Chapter 7

  No way

  No way

  NO WAY!

  Xander’s breath was stuck in his throat, a wave of cold panic surging through him. He would've crumpled to the floor if it wasn’t for Jor’dan’s firm grip tightening around his thighs. He could feel Jor’dan’s fingers pressing into him, grounding him in place, but the sheer disbelief kept pulling him under. His lungs refused to let air in, his chest tight like a vise. His eyes were glued to the stage, blinking rapidly, hoping that the painted image would morph into something, anything, that wasn’t his—his work. But it stayed. Unrelenting. His painting, on display for all to see.

  The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices ringing out, too loud, too sharp, as if mocking the confusion inside his head.

  Jor’dan shifted beneath him, a small movement that snapped him back into the present. He lifted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced up at Xander. “Dude.” Jor’dan whistled, thick with disbelief. “You didn’t tell me you submitted to the festival.”

  “I didn’t!” The words exploded from him before he even had time to think, the panic clawing at his throat, constricting. “H-How? This...this isn’t—” The thought hit him like a freight train. The conversation with his parents. Dots began connecting in his head, she lied—saying she’d sent his painting off for prints.

  He jerked his head back to the stage, eyes searching again, hoping to find something to deny what was happening. But the same painting stared back at him—his.

  He could feel his insides twisting, a swell of anger rising against the back of his throat, but another part of his mind stabbed a spear right into that line of thinking. His mother had done this for him, pushed him in a way he couldn’t bring himself to do. This entire time he’d been disappointed in himself for not submitting. Even when next year came—would he have submitted or would he just have succumbed to another round of complacency?

  “Xander Santuna, please make your way to the stage,” Eric’s voice sliced through the fog of his thoughts, amplified and clear

  His mind screamed for escape. Maybe, just maybe if he just stayed silent they would move on, contacting him later about the prizes. The fact that he’d even won hadn’t even clicked yet, adrenaline pumping and fueling his mind to find ways to avoid the spotlight. His thoughts were interrupted by Jor’dan’s sudden movement, starting to push through the crowd.

  Xander’s panic skyrocketed. “No, Jor’dan—no!” He tugged uselessly at Jor’dan’s wrist, trying to pull himself free, but Jor’dan ignored him completely, moving forward with a purpose.

  “Jor’dan I'm serious,” He panicked, breathing heavily and trying to wiggle free.

  Jor’dan continued walking.

  “I can’t do this!” Xander’s voice was a desperate hiss, a whispered plea against the noise of the crowd. His body wriggled against Jor’dan’s hold, but it was no use. The faces around him blurred into one giant blur of eyes that seemed to pin him in place.

  His heart beat like a drum, surely at a rate impossible for humans. The mixture of looks from the people around him made it worse. Chuckles of amusement and looks of sympathy all transforming into a single spiraling narrative in his mind. They were laughing at him.

  “Let me go!” His hands slapped the back of Jor’dan’s head, auburn hair shifting under his frantic touch. The action, fueled by desperation, sent a shock of guilt flooding through him, but it didn’t matter.

  Jor’dan’s dark brown eyes locked onto his in an instant, unwavering. “If you do that again.” Jor’dan’s voice was low, controlled, yet there was a dangerous edge to it. “I’ll throw you up onto the stage instead. Got it?”

  Xander’s fist clenched so tight his nails dug into his palm, the retort that had surged to his lips dying there. He focused on taking slow, controlled breaths, trying to calm the rapid pounding of his heart as Jor’dan weaved through the last part of the crowd. The blood boiled underneath his skin, making his cheeks flush with a heat he couldn't escape.

  As they neared the stage, Jor’dan’s hands landed firmly on his shoulders after setting him down, guiding him up the steps. Xander didn’t dare to look at the other cardholders standing nearby. His gaze stayed locked on the polished oak floor beneath him, each step feeling like an eternity.

  A soft voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, and he looked up, swallowing.

  Eric was standing in front of him, a gentle, reassuring smile on his face. “Hey, you’re okay. I promise, everyone is more amazed at your artwork than anything else.”

  The words should have been comforting, but instead, they did nothing to ease the panic gnawing at Xander’s insides.

  A small frown tugged at Eric’s lips. “If you want we can—”

  “No.” Jor’dan’s voice cut through the conversation, harsh and final. He pulled Xander to the front of the stage, steering him toward the front of his painting with his hands still firmly locking Xander into place. “He’s doing this.”

  The hells?! His body tensed, a glare flashing toward Jor’dan, but his friend was undeterred, his grip as unyielding as ever. He wanted to die, melt into a puddle right on the stage as his eyes swept over the thousands of people in the park.

  Then, cutting through the tension, a familiar voice pierced the quiet. His mom. Her voice rang out across the park, loud and full of pride. “That’s my baby! That’s my son!”

  His heart lurched, something unfamiliar and warm swelling in his chest. Then came his father’s voice, even louder. “That’s my damn boy!”

  A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd at their enthusiastic shouts, but something inside Xander loosened. His parents were here. They were proud of him. They were with him. The weight of his nerves, just a little bit, started to ease. As Eric offered him the amplifying crystal he gingerly took it. Looking down at the bluish crystal with a careful gaze.

  A rough hand on his shoulder brought him back to the moment—Jor’dan’s hand grounding him with its solid weight. He glanced to the side, catching even Janette’s approving thumbs-up. That small gesture, simple as it was, anchored him in reality. She didn’t even know him… but she was here too.

  With a shaky breath, Xander turned his attention back to his painting, focusing hard on the canvas, the only thing that made sense in that moment. “I—I called this piece… Stagnation’s Allure.” His voice trembled, but he forced himself to speak, to fill the space with his words. He kept his gaze fixed on the painting, avoiding the thousand eyes on him, feeling slightly calmer the longer he stared at the piece.

  “For those who don’t know me, I read the cards in my parents’ shop,” Xander began, his voice wavering slightly, “and as the years went by, I started to feel stuck—not by them, but by myself—life itself.”

  He cleared his throat, wiping his palms on his loose shirt before continuing. “I trapped myself in a cycle of stagnation, asking myself if I would forever be left to read the cards of others, my own story left untold. The chains you see in the painting depict both external and internal forces—each one leaving its mark and holding me down… an excuse. Even today, I didn’t submit my painting—my mom did.”

  He shifted, trying to steady his breath as murmurs filtered through the crowd. “I didn’t think I was good enough, even when the ones close to me already told me I was. The unseen card in my hand was originally painted to reflect how I felt—like life kept all the answers just out of reach. But… the answers were right in front of me this whole time. This piece… has a new meaning for me now. I’m leaving those feelings behind and moving forward—with my own hands on the wheel.”

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  Xander’s voice trailed off, and for the first time, he allowed himself to lift his gaze from the canvas. Instead of the laughter or judgment he feared, a wave of cheers washed over him. Jor’dan gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, a proud smile on his face. Xander’s heart swelled as he searched the crowd. There, he saw his mom, holding onto his dad as she wiped her tears away. His chest tightened, the emotion nearly overwhelming.

  When he looked back to the stage, the other cardholders gave him encouraging smiles, and Eric clapped, offering him a nod of approval. Xander felt his pulse slow, his nerves finally starting to ease.

  “That was beautiful, Mr. Santuna,” Eric said, his voice warm. “Now—”

  Suddenly, Maurice’s voice cut through, sharp and frantic. “Watch out!”

  Before anyone could react, a beam of light slammed into Xander, and a scream ripped from his throat. He collapsed to the floor, his body wracked with pain. The air shimmered in golden light, and everything else—the crowd’s worried shouts, the laughter, the noise—faded into nothingness.

  It was like being pulled apart from the inside, a searing, unbearable sensation that seemed to twist reality itself. His body jerked involuntarily, an invisible force overwhelming him—lifting him in the air. White hot flashes of pain tore through every muscle, every fiber, every cell of his being. His mind flooded with flickering threads, golden strands floating in an endless cobweb.

  A golden wheel shimmered to existence, taking forefront in the center of the webs—then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain began to dull, replaced by a steady ache. He felt the coolness of the oak beneath him, his body landing back on the ground with a thud. He groaned, disoriented, the sunlight blinding his vision.

  Jor’dan was above him in an instant, his expression wide with panic. Xander tried to speak, but his voice cracked. “W-What happened?”

  “Xander!” His mother’s voice rang out, frantic and close.

  “Let us through!” His father’s roar followed, booming with worry.

  Xander blinked, trying to focus, but his mind felt like it was spinning, struggling to make sense of the world around him. Everything seemed sharper, clearer in a way that was both disorienting and unsettling. His body felt foreign, like he had been dropped into someone else's skin.

  Then, without warning, the sun vanished—its light fading like a candle snuffed out—and he jerked back, heart racing. A pair of piercing blue eyes loomed directly over him, wisps of slightly golden hair brushing against his chest. He held his breath as Stella's gaze bore into him, inspecting him with an intensity that felt almost clinical, her sky-blue eyes narrowing with calculation.

  Without a word, she turned away and spoke to the small circle of onlookers gathered around him. “Yup. He’s been chosen, alright.”

  Xander’s thoughts spiraled. Chosen? Chosen for what? Panic surged through him, threatening to overtake his breath, but before he could explode with questions, Maurice stepped closer. His body language was careful, unassuming, almost as if trying not to startle him further.

  “Mr. Santuna, I need you to—”

  “What the hell happened?” Xander interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended, the usual reverence missing entirely. He felt like he'd been struck by lightning, yet there had been no rain, no storm to explain the shock to his system.

  He could still see it—the webs, the spinning wheel, the force that gripped him. His head throbbed at the memory, the overwhelming surge of it all. He needed answers, now. He pushed up weakly, his back resting against something solid, the thick legs of Jor’dan providing an anchor.

  “Careful,” came Jor’dan’s quiet murmur, concern coloring his tone as he steadied Xander.

  Joline, who had been standing off to the side, nudged Maurice's shoulder and nodded toward Xander. “Show the boy.”

  Maurice sighed, but obeyed. From his belt, he produced a thin strip of solite—the reflective material catching the light. He held it up to Xander’s face, the smooth surface catching the faintest glimmer of light. Xander’s breath caught in his throat. His reflection stared back at him, but something was terribly wrong. His once-dark brown eyes had shifted—gone was their warmth, replaced by a dull shade of gold that mirrored his hair, now a pale blonde hue. It was as if his very essence had been changed.

  The real shock, though, came when he looked up. His heart skipped as he saw it: a massive wheel—golden and ethereal—hovered just behind his hair, almost the size of his entire head. It floated in a halo-like formation, its edges shimmering faintly as though it were part of a dream.

  “What the hell is this?” His voice was shaky, the confusion clawing at him.

  “You’ve been chosen, kid,” Stella said bluntly, her hands planted firmly on her hips as if she had just announced the weather. “Wheel of Fortune.” She whistled, an idle sound that seemed almost too casual for the weight of the moment. “Been about… what? A hundred years since the last one?”

  Before Xander could respond, Soloman, her brother, elbowed her in the ribs, shaking his head with a look of practiced exasperation. His own golden eyes found Xander's, only brighter, glowing with an intensity that mirrored Xander’s. He shrugged and gestured toward his sister, offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. She can be… insensitive.”

  Before Xander could process what was happening, he was enveloped by the concerned presence of his parents. They dropped to their knees beside him, their faces full of worry, their hands trembling as they cradled his head in their laps. His father’s expression was tight, his jaw clenched, yet the worry in his gaze was unmistakable. His mother, however, wore an expression of pure concern. Her soft hands gently cupped his cheek, her touch warm and grounding amidst the swirling chaos in his mind.

  “How do you feel?” She began poking him on the chest, the sides, and his legs.

  Xander groaned, flinching at the unexpected pokes. His muscles ached as if he’d run for miles without stopping. “Stop, stop, please—I’m fine,” he muttered, though the fatigue in his voice betrayed him.

  Jermaine stepped forward, placing a firm yet steadying hand on Xander’s chest. His presence was grounding, his father’s concern etched into every line of his face.

  “Dad?” Xander managed to whisper, his voice small. He sought answers, but his father’s lips remained pressed together, his expression unreadable.

  Before anything more could be said, the noise of the crowd swelled. Whispers turned into rippling murmurs, a tide of tension and unease rising as thousands of eyes remained fixed on him.

  Xander shifted, attempting to rise, but his legs felt like jelly. Jor’dan’s steady hands caught him before he faltered, keeping him upright.

  Maurice, sensing the growing restlessness of the crowd, raised his voice to address them. “Please, remain calm! Everything is under control.” His words carried authority, but the unease didn’t dissipate entirely. With a subtle gesture, he turned to Joline. “Take them to the palace. Now.”

  Joline didn’t need to be told twice. Her crystals chimed softly as she moved, motioning for Xander’s family and Jor’dan to follow. Jor’dan carried Xander with ease, shielding him from the prying eyes of the crowd. The park’s noise began to fade, replaced by the sound of their hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path.

  Everything was moving too fast for him, his mind raced to process everything. Out of everyone… Why the hell was he chosen? He wasn’t special—he’d never been noteworthy. If anything, he was a picture of mediocrity, someone who’d spent his life sitting on the sidelines.

  His tarot knowledge surged forward, unbidden. The Wheel of Fortune comes after stagnation… the turning of the wheel marks a shift… action… fate.

  He clenched his fists weakly, his knuckles brushing against Jor’dan’s arm. The card wouldn’t just wait for someone like him. Would it?

  And then Stella’s words struck him again like a bolt of lightning. A hundred years… A shiver ran down his spine. A century of waiting? For him? The very idea felt absurd. Yet, the Wheel had chosen. Had it been waiting for the moment he’d finally take control of his life? For him to break free from the loop he’d been trapped in for so long?

  The stage blurred into nothing as they carried him toward the far side of the park. Gradually, the palace’s spires rose above the horizon, their silhouettes stark against the fading light. But Xander’s mind remained trapped in a whirlwind, anxiety circling him like a predator closing in on its prey.

  His thoughts raced, darting between fragments of memory with startling clarity. Jor’dan’s words from the restaurant resurfaced, their weight heavy in his chest: A higher-ranking card comes with more responsibility… more risk… more expectations.

  If it was like that for Jor’dan, someone who seemed so capable, so steady—what in the hell would it mean for him? He clenched his teeth, frustration mounting as the questions piled on, unanswered.

  Lost in the chaos of his own mind, his body felt weak, like he was moving underwater. Then, another sudden realization struck him.

  The reading.

  His breath hitched as he pieced it together. His mom—she’d said something about a wheel, hadn’t she? The words replayed in his mind, a quiet echo rising into something more. He muttered them under his breath, almost afraid to hear them out loud.

  “The wheel shall soon spin… The world will soon call… Your journey will soon begin… Will you let the world fall?”

  As the words fell from his lips, the Wheel behind him stirred to life. Silent and deliberate, it began to spin, a soft golden glow radiating outward. He didn’t notice, too absorbed in his thoughts, but those around him froze.

  His family exchanged wary glances, and even Jor’dan paused, his hands tightening their hold ever so slightly. The light pulsed with quiet intensity, an unspoken announcement that none could ignore.

  But Xander remained unaware, his gaze unfocused and his voice trembling. The Wheel had turned, it's quiet revolution marking the beginning of something none of them were ready for.