𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃; ʜᴘ (𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃)

𝟏𝟏𝟐; ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ʜᴇʟɪᴏᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ

OPHIUCHUS wanted to scream.

So many revelations at once.

Silas and Elias, forced by Narcissus to keep secrets from him, if not they go under pain much worse than the cruciatus curse.

Narcissus lied to him practically his entire life, letting him believe he killed Calytrix, for years known the pain and guilt ate him alive everyday. Yet she wasn't even dead. She was alive— well mostly, but she was still alive.

Reincarnation is apparently a thing too.

The reason Narcissus was doing everything was on behalf of his order of his past self.

Speaking of his past self, apparently he was the Duchess named Lobelia, she was the voice in his head, the Black Sun, according to Astrophel.

While Calytrix is Mael.

So is Ophelia as well.

Which means that Ophelia and Calytrix, are technically the same person.

He always knew that Calytrix was his soulmate, and since Ophelia and Calytrix share the same soul that had meant...

Ophelia is his soulmate...

Spreading around the him, reaching deep inside of him, latching onto him. The watery calm trying to cage a raging inferno. The sense of calm was of the like he had not witnessed in years. It seeped into him. It was flowing through his veins, to his limbs, reaching the taut spinal cord, the frayed ends of the nerves to his vital organs, his brain, his lungs— his heart.

Ophiuchus looked down at Ophelia who sat in his lap staring at him, he had recoiled gently yet firmly getting her off of him, as he stood up and backed away from her.

He stared at him like a man wandering in a desert who'd found an oasis. He couldn't tell if she was real or not.

Merlin, he killed half his soulmate and treated the other half like she was worth nothing.

"Melan— Ophiuchus!"

Ophiuchus did the only thing he knew how to do when faced with his emotions, he ran.

Ophelia could only watch as the shards warped around Ophiuchus and the next thing she knew he was gone, leaving behind ruination.

Slowly everyone got out of hiding and gazed at the destruction he had left in his wake.

The Great Hall was in shambles.

"Bellatrix, what in Merlin's name have we created. He— He's something else." Rodolphus breathed takings in the creation of ruins Ophiuchus had left behind.

"I... I don't know." Bellatrix whispered.

That power Ophiuchus held.

It was incredible.

Ophiuchus just kept going.

He is every sordid deed ever committed in the world given mortal form according to the masses. He is the person that ripped a man's teeth out of his skull by his bare hands one by one and then fed them to him in the same order, because they made the mistake of touching him.

Ophiuchus knew he was a violent man.

Violence was an art, an intricate dance that few could master with as much grace as him. He dealt in blood and corpses, on the prayers of begging men and women. Blood marked his path and would follow him to the grave like a shadow. He dealt intimately in the sins of men like him and profited off of it. He carved his name into their bones and let the city fear him for it. Violence was an art, and he was a master painter.