Chapter 18: The Zodiacs Interlude

Richard

He floated.

The void stretched endlessly, painted with galaxies that pulsed like veins of fire through a body of darkness. Stars glimmered faintly, wheeling in constellations both familiar and wrong—patterns that shifted when he tried to hold them in his gaze.

At the center of it all, a scroll turned slowly in the dark. It was bound by seals—twenty-one of them—each one a lock of light and shadow, spinning in rhythm with a constellation shaped from twelve stars.

A voice rose, deep as the bones of the universe.
“Who is worthy to open the seal?”

Richard felt his body pulled toward the scroll. Something inside him burned, a crimson heat pressing against his eyes until the void itself bled red.

“I am worthy,” he whispered, though he did not know why.

And then the world shattered.

He woke with a jolt, sweat cold against his skin. For a moment, the galaxies still spun above him—then blinked away into the cracked ceiling of an abandoned classroom.

Beside him, Jordan stirred faintly in her sleep. Strands of her hair curled over her cheek. She was still here. Still alive.

Richard exhaled, his heartbeat slowing.

He studied her as if to memorize every line of her face, so it could be etched into his mind.

 He thought of the past year—how he had met her when the world was already ending, how he had fallen in love for the first time even as everything else collapsed.

He thought of her laugh, sharp and fearless, of nights when they had shared not just their bed, but the fragile hope of being human in a world where humanity was fading.

And now… everything was broken.

The dream clung to him, heavy and incomprehensible. He didn’t know what the scroll meant, or the seals, or the voice that demanded worth. But he felt it mattered. Not just to him. To all of them.

Richard shifted onto his back, pulling Jordan close, her warmth pressing into his side. He held her tighter than he meant to, tighter than he ever had.

She might have been Sol—the beacon others hunted, the one destined for more than either of them could grasp.

But to him, she was simply Jordan. His light. His warmth.

 His reason to keep surviving in a world already in shreds.

Luna

The training dome smelled faintly of ozone and frost. Luna’s hands were raised, steady, as Keith barked another correction.

“Focus your center, not your fists. Essence comes from the abdomen .”

Before Luna could answer, the doors slid open with a hiss. Ava stood there, arms folded, eyes burning.

“Training huh?” she said. “Let’s test how strong you’ve become. Fight me.”

Keith scowled immediately. “Enough. This isn’t the place for your grudges—”

But Luna tilted her head, studying Ava. The words came out before she could stop them.

“You’ve always hated me, haven’t you? Why? Because I’m a Zodiac? Whatever happened to your family… it wasn’t my fault.”

The temperature in the room dropped. Ava’s face darkened, grief sharpening into rage.

“You don’t get to say their names! You don’t get to act innocent!”

Her fist blurred forward—too fast. Luna barely raised her guard before the impact sent her crashing through the dome wall, rubble and frost exploding around her.

She staggered up, breath ragged, when Ava lunged again. No hesitation. No mercy. Their strikes clashed—fist, elbow, knee, until Ava had her pinned, each blow heavier than the last.

Luna slipped back, body flickering into water. Ava’s punch struck through empty ripples.

“Behind you,” Luna whispered—dropping from above, her kick slamming Ava through the floor into the base’s lower level.

The ground groaned under the impact. Ava pushed herself up, getting ready to strike again.

The clash of their blows cracked like thunder through the base. Soldiers ringed the edges of the hall, too afraid to intervene, their faces pale in the torchlight.

 

“She’s holding her own against Ava—” one whispered, voice trembling.

“That’s impossible… no one can withstand her,” another muttered, eyes wide with dread.

That was when Christian entered, boots grinding against the stone. He froze at the sight. His breath caught as Ava’s fist shot forward—only for Luna to parry, twist, and slam her back a step.

 

“No…” Christian’s voice was almost a gasp. “She’s not just keeping up—she’s matching her.”

 

He had fought beside Ava, had seen her end battles before they began. To see someone counter her—to see Luna—it rattled him to his core. And worse, the soldiers were watching too.

Every strike between Ava & Luna sent dust raining from the rafters, every counter from Luna cutting deeper into the silence of the onlookers.

 

Before either could move again, chains of light snapped around them, binding wrists and ankles. Keith stood at the edge of the crater, his Soul Chain glowing like molten iron.

“Enough,” he roared. “You’ll tear this base apart. Both of you!”

Given rushed in, face thunderous. “Ava, this ill-discipline ends now—”

But Ava only smirked. Her SE flared, and the chains cracked, then shattered. The floor shook as she broke free, as if reminding them all who she was—the strongest among them.

“Keep training your pet,” she spat, flicking her eyes toward Luna. Then she turned and walked off without looking back.

For a moment, silence hung heavy. Then Luna exhaled, closed her eyes—and the Soul Chain around her wrists shattered too. She didn’t wait for Keith’s scolding. She just walked.

Her steps echoed down the corridor until she reached her room. She closed the door softly, pressed her back against it. Her chest trembled.

It wasn’t her fault. None of this was her fault.

She just wanted to see her dad again. Wanted Kevin’s dumb anime marathons, her friends’ chatter about things that didn’t matter. She wanted a life that had been stolen before she ever had the chance to live it.

Her fingers trembled against her lips as the tears finally broke free.

And for the first time in months, Luna admitted it—

She didn’t want to be a Zodiac.

She just wanted to be a girl.

Jordan

Jordan sat cross-legged on the cracked floor, eyes shut, breath moving slow. The hum of SE trembled faintly in her chest, the way Mr. X had taught them. Meditation is remembering, not learning, he had said. If she wanted her abilities to return, she had to still herself enough to hear the echoes of what she already was.

When she opened her eyes, the silence of their old school pressed down around her. The building was a carcass of what it used to be—hollow classrooms, desks tipped sideways, chalk still faint on the boards. She rose, stretching, and walked the corridor.

Her footsteps echoed past rooms where she used to feel so small, so lost. Back then she thought the world was too big, too loud. Now, with the world ending outside, the silence felt even heavier.

She thought of her mother and her sister. Were they still alive? Had they survived the Convergence?

That was why she and Richard had come back to Cape Town. Maybe—among the ruins of what they once knew—she’d find an answer.

When she turned the corner, she found him.

 Richard sat cross-legged at a desk, frowning in concentration as he scribbled equations across a torn piece of paper.

Jordan leaned on the doorframe, a laugh slipping out. Only him. The world was shattering, and he was working through math problems like the universe still made sense.

But that was Richard. He never followed the obvious path—always cutting sideways, always building his own road. That’s why she loved him. He made her feel like she wasn’t the only one who had never fit in. And that it was okay.

He looked up suddenly, sensing her. “Why are you stalking me?”

She grinned and stepped inside. “Maybe I was.”

When she got close, she flicked his forehead before he could block. “Ow,” he muttered, mock-pouting. Then he reached out, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She landed against his chest like a puzzle piece finally falling into place.

She lifted her hands to his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. For a moment, she just looked at him—at the boy who had somehow become her anchor in a world sinking into darkness.

“I love you,” she whispered. It was the first time the words left her lips, though she’d carried them for a whole year.

His eyes softened, crimson flecks of SE faint at the edges. “I love you too.”

The classroom fell silent. No lessons, no teachers, no classmates—just two lost souls clinging to each other. Their world was breaking, but here in the ruins, love had found them.

Anya

Rome, Italy

The ruins of the Coliseum rose around her like a broken crown. Jagged walls, half-fallen arches, stone scarred by centuries of fire and war. She sat on one of the ledges, boots dangling above the dust, watching the sky.

The stitches were coming undone again. Faint seams of light split through the night above, threads of reality pulling loose one by one. It was beautiful, in the way fire could be beautiful when it devoured a home.

Her father had always loved this place. Aries would bring her here when she was younger, his voice booming as he told her stories of Rome—not the myths polished for tourists, but the bloody truths. Of emperors and generals, of triumphs and betrayals, of a city that rose from dust only to fall back into it.

“History is a cycle, Anya,” he used to say, his hand warm on her shoulder. “Empires rise. They thrive. They rot. Judgment comes. Then it all begins again.”

Back then, she thought he sounded dramatic. Now, staring at the torn sky, she wasn’t so sure he’d been wrong.

She knew where she fit in this cycle—or at least, she thought she did. Leo. One of the Twelve. A role carved into her bones before she could choose it. And yet… she didn’t feel like she belonged. Not here, not in this war, not even in her own skin.

Her mind wandered to Cole. His steady voice, the way he never flinched even when the world shook. “Trust me,” he’d told her. She always had. Because in her eyes, he had never been wrong.

The sound of footsteps drew her back. John appeared at the edge of the ruin, his silhouette sharp against the fractured sky.

“It’s time to leave,” he said simply.

She rose, brushing dust from her palms, and fell into step beside him. They walked toward the helicopter waiting on the cracked pavement below.

As they approached, John’s voice lowered. “We’re going to see your father.”

For a moment, her breath caught. Then warmth bloomed in her chest, something rare in these days. She smiled to herself—small, quiet, but real.

If she was finally going to see Aries, then she’d ask him everything. About the cycle. About the Zodiacs. About where she fit into the story of a world unraveling. They’d always had that kind of relationship—open, unflinching, unafraid.

Because no matter what the world became, no matter how the sky split apart, he was still 

Aries

The chamber was dim, lit only by oil lamps flickering against stone walls etched with forgotten glyphs. Aries sat alone at the center, an ancient tablet of Akkadian script balanced across the table before him. His finger traced the weathered lines as his voice rumbled in a low whisper:

“And the earth and the heavens will flee, for what was before the beginning must come again.”

 

He leaned back, the words lingering like ash. He had read countless fragments across countless ruins, but this one unsettled him. Something had happened before the physical realm, something erased or buried. Perhaps the Gnostics were closer to truth than they realized.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft tread of footsteps. One of his attendants bowed low at the entrance.

“Master, John Smith and Anya have arrived.”

Aries closed the tablet gently, as if sealing away more than words. “Bring them in,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of command. Then, after a pause: “Separately.”

The attendant bowed again and vanished.

Moments later, the door creaked open. Anya stepped in. For an instant she looked hesitant, like a child caught trespassing—but then her eyes found him, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.

Aries straightened in his chair, his expression unreadable. To most, he was the god of war, the oldest and strongest of the Zodiacs, a figure whispered of in fear and worship. The embodiment of power and control, the one who bent nations to his will.

And yet when Anya walked toward him, all he could see was the little girl he had taken from Albania ten years ago—angry, wild, afraid. He had meant for her to be a weapon, another flame to serve his cause. But somewhere along the way, she had carved herself a home in his heart.

He remembered teaching her how to shape her SE into fire for the first time, her tiny palms trembling until sparks became flames. He remembered teaching her how to read and write, his own rough patience bending into something gentler when she mispronounced or misspelled a word. He remembered laughter in the quiet halls when she learned to outmatch his lessons, her pride shining brighter than the flames she wielded.

He had never understood how it happened, not fully. He was War, eternal and unyielding. But Anya—his Anya—had found the cracks and slipped through, softening a man who had thought himself beyond such things.

“Come closer,” he said finally, his voice softer than it was with anyone else.

Anya obeyed, her steps echoing lightly across the stone floor. She bowed her head but couldn’t stop herself from grinning.

Aries allowed himself the smallest of smiles in return. “You’ve grown stronger,” he said. “Sit. Tell me what you’ve seen since we last met.”

For her, this wasn’t a summons from the god of war. It was her father calling her home.