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Chapter 6 — The Becoming
It had been a month since the shop, and Imani had gone from “Nyxion’s friend” to someone I saw almost every day.
We had our own rhythm now—me leaning against her porch rail while she sipped tea, her slipping me random facts about crystals, both of us pretending I wasn’t there just to hear her talk.
She noticed things, too. Like the way I always left the second sugar cube in the bottom of the mug. Or how I hated incense that smelled like flowers but burned anything that smelled like spice.
Today, she had me inside the shop with the deck on the table between us. The rain clouds outside were thick enough to dim the room, and the incense smoke curled like it knew secrets.
“Shuffle,” she said, pushing the cards toward me.
I picked them up. “You’re just trying to see if I’m clumsy.”
She smirked. “I already know you’re clumsy. I’m trying to see what’s chasing you.”
I shuffled anyway, probably too rough, and handed them back. “You think these cards are gonna tell you something I haven’t?”
“Baby,” she said, cutting the deck with one hand, “these cards have been telling me about men like you before I could spell my own name.”
I raised a brow. “Men like me?”
“You’ll see.” She flipped the first card.
A tall stone tower split down the middle by a jagged bolt of lightning. People falling from the windows, the whole thing coming apart.
“Well, that’s… comforting,” I said.
“That’s The Tower. Sudden change. Chaos. Old structures burning down so something new can rise.”
“So basically my life.”
She grinned. “Exactly. Now hush.”
The second card turned over—a wheel with strange creatures around it, half in shadow, half in light.
“That’s The Wheel of Fortune,” she explained. “Cycles, fate, shifts you can’t control.”
“Sounds like a gamble.”
“Life is a gamble,” she said. “But the trick is knowing when to spin and when to step back.”
Then she pulled the third card: two figures standing under an arch of flowers, their hands almost touching.
“The Lovers,” she said, and she tried to keep her voice even, but I caught the corner of her mouth twitch.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, and let my eyes move from the card… to her.
“Now, see, that’s us right there. Only difference is, I wouldn’t be standin’ that far away.”
Her fingers hesitated just a beat as she straightened the card. “Is that so?”
“Mmhmm.” I let a slow grin creep in. “Cards don’t lie, right? Guess you and the universe just admitted you’ve been thinkin’ about it.”
That earned me a low laugh, the kind she didn’t give away easy. “Boy, you got more confidence than sense.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m right.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling now, and when she reached for the deck, she didn’t quite meet my eyes.
---
Before I could push it further, the wind outside shifted. The chimes over the door rattled without anyone coming in.
Imani glanced toward the window. “Charged night,” she said. “Be careful what you think about when the sky gets like this.”
---
By the time I stepped outside, the first drops were already falling. The air was heavy, humming under my skin.
It started on one of those nights when the sky doesn’t just cry—it hollers.
Thunder stomped across the roofs like somebody mad at God. The streetlights buzzed, dimmed, and flared again.
I didn’t care about the superstition, about spirits getting bold when the veil thinned. I just wanted quiet.
Rain hit me like it had something to say. And I let it. Past the streetlights. Past the corner store. Past the point where Mama would’ve called me back. I walked until the trees leaned in like they wanted to eavesdrop.
That’s when it came.
A voice.
Low. Steady. Too close to be outside me.
“Many are called…”
I froze. Not because I was scared—at least, not exactly—but because it felt like it was coming from me, from the part I’d been trying to shut up since I was a kid.
“…but few are chosen.”
Then, softer.
“Elias.”
My name. Spoken like it had never been forgotten.
“I have seen thee from thy mother’s womb.”
The words tightened something in my chest. I hated how it felt—like they knew me better than I knew myself.
I hadn’t asked to be seen. Hadn’t asked to be called.
But I had heard it. And now it was stuck in me like a splinter I couldn’t pull out.
I turned to leave—ready to bury the whole thing—when the voice thinned, fading into the rain.
That’s when I heard footsteps. Slow. Measured. Like they’d been waiting for the exact breath after the voice.
Nyxion.
He stepped out from the shadows, hoodie low over his brow, water dripping off him like he didn’t notice.
“Rough night?” he asked, voice smooth as temptation in a bottle.
I didn’t answer.
“Funny thing about storms,” he said, moving closer. “They make folks think God’s talking. But sometimes… it’s just thunder.”
His eyes searched mine. “What’d He say? That you’re special? Chosen?”
He smirked before I could respond. “Let me tell you something, O. God talks a lot. But He ain’t the only one with a plan for you.”
Nyxion tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was letting me in on something private.
“You know, your book got one thing right—be hot or be cold. None of that lukewarm mess. Says it plain… God spits lukewarm out His mouth.”
He let that hang in the rain-heavy air, like he’d just dropped some deep wisdom instead of flipping scripture inside out.
“So quit sipping both cups, O. Pick one. The one that answers back.”
His tone softened. “You got power in you, Elias. Real power. But only if you stop running from what you are.”
And just like that, the warmth was gone. The invitation replaced by a hunger I couldn’t name.
Nyxion turned and started walking, not looking back. Not begging. Just expecting me to follow.
And I did.
Not because I trusted him. But because I was tired.
Tired of being pulled in two.
Tired of being called “gifted” by people who only gave me guilt.
Tired of a God who stayed silent for years, then showed up in a thunderstorm like that was supposed to fix everything.
---
End of Chapter 6
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