Chapter 1

  356 YEARS AFTER THE DIVINE HUNT

  “For the last time, there is no way this relationship is going to work,” Xander pushed The Lovers card across the table, the edge catching on the wood before it came to rest under the woman’s scrutinizing gaze. Maybe, if she stared at it long enough, the truth would finally sink in.

  This was commonplace, of course. This scene was almost a weekly routine—young women stumbling into the shop, desperate to know if their husbands were cheating or if their exes would "come back." The monotony of it grated on Xander’s nerves. How did his parents manage to deal with this for so long?

  “But it’s The Lovers,” she argued, her voice sharp, desperate. She leaned forward, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. “Doesn’t that mean we’re meant to be together?”

  Xander inhaled deeply, summoning every ounce of patience he had left, “Susan, the card is reversed.” He tapped it twice, the motion deliberate. “This isn’t about destiny; it’s about dysfunction. You keep coming here hoping the cards will tell you otherwise, but they’re consistent. Your insecurities are creating a wedge. And until you work on yourself, this relationship—” he gestured vaguely, “—isn’t going to survive.”

  Susan’s shoulders slumped, her face sinking into a dejected expression. Xander knew this wasn’t the reassurance she had wanted. He debated offering her more comfort but decided against it. She needed this—needed to understand that no magical solution was coming from the cards. The only person who could save her relationship was herself.

  Minutes ticked by as silence filled the space. Xander’s stomach growled in protest, reminding him that his lunch break was slipping away. Even so, he waited, reclining in his chair, his patience wearing thin. Susan’s somber demeanor soon gave way to a hint of resolution.

  She sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Maybe you’re right,” she said, almost too quietly to hear. “Maybe I need to stop running to you for answers and figure this out myself.”

  Xander blinked, caught off guard. This was new. Usually, Susan left in a huff, muttering about how he didn’t understand her situation.

  “I’m serious,” she added, reaching for her purse. Her fingers emerged holding a coin—fifty silver, far more than the fifteen his readings cost. She placed it on the table, the weight of it landing with a soft clink.

  He looked down at the coin blankly, “Susan you know I’m not taking this, your session was only fifteen sliver.”

  “Then think of it as a prepayment for the weeks I won’t be back,” she said, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a sincerity in her eyes that caught Xander off guard. “Thanks for the tough love,” she added before heading for the door.

  He found himself staring at the coin with a small smile. That small moment of clarity clearly did absolutely nothing to curb her stubbornness, but he could tell that it’d been redirected, hopefully for the better.

  His stomach growled again, this time louder, demanding attention. “Alright, alright, calm down,” he muttered, patting his stomach. Stretching, he flipped the sign on the shop’s door from Open to Closed. A groan escaped him as his gaze fell on the cards still scattered across the table. His mom would kill him if he didn’t cleanse them properly before putting them away. Somehow, she always knew when he skipped that step.

  He grumbled to himself, grabbing a stick of incense from the rack, “She doesn’t even have a card, how in the hells can she even tell?” With practiced motions, he gathered the cards and passed them one by one through the fragrant smoke, all while complaining under his breath. Once the cards were cleansed, he returned them to their case and placed the incense in its holder.

  Finally free, Xander trudged upstairs to the apartment above the shop. The aroma of fresh herbs hit him as soon as he opened the door, making his stomach practically take over his body. He followed the scent to the kitchen, where his mom was tossing a large salad. His dad stood nearby, slicing fruit with an uncharacteristic level of focus.

  “How was it with Susan?” his dad asked, barely glancing over his shoulder before turning to Xander with a grin.

  Xander narrowed his eyes, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you conveniently telling me it was my turn whenever she was about to walk in.”

  “What?” He gave an innocent look, “I’d never do my own son like that—ow!”

  Mom gave him a smack on the shoulder, “How dare you do my baby boy like that? No salad for you.”

  Xander snickered at the exchange, leaning against the counter. Normally, he hated being treated like a kid, but watching his dad squirm was always worth it. “Well, look what your scheming got me.” He held up the fifty-silver coin, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh honey look at our boy, growing up so fast,” His dad nudged mom with his shoulder playfully, making her turn around.

  Her eyes landed on the coin, and her expression shifted to concern. “You didn’t charge her that much, did you? Susans… particular but she doesn’t deserve—”

  “No Mom of course not,” He lightly scoffed and shook his head, quicking stopping that train of thought. “She insisted. I just gave her some tough love, and she appreciated it.” His stomach growled again, almost petulantly. “Is the salad ready? I’m starving.”

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  She eye’d him for a few moments, as if gauging his sincerity about Susan before smiling. “Yes honey It’s ready.” She nudged at the dining table with her head.

  He practically pounced to the table, right leg bouncing as he waited for her to plate it. His stomach was quieter than before, seemingly now more patient than his mind was. “Thanks Mom,” He said as she placed down his plate.

  “Of course, love,” she replied, taking her seat across from him. His dad joined them, settling to his side.

  He got lost in devouring his food for a few minutes, mind roaming on what the next few weeks held. His birthday was coming up in a few days, and Solari’s art festival was practically right after. Usually, it was hosted by The Magician cardholder Maurice and the Lovers duo, Lucil and Eric every year. He had no doubt this year would be different from the previous, probably better if anything. They always seemed to go big.

  His mind returned to his approaching birthday, the one thing he’d wanted swirling in his mind. “So… dearest parents,” He gave them an innocent smile, “When are you going to give me a reading?”

  For years he’d been practically begging for a reading—hells, probably ever since he could talk. It was what fueled his earlier desire to learn about the cards, in hopes he could just give himself one, yet every time the answers were completely random—he didn’t get it.

  His mom sighed deeply, rubbing her temples as if warding off a headache, exasperation clear as she stabbed at her greens. Xander knew what that meant—a warning, though he pushed, as he always did.

  “Mom—”

  He was interrupted by his dad, who was giving him a much less subtle look of warning. “Son, we’ve told you a thousand times. When you’re eighteen, we’ll read your cards.”

  Xander should’ve backed off, he knew he should’ve, but he was so goddamn frustrated. Years of helping run his parents tarot business, seeing everyone else get their cards read except for him? No, he was done waiting. And what difference did a few damn days make, anyway? His jaw clenched, foot tapping in an erratic rhythm underneath the table.

  “My birthday is in three days, are you actually serious right now? Three days!” His voice raised, face beginning to get hot. Smart Xander would’ve seen the look on his fathers face and backed down, smart Xander would’ve realized he was raising his voice to a man that made him look like a child in comparison—well smart Xander wasn’t in the room right now. “It’s been years of me asking and asking, yet you give me that same bullshit response—”

  He blinked and his father was standing over him, eyes narrowed and tone carrying an edge of authority, “Go to your room, now.”

  Xander bit back a retort, literally—his tongue throbbing against the teeth he’d sunk into it. The chair legs screeched as he pushed back from the table forcibly, leaving the rest of his salad untouched. This was such bullshit, he growled mentally as he tore through the apartment, each step making the wood underneath groan. He burst into his room—fingers twitching in agitation as he held back on slamming the door closed. He wasn’t that stupid.

  The bed sagged beneath Xander’s weight as he flopped onto it, the springs groaning in protest. His frustration still smoldered, thoughts of his parents’ refusal ricocheting around his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He stretched out, limbs splayed, staring blankly at the ceiling before he repeated his own words under his breath.

  “Three days… I can wait three more days,” he murmured, gaze drifting to the window, where the Vale unfurled before him like a painted canvas.

  The city was nothing short of a masterpiece, home to some of the most revered Arcana holders: The Sun, The Empress, The Lovers, The Magician, and The Star. Their presence shaped the city into a living, breathing tribute to creativity.

  Buildings were works of art in themselves, adorned with kaleidoscopic murals and mesmerizing optical illusions that seemed to shift under the sun’s light. Some walls bore sprawling portraits of past Arcana holders, their visages etched with reverence for the roles they played in the city’s foundation. Other structures intertwined with nature; vines wove intricate patterns across stone and glass, their verdant leaves accented by the soft hues of blossoms. Trees stretched overhead, forming canopies that cast dappled shadows on the pathways below.

  The streets—no, paths were winding and organic, feeling like arteries, connecting the lifeblood of Solari Vale to its heart—the people.

  Xander’s frustration ebbed as he soaked in the scenery. His annoyance about the long-delayed reading slightly melting away, replaced by a flicker of excitement. The festival was only days away, and anticipation buzzed like static in the air. Solari Vale’s art festival wasn’t just an event—it was an eruption of creativity and magic, an unspoken contest where each year sought to outdo the last. People from all over came to participate in the days-long event, artists and non-artist alike.

  Last year’s festival lingered in his memory, vivid as ever. Maurice, The Magician, had brought one of Eric’s sketches to life. Watching it happen had been nothing short of breathtaking. Xander could still feel the hum of raw energy as the building materialized—its form rising from the earth, consuming a pile of resources Joline had meticulously prepared. The structure had shimmered with an otherworldly glow in its creation, its design impossibly intricate, a testament to what collaboration between cardholders could achieve.

  Maybe this year Dexter and his band will perform… he mused, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Rising musicians always had a chance to shine at the festival’s evening performances, once the art markets and innovation showcases wound down.

  Last year’s lineup, however, had been a disappointment. Eris O’Neil had been the headliner, and just thinking about him made Xander’s stomach churn. The man’s ego was as vast as his waistline—a comparison that wasn’t lost on anyone who had met him.

  Xander’s mind flitted back to a bitter memory, his cheeks warming at the thought. He had been thirteen, naive and starstruck, when he’d spotted Eris at a local brewery. Gathering all the courage he could muster, he had asked the man for an autograph. Eris had barely looked at him, grumbling something about payment. Xander, fumbling with excitement, had handed over silver for a hastily scrawled signature and a half-hearted word of thanks. Even now, the memory made his skin crawl.

  He shook his head, banishing the thought like swatting away a fly. With a deep sigh, his focus shifted back to the ceiling above. Its cracked plaster patterns seemed to form shapes if he stared long enough—shapes that invited his mind to wander. Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to the future. The family business. The shop. Was this his destiny? To spend the rest of his life as a reader, flipping cards and unraveling other people’s lives while his own sat on hold? The question gnawed at him, insistent and unavoidable.

  A nap wouldn’t hurt… he thought, unabashedly flopping over onto his side and letting out a small yawn.

  His limbs grew heavy, the exhaustion from both the day and lingering thoughts wrapping around him like a thick blanket. The dark tendrils of sleep tugged gently at his consciousness, coaxing his eyes shut.

  “Not right now,” he murmured to himself, the corners of his mind retreating from the daunting conversation about his future. He wasn’t ready—not yet.

  Sleep claimed him, its embrace mercifully quiet. But the bustling city outside his window carried on, oblivious to the boy caught in the crossroads of his destiny.