The Thirteenth Sign

In Aetherion, family is temporary, but duty is forever. Children are raised by both parents only until they undergo their Aptitude Trials, a rigorous assessment that determines their true Zodiac alignment and faction placement. Once a child's sign is confirmed, they are permanently assigned to their designated faction, and the family is separated by law. Parents are expected to return to their own factions to continue their work, while the child begins training in their new role. Reunions are rare and strictly regulated—only permitted in neutral zones like the Grand Conflux or during formal, Order-approved visits. Love and bloodline may tie people together, but in Aetherion, loyalty to the Zodiac Order comes before family.

******

Celeste had never thought of the Earth Dominion as a place of comfort.

It was a fortress, built from stone and steel, unmovable, unshaken by the storms of the outside world. Unlike the floating elegance of the Air Dominion or the secretive depths of the Water Dominion, this was a place of control, of structure—a place where things did not change.

She supposed that was why her mother had always fit so well here.

Celeste pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she stepped through the towering halls of the scholars' archives, the scent of aged parchment and polished metal filling the air. It hadn't been long since she last saw Marianne—their last meeting at the Grand Conflux had been formal, distant, held under the ever-watchful eyes of the Celestial Order.

Back then, she hadn't truly realized how far apart they had become.

Now, walking through the domain her mother had chosen over her, the weight of that truth pressed heavier than ever.

...

She found Marianne exactly where she expected—seated at a long, polished desk, her Taurus-born features sharp yet composed, fingers gliding over the glowing interface of an ancient celestial map. The projection flickered as she adjusted its alignment, shifting constellations that Celeste now knew were missing something.

Celeste exhaled softly before stepping forward. "Mother."

Marianne tensed but recovered quickly, straightening as she turned. Her brown eyes flicked over Celeste's form, sharp but unreadable, like she was trying to determine whether this visit was an inconvenience or something worse.

"Celeste," she said after a pause, her voice carefully measured. "I wasn't expecting you, and you shouldn't be here without any formal notice."

Celeste forced a small and bitter smile. "I needed to talk."

Marianne's gaze lingered on her for a second longer before she gestured to the chair across from her. It was a formal invitation, like a scholar addressing another scholar, and not a mother speaking to her daughter.

Celeste sat but didn't relax.

"Is this about the Conflux?" Marianne asked. "Your father mentioned your behavior was… unlike you."

Celeste let out a quiet scoff. Of course, Cassion would report on her like she was a diplomatic issue.

"This isn't about him," she said, then, with a sharp breath, she added, "It's about the Thirteenth Sign."

The reaction was immediate.

Marianne's posture stiffened, her expression shifting so quickly it was like a crack in her carefully maintained mask. For the first time, Celeste saw something unfamiliar in her mother's gaze.

Not dismissal or skepticism.

It was fear.

Celeste's pulse quickened. "So, you do know."

Marianne exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers together. "Where did you hear that name?"

Celeste hesitated before answering, "The archives. I found something that wasn't supposed to exist. And I know the Order is hunting anyone connected to it." She inhaled sharply. "Including me."

Marianne's fingers twitched at the edge of the desk, the only sign that her calm facade was beginning to fracture.

"Celeste," she said carefully, "you don't understand the weight of what you're saying."

"Then explain it to me," Celeste pressed.

Marianne's jaw tightened. "No. Because the only way to survive this is to forget you ever found it."

Celeste stared, disbelief curling in her chest like something sharp and bitter.

"You knew," she whispered. "You knew about this before I was even born, didn't you?"

Marianne didn't answer, but her silence was enough.

Celeste inhaled, her heart hammering. "And you never told me."

Marianne closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if bracing herself. "Because I never wanted you to know."

Celeste let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "So instead, you let me live under their rules, follow their system, believe in their laws while knowing it was all a lie?"

"I let you live," Marianne corrected, her voice quiet but firm. "That was the best I could do."

Celeste shook her head, anger bleeding into every word. "So that's it? I should just accept my fate and let them erase me?"

Marianne's gaze hardened. "Yes."

The single word sent something cold and jagged through Celeste's ribs.

"You don't understand what's at stake," Marianne continued sharply. "The Order doesn't show mercy. The people who tried to uncover the Thirteenth Sign before you? They're gone. Not imprisoned or exiled. They are completely erased. Their names were stripped from records, their existence erased from history. If you continue down this path..."

"Then why am I still alive?" Celeste interrupted with her voice rising.

For the first time, her mother hesitated.

It was just a pause, just barely noticeable.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she answered, "Because I kept you hidden."

The words knocked the air from Celeste's lungs.

Marianne continued, her voice steady but heavy. "Do you think it was a coincidence that you were never pushed into a political role? That the Order never assigned you to a council position despite your aptitude? That your father never involved you in his work?"

Celeste swallowed hard.

"I kept you away from their attention," Marianne said softly. "I kept you safe. And now you've drawn their eyes."

Celeste sat frozen for a long moment.

Then, finally, she whispered, "And you won't help me."

Marianne's expression didn't change. Celeste hated her answer before it even left her lips.

"I have nothing I am willing to risk," Marianne said.

The betrayal burned.

Celeste exhaled, her hands curling into fists. "You're a coward."

Marianne flinched.

For a split second, Celeste thought she saw something raw flicker across her mother's face—regret, shame, something close to pain. But just as quickly, it was gone.

Celeste didn't wait for a response.

She turned, storming out of the archive halls, past the rows of books and celestial charts, past the reminders of the mother she had once believed in.

She didn't belong here.

She didn't belong anywhere.

And for the first time in her life, she understood—if she wanted the truth, she would have to find it herself, because if she didn't, nobody else would.