too small," Evangeline replied, dryly affectionate, before checking the raw bruises along her wrists. "You're under Her sight now. Let me work."
As she cleaned the wounds, neither spoke further. Familiar silence stretched—comfortable, practiced. When Evangeline finally met her gaze again, the old phrase came unbidden, a whisper between believers.
"Where the Grove breathes…"
"…shadows obey," Isabela finished, and the tension cracked into quiet laughter.
Outside, beyond walls and light, the night stilled for a heartbeat—
as if something vast had paused, listening.
(Back with Maria)
Michelle eased the door open, the soft creak cutting through the still air. Morning light spilled in—gold on the faded walls, dust motes drifting like tiny stars. Her eyes softened when they landed on the small figure still tangled in blankets.
"Maria, you don't usually sleep in on a weekend, let alone going back to bed," she said, tone caught between worry and forced cheer. "You're usually the first one up, running circles before breakfast. You feeling alright?"
Maria blinked slowly, letting the human sluggishness linger just long enough to seem convincing. Beneath it, her awareness stretched far, faint threads of silver needle grass and obsidian trunks hummed from the Grove's last reach, the shimmer of golden leaves brushing the edges of her mind. The amethyst crescent moon hovered faintly behind her eyelids, and somewhere, far beyond, the Abyss Fonts pulsed like distant stars.
She pressed a hand to her temple, feigning a wince. "Sorry, big sister," she murmured, voice small, apologetic. "I just had a headache. Nothing too serious."
Michelle sighed, half-relieved, half-unsure. She crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You've been studying too much again, haven't you? You always push yourself, even when you don't have to."
Maria offered a tired smile, soft and human in all the right ways. "Guess old habits die hard."
For a moment, Michelle brushed her sister's hair aside and pressed a hand to her forehead—maternal, protective, completely unaware of the cosmic irony.
"Well, you rest, alright? I'll make some tea. No more reading or running around until you're better."
"Okay," Maria whispered.
Michelle left, closing the door gently behind her.
Silence reclaimed the room. Maria lay still for a beat, eyes half-open, watching the faint shimmer of light play against the ceiling. Then, beneath her breath, the human words slipped away—replaced by something older, quieter, truer.
"Headache… yes, that's one way to describe the weight of two realms colliding."
Her fingers flexed once, a tremor of darkness rippling briefly across the bedsheet before fading. The faint scent of pine lingered, fragile against the dark, yet mingled with the subtle whisper of silver needles and obsidian trunks—a small reminder that even in human guise, Nullbloom Grove's reach had never left her.