The Astrologer
Under a canvas of stars, Lumos' tent stood as a beacon in the bustling market, its entrance veiled by shimmering curtains. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of myrrh and sandalwood, casting an otherworldly glow on ancient tomes and scattered star charts. The astrologer, his beard as white as the distant moons, sat quietly, his gaze lingering on the flickering candlelight that danced across the table.
Caesar entered with the vigor of youth, his head shorn to the scalp, a stark symbol of his readiness for battle. His eyes scanned the shadowy confines of the tent before settling on the old man, who seemed to hold the mysteries of the cosmos in his gaze.
Lumos observed the young man with a practiced eye, noting the eager tilt of his head and the barely contained energy in his clenched fists. He offered a smile, the kind worn by those who know too much, yet it barely concealed the weariness etched deep within his soul.
"Great Lumos, tomorrow I ride with my comrades to face our foes. It's said that the field we choose will echo with the clash of steel and the cries of the brave! What do the stars hold for me?"
Lumos observed the young warrior with a blend of admiration and concern, his experienced eyes seeing both the strength and the naiveté in the man before him. "Your spirit is commendable, young warrior. But first, may I know the name with which these stars align?"
"Caesar," he replied, his stance proud, chest swelling slightly with pride.
Lumos paused before responding. His hands moved deliberately over the weathered deck of tarot cards, their edges softened by time and use. Each card whispered as it slid across the cloth, a soft hiss that seemed to converse with the distant murmur of the market outside.
With a measured grace, he spread the cards in a slow arc. One by first, the images revealed themselves: The Tower, its ominous structure looming over a stormy landscape, and The Ten of Swords, each blade a promise of inevitable endings. Lumos felt a heaviness settle in his chest, the grim portents painting a story far removed from the one he wished he could tell.
As he lifted his gaze to meet Caesar's, he saw the flicker of hope that danced in the young warrior's eyes—a hope that demanded a gentler truth. Lumos' voice, when it came, was a careful blend of compassion and wisdom.
"The path ahead is marked by significant challenges, brave warrior," Lumos began, his tone imbued with a gravity that belied the calmness of his demeanor. "But remember, true strength often lies not in overcoming every obstacle, but in the wisdom to navigate them with courage and insight."
Caesar listened, his brow furrowed in thought. With a slight nod, he acknowledged the layered meaning in Lumos' words. He turned to leave, his silhouette a dark shape against the tent's luminescent fabric.
A sharp pang of guilt stabbed at Lumos's heart, halting the warrior's departure with a call that cracked with the weight of impending doom. "Wait. There is more you must hear. The path you are so boldly set upon... it is riddled with shadows much darker than any night you have known."
Caesar paused at the tent's threshold, the heavy canvas framing him in a tableau of reluctant hesitation. His body, usually so sure and forward-driving, held a moment of stillness, an openness to the fates that Lumos was unwilling to reveal.
Lumos' voice, though it began as a falter, gathered strength from the depths of his ancient wisdom. "The stars have cast a somber light upon your journey, revealing an end both grievous and untimely. You stand on the brink of a precipice not just of battle but of existence itself. I implore you to reconsider the morrow's venture."
A soft chuckle escaped Caesar, not of disbelief but of acceptance. "Lumos, my fate is mine to make, even if it leads where you say. I shall ride out with this knowledge, not in fear but in defiance of it."
Stunned, Lumos watched Caesar's retreating figure blend into the night's encroaching darkness. The young warrior's steadfast acceptance of his destiny struck a deep, resonant chord within the old astrologer. It was a display of courage that Lumos had seldom allowed himself to embody in his many years of cautious whisperings and veiled truths.
As the tent flap fell shut, sealing off the night, Lumos stood motionless, the silence around him echoing the tumultuous thoughts storming through his mind. Slowly, his eyes drifted to the corner of his tent, to the mantle where his caduceus lay forgotten beneath layers of time's dust.
The weight of the years seemed to lift as he approached and took hold of the staff. His fingers felt the familiar etchings and a surge of forgotten energies coursed through him, reigniting the core of his being.
"Can an old reader of destinies architect his own?" He contemplated. "Perhaps today, I shall."
Entered by: 0x2531…DeB1 and preserved on chain (see transaction)
