Aquarius and Ophiuchus are constantly presenting opposing viewpoints, and since they’re so well matched, there’s rarely a clear winner. Yet instead of getting on each other’s nerves, they seem to share a deep mutual admiration and respect; when one of them makes a particularly compelling point against the other, I can see it secretly makes the other one proud.
I notice the two of them sometimes linger longer in the astral plane after the others have returned to their bodies, but Ophiuchus moves us quickly through those memories, so I can’t explore those moments. Until time slows down again, in the midst of another meeting during which Ophiuchus and Aquarius are having one of their signature arguments.
Aquarius has Crompton’s pink sunset eyes, but that’s where their similarities end. In his original form, the somewhat androgynous-looking Guardian has ivory skin that glows like moonlight, silver hair that shines like starlight, and a sculpted face that looks like a carefully crafted work of art.
“Do you realize these mortals have seen more of our universe than we have?” he demands of the other fallen stars. “I propose we go through the portal ourselves to see what else is out there.”
Ophiuchus frowns, for the first time not getting pleasure from his friend’s words. “You jest, of course. Using the portal will destroy this reality, just as the earthlings’ passage destroyed theirs.”
“Do we know that for certain?” asks Aquarius, only concern and curiosity in his voice. “That is just what the humans claim they saw, but they do not possess our keen senses.”
“They told us not all their ships made it because their universe began to collapse as soon as the first vessel went through,” says Ophiuchus, his tone conveying complete trust of the humans. “I believe them. Why would they lie about that?”
“They are small and fallible,” says Aquarius simply, no judgment in his voice. “They come from an ordinary dimension. We are sentient stars. To these humans, we are gods. The portal might work differently from this side.”
A couple of Guardians look intrigued by Aquarius’s words, but most seem to find them as unpleasant as the Thirteenth.
“I have foreseen that the right cosmic conditions to reactivate the tunnel will not repeat themselves for at least three millennia, and these semi-mortal bodies we’re in will decay long before then,” continues Aquarius, his voice gaining strength. “We must act now before our window closes. This is our shot to discover a different dimension of existence, a new reality! We are stars—we are not meant for small deaths. When we die, we redesign the sky.”
The silence that follows feels charged.
Only Ophiuchus dares break it.
“We will not abandon these humans,” he says with an authority that chills the air, even among this group of gods. “Nor will we destroy our home.”
The scene suddenly fades to darkness, and we’re back on the Ariean ship. Ophiuchus is wide-eyed and staring at the ground, his breaths shallow. He’s lost his Center.
“You knew,” I whisper, glaring down at him from where I’m standing. “You’ve always known. Only one being could have had the cruelty and nerve and access to you to pull this off. It’s been three millennia, so either you’re so stupid you still don’t see it, or you’ve been protecting him.”
I spit the word out.
He doesn’t meet my gaze, so I keep going. “You made me feel bad for being weak before, but the truth is you’re weak. Love’s turned you into a murderer and a monster and the Zodiac’s ultimate fool.”
Ophiuchus lunges at me, and the whole ship tilts to the side as he shoves me into the wall. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he growls, his lethal jaws at my neck.
His starry eyes sear into mine with such fury that I know in my gut he could kill me right now.
My heartbeat grows more present with every breath, and I can’t deny it feels good to hear it again. I’m afraid, but I’m also excited . . . because deep down I crave the death he offers.
He lets go of me suddenly, and as the ship straightens I dig my back into the wall so I won’t fall to the ground again.
“If Helios goes dark, so does this whole universe,” I warn as my pulse fades into the void in my chest once more. “That means your precious people go, too. So if you really care about your House, talk to me about the portal and the Last Prophecy. How do we stop Aquarius?”
He stands with his back to me and stares out at the blackness looming ahead. “We keep him from activating the portal.”
“Why? What happens when he activates it?”
“The Zodiac’s days will be numbered. Seven, to be exact.”
“What happens after seven days?” I press.
“That’s how long it takes for the portal to fully open. The instant the first ship goes through, the solar system will begin to fall.”
“And how exactly does he plan to activate the portal?”
Still turned away, Ophiuchus says, “He’s going to sacrifice me.”
19
THE THIRTEENTH GUARDIAN SITS ON the floor and tunnels deep into his Center for the rest of the trip. I’ve asked him a dozen follow-up questions, but he hasn’t answered any of them. Not that I think he’d tell me the truth anyway.
I dig through the galley for a squeeze tube of protein, and then I try to sleep a little in the cabin. I wake up just a couple of hours later, drenched in sweat, the skin on my chest burning like it’s been freshly carved, and I don’t close my eyes again.
Ophiuchus doesn’t seem to have any needs, because he doesn’t move again until the Lion constellation flies into view.
The House has one planet, Leo; two moons, Lion and Leon; and a small sun. Its people are divided into nine Prides: Power, Courage, Honor, Leadership, Truth, Adventure, Competition, Sensuality, and Artistry. I’ve read that much of the planet is covered in harsh terrain—mountain ridges, jungles, marsh—and even the moons have strange topographies: Lion has forests and a lake that is the House’s largest store of freshwater, and Leon is a vast glacier with mountains made from crystals.
Since I’m not wearing my Ring or checking my Wave—so Hysan can’t locate me—all I have for company as we travel are the memories Ophiuchus shared with me. I keep picturing the beautiful god he started out as and comparing it to the lethal beast he’s become. And what frightens me most is how much of myself and Hysan and Ferez I saw in him in his early years.
When he addressed our ancestors, Ophiuchus was nurturing and wise and just, and his intentions to lead and protect humanity appeared selfless and pure. He seemed the embodiment of hope.
Just as with Aryll, it was easier to hate Ochus before seeing his beginnings, and something Lord Neith once told me comes to mind. He said the symbol for Justice is a set of scales, because good and bad exist in equal quantities and to eradicate one is to eradicate both.
I wonder if that’s because the bad can never truly be separated from the good, since each of us harbors the potential for both.
We are all Grey Gowan. We are all Ophiuchus.
We are all the heroes and the villains of our own stories.
“I can’t locate Aquarius’s Psynergy signature.” The Thirteenth Guardian breaks our silence, his eyes still shut. “Where does your army believe he is?”