A Messenger
Ophiuchus. The 13th Zodiac. My Zodiac.
The ceremonial hall shimmered under the weight of glistening chandeliers and whispered reverence.
Tonight was supposed to be one of celebration—a new Awakener, the rare and mysterious Ophiuchus, recognized at last. Yet, beneath the polished smiles and clinking glasses, tension simmered like a storm waiting to break.
I leaned against a marble column at the edge of the room, feeling more like a ghost at my own ceremony than its centerpiece.
The weight of every gaze, every whispered word, pressed down on me. "Avant Dekus, the Ophiuchus," they'd murmur, and I'd catch snippets of both awe and unease.
This was the moment people had dreamed about, prophesied even. Me? I was still trying to wrap my head around it.
The power inside me felt coiled, alive—like an unfamiliar beast that wasn't sure whether to befriend me or devour me whole. I kept my hands shoved deep in my pockets, as though that could keep it contained.
A small circle of nobles swarmed my parents across the pavillion, their postures stiff with obligation. My father's measured laugh carried faintly over the hum of the crowd, but his sharp eyes constantly flicked to me, protective even now.
Mom looked tired. Her usual grace seemed strained, her smile brittle as she fielded questions she didn't want to answer.
I sighed, shifting my weight as I tried to blend into the shadows. It didn't help that my hair and jacket were practically glowing under the room's golden light.
And then, I saw him.
At first, he was just a tall silhouette at the edge of the crowd, cloaked in dark robes that seemed to drink in the light. His eyes locked onto mine like a predator sighting prey, gleaming with an unsettling intelligence.
It wasn't just his appearance that struck me—it was the weight of him, the way his presence seemed to ripple through the air, charging it with something ancient and heavy.
My stomach twisted. I told myself it was nothing, just another curious guest, and glanced away. But when I looked back, he was gone.
Great. Now I was imagining things.
I exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of my neck as I pushed away from the column. The hall felt suffocating, the noise a relentless buzz in my ears. Maybe some fresh air would clear my head.
"Avant Dekus," a voice cut through the din, low and resonant.
I froze.
Turning slowly, I found myself face-to-face with the figure from earlier. He'd reappeared without a sound, standing unnervingly close. His dark robes seemed to ripple like smoke, and his gaze pinned me in place, sharp and knowing.
"An Ophiuchus," he murmured, his lips curling into a faint, cryptic smile. "How… unexpected."
I forced myself to stand straighter, masking my unease. "And you are?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
"A messenger," he said simply. His tone was calm, almost conversational, but there was a weight to it, an edge that made my pulse quicken.
"For what?" I pressed, trying not to flinch under his piercing gaze.
"For the truth."
His answer wasn't what I expected, and I frowned, taking a cautious step back. "What truth?"
"You'll see soon enough," he replied, his smile deepening just enough to make me uncomfortable.
Before I could respond, his hand twitched, and a sharp pulse of energy brushed against me—subtle but unmistakable. It wasn't hostile, but it carried a message: power recognized power.
My instincts screamed at me to act, to do something, but I hesitated, caught between uncertainty and curiosity.
Then, just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he turned and began to walk away, his movements fluid and deliberate. The crowd seemed to part for him without noticing, their conversations carrying on as though he didn't exist.
"Wait!" I called, but he didn't stop.
In seconds, he'd vanished into the sea of people, leaving only a faint shadow of his presence behind.
I clenched my fists, trying to make sense of everything. The whispers, the stares, the cryptic words from that robed man—they all clung to me like shadows. My heart still pounded with the memory of his piercing gaze and the weight of his words.
What did he mean by that? And why did it feel like he wasn't just warning me, but testing me somehow?
"Avant?"
My mother's voice jolted me, and I turned to find her approaching, her expression tight with concern. She must've caught the tail end of whatever just happened because her eyes darted around the room like she was searching for threats.
"Who were you talking to?" she asked, her tone low and urgent.
I hesitated, unsure how much to say. "I don't know," I admitted finally. "But he knew about Ophiuchus."
At the mention of the forbidden 13th Zodiac, her face darkened, and she gripped my arm, her nails digging into my sleeve. "Get inside the estate, Avant. Now."
"What? Why?"
"No questions, Avant," she snapped, her voice uncharacteristically harsh. Her gaze scanned the crowd again, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw fear flicker in her eyes.
Something about her reaction made my stomach twist. My mother was many things—elegant, composed, unshakable. Fear wasn't one of them.
The rest of the night blurred as she whisked me away from the ceremony, her grip never loosening. My father trailed behind us, his expression grim.
By the time we reached the safety of our estate, the encounter was still burning in my mind. That man… he knew something about me, about my powers, and he'd chosen this night, of all nights, to make his move.
The thought made my chest tighten with a mix of dread and anticipation.
Later, under the cover of night, I found myself alone in the gardens, the cool air a welcome relief from the suffocating events of the evening.
The stars above seemed brighter tonight, their light cutting through the darkness like they were trying to tell me something.
I clenched my fists, staring up at the vast expanse. Whatever was coming, I couldn't afford to stay in the dark. I had to understand my powers, this strange new world I'd been thrust into.
But one question kept nagging at me, louder than the rest:
Who was that man?
And why did it feel like the universe had shifted the moment he spoke my name?