The cigarette burned slowly between Elias' fingers, a thin stream of smoke curling lazily into the evening air. He sat on the steps of the porch, hunched over, his shirt lifted just enough to reveal the fresh bruises mottling his ribs—dark, tender marks that still ached from earlier. He winced as his fingers brushed over one, then quickly tugged his shirt back down, as if hiding the marks would make them hurt less.

The neighborhood was quiet. Everyone was retreating inside as the last of the sun dipped below the horizon. The cool air felt good on his skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the cigarette. It wasn't enough to numb the pain, but it helped.

Elias brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply, the familiar sting of smoke filling his lungs. For a moment, everything else faded—the bruises, the soreness in his body, the weight of the world. All gone, replaced by the brief, fleeting calm the nicotine offered. He needed this, the temporary silence it brought to his mind.

Inside, his father's movements were unmistakable. The heavy shuffle of feet and the clatter of bottles rattled through the thin walls of the house, a sound Elias had learned to anticipate. He knew it was only a matter of time before—

"Elias!" His father's voice cut through the evening's quiet, sharp and impatient.

Elias closed his eyes, letting out a slow, measured breath. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, the sound faint but satisfying in its defiance. He didn't respond.

"Elias!" The voice came again, louder this time. "You better get your ass in here, or I'm comin' out there! And I'll make sure you regret it!"

A muscle twitched in Elias' jaw. He ground the cigarette into the porch step, flicking the smoldering butt into the dirt. With another slow exhale, he stood, hands shoved into the pockets of his worn-out jeans.

"Yeah, I hear you," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for his father to hear but with none of the respect his father probably expected. His voice was flat, emotionless, careful not to let the irritation bleed through. Always keep it neutral. Don't give him anything.

There was a pause from inside, then the heavy thud of footsteps approaching the door. Elias turned just in time to see it swing open, revealing the silhouette of his father, standing there in the fading light with a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. His father's eyes were glassy, dull—the same eyes Elias had seen for as long as he could remember. The same eyes that only ever looked at him with disappointment or anger.

"Good," his father grunted, taking a swig of his beer. "Go to the store and get more beer. And don't take your time." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and added, "And think better next time before you steal my alcohol, boy."

Elias nodded once, turning to head down the porch steps, but his father's voice stopped him again.

"Oh, and pick up your mother's meds while you're at it," his father added, like it was an afterthought. He took another swig, wiping his mouth again. "She'll need 'em soon."

Elias' hands clenched into fists inside his pockets, but he didn't respond. There was nothing to say. It was always like this—beer first, Mom second. And maybe me on a good day. Maybe. He scoffed under his breath. But that's rare.

As he turned to walk away, his father took a step forward, and before Elias could react, a sharp smack landed on the back of his head.

"Don't you think about dragging your feet," his father slurred, his breath thick with the stench of beer. "You're useless, just like your mother. I don't know why I even bother keeping you around."

Elias flinched but kept his face still, not giving his father the satisfaction of seeing any reaction. His fists tightened again, knuckles white in his pockets, but he stayed quiet.

It was always the same. Disappointment, anger, resentment. His father didn't need a reason anymore. He just needed a target.

Without another word, his father stumbled back inside, the door creaking shut behind him.

Elias stood there for a moment, the weight of his thoughts bearing down on him heavier than the errands in his hands. Then he turned, walking down the street. Away from the porch, away from his father. Away from it all.

He pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket, lighting it quickly. As the first drag filled his lungs, he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the evening. "You shit alcoholic... don't you know, I'll never touch alcohol in my life because of you." He scoffed softly, flicking ash to the ground. "You drank your own booze last night before you blacked out and beat me after I got home from school."

As Elias walked toward the convenience store, the street was empty, bathed in the dim glow of the fading sunlight, and the occasional flicker of a streetlight struggling to stay lit. His footsteps echoed softly as he walked, the chill of the evening creeping in around him. He didn't hurry. His father's demand for beer and his mother's medication hung in the air like an afterthought—an obligation he carried with him every time he left the house. They never asked what he wanted.

His hands still clenched in his pockets, and he loosened them slowly, feeling the tension ease but never quite disappear. The nicotine buzz had already faded, leaving him with the familiar tightness in his chest, the weight of his reality creeping back in like a shadow.

He passed familiar houses, their windows glowing with warmth and laughter he hadn't felt in a long time. The distant murmur of families inside, the clink of silverware against plates—normal sounds that felt foreign to him now. These homes, these lives... he wasn't part of them anymore. His life, confined to the smell of stale beer, the hollow silence of his mother's room, and the constant weight of his father's rage, seemed worlds away from the life that carried on around him.

Elias paused as he reached the corner, pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen, but there were no new messages, no missed calls. Not that he expected any. Most of his old friends had drifted away after his mother got sick. People move on.

He pocketed the phone again and lit another cigarette, feeling the warmth of the smoke fill his lungs. The store wasn't far, just a few blocks ahead. He liked this store because the clerk never carded him for cigarettes or alcohol.

As he walked, the familiar pang of guilt surfaced. He thought of his mother lying in her bed, so close yet always just out of reach. The doctors had no answers, his father didn't care enough to push for them, and all Elias could do was watch her slowly fade.

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It wasn't right. None of it was.

He blew out a slow stream of smoke, watching it drift upward toward the darkening sky. The moon was rising now, full and bright. It cast a pale light over the street, making everything look ghostly and distant. He stared at it for a moment; the moon always seemed too calm—too indifferent—while everything below it was falling apart.

Just as he was about to continue, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Across the street, near the edge of the park, something moved in the shadows. Elias paused, squinting to get a better look, but whatever it was seemed to vanish as quickly as it appeared. A stray dog, maybe? Or something else?

It wasn't the first time. This had been happening lately—small moments when everything felt too still, like the world was waiting for something to happen. As if it knew more than he did.

He shook his head, letting out another breath of smoke before flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his foot. The chill was settling in deeper now, biting at his skin as he crossed the street toward the store. But something about the shadows stayed with him.

The fluorescent lights inside flickered as Elias stepped in, the bell over the door jingling. It was almost empty, except for the clerk behind the counter and a tired-looking man browsing the shelves in the back.

Elias made his way to the back fridge, grabbing a six-pack of his father's usual. His fingers brushed against the cold bottles, and for a moment, he hesitated, staring at the rows of alcohol. How many nights had he done this? How many times had he handed his father another six-pack, knowing full well what it would lead to? But it wasn't like there was another choice. Not for now.

He sighed and made his way to the pharmacy section. His mother's meds were in a small white bag, the label glaring up at him with cold, clinical indifference. He grabbed it, tucking it under his arm as he headed to the counter.

As the clerk scanned the items, Elias barely paid attention. His mind drifted back to the shadow he'd seen near the park, the unsettling feeling that something had been watching him.

"$12.50," the clerk said, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Elias handed over the cash, pocketing the change without a word. The weight of the beer and medicine in his arms felt heavier than usual as he stepped out into the cold night air again. The moon had risen higher now, casting a pale glow over the quiet streets. He glanced toward the park again, half-expecting to see something moving in the shadows, but it was still.

Just my mind playing tricks.

With a resigned sigh, he began the walk back home, the bags weighing heavily at his sides.

The darkness seemed deeper on the way back. The wind had picked up, cutting through his jacket and making him shiver. As he passed the park, something drew his gaze again—this time stronger, more insistent. His steps faltered, and he turned toward the thick line of trees.

There. Just beyond the first few trees, something flickered. Not quite a shadow, not quite light. He took a step closer, his breath catching in his throat.

It wasn't just his imagination this time.

Elias hesitated, glancing back toward the street, the store still in sight behind him. He should just keep walking. There was no reason to stop. No reason to investigate. Just keep moving. And yet, his feet seemed to move on their own, pulling him closer to the trees, to the dark, beckoning space just beyond the light of the streetlamp.

The shadows seemed to stretch toward him as he approached, like they knew him, like they were waiting.

He stepped carefully, his breath catching in his throat as he neared the edge of the park. The air felt different here—heavier, almost electric. The distant hum of traffic and the buzz of the city seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of his footsteps crunching on the gravel path.

As he walked deeper into the trees, something caught his eye. Beneath a particularly large oak, nestled at the base of its gnarled roots, was a faint shape. It was out of place, not like the litter and debris that usually scattered the park. It gleamed slightly, catching the faint light of the streetlamp behind him.

Elias approached cautiously, drawn to the object. As he crouched down, he realized it wasn't just any discarded item—it was a book. Dusty and ancient-looking, the kind of thing you'd expect to find hidden in the back of a long-forgotten library, not under a tree in a park.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the thick, weathered cover. It felt strange under his touch, almost like it was humming with energy. He hesitated again. What the hell is this doing here? But curiosity gnawed at him, and despite the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, he picked it up.

The cover was scuffed and worn, the dark leather cracked with age, but what stood out most was the intricate design etched into it—a series of unfamiliar symbols that seemed to shift the longer he stared at them. Right in the center, the Scorpio symbol—a jagged, twisting design resembling a scorpion's tail—was pressed into the leather, faintly glowing in the low light.

Elias blinked, running his fingers over the symbol. It felt cool under his touch, sending a shiver down his spine. Scorpio? He had seen the symbol before in old astrology books, but what was it doing here, etched into this strange, ancient book?

He glanced around the park again, a prickling sensation crawling up the back of his neck. Nothing stirred. The trees stood still, as if holding their breath, waiting. He opened the book carefully, and the pages creaked as if they hadn't been touched in centuries. The text inside was written in a language he didn't recognize—flowing characters that looked ancient, maybe older.

For a moment, he thought about closing it, leaving it where he found it, and walking away. But just as that thought crossed his mind, the letters on the page shifted.

Elias blinked, staring down at the book as the letters continued shifting across the page, now perfectly readable in English. The strange symbols had transformed into a block of text, clear and undeniable:

"Congratulations, Elias. You have been chosen by the Zodiac. Transporting in 5 seconds."

His heart skipped a beat. What the hell...? Panic surged through him as the weight of the words sank in.

He took a step back, his hand trembling as he tried to release the book. But when he let go, it didn't fall. It hovered, floating mid-air in front of him.

Elias gasped, his pulse spiking. "No, no, no—this isn't real!" His voice cracked as he stumbled backward, eyes wide with shock. The book floated calmly in front of him, pages turning slowly, as though it had a mind of its own.

Transporting in 4 seconds.

His breath quickened, every instinct telling him to run, but his legs felt frozen in place. His gaze locked on the floating book, its pages glowing faintly in the dim light. This can't be happening...

Transporting in 3 seconds.

He reached out, as if to push it away, but his hand passed through the air, and the book remained floating. It was impossible, yet there it was, defying everything he knew.

Transporting in 2 seconds.

The ground beneath him shifted, rippling like water as the air around him grew thick, buzzing with energy. His heart pounded in his chest, fear crawling up his spine.

Transporting in 1 second.

Elias barely had time to react before the world around him exploded in light. The park, the trees, the very ground beneath him—all vanished in an instant, leaving him weightless, floating in the void.

For a moment, there was nothing but darkness. Then, with a sudden pull, he was yanked through space, everything spinning wildly out of control.

He landed hard, gasping as his knees buckled beneath him, the weightlessness giving way to solid ground. The shock of it sent him stumbling forward, his breath ragged as he blinked into his new surroundings.

He wasn't in the park anymore.

Everything around him was surreal. Towering stone pillars loomed over him, stretching into a sky that had no stars. The air shimmered with a strange, ethereal glow, and the faint sound of distant chanting seemed to pulse through the mist.

Elias took a shaky step forward, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. And then he saw her.

Standing in the center of this strange realm was a figure cloaked in shadows, her eyes piercing and ancient. There was something powerful and unsettling about her presence, like she had been waiting for him all along.

"Welcome, Elias," the woman said, her voice cool and commanding. "I am Hecate, goddess of magic and shadows. And you... have been chosen."