Twelve Symbols, One Target

In an old fortress, a middle-aged man sat on a throne in a very dark room. The atmosphere felt evil and threatening.

Not the cartoon villain kind, either. The real kind. The kind that made your skin itch even if you couldn't explain why.

Cliché?

Absolutely.

But here's the plot twist: the throne wasn't some velvet-lined, high-fantasy chair of power. No, this one was made of bones.

Human bones.

Femurs, rib cages, cracked skulls polished to a sickening sheen—it was like someone asked, "What would a war crime look like as interior design?" and then actually followed through.

The armrests alone were lined with matching skulls, their hollow sockets locked in eternal screams. Whoever made the thing either had way too much time or a very disturbing hobby. Now, the man sitting on that lovely piece of furniture? He was… complicated. Middle-aged, supposedly. But time didn't seem to work right around him. His presence flickered, like a video feed glitching just enough to mess with your head. His body was draped in shadows—living shadows that constantly shifted like smoke, trying to decide whether it wanted to be fog or a fist.

He wasn't fully there. That was the problem. And the only thing clearly visible—his eyes. Cold, glowing pale like dying embers. They weren't just looking, but they were measuring. Quiet, calm, and impossibly patient. Like a predator that had no intention of rushing the kill.

Twelve figures stood before him in two perfect lines. Not one moved. Not even a twitch. They wore black robes with golden trim. Each robe had a unique symbol on the chest, which represented a Zodiac sign. The look was dramatic, cult-like, and very intentional. Some had their faces hidden beneath their hoods. Others didn't bother. Those who showed their faces wore a mix of expressions—frustration, focus, arrogance. Not one looked weak. Every single one of them carried the kind of aura that made you instinctively want to walk away… or kneel.

Maybe both.

They weren't just powerful. They were important. It was radiated from their presence. They were called by one name across the world. And they only answered to their golden symbols.

The Zodiac Twelve.

A tall man stepped forward from the line, his movements crisp, deliberate—like every step was a decision he'd already calculated three moves in advance. The flickering torchlight threw shadows across his face, but it couldn't hide the edges carved by time. Sharp jaw. Silver-streaked hair. Eyes the color of storm clouds before a hurricane. They weren't just tired—they were burdened like they carried the weight of every mistake he'd ever made. His black robe parted just enough to reveal the golden Capricorn symbol on his chest, glowing faintly like a warning label. He dropped to one knee before the bone throne.

"My Lord," he said, voice rough as sandpaper and twice as dry.

No extra words. No pleasantries. Just business.

"We have an update on Ronan."

The shadows coiled around the throne like snakes stirred from slumber. The air grew denser, thick with the kind of pressure that made your lungs feel too small. When the Lord spoke, it wasn't with a voice. It was voices—plural. A chorus of growls, whispers, and something in between a snarl and a sermon.

"The troublemaker from the Cross Family?" the voices hissed and overlapped, some curious, others venomously amused. "Speak."

Capricorn bowed his head slightly, the light tracing hard angles down his face. "He has been interfering with our operations. More than anticipated."

To his right, a woman scoffed and stepped forward. Her golden eyes glinted like knives in the dark. Her expression said I told you so, but she spoke anyway.

She was Leo.

"'More than anticipated'?" she repeated, folding her arms. "Try exactly as predicted. We knew he'd be a problem."

She didn't sound worried. If anything, she sounded bored—like she was waiting for someone to give her an excuse to prove everyone else wrong.

The Lord tilted his head, his ember-like eyes narrowing. "You've lost more rings, haven't you?"

A ripple of tension passed through the twelve like a cold draft through a locked room. Capricorn hesitated, only for a second.

"Yes, my Lord," he admitted.

No sugarcoating. No lies. Just fact—because lies got you deleted in this room.

The temperature dipped. Shadows pulsed. The torches sputtered like they were afraid to stay lit.

"You let him live," the Lord said. Not a question. A condemnation.

From the far side, another stepped forward—broad-shouldered and solid, a mountain of a man. Taurus. His arms crossed like he was building a wall around himself.

"We underestimated him," he said plainly. "He's much stronger than we thought. Even when he's surpressed by a rank."

Leo didn't look at him, but her voice was razor-thin. "That's because he's not from this world," she said. "He doesn't follow your rules."

"But—"

"Enough!" The shadows stirred again. The Lord didn't speak so much as growled his next words. "No more excuses."

Nobody dared to say anything. Not until the Lord asked, "Anything else?"

Then came a new voice. Calm. Measured. Sharp enough to perform surgery.

Virgo.

She stepped forward slowly, her silver hair gleaming in the dim torchlight. Her golden symbol shimmered like a seal stamped by logic itself. She looked like she could dismantle your soul with a spreadsheet.

"If I may," she said, her voice like still water, "there is some good news."

That got the room's attention. The air held its breath.

The Lord's burning eyes shifted to her. "Speak."

Virgo dipped her head, graceful and calculating. "According to our energy surveillance… more rings have surfaced. Active ones. The same kind Ronan has been collecting."

That stilled the shadows. Finally, something worth listening to.

"The only good thing I've heard tonight," the Lord murmured, though his voice was still devoid of anything resembling joy.

Virgo nodded. "Retrieving them, however, remains… complicated. We know what these rings are."

From the back of the room, a chuckle rose—low, amused, and far too confident.

Scorpio.

He stepped forward, his wolfish grin framed by a face that looked like it had never forgotten a grudge.

"Oh, come now," he said, hands out like a performer before an audience. "Complicated? Hardly."

The Lord turned toward him.

Scorpio grinned wider. "Every time someone claims a ring, the beast inside eats away at them. They think they're gaining power. But really, they're losing control. And once they break?"

He made a snap motion with his fingers.

"Chaos," he said with a shrug. "It's built into the design. The more people take the rings, the more monsters we gain, the more people killed, and the more souls collected. Either way, we win."

A murmur of agreement passed through the others like a dark current.

The Lord said nothing. He was still. Calculating. The shadows slowed their writhing as if absorbing every word. Then, finally, he spoke.

"It is true," he said, with a tone that suggested he'd already done the math and was unimpressed with everyone's pace. "Still. We must retrieve as many rings as possible. They are… essential."

A pause.

"And we must prepare."

That last word settled over the chamber like a tombstone.

Prepare.

No one asked for what. They didn't have to.

The Lord leaned back against his throne, the bone structure creaking softly as the shadows thickened once more.

"I don't want to hear anything else," he said, voice fading into a low growl. "You're dismissed."

And just like that, the room began to empty.

Sagittarius disappeared first, slipping into the shadows like a whisper. Aries and Aquarius followed, silent but purposeful. Cancer and Libra exchanged whispers as they left, like plotting something clever—or stupid. Pisces simply vanished. Not walked. Not stepped. Just… gone.

Only one figure remained—Leo.

She hadn't moved. She just stood there, golden eyes locked on the throne, sharp and calculating.

The Lord turned his gaze toward her. The room felt heavier. Darker.

She didn't bow. Didn't blink. She was waiting.

"Leo." The shadows around the throne pulsed, a low hum reverberating through the chamber. "I have a mission for you."

She raised an eyebrow. Barely.

"Ronan has disrupted our plans long enough," the Lord continued. "The others may toy with pieces of the game. I want checkmate."

Leo's smirk returned—cool, dangerous. "You want him dead."

"No," the Lord said. "I want him erased."

Leo tilted her head. "We've sent others after him. They failed."

"They were tools," the Lord replied, voice cold. "You are a weapon."

She chuckled softly and finally turned. Her golden hair caught the torchlight as she walked away.

"But if I do this…" she said, not looking back, "I do it my way."

The shadows snarled behind her. "You will not fail me."

She paused at the threshold, glancing over her shoulder. Her smirk was gone. What replaced it was something sharper.

"Again," she said softly, "my way."

The shadows whipped around the throne, angry and alive, like smoke with fangs.

"Then do not disappoint me."

Leo did not reply as she vanished into the corridor, her presence lingering like a spark in dry air. And once more, the chamber fell into silence.

The Lord sat alone, still flickering in and out of reality. His eyes burned brighter. His voice, like thunder being whispered, filled the emptiness.

"Cross Family… Your time is running out."

***

The cave was cold, damp, and smelled like old stone and rain—like the kind of place no one had visited in years. The kind of place that made you second-guess every step, wondering what might be lurking just outside the moonlight.

Elion stood near the entrance, arms crossed against the chill. He wasn't sure if it was the cold, the silence, or the fact that they had no idea where they really were, but everything about this cave felt like it was holding its breath.

"Okay… I didn't know this forest had caves," he muttered.

"Me neither," Jordan replied, brushing dirt off his jeans. "Thought it was all trees and bugs with a personal vendetta. Guess we hit the bonus round."

Elion offered a tired smile but said nothing. His eyes were on Ronan. The guy had gone quiet again, sitting near a smooth boulder deeper in the cave. He'd taken off his cloak, already pulling out supplies like he did this kind of thing every other day—which, at this point, maybe he did. There was no bag. No pockets big enough for what he was laying out. But somehow, there was now a roll of cloth, a small bottle of dark liquid, and a bundle of herbs resting beside him like they'd always been there.

Elion raised a brow. "Where are you pulling all that from?"

"Dimensional storage," Ronan replied without looking up.

Jordan blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"That's… okay. That's kind of awesome," Jordan didn't know what else could surprise him now. Beast-men, magic, teleportation portal and now, dimensional storage.

Ronan didn't reply. He crushed the herbs between his fingers. A sharp, minty scent filled the cave. When he pressed the mix to his side, steam lifted from the wound, curling into the cold air.

Elion winced. "That looks brutal."

Ronan gave a small shrug. "It works."

Jordan watched closely, quieter now. "You said you got that wound when you got here?"

"Just before. I landed in a different world," Ronan said. "Didn't land somewhere nice. No trees. No people. Just a wasteland with things that didn't want to talk."

Elion frowned. "Beast-men?"

"No," Ronan said. "Worse."

That single word was enough to make the cave feel ten degrees colder. What could be worse than beast-men?

Ronan grabbed the cloth and started wrapping his wound—tight, efficient, like someone who'd done this more times than he cared to count.

"Fought my way out," he continued. "One of them tagged me good before I escaped. Haven't had time to stop since."

The cave was silent for a beat.

Ronan didn't elaborate, and neither of them pushed. He started wrapping his side with the cloth, his movements practiced but tired. The tension in his shoulders didn't go unnoticed.

Jordan shifted, his curiosity finally breaking through the silence. "You've been healing this whole time, haven't you? That's why you've been complaining about not being able to use your full strength."

Ronan nodded once. "This world doesn't have the energy I need. It's slow going."

Elion exchanged a glance with Jordan, then looked at Ronan again. Really looked.

Now that they were out of the chaos, away from shadows and movement, Elion could see him more clearly. Not just the clothes or the cloak—but the guy underneath.

Ronan didn't look quite right.

Not in a bad way. Just… off.

His features were sharp but not weathered. The lines around his eyes looked more like exhaustion than age. His build wasn't large but lean—someone used to be on the move, surviving rather than showing off.

He looked… young.

Elion squinted. "How old are you, actually?"

Ronan paused mid-wrap, not expecting the question. "Why?"

Jordan narrowed his eyes. "Wait… wait, wait. Don't tell me you're our age."

Ronan gave a tired nod. "It's been half a year. So now… I am twenty."

Jordan straightened. "Twenty? And you've been calling us kids this entire time?"

Elion raised a hand. "You called us kids. Multiple times."

Ronan smirked, but it quickly faded when the motion made his side ache. "Yeah. And you guys act like kids."

Jordan stared at him. "You look forty."

Ronan blinked. For the first time since they met, he actually looked caught off guard.

Then, slowly, a laugh escaped him.

Or… tried to.

Because as soon as he laughed, he clutched his ribs and groaned. "Ow—Okay—nope—bad idea."

Elion was grinning now. "Seriously, though. Twenty?"

Ronan sighed, trying not to wince. "I am twenty."

Jordan blinked. "Dude, are you aware your vibe screams retired soldier?"

Ronan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well. Try skipping sleep for six months, living off monster jerky, and getting stabbed by creatures from twelve dimensions—see what it does to your skincare routine."

Jordan laughed. "I knew it. The grumpiness. The dramatic cloak. You've been grandpa-ing this whole time!"

Ronan just closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Possibly a curse. Probably deserved.

Elion smiled despite himself. Somehow, that made Ronan feel more real. More… human. And yet, in the back of his mind, Elion still remembered what Ronan had said earlier. Those things known as the beast-men that had hunted him. That this wasn't even his world. That their lives had just collided with something way, way bigger than any of them understood.

Ronan let out a long, low breath as he tied off the last of his bandages. He glanced at Elion and Jordan, both still hovering near the cave entrance, awkwardly standing like they were waiting for someone to announce recess.

"You two need to rest," he said finally, his voice back to its usual half-bored, half-serious tone. "I'll have a surprise when you wake up."

Jordan snorted. "Rest? You mean like… sleep? Now? Better tell us the surprise now."

Elion shook his head, arms folded tight. "No offense, but we just got to know beast-men, ran through a portal, and are currently hiding in a cave that smells like wet socks and ancient trauma."

Jordan chimed in, "Also, we're probably on some kind of beast-men hit list. That doesn't exactly scream nap time to me."

Ronan raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Yeah, well, you've no other choice. Who asked you to chase after them?"

Jordan was left speechless. That was his mistake.

Ronan chuckled as he reached into his dimensional storage—still not over how casual that was—and pulled out two compact rolls. With a flick of his wrist, each one unfurled into a full-length sleeping bag.

Jordan blinked. "Wait, wait. You carry sleeping bags in there?"

"Among other things," Ronan said, tossing one to each of them. "Water, rations, traps, healing supplies… it's basically a portable apocalypse kit."

Elion caught his sleeping bag, eyeing it like it might bite him. "You're telling us to go to sleep in a cave while monsters who can smell us from miles away are roaming around?"

Ronan leaned back against the stone, cloak draped over his shoulders again like some kind of battle-weary guardian. "Yeah. That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"And you?" Jordan asked. "What—are you just gonna sit there and vibe?"

Ronan smirked, adjusting his hat. "I'll keep watch for now. I don't sleep much anyway."

Elion frowned. "Because of the wound?"

"No," Ronan said simply. "Because things come at night."

Jordan gave him a long look. "You know, you're really bad at making this feel safer."

Ronan shrugged. "I'm not here to make you feel safe. I'm here to keep you alive."

That shut them up for a moment.

The cave fell into a weird silence. The kind that wasn't comfortable but wasn't terrifying either. Just… heavy. Like everyone in the room knew sleep was necessary but also knew it wasn't going to come easy.

Elion finally sat down and half-climbed into the sleeping bag, more out of exhaustion than trust. "If I wake up with something chewing on my leg, I'm blaming you."

"Noted," Ronan said, already shifting his eyes toward the cave entrance. His posture hadn't changed, but something about him looked… stiller now. Like he'd switched into some kind of sentinel mode.

Jordan rolled onto his side. "So, what's this 'surprise' you mentioned?"

Ronan didn't answer right away. He just smiled—barely. The kind of smile that said: you'll see when you wake up, and you might not like it.

"Just sleep," he said.

Neither of them liked that answer.

But somehow, it made them feel slightly better.

Slightly.

Just enough to close their eyes.

Maybe.