If we had looked up, maybe we would have seen the disappearance of Helios’s Halo as an omen—a sign of the deeper darkness that would one day steal all our light.
“I knew the cosmic conditions for the portal’s activation wouldn’t repeat themselves until this millennium, so I had to wait.” Aquarius straightens his spine and turns to face me, resting his hip against the crystal and crossing his arms over his chest. “In that time, I prepared. I remembered how the first humans described a fleet ten times the size of the one they came with, but the portal didn’t stay open long enough for all of them to get through. I knew there would be no way to save the entire Zodiac.”
“So why did you decide to blow Cancer, Virgo, and Gemini off the map first?” I ask tonelessly.
His shoulders sag, but he doesn’t defend himself. “The quantum fusion experiments Origene, Moira, and Caaseum were conducting had a Psynergetic component to them—something only the three of them knew about. The Houses had exhausted every attempt to study Dark Matter, but they were unable to learn much about it, other than the fact that it could suck the energy from a planet. But these three Guardians were convinced they could find more answers using Psynergy. What they didn’t realize is that they were disturbing the Dark Matter, and to keep it from reaching Helios and killing us all, I had to divert it. Alone I couldn’t move it, but with Ophiuchus I could.”
He furrows his brow. “Rho, I don’t expect you to see this from my perspective—that would be like asking the ocean tides to consider the moon’s point of view. But when it comes to protecting an entire population, sometimes sacrifices must be made.”
I tune into the singing surf of the sea because I don’t want to process his words. I don’t want to think of my beautiful blue planet as expendable. I don’t want to think of Dad as an acceptable loss.
And yet as my mind waits for my heart’s counterargument, it doesn’t offer one.
I can’t hear its beat.
“I have spent the better part of my immortality looking for a way around the Last Prophecy, but the Dark Matter we created will destroy us.” Aquarius’s voice is gentle, and again I don’t know how to reconcile his warmth and openness with everything I know about the master. “There is no possible way to save everyone. All I can offer is the chance to save some.”
“That’s why you started the Tomorrow Party.” I don’t know if I’m asking or telling him. “So the Marad members are expendable to you, but the Zodai of the Tomorrow Party are worth saving?”
He shakes his head. “I have a separate deal with the Marad. Believe me, everyone is getting what they want.”
Seeing the confusion on my face, he explains, “I’m doing what any scientist, or god, would do: I’m taking my best samples, my optimal representative group of the species, to build a new and better world. But that isn’t enough.”
My confusion only grows after his explanation. “What do you mean?”
“It’s taken me millennia, but I’ve finally understood how your species lost its way,” he says, and he walks over to one of the benches and sits down. “I understand why Ophiuchus’s presence was so important. Your lives are so brief that hope is often short-lived among people. You forget your history when it’s unpleasant, yet you obstinately cling to outdated values and belief systems, because the only thing you fear more than facing the darkness of your past is confronting a future that’s unknown.
“You need inspiration. People don’t need to be told what they’re capable of—they need to know it. They need proof they can touch: an example to emulate, a leader worth following, a person who speaks out even in the face of injustice, who stays honest even when tempted with power, who embodies the best of what an individual is capable of even when it seems everyone is at their worst.”
His pink eyes stare into mine, and I suddenly realize: “You’re talking about me?”
He nods, and this is so outrageous that I have to sit down at the other end of his bench.
“I foresaw you,” he goes on. “A seer who could actually detect Dark Matter and who would warn the worlds of their doom.”
Mom’s vision that someone in her bloodline would be the harbinger of the Zodiac’s demise, and Empress Moira’s declaration that she’d long been expecting me—if they both predicted my arrival, of course Aquarius did, too.
“I Saw that most would be too blinded by this seer’s light to see her for what she was, but the rare few who did would be the best of their species. Only those who believe in you are worthy of surviving—all who did not heed your warnings will be left behind.”
It’s the first time he truly seems like a parent, in the realest sense—a lion protecting his cub.
“You were my vision’s first ambassador, Rho.”
I have to let the salty air fill my lungs to keep from drowning in this newest revelation. Aquarius used me as bait—he dangled me out to the Zodiac to lure his chosen ones.
“But first I had to be sure you were worthy.”
I glare at him. After all my experiences with Guardians, I know exactly what that means. “You tested me.”
“Naturally. First thing I did was set Ophiuchus on your tail.”
My eyes widen in horror, but since calling Aquarius a sociopath won’t help me free Nishi, I clamp my mouth shut.
“And, as I’d hoped, you survived his numerous attempts on your life.”
“He stopped trying to kill me as soon as he realized I would make a better ally to escape you,” I say, desperately trying to wound him even a little.
But he only sits up straighter. “That was after he saw your strength, which proves my point.
“Next, I had to learn what part of you I needed to enlist. I had to discover whom you needed me to be so I could give you what you were missing. For this test, I had to hack away at your shell, removing the armor you hide behind and stripping you down to your essence. That required another kind of tool; not a blunt object but a fine blade.”
“Aryll,” I growl. “And what exactly did he teach you about me?”
“That your pity betrays you,” he says, like he’s analyzing a character from a book he’s reading. “You find infinite value in every man, every soul. You fail to grasp what my eternal existence allows me to know—that humans are a brief phase of biological evolution who exist but for a minute, in a galaxy that is but a drop of water in an ever-expanding ocean. And none of you can be saved.”
“That’s one hell of a pitch.”
“It’s not a pitch—I’m not selling you anything. I want to open your eyes so you can decide for yourself.”
I swallow, remembering when Hysan said something similar to me on Centaurion.
Aquarius leans in, his pink eyes glinting in the sunlight. “The prime directive of your organism is to die; death is the only thing life guarantees you. The truth is, the length of time a random individual lives matters little to the stars, or even to most members of your species. And yet, even an unknown, faceless person can imprint forever on your soul.”
In his eyes I see the small Cancrian girl’s pink spacesuit that’s been branded into my mind since Elara.