Chapter 1 far and wide
Far and wide, they crossed the world together.
Aries leaned against the railing of the ship, the sea stretching endlessly before her. Every city, every stretch of sand blurred together into a beautiful memory. No more fate. No more chains. Just Aquarius’s laugh carried on the wind, warm like summer rain.
She rested a hand on her swollen belly, smiling to herself.
Aquarius approached from behind, steadying her with a gentle arm around her waist. “Careful,” he murmured. “I don’t want you falling into the water.”
She laughed softly as he kissed her forehead, then knelt to press his palm against her belly. “I’ll be fine,” Aries teased. “I am the Aries, remember?”
The ship finally docked at their next destination—a lively coastal city glowing under the sun. Hand in hand, they stepped onto land, hearts light as the sky above them. Far and wide, they chased dreams without looking back. Every road they chose was theirs alone.
At the inn, a young woman at the counter gasped softly when she saw Aries. “Oh my goodness—you’re due soon, aren’t you?”
Aquarius helped Aries sit, smiling proudly. “Two more days,” Aries answered, glowing.
That night, they lay together in their room, curled close as the city slept outside their window. Aquarius’s hand rested protectively over her belly.
“I can’t wait to meet you, little Pisces,” Aries whispered.
Aquarius smiled, brushing his thumb across her skin. “Neither can I.”
Happiness wrapped around them like a dream.
And then the dream shattered.
Aries stood in darkness, chains rattling somewhere far away. Laughter echoed—sharp, venomous.
“You really think you won?” Scorpio’s voice slithered through the void. Her eyes gleamed with hatred. “Once I get out of here, I’ll take everything from you. Your love. Your child. Your happy little family.”
“Stop,” Aries demanded, fire rising in her chest. “I’ve done nothing to you.”
Scorpio laughed louder. “You did everything.”
Aries woke with a scream.
Her heart raced, breath shallow, terror clinging to her skin. Aquarius was awake instantly, holding her. She told him everything—the dream, the feeling, the certainty.
“It wasn’t just a dream,” Aries whispered. “She felt real. This was a warning.”
Thunder cracked outside.
Pain tore through her body.
Her water broke.
The inn filled with frantic voices as labor came fast and fierce. Aquarius never left her side, gripping her hand, whispering her name, grounding her through every wave of pain.
And then—
A cry.
Life.
Aries sobbed as they placed the baby in her arms. A tiny girl with soft hair and peaceful features, sleeping as if the world had never known darkness.
“My Pisces,” Aries whispered, pressing her lips to her daughter’s forehead. Her expression hardened with resolve. “I will never let her take you.”
She looked at Aquarius. “We need to leave. Somewhere far. Somewhere safe.”
He nodded without hesitation.
Before dawn, they were gone.
Deep within an untouched forest, Aries opened the small satchel her brother had given her long ago. Inside lay a simple golden ring—ancient, radiant, powerful. She slipped it on and called to the heavens.
Libra answered.
Golden light poured down as the goddess stepped forward, eyes softening at the sight of the baby. “Oh,” she breathed. “She’s beautiful.”
Libra raised her hands, and the forest obeyed. Walls unseen rose around the land, paths twisting, magic sealing tight. “No evil will enter,” she said firmly. “But remember—this must remain a secret.”
“I promise,” Aries said.
When Libra vanished, Aries turned to Aquarius, her voice steady but tender. “I’ll burn the past. I’ll hide my flames—if it keeps her safe from pain.”
Aquarius pulled them both close. “Then we stop running. We build a home. Where roots grow deep. Where no one can reach us.”
Enchanted trees rose around them, the forest bending to their will. Inside it, they laid Pisces down to sleep, safe and warm between them.
A family.
At last.
And far away, in a place where time rotted and hatred waited—
Something smiled.
Pisces sat at the edge of the forest where the moss thinned and the air felt different—heavier, humming. The Wall rose before her like a breath held too long, green light veined through stone and magic, pulsing faintly as if it were alive.
Juicy lingered a few steps behind her, ears twitching, tail low. Watching. Always watching.
She hugged her knees at first, staring at the Wall the way someone stares at the horizon when they’re tired of pretending it’s enough.
“Tomorrow,” she said quietly. Then louder, like she was daring the trees to hear her.
“Tomorrow I’m telling Mom. And this time, I’ll make her listen.”
Juicy’s eyes narrowed, golden and knowing.
Pisces scoffed and met his stare. “Don’t look at me like that. I know it’s dangerous.”
She stood, brushing dirt from her dress. “But I want adventure.”
She walked the length of the Wall, fingers grazing its surface. It was warm. Always warm. Like it recognized her touch.
“I’ve walked this forest a thousand times,” she said softly. “Every root. Every bend. Every hiding place.”
Her voice began to change—not louder, but fuller. Like something inside her was finally being let out.
And then she spoke her truth.
Her words spilled into the trees, into the moss, into Juicy’s listening ears—
Seventeen candles, melting too fast…
The forest seemed to lean in.
She paced as she spoke, barefoot against familiar ground, hands clenched, then open, then pressed flat to the glowing barrier as if it might answer her back.
These walls feel louder than fear.
Juicy followed her now, silent as a shadow, tail brushing leaves as she moved.
When she said “Trees like cages, roots in my feet,” her foot caught on a thick vine and she laughed bitterly, shaking her head like even the forest was trying to keep her in place.
“You say you’re protecting me,” she whispered, eyes shining.
“But you’re suffocating me.”
The Wall flickered—just once. A ripple of light, like a breath.
She didn’t notice.
She kept going.
Her voice broke when she spoke of her parents—of skies crossed and seas conquered, of a life they lived before her. Fire in her chest flared hot and unfamiliar.
“I’ve got your blood,” she said, pressing a hand to her heart.
“Don’t tell me I’m not strong enough.”
Juicy stopped walking.
His ears pinned back.
The air shifted.
When she said “If I stay here, I disappear,” her reflection shimmered faintly in the Wall—and for just a heartbeat, it wasn’t only her staring back.
Something older. Brighter.
Something watching.
Her final words came out raw, almost pleading—
“I love you…”
She swallowed.
“But this life is mine.”
Silence fell.
The forest exhaled.
Juicy padded forward and pressed his head gently against her leg, grounding her. She sank down beside him, fingers curling into his fur as her breathing finally shook loose.
The Wall glowed softly behind them, brighter than before.
And somewhere far beyond the green—
something answered.
Not yet.
But soon.
Tomorrow, she would turn eighteen.
And the world would no longer be able to keep her.
Pisces headed back toward the cabin, Juicy padding beside her, the soft glow of the Wall fading behind them. The forest felt smaller now. Too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.
She pushed open the cabin door—
—and immediately gagged.
Aries and Aquarius were standing far too close, laughing softly, Aquarius’s hand resting at Aries’s waist like it had lived there forever.
“Ugh,” Pisces groaned. “Can you two go one day without public display?”
Aries turned, still caught in Aquarius’s grasp, smiling like she’d just been caught doing something harmless.
“Hey, sweetheart. You stayed out late today. Anything fun?”
Pisces rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Oh yeah. Thrilling. Same wall. Same trees. Nothing new. Like always.”
Her voice turned sharp at the end, bitterness slipping through.
Aries and Aquarius exchanged an awkward look.
“Well,” Aquarius said carefully, trying to lighten the mood, “tomorrow’s your birthday. You excited for that?”
Pisces shrugged, already walking toward the table. “Not really. It’s always the same. Mom makes a cake, you sing a song, and I wish—again—that I could go outside the Wall.”
Aries’s smile vanished.
“No,” she said flatly.
Pisces stopped. Turned slowly. “See? Always a no.”
Her voice rose. “If I’m eighteen, why can’t I go? Tell me, Mom—how do I get out past those walls?”
Aries slammed her hands against the dinner table, the dishes rattling.
“No!” she shouted. “Enough! Stop asking. It’s too dangerous out there!”
“I’m not scared!” Pisces shot back.
“That doesn’t matter!” Aries snapped. “It’s still a no!”
They talked over each other now, voices climbing, old fear meeting new fire. Aquarius stepped forward, lifting a hand.
“Hey—hey, let’s just—”
But Pisces was already grabbing a plate of food.
“I’m done,” she muttered, turning on her heel.
“Pisces,” Aries called after her, voice already softening. “I wasn’t finished talking—”
“I am,” Pisces said sharply, marching down the hall.
Her door slammed.
Silence followed.
Aries sagged into a chair, rubbing her temples. “What am I supposed to do, Aquarius? She’s getting more rebellious every day.”
Aquarius smiled gently, walking over and squeezing her shoulder. “Hmm. Sounds familiar.”
Aries shot him a look. “This is serious.”
“I am serious,” he said, grinning. “A rebellious god, if I remember correctly—”
“Shhh!” Aries hissed, glancing toward the hallway. “Don’t say that out loud.”
Aquarius chuckled. “Sorry, dear.”
He leaned down, kissed her temple, then glanced at the table.
“Now come on. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Aries sighed… then smiled despite herself. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Me too.”
Down the hall, Pisces lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she would be eighteen.
And the walls had never felt closer.
