Stella stared at the circle in the center of the room with a carefully composed expression. Inside, her heart was a storm of thoughts and doubts, but outwardly, she maintained the firm posture everyone expected of a leader. This moment wasn’t just the culmination of years of work and sacrifice; it was the last chance. If she failed, everything the order had done would be meaningless. And she would be remembered as the woman who squandered the last thread of hope connecting the world to magic.

  What had brought her here? Stella knew the answer but disliked thinking about it. It was a dream. Or, at least, it began as one. At first, it had been nothing more than disjointed fragments: visions of a buried grimoire, surrounded by a twisting, dreamlike void that moved as if alive. A voice—cold, precise, inhuman—had whispered coordinates to find it. When she woke, she doubted its truth, but not enough to ignore it.

  No one knew about this but her. To tell would be to admit that her leadership was based on something she barely understood. That her strength came from a stranger she had never seen. That the choice had not been hers but imposed upon her. A true leader wouldn’t hesitate, she thought. But she had hesitated. And she would hesitate again, if she had the time for it.

  But now there was no room for hesitation. She took a deep breath and focused on what lay before her. The circle had been prepared with precision, every line and symbol drawn according to the Angel’s instructions. Stella still wasn’t sure whether she could trust him—or the boy who carried him. Both were strangers to her, and that kept her constantly on edge. But the truth was simple: without him, they wouldn’t have progressed this far. He was the key, whether she liked it or not.

  The members of the order moved to their positions, each carrying the necessary items for the ritual. The circle on the floor, with its eight arrow-shaped points, seemed more alive now than before. The golden glow of the runes reflected on the participants' faces as they took their places at the edges, forming a network that pulsed in unison with the growing tension in the room.

  In the center, the boy, now entirely enveloped by the Angel’s presence, began to recite the prepared words. His voice filled the space with an almost tangible resonance, the Latin phrases dancing through the air:

  "Ego te agnosco ut aliquid quod ex hoc momento existit, et tu propositum tuum explebis secundum propositum in mente mea hoc tempore. Forma tua astralis creabitur ex energiae circa me."

  Stella felt the air shift instantly. It was as if the density around them had increased, as though every particle of space was being compacted. Breathing became heavier, and the distant, constant rumble of thunder reverberated through the walls. Everything around her seemed more real, more solid. Even her own thoughts felt less fluid, anchored by the gravity of the moment.

  She looked around, observing the other members of the order. Their expressions ranged from absolute focus to pure awe. To them, this was a miracle. To Stella, it was something far greater. Reality is responding, she thought. He’s bending the laws that govern us. This isn’t just magic... it’s mastery.

  When the boy finished his chant, the circle glowed brightly one last time before going dark. The silence that followed was oppressive, as though the space around them had forgotten how to carry sound. Stella exhaled deeply, feeling the weight in the air gradually lift. Before she could say anything, the boy—or was it the Angel?—raised his gaze and turned directly to her. His eyes now carried a light beyond human, something unearthly. He stepped forward, casually breaking the ritual circle as if it meant nothing.

  “Stella, is it?” he said, his tone a mix of certainty and curiosity. “So, how does your little group work? Do you have enough influence to spread this? To make this network grow?”

  For a brief moment, Stella felt frozen. It was the first time he had called her by name, the first time he had addressed her as something other than a tool. She recovered quickly, however, straightening her posture and holding his gaze.

  “We have what we need to start,” she replied, her voice firm but not as confident as she’d hoped. “Connections in the right places. People who understand what we’re trying to achieve.”

  The Angel tilted his head slightly, the motion almost predatory, as if assessing her response. “I hope you’re right. Because this world needs more than intentions. It needs action. Let’s see what you’re truly capable of.”

  He turned his gaze to the other members of the order, who remained frozen in their positions. “Now, let’s get to work,” he said, leaving no room for debate.

  Stella suppressed a sigh of relief. Not because the moment had passed, but because she knew this was only the beginning. The real challenge was still ahead. The glow of the circle on the floor had faded, but its presence lingered, pulsating like a memory etched into the room’s walls. The Angel rose, his gaze sweeping across the space with an air of natural authority.

  “This symbol,” he began, his voice echoing through the chamber, “is not just a tool. It’s a marker. An identity. From now on, this order will be called the Yellow Fraternity, and this sigil will be our emblem. Each of you must carry it—with you, on an object, on your skin, wherever you choose. It will be the link between us and the world, and every time you replicate it near where you live or work, you’ll be planting seeds to strengthen our network.”

  The members of the order nodded, some still awestruck by what had just happened. Stella watched closely, feeling the logic in his words but unable to shake a persistent sense of unease. The Angel was impressive, but the ease with which he had assumed control of the group was unsettling.

  Before she could dwell on it further, the boy interrupted abruptly, his voice completely out of sync with the solemn atmosphere.

  “Okay, everyone, that was great and all, but I really need to go. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to miss my two buses home, and then I’ll be in trouble. Again.”

  The room fell silent for a moment, and Stella almost laughed at the contrast. The Angel looked at the boy’s hands, as if trying to comprehend his earthly priorities, then back at Stella.

  “We’ll continue our discussion later,” he said, effortlessly reclaiming control of the situation. “For now, follow the instructions. Spread the symbol. This is the first step.”

  Stella nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. The boy. He was young, inexperienced, and the very idea that the grimoire had led her to him still left her uneasy. The book, discovered exactly where her dreams had guided her, contained only one clear directive: the person compatible with anchoring the Angel would be special. It was hard to imagine that someone so ordinary—and frankly mundane—could be that person. But the ritual had worked, so perhaps she had no choice but to trust.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  1 hour later, the bus crawled slowly through the city streets, swaying with each turn and stop. Lu sat near the window, watching the world outside as the sun sank below the horizon. Artificial lights overtook the scenery, and modern buildings began to give way to simpler, weathered structures. He knew the journey home would be long, but he didn’t mind. Since leaving the ritual, his mind had been buzzing with ideas and questions.

  “So,” he began silently, staring out the window as the bus passed a busy avenue crowded with people and cars. “What did you think of the ritual? I mean, everyone seemed pretty synchronized. And the master... she knew what she was doing, right?”

  "Yes. The ritual was well-executed," the Angel replied, his voice firm and precise. "Though still limited. The energy of this world is weak, but functional. The sigil is a good first step."

  Lu smirked slightly, not out of amusement but at the Angel’s ever-serious tone. “Good to hear. I really gave it my all, you know? I’ve wanted to be involved in something like this for years. Spent so much time reading about magic, chatting with people on forums, and... well, when Stella found me, it felt like everything finally made sense.”

  The bus left the avenue and entered a more suburban area. The fa?ades began to lose their sheen, with stained walls and windows barred with rusty grates. The streetlights flickered inconsistently, some failing entirely.

  "I know," the Angel said abruptly, interrupting Lu’s thoughts. "I’ve seen all your memories. I know exactly what brought you here."

  Lu raised an eyebrow, still gazing out the window. “Oh yeah? And what did you think? It’s kind of weird, isn’t it? A kid from the slums trying to learn magic through internet forums and pirated books…”

  "Not weird. Predictable," the Angel replied curtly. "Your search for something greater made you an ideal anchor. Your experiences shaped a compatible vessel."

  “Cool,” Lu said, letting out a low chuckle. “So, I’m just a vessel now, huh? Must’ve been fun watching everything I’ve done up until now. So, what did you think of my anime, games, and books? Got a favorite?”

  The Angel hesitated, but his tone remained neutral. "I wasn’t summoned to assess your mundane distractions. They are irrelevant."

  “Oh, but you saw everything, didn’t you? Come on, admit it. Did any of them catch your attention? Even a little?”

  The Angel didn’t reply, but Lu noticed a long enough pause to sense the hesitation. He chuckled again, lightheartedly, as the bus rolled into an even more distant part of the city. The streets were nearly empty now, and the buildings grew more dilapidated. Graffitied walls, vacant lots, and shuttered small businesses dotted the landscape. The few functioning streetlights cast long shadows that seemed to swallow the bus as it moved.

  “Ah, it’s fine,” Lu said, shaking his head. “You don’t have to admit it. But if you ever want to watch something with me, just let me know.”

  "I doubt I’ll have time for that," the Angel replied, his voice tinged with indifference. Yet, deep down, he wondered why the thought seemed more appealing than it should have.

  The bus finally arrived at Lu’s stop. He pulled the cord, stood up, and walked toward the exit, the Angel remaining silent while observing the surroundings.

  The neighborhood was quiet at this hour, exuding a mix of vibrancy and isolation. Narrow streets lined with tightly packed houses bore fa?ades worn by time but still maintained with care by their residents. A small square, though modest, was well-kept, with freshly painted wooden benches and flowers planted in little garden beds. Yet at night, it was deserted. Its reputation kept curious visitors away, leaving the space to those undeterred by its stigma.

  Lu crossed the streets quickly and ducked into a narrow alleyway that cut through to the square. The night carried a distinct scent: a blend of distant barbecue smoke, strong perfumes, and the sweet aroma of burning herbs. When he arrived, he spotted Annye and Jhonny sitting on their usual bench, illuminated by the dim glow of a nearby streetlight.

  Annye was as always, dressed in full goth attire—a black trench coat and heavy boots. Her dark makeup made her sharp eyes seem even more intense. Jhonny, with his baggy clothes and laid-back demeanor, was the perfect picture of someone who challenged everything without saying a word. The two were smoking, laughing softly.

  “Finally, Lu,” Annye said with a subtle smile. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “What’s up, bro,” Jhonny greeted, raising the joint in Lu’s direction before taking a long drag. “Come over here. I’ve got a new track. You’ve gotta hear it.”

  Lu approached and flopped onto the bench with carefree excitement. “Let’s go! Play it. I’m ready.”

  Annye pulled out her phone, queued up the beat, and hit play. As the rhythm began, Jhonny closed his eyes and sank into the music, his voice flowing effortlessly with a near-hypnotic cadence:

  "Lit a Newport, thought about cancer

  One day I might cough blood again

  Lit another Newport, slide in their system

  Play their game, then blow it up, end-to-end.

  Thought ‘bout burnin’ down Babylon

  Thought ‘bout quittin’ all this weed I’m on

  Thought ‘bout too much, so what makes this a dream?

  Why do you dream?

  Same reason I smoke, it’s the release.

  Wash my soul but it’s still tired

  Been payin’ tolls this road requires

  Learned the hard way—never trust

  No matter how sweet that snake’s choir.

  This my burden, I ain’t wearin’ your badge

  Fish don’t carry arms, they carry black flags

  Light don’t heal these wounds, can’t fix the past

  Just keeps me movin’, my focus intact.

  I see the straight path, it’s set in my bones

  I know what’s right, I know what’s home

  I know the hell I ain’t goin’ back to,

  Cause that’s the truth I hold."

  “YO! THAT SHIT WAS FIRE, BRO!” Lu shouted. “HOW YOU EVEN CAME UP WITH THAT?”

  Jhonny laughed, exhaling smoke slowly. “Ah, man, I was just mad as hell, sat down, and it came out.”

  As they laughed, the Angel observed—not just the words or the rhythm, but the flow beneath it. He saw the invisible current that connected Jhonny to his music. During his performance, the boy had entered a rare state: gnosis. Unknowingly, his mind had perfectly aligned with his emotions. The music wasn’t simply his creation—it was an extension of himself, flowing as if he were merely the vessel.

  The Angel took control for a moment, speaking through Lu’s voice. “You reached gnosis.”

  Jhonny frowned, confused. “The fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”

  Annye rolled her eyes, leaning back with a groan. “Oh great, here we go again with that weird-ass book talk.”

  The Angel ignored her, continuing with calm precision. “You weren’t aware of it, but you were completely attuned to what you felt. During that song, there was no hesitation, no thought. It was as though the music wasn’t coming from you, but through you.”

  Jhonny blinked, his confusion slowly giving way to curiosity. “Aight… so what? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” the Angel said, his tone steady and deliberate, “if you can consistently tap into that state, you can create music far more powerful than what you’ve done tonight. What you experienced wasn’t mere inspiration—it’s something you can harness.”

  Jhonny leaned back, his expression thoughtful as if the Angel’s words had unlocked something deep within him. “Man, that’s crazy… but I’ma try that. Never thought about it like that before.”

  Annye passed the joint to Lu, who took it without hesitation. The three of them sat in silence, the Angel’s words hanging heavy in the air. It was a strange stillness, comforting yet profound, as if none of them dared to disturb the fragile clarity of the moment. Lu took a long drag, releasing the smoke into the night sky, and muttered under his breath, almost as if speaking to himself: “Gnosis…”

  The silence stretched on, but the Angel, observing from within, reflected: “He could be a source of energy. Something rare in a world like this.”

  After a few more minutes, they parted ways. As Lu stood and left the square, the cool night air brushed against his face, carrying with it the scents of the neighborhood—grilled meat, faint traces of burning herbs, and the distant musk of damp streets. He crossed the dimly lit roads with his hands in his pockets, pulling out a crumpled cigarette.

  Lighting it with a battered lighter, he took a long drag and exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the faint glow of the horizon.

  “According to your memories,” the Angel remarked, his tone firm but devoid of hostility, “you shouldn’t be smoking."

  Lu chuckled softly, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. “Yeah? According to you, this body’s mine, right? So chill, Mr. Perfect. Here in my world? None of that matters. Welcome to the hood.”