Morning light spilled gently through the high windows, painting pale rectangles on the wooden floor. Shiloh Bloom sat on the edge of a faded couch, elbows on his knees and head bowed, feeling the weight of the dawn after the long, harrowing night. It was strangely quiet. The usual city noises outside Nora’s clinic were muted, as if the world itself were holding its breath. In that hush, Shiloh’s synesthetic mind picked up a faint dissonance – a subtle wrong note humming at the edge of hearing. It was the same uneasy static he’d sensed during last night’s eclipse, lingering like an aftertaste of darkness. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to center himself. The air smelled of rosemary and sage from Nora’s herb shelves, undercut by the comforting hints of lavender and chamomile that always clung to Kahmil’s clothes. That familiar calm should have soothed him, but Shiloh’s heart still beat a cautious rhythm, echoing the tension between his closest friends.
Across the room, Gary Virelli stood stiffly by the sunlit window, one hand resting against the frame. In the soft morning glow, his silhouette looked as sharp and controlled as ever – lean frame in a crisp white shirt with rolled sleeves, charcoal trousers unwrinkled despite the night’s battles. Only a faint bruise along his jaw and the slight scuff on his usually polished shoes betrayed the ordeal they’d all endured. Gary’s jet-black hair was still perfectly in place, every strand disciplined into an undercut that showed the clean angles of his face. He gazed out at the awakening street but his steely blue eyes were unfocused, lost in thought. Shiloh knew that look: Gary’s mind was likely working three steps ahead, analyzing and strategizing, anything to avoid the emotions simmering beneath. In his hand, Gary absently flipped an old analog watch – the one he wore alongside his smartwatch – thumb brushing the glass as if calculating time or maybe tapping out an anxious code only he understood.
Kahmil Avery was quietly tidying the makeshift breakfast spread on the low table, though her gentle eyes kept flicking up toward the two men with concern. She moved with her usual unassuming grace, gathering used gauze wrappers and half-empty tea cups with a kind of methodical care. In the daylight, the earthy ochre hue of her cozy cardigan and the deep green of her linen pants made her look like a bit of sunshine in the dim clinic — warm, steady, the safe harbor in their storm. Her dark hair was braided in a neat crown around her head, and a tiny gold sun pendant peeked out from her collar, glinting whenever she leaned over. If she was as exhausted as Shiloh felt, she didn’t show it; Kahmil’s face was serene, save for the slight furrow between her brows each time she glanced at them. The quiet between Shiloh and Gary must have felt as fragile to her as it did to him.
Shiloh exhaled and straightened, gingerly rolling his shoulder. It still ached from where the wraith’s shadowy tendrils had grabbed him on the rooftop hours ago. Kahmil had insisted on checking it once they returned to the clinic before dawn. She’d patched him with an herbal salve that now tingled cool under the bandage. Across the room, Gary flexed his fingers, wincing almost imperceptibly — Shiloh recalled how Gary had thrown himself between Shiloh and that lunging wraith, taking a blow that would have knocked Shiloh off the roof’s edge. On impulse, Shiloh cleared his throat into the silence. “Gary…,” he began softly. His voice sounded a little raw, unused since the chaos of the night. “I never got to say thank you. For—” he swallowed, meeting Gary’s gaze warily as the other man turned from the window. “For saving me last night. If you hadn’t… I mean, that wraith nearly—”
Gary cut him off, tone brisk. “It’s fine. Anyone would have done the same.” He shrugged, but his eyes flickered away, unable to hold Shiloh’s for more than a heartbeat. Unspoken feelings hung in the air like ghost notes in a melody: things neither of them knew how to voice yet. Gary’s face was composed, almost cold, but Shiloh didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened or how he began tapping the face of his watch faster. A telltale sign – Gary was wrestling with something inside.
“Not just anyone did, though,” Kahmil interjected gently. She stepped forward, a small figure between them, offering a diffusing smile. “You did, Gary. And we’re grateful.” Her voice was soft and even, the kind of voice that could steady a person without them realizing. She held out a little wrapped candy from her pocket. “Here – honey-ginger. It’ll help with shock.” Kahmil was always armed with soothing remedies.
Gary hesitated, then accepted the lozenge with a curt nod. Perhaps he realized refusing Kahmil’s kindness would be more awkward than his pride was worth. “Thank you,” he murmured, politely but quietly. He didn’t pop it into his mouth just yet, only rolled it between his fingers. The silence returned, but it felt less brittle now, warmed slightly by Kahmil’s calm presence.
Shiloh mustered a faint smile. In the sunlight, Gary’s normally intimidating aura had a crack: a glint of something vulnerable in the set of his shoulders. “Still,” Shiloh said, trying again, “I’m glad you were there with us.” He fiddled with the frayed edge of his hoodie sleeve, silver-dyed hair falling into his eyes until he brushed it back. “I… I missed having you around.” The admission slipped out, quiet but sincere.
Gary looked at him sharply, surprise flashing across his face. For an instant his polished mask faltered. Shiloh thought he saw the ghost of the boy Gary used to be – the one who would grin ear-to-ear whenever they beat a video game together or aced a science project. That boy had been Shiloh’s best friend, before ambition and bitterness pulled them apart. Gary opened his mouth as if to respond, but then simply pressed his lips into a line and gave a small, stiff nod. Lingering respect, lingering hurt. The distance between them remained, but maybe it had shortened by an inch.
Kahmil’s gaze softened at Shiloh’s words. She drifted closer to Shiloh’s side and, with a natural intimacy, placed a hand on his shoulder. “How’s the pain?” she asked him quietly, changing the topic to something safer. Her palm radiated a gentle warmth even through the fabric of his hoodie. In truth, Shiloh’s shoulder still throbbed, but the ache was manageable. More troublesome was the swirl of emotions inside him – relief, anxiety, hope, all jostling for space.
“I’ll live,” he replied, offering Kahmil a tiny grin. “Your potion worked wonders, as usual.” Indeed, the scent of whatever herbal balm she had used still hung in the room – a bright menthol and pine that cut through the fatigue.
“Glad to hear,” she smiled back, her dark eyes steady on his. The unspoken question there was how are you really? Shiloh answered by briefly covering her hand with his own, giving it a grateful squeeze. They shared a lot without words, he and Kahmil – a quiet understanding. That touch told her enough: I’m not fine, but I’m better with you here. She responded with a slight nod, squeezing back. In that moment of contact, Shiloh felt some of the last night’s tension ease out of his chest. Kahmil had a way of doing that: grounding him, reminding him to breathe.
Behind them, Gary cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable lingering in sentiment. “We should get moving,” he said, businesslike. He slipped the untouched lozenge into his pocket and squared his shoulders. “The, uh… emissary said to meet her in an hour, correct?”
Shiloh stood up, rolling his arm experimentally. The morning’s next challenge loomed: the Astrarium Society’s summons. “Yeah. She said nine o’clock at the observatory gates.” He glanced at the antique clock on Nora’s desk – they had about twenty minutes left. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting, I guess.”
Kahmil picked up her leather-bound journal from the table and tucked it into her tote bag, already packed with her essentials (and likely half a pharmacy of first aid). “Nora and the others will meet us there later,” she reminded gently. “We’re just going ahead to get an introduction.” Her tone was calm, but Shiloh could sense an undercurrent of curiosity and caution. None of them entirely knew what to expect from this secretive Society that had so suddenly emerged with promises of knowledge.
Gary was already shrugging on a tailored charcoal jacket over his shirt, efficiency in every motion. The morning sun caught the polished Gemini-symbol cufflink on one of his sleeves – a small twin motif glinting in silver. Shiloh recognized it; he had given Gary those cufflinks years ago, when Gary landed his first big job. The sight tugged at him, but he said nothing. Gary, oblivious to the glance, adjusted the collar and responded to Kahmil. “Uneasy alliance, wasn’t it?” he said dryly. “Half our team doesn’t trust these Astrarium people.” He gave a pointed look to Shiloh and Kahmil. “Marlon outright growled at the idea of a secret society inviting us to a ‘hidden observatory’ in the middle of nowhere. And I can’t exactly blame him.”
Shiloh bit his lip. He remembered the hurried meeting just after sunrise: how Buddy had urged them all to at least hear the Society out, while Marlon crossed his arms in scowling distrust. Even calm Nora had looked wary. It wasn’t every day a stranger walked into her clinic murmuring prophecy and cosmic warnings. “Maybe so,” Shiloh conceded, reaching down to pick up his own backpack – a scuffed canvas thing with music band patches – and slinging it on. It felt oddly light; he’d been too exhausted to pack more than his notebook and a water bottle. “But they knew about the Eclipser. And they want to help. If they have information we don’t…” He trailed off, his mind flashing back to the emissary’s grave words: “a cycle that could eclipse all zodiac powers.” A chill prickled his skin despite the warmth of the morning. If the Society’s prophecy was true, the stakes were even higher than they’d imagined.
Kahmil stepped between them subtly, as if balancing their perspectives. “We’ll stay on our guard,” she said, looking at Gary. “But we should learn what we can. Knowledge could be our greatest asset right now.” Her voice was gentle, yet had that firm kindness that made even stubborn Ari relent in arguments. She was right, of course. After stumbling in the dark about the Eclipser, any light shed on the threat was welcome.
Gary held her gaze for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Agreed. Just… keep your eyes open in there. I’ll be doing the same.” Shiloh noted the protective edge in Gary’s tone – almost as if Gary was already planning how to counter any trick the Society might pull. Ever the strategist, he was treating this meeting like another chessboard. Shiloh exhaled slowly, tension knotting then unknitting in his stomach. Gary’s caution was warranted, but Shiloh silently hoped this would not become another confrontation. Not after last night. His nerves felt like stretched wires; another conflict might snap them.
They gathered their things and filed out of the clinic’s back door. The morning outside was bright and deceptively peaceful. The summer sun had climbed above the Fairport rooftops, still gentle enough to look at for a second without squinting. Shiloh’s eyes drifted upward instinctively, to the blue expanse where hours ago swirling shadow clouds had blotted out the stars. Now only a few wisps of white cloud lingered. How normal it looks, he thought, and yet how unearned that normalcy was. He couldn’t forget the unnatural twilight that had engulfed them when the Eclipser conjured a false eclipse. Even now, stepping into the sunlight gave him an uncanny feeling, like something was waiting to dim it again.
He realized he’d halted on the threshold, staring upward with a troubled frown. Kahmil touched his arm lightly. “You okay?” she asked, peering up at the sky with him. Her dark eyes reflected the daylight, warm and steady.
Shiloh forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… appreciating the sunshine.” He didn’t mention the fleeting terror that the light could vanish at any moment. That fear felt childish in the day, but it lingered in his bones. Kahmil seemed to understand anyway. She offered him a small tin cup of tea she had prepared – he hadn’t even noticed her carry it. “Sip,” she urged. “Lemon balm and chamomile.” Shiloh obeyed, taking a gulp. The tea was cool now but still sweet, the herbs working magic on his jangled nerves. By the time he handed it back, the trembling in his fingers had subsided.
Gary had walked ahead a few steps but now waited by the curb, two fingers tapping impatiently on the hood of Nora’s old station wagon. The car was a roomy, battered thing – painted a soft moss green and enchanted subtly by Nora’s magic to run silently. It would serve to carry them to the observatory outskirts without drawing too much attention. As Shiloh and Kahmil approached, Gary raised an eyebrow. “Ready?” he asked. His tone was clipped, but Shiloh caught a glint of concern behind the impatience. Gary’s gaze flickered over Shiloh, as if checking that he was indeed alright to go. Shiloh straightened and gave a determined nod.
“I’m good,” Shiloh said. He opened the back door for Kahmil, who slid in with her bag, then he climbed in after her. Gary took the driver’s seat without question – he had snagged the keys from Nora earlier, insisting he should drive since he “knew the fastest route.” Shiloh didn’t argue; he wasn’t sure his own reflexes were up to speed after everything, and Gary’s controlled demeanor was oddly reassuring behind the wheel.
The engine purred to life, and they pulled away from the curb. Fairport’s tree-lined streets drifted past, quiet in the mid-morning calm. Shiloh watched a cyclist pass by with a nod, a couple walking their golden retriever, a mailman making rounds – all oblivious to the cosmic battle that had taken place above their sleeping town last night. It felt surreal. The ordinary normalcy of it all, after the extraordinary things they had seen.
As they left the downtown area, Gary navigated onto a winding road heading north. The scenery began to change – fewer houses, more trees. Sunlight dappled through the canopy, flickering across the windshield. In the back seat, Shiloh found himself absently drumming his fingers against his knee in time with a song only he could hear. The pattern he tapped was slow, pensive – a minor chord waiting to resolve. He realized what he was doing and forced his hand to still. For all his outward focus on driving, Gary noticed; Shiloh saw his eyes glance at the rear-view mirror, catching Shiloh’s movement. Gary’s lips twitched, almost a half-smile of familiarity, before he schooled his face back to neutral. A quiet flush warmed Shiloh’s cheeks. How many times in their youth had Gary teased him for “leaking music” whenever he was deep in thought? The memory hung between them silently, as tangible as the dust motes in the sunbeams.
Hoping to break the silence, Kahmil spoke from beside Shiloh. “The observatory… Have either of you been before? Or heard of it?”
Shiloh shook his head. “Not really. If it’s hidden, I doubt it’s on the usual maps.” He leaned forward between the seats. “Gary, you grew up around here same as me. Do you remember any old observatory in town?”
Gary kept his eyes on the curving road. “There was an old planetarium up by Highview Hill,” he said after a moment, brow furrowing. “Shut down years ago due to funding. But that’s in the opposite direction. The emissary gave directions toward the lake, right? Possibly up by the bluffs.”
“Yes,” Kahmil confirmed, consulting the scribbled notes in her journal. “She said to follow Lakeshore Road until we saw the stone gate with a star engraved on it.” She glanced out the window. The dense grove of trees was starting to thin, offering glimpses of shimmering blue on the horizon: Lake Ontario stretching vast and bright. “Apparently the Society’s observatory is on a cliff overlooking the water. Very private.”
Gary made an acknowledging sound. “Fitting. Out of sight.” He paused, then added, “I did some digging in the car’s database before we left. There’s no public record of an observatory out here. Which means it’s either very old or very new and kept off the books. They have resources to hide an entire facility.” His tone carried both admiration and suspicion.
Shiloh chewed the inside of his cheek. The idea of a clandestine cosmic order still felt like something out of a novel, yet here they were driving to meet them. “What do you think they really want?” he mused aloud.
Gary’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “Hard to say. On the surface, to stop the Eclipser, same as us. But I doubt that’s their only motive. Organizations like this…” he shrugged, “they have agendas. If they’ve been observing for so long without intervening, why reveal themselves now?”
“Because the threat’s gotten too big to handle alone, maybe,” Kahmil offered. Ever the empathetic voice, she tried to give the Society the benefit of the doubt. “They might truly need our help. And we certainly need theirs, if they have knowledge about the Eclipser.” She closed her journal, clasping it on her lap. “Besides, they haven’t asked for anything yet except to talk and offer help.”
Gary grunted. “True. But if that changes, we’ll reassess.”
Shiloh listened to them volley theories and tried to quiet the unease fluttering in his chest. Part of him was excited – despite everything, the prospect of exploring a hidden observatory and learning ancient star-lore sparked the curious child in him. But another part remembered the eerie silhouette watching their battle from afar. That had to have been one of the Astrarium Society. We’ve been watching you, the emissary had essentially said this morning. Shiloh didn’t like the idea of being observed like a chess piece on a board. It made him feel exposed.
A comfortable silence fell as the car climbed a hill. Tall pines lined the road here, and between their trunks the lake’s brilliant expanse came in and out of view. Gary finally slowed and turned onto a gravel path nearly overgrown with weeds. If they hadn’t been looking, they might have missed it – but there stood a pair of stone pillars on either side of the narrow lane, each carved with a faded star symbol. This had to be it.
“Here goes nothing,” Gary muttered as he eased the car between the mossy pillars. The gravel crunched under the tires. Shiloh’s pulse quickened with anticipation. They wound through a tunnel of ancient oak trees, the branches meeting overhead to form a canopy. Sunlight filtered through in dancing specks. The farther they went, the more Shiloh felt an uncanny tingling across his skin, as if the air itself were charged. Not dangerous… just different. More alive.
The trees opened up abruptly into a clearing, and they saw it: the Astrarium Society’s observatory. It wasn’t at all like Shiloh had pictured. Rather than a sleek modern facility or a looming gothic tower, it appeared to be a modest old estate house built of weathered gray stone, perched near the cliff’s edge. At one end of the manor rose a graceful copper dome, green with age – the telltale roof of an observatory. A few smaller spires and chimneys punctuated the rooftop, and leaded glass windows glinted in the sun. Ivy crawled up one side of the building, and wildflowers swayed gently along the path that led to the front entrance: two large wooden doors carved with intricate constellations. It was beautiful in a quiet, secretive way – a place out of time, slumbering under the sky.
Gary parked the car near an old stone fountain that no longer ran, its basin filled with collected rainwater and lily pads. They all stepped out, stretching legs and taking in the scene. The morning air here was cooler, carrying a breeze off the lake that tasted faintly of mineral and pine. Shiloh’s ears rang with a strange silence; there were no city sounds, only the distant cry of a gull and the gentle rustle of leaves. He felt as if they’d crossed into another world.
On the front steps of the observatory house, the wooden doors creaked open. Shiloh tensed, but it was the face of the young emissary that greeted them, easing his nerves. Mira – that was her name, if he recalled correctly from the hurried introduction at the clinic. She appeared to be in her late twenties, with a slender build and inquisitive gray eyes behind round spectacles. Earlier, she’d worn a nondescript navy cloak in an attempt to blend in. Now, however, Mira had the hood down, revealing short-cropped hair and a thoughtful, serious smile. She descended the steps with measured steps and raised a hand in greeting.
“You found us,” Mira said pleasantly. Her voice was low and melodious, with a slight accent that Shiloh couldn’t place – each word pronounced with care. “Welcome, Shiloh, Kahmil, Gary. I trust the drive was smooth?”
Gary answered with a polite tightness, “It was fine.” He did a quick scan of the clearing, eyes flicking over the building’s windows and the treeline, as if assessing potential threats or watchers. Always calculating.
Kahmil stepped forward, offering a friendly nod. “Good morning, Mira. Thank you for arranging this.” Ever courteous, Kahmil extended her hand. After a beat, Mira took it, shaking gently.
Shiloh noticed Mira’s gaze linger on Kahmil’s gold sun pendant and then the braided hair wreathing her head – perhaps recognizing some symbol or simply admiring the craftsmanship. Mira then looked to Shiloh, her eyes seemingly searching him. He felt exposed under that keen, knowing gaze – as if she could see the swirl of questions and worries inside him. He managed a small smile. “Hi,” he said softly. “Thanks for having us… I think.”
Mira’s lips quirked. “It is we who should thank you for coming. We know this is an extraordinary request, given we were strangers mere hours ago.” Her gaze shifted to the faint bruise on Shiloh’s temple and Gary’s jaw. “And after an extraordinary night, no less. I’m relieved you all survived unscathed by the Eclipser’s assault.”
Shiloh’s breath caught. She spoke of the events so plainly. He exchanged a glance with Gary, who folded his arms. “You saw the partial eclipse?” Shiloh asked.
Mira nodded. “All our instruments went wild when the false night fell.” A shadow of concern passed over her face. “We’ve been tracking anomalous stellar readings for weeks, but last night confirmed our fears. The Eclipser is no mere myth.”
Gary interrupted, tone cool: “Forgive me, but some of us still don’t fully understand what the Eclipser is. We know it’s orchestrating these… cosmic disturbances. But is it a person? A creature? An event?”
Mira pursed her lips thoughtfully. “All good questions. Ones our elders will explain better inside.” She gestured toward the open door behind her. “Come. The Astrarium Society awaits you in the Celestium Hall.” She offered a reassuring smile that almost reached her eyes. “You’re safe here. We consider you honored guests… and allies, if you’ll have us.”
Allies. Shiloh felt some tension drain at that word. It implied equality, partnership – not just them being pawns. Gary, however, remained a step behind, letting Shiloh and Kahmil move first. It wasn’t lost on Shiloh; Gary was being cautious, ready to intervene if anything seemed off.
They ascended the stone steps. Kahmil caught Shiloh’s hand briefly as they walked, giving it a light squeeze. He appreciated it – his own excitement and anxiety were starting to jangle inside like discordant chimes. Through the threshold they went, into the Astrarium Society’s sanctuary.
Inside, the observatory house was cool and dim, illuminated by shafts of morning light spilling through high stained-glass windows. Shiloh’s eyes widened at the interior: they stood in a circular foyer under a small domed ceiling painted midnight blue and dotted with a mural of constellations. The stars depicted there corresponded to zodiac signs, he realized – he could pick out Leo, Gemini, Taurus among others – each rendered in silver paint that glimmered softly. The air smelled of old paper, wax, and something ethereal… a bit like ozone after a lightning strike, or the charged scent of the air during last night’s eclipse. Cosmic energy, Shiloh thought with a shiver. It was as if the building itself had absorbed centuries of starlight.
Mira led them onward down a vaulted corridor. Their footsteps echoed on stone tiles etched with astral patterns. The place seemed largely silent, yet alive with a hum at the edge of hearing – maybe the reverberation of distant machinery or magical wards. As they passed niches in the walls, Shiloh caught sight of various artifacts on display: an antique brass astrolabe much like the one he’d glimpsed in the rooftop battle’s aftermath, a collection of telescopic lenses laid out on velvet, and tall shelves holding leather-bound tomes sealed with clasps. Every object seemed to whisper of hidden knowledge.
They arrived at a pair of ornately carved doors which Mira pushed open with a gentle creak. “The Celestium Hall,” she announced quietly.
The room revealed beyond took Shiloh’s breath away. It was a grand circular chamber directly beneath the large copper dome. The far wall opened to the sky with the dome’s slit: though it was day, the opening was currently covered by a rotating glass skylight that filtered the sunlight into a diffuse glow, keeping the room in perpetual twilight. At the center of the hall stood a massive orrery – a model of the solar system – its metal spheres and rings slowly turning on hidden clockworks. The planets cast moving shadows on the walls as they circled a crystal sun that glowed faintly golden.
Around the perimeter of the room were more shelves of books, interspersed with mechanical apparatus: strange contraptions of gears and crystals, a pendulum that swung with hypnotic precision over a zodiac mosaic on the floor, and chalkboards filled with star charts and complex astrological calculations. A set of curved wooden benches formed a half-ring near the front, and it was there that several figures stood waiting for them.
Shiloh’s eyes were drawn immediately to an imposing figure in the middle: a tall, elder man with silver hair cascading to his shoulders, dressed in a long midnight-blue coat embroidered subtly with constellations. He leaned lightly on a carved staff topped with what looked like a fragment of meteorite. His presence exuded authority, though his lined face was gentle rather than severe. This, Shiloh assumed, must be one of the Society’s leaders. Beside him stood a woman of about Nora’s age, maybe mid-fifties, with her hair in a tight ebony bun and wearing scholarly robes; she had an assortment of rolled parchments in her arms and a critical, curious gleam in her eye. To her other side was a younger man, perhaps in his thirties, clad in a simple vest and shirt, who gave a nervous smile when Shiloh met his gaze. A large leather-bound book was clutched to his chest and, oddly, a pair of leather gardening gloves stuck out of his pocket. Perhaps a caretaker or librarian?
These three – elder, scholar, and librarian – approached as Mira guided Shiloh, Kahmil, and Gary into the center of the hall. A formal welcome, Shiloh realized, feeling suddenly self-conscious of his scuffed sneakers and casual hoodie. Gary, by contrast, appeared unruffled, meeting the assembly with a cool, polite stare, hands at his sides but Shiloh could tell he was ready to reach for any defensive tool (though they’d come unarmed; they had decided to show trust by not bringing obvious weapons or channeling foci). Kahmil gave a respectful bow of her head to the Society members, and Shiloh followed suit.
“Elder Marius,” Mira addressed the silver-haired man, “I present Shiloh Bloom, Kahmil Avery, and Gary Virelli of the Zodiac Family.”
Elder Marius inclined his head deeply, a genuine smile brightening his ash-gray eyes. “Be welcome, children of the zodiac,” he greeted, his voice sonorous and warm. “I am Marius, current High Stargazer of the Astrarium Society. This is my colleague Sabine.” He indicated the woman beside him, who gave a brisk nod. “Sabine is our Archivist – keeper of our lore. And this,” he gestured to the younger man who hovered a step back, “is Julian, one of our curators and astronomers.” Julian offered a shy little wave.
Shiloh felt the tension in his chest ease slightly. The cordial introduction, the way Marius’s gaze sparkled kindly, it all put him more at ease than expected. These people seemed… human. Not that he’d expected aliens, exactly, but he realized he’d imagined occult fanatics in hooded robes. Instead, he saw earnest faces, even a bit of academic clutter and dust that reminded him of college libraries.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Kahmil said kindly. She had a way of speaking that conveyed sincerity without flattery. “It’s an honor to meet you. We weren’t sure what to expect this morning, but… your home is beautiful.” She glanced around at the hall, clearly impressed.
Archivist Sabine’s stern expression softened at that. “This sanctum has stood for over a century,” she said, a hint of pride in her tone. “It pleases me if it comforts you. We endeavor to keep it… hospitable, despite the secrecy.” She hugged her scrolls closer, then addressed them more directly. “We know you must have many questions. And you have every right to them. As do we.” She raised an eyebrow, surveying the trio. “Yesterday’s events were… unprecedented. The first false eclipse in generations.”
“False eclipse,” Shiloh repeated under his breath. A fitting term for what the Eclipser had done.
Elder Marius’s smile waned as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. “We have much to discuss indeed. But first, you all have come through a trial by fire. Last night’s confrontation…” He shook his head, and Shiloh swore he could hear regret in the man’s voice. “The Society extends its gratitude and admiration. You prevented greater calamity by dispelling that darkness. Few could have succeeded as you did, united.” He looked at each of them in turn. When his eyes rested on Shiloh, Shiloh felt a curious warmth – as if gentle sunlight had suddenly fallen on him. “Shiloh Bloom,” Marius said, “your name is known to us. The stars speak of your contributions.”
Shiloh blinked, taken aback. “They… do?” He wasn’t sure what to say.
Sabine clarified, arching a thin smile. “We’ve tracked your family’s activities for some time – quietly, from afar. The Zodiac Family has a knack for entangling with cosmic anomalies, after all.”
Gary let out a small, skeptical hum. “So I’ve heard,” he said, arms still crossed. “If you’ve been watching, why haven’t you introduced yourselves sooner? We could have used some of that knowledge before things escalated to false eclipses.” There was an edge to his question, one Shiloh inwardly winced at. But he couldn’t deny he also wanted to hear the answer.
Marius took no offense. “A fair question. The truth is, we were… divided on the matter. The Astrarium Society has kept to the shadows for decades by necessity. In the past, whenever we tried to aid openly, it often backfired – governments grew suspicious, or those we helped came to harm when our enemies learned of it. We became cautious, perhaps overly so.” His eyes were heavy with old memories. “We knew of signs pointing to the Eclipser’s rise, but until we had certainty, the majority believed it wiser to observe and prepare quietly. Last night provided that certainty. We could delay no longer.” He sighed. “For what it’s worth, some of us argued to contact you sooner.” His glance flicked to Mira, who smiled faintly.
Gary’s posture relaxed by a degree. The explanation was reasonable – if true. Kahmil stepped in to smooth the moment. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters. And we’re listening.” She looked to Shiloh, including him.
Shiloh nodded, stepping a bit forward. “We vowed to find out what the Eclipser is and how to stop it. If you have any information, any prophecy or data… we want to learn.” His voice gained resolve as he spoke. It grounded him to articulate their purpose out loud.
“Then you shall learn,” Sabine said. She handed a couple of her scrolls to Julian, freeing her hands to unfurl one across a nearby reading table. Kahmil, ever curious, drifted closer to see. Shiloh and Gary followed.
The scroll was made of some kind of treated vellum or parchment, its edges gilded. Across it was drawn a star chart – but not like any Shiloh had seen. It depicted not just constellations, but an array of symbols around a central dark circle. Lines radiated out from that circle to various stars and zodiac glyphs at the margins. It looked ancient, hand-inked in rich indigo and black pigments. At the top, written in ornate script, was a title in Latin: Prophetia de Devoratore Lucis.
“Prophecy of the Devourer of Light,” Sabine translated softly. One slender finger traced the central dark orb. “We call it the Eclipser in modern tongue. According to our oldest records, it is not a mortal being but a cosmic phenomenon—one with agency and malevolence. In times long past, it was described as a living shadow cast by no object, a sentient eclipse that moves from world to world, sapping the energy of celestial guardians.” She glanced at Shiloh. “Guardians like you and your family.”
Shiloh felt a chill coil in his stomach as he stared at the parchment. The central circle had tiny runes around its perimeter, which he realized were depictions of eclipses in different stages – from a thin crescent of sun to full corona. “So it’s like… a force? A parasite?” he asked, voice hushed. The idea of a sentient darkness swallowing the zodiac’s light turned his blood to ice.
Marius tapped his staff on the floor gently. “In the metaphorical sense, yes. It’s said the Eclipser appears in cycles throughout the eons. Each time, it targets those born under the stars’ blessings, attempting to extinguish their light and tip the cosmic balance toward oblivion. The last cycle was centuries ago, and it nearly succeeded – many gifted by the zodiac fell to madness or despair under an enduring eclipse before the Eclipser was banished.”
“Banished by whom?” Gary interjected sharply. Always looking for a strategy.
Sabine smiled thinly. “By a coalition not unlike what is gathering now – individuals like your family, guided by those like ours. According to the archives, it took tremendous unity and sacrifice to drive the shadow back. And even then, it was not destroyed, only forced into dormancy… until its cycle rose again. Until now.” She rolled the scroll slightly to reveal a line of ancient script at the bottom. “The prophecy foretells its return in an era of great discord, when the ‘twin stars’ meet the ‘shadow of totality’.”
“Twin stars… shadow of totality,” Shiloh murmured. The phrasing sent a strange tingle through his mind. He had an almost sensory impression – like hearing a faint chord. He looked at Gary beside him unwittingly; twin stars could refer to Gemini perhaps, or cusp individuals like him and Gary (both cusp of Gemini with something else). But he didn’t voice that thought yet. Instead he asked, “And the partial eclipse last night… that was the beginning, I take it?”
Julian, the curator, stepped forward to answer. “Yes. Our astrolabes and telescopes recorded a spike in umbral energy unlike anything we’ve seen. It matches the patterns we have on record of the Eclipser’s influence.” He spoke eagerly, clearly passionate about the data. “If unabated, that partial eclipse would have grown. Possibly spread across the continent over days. You all prevented that, albeit temporarily.” He gave an apologetic bow of the head. “Still, it was only a harbinger. The prophecy speaks of a total eclipse, a prolonged one, orchestrated by the Devourer of Light as its endgame. If that comes to pass, all zodiac-born individuals might lose their connection to the stars permanently.”
Kahmil drew in a quiet breath. Shiloh’s hand tightened on the table’s edge. Permanently cut off from their astral gifts… for someone like him who had always felt magic in music and starlight in his veins, it was a terrifying prospect. It wasn’t just about power; it was a piece of his very identity, of all their identities. He exchanged a glance with Kahmil, who lifted a hand to the little sun pendant at her collarbone as if imagining its warmth snuffed out.
Gary, however, looked more angry than afraid. “We won’t let that happen,” he said, voice steely. It wasn’t bravado; it was said like a simple fact, a line he had already written in his mind. His determination was fierce enough that Shiloh almost believed it would be that easy. Almost.
Marius gave a solemn nod. “That is why we reached out. Neither your family nor our Society can avert this alone. But together, we have a chance. We can pool our knowledge, train under one roof, prepare for what’s coming.” He gestured around at the hall. “This observatory was built atop a convergence of ley lines – here we can study cosmic energy safely, and even amplify your abilities in controlled ways. We offer it as a sanctuary and a war room for the trials ahead.”
Sabine stepped closer to them, clasping her hands. “We’ve also crafted tools that may assist you. For instance…” She motioned to Julian, who hurried to a side cabinet and retrieved a tray. On it lay several small pendants on leather cords, each shaped like a different astrological symbol engraved in crystal. “Astral charms,” Sabine explained, picking one up. It was a translucent gem carved with the glyph of Gemini, faintly glowing from within. “They are imbued with protective spells and cosmic resonance to guard the mind and body against dark influence. We’ve made one for each zodiac sign and cusp we knew of in your group.”
Julian stepped forward and offered the tray to Kahmil, Shiloh, and Gary. Kahmil gingerly picked up a charm marked with Leo-Virgo – a tiny lion entwined with a maiden’s emblem. The crystal flashed warm golden light in her palm. “This is incredible,” she said, eyes wide.
Shiloh found the charm for Gemini-Cancer cusp – an intertwined glyph of twins and a crab, carved in pale bluish crystal. As his fingers closed around it, he felt a gentle vibration, almost like a purring cat, against his skin. The frequency of it resonated in his synesthetic senses, radiating a soft, protective note of music that made him feel instantly more at ease. He slipped the cord around his neck, and the charm settled against his chest, humming faintly like a reassuring heart just under his heartbeat.
Gary was slower to take one. He examined the Taurus-Gemini charm – a bold bull’s horn symbol conjoined with the Gemini twins – with a critical eye. “How exactly do these ward off ‘dark influence’?” he asked. “Do they have a range? A time limit? Can the effect be quantified?” He wasn’t being ungracious, Shiloh knew; this was simply Gary’s way of accepting help – interrogating it from all angles first.
Sabine seemed to appreciate the scrutiny. “The enchantments are stable and long-lasting, drawn from lunar wards and solar sigils. They attune to your aura when worn.” She nodded at Shiloh and Kahmil who had already donned theirs; Shiloh indeed felt the charm’s pulse synchronizing with his own. “In practice, they reinforce your mental and emotional resilience. A subtle safeguard—think of it as cosmic insulation. If that wraith or any Eclipser shadow tries to ensnare your mind or drain your spirit, the charm will buffer the effect, buying you time to fight back or flee.”
Gary held the charm a moment longer, then silently looped it around his neck. The crystal rested just beneath his shirt collar, hidden from view. It gave a brief cool glimmer that reflected in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly, almost grudgingly. “We’ll test them out.”
Sabine tilted her head. “Of course. We’d expect no less.” There was the faintest hint of amusement in her voice.
While this exchange took place, Shiloh’s attention drifted around the hall, marveling at the details. He noticed a far corner where a large brass telescope pointed upward through an opening in the dome’s skylight. For a second, as he looked in that direction, he swore he saw something out of place – a flicker of movement behind one of the tall bookshelves. But when he focused, there was nothing, just a play of shadow. Perhaps a Society member quietly observing from afar, not ready to meet the newcomers. Shiloh shrugged it off.
Elder Marius clapped his hands softly, drawing everyone’s focus back. “You must be weary still. We won’t overwhelm you with everything at once. For now, consider this an introduction, and an invitation. If you are willing, bring your full family here. We have quarters that can accommodate everyone, laboratories for research, training grounds in the courtyards.” He smiled at Shiloh, and then at Kahmil and Gary. “Think on it. In the meantime, we can show you a glimpse of what we’ve been working on. Julian, would you fetch the astrolabe reading from last night?”
Julian lit up. “Oh! Yes, Elder.” He set the tray down and darted toward a desk piled with instruments. Rifling through, he produced a circular brass device – an astrolabe similar to the one on display outside, but smaller and fitted with additional concentric rings etched in arcane sigils. He brought it over reverently. “This is the astrolabe that recorded the partial eclipse event,” he explained, placing it on the table before them. The device had a delicate needle-like pointer that quivered slightly as if still reacting to residual energy.
Shiloh leaned in. Tiny lines had been scratched on one of the rotating discs, marking an exact time and alignment. Mira, who had been standing quietly by, spoke up: “When the sky darkened, that pointer swung to an inscription on the rim.” She delicately turned the astrolabe so they could see. Along the edge, in old script, was carved a phrase. “It translates to ‘First Shadow Cast’. It signifies the first move of the Eclipser.”
“Meaning there will be a second shadow? A third?” Kahmil asked, eyes troubled.
Marius answered, expression grave. “Likely yes. If the patterns hold, there will be a series of such incidents – each growing in intensity – culminating in the total eclipse if not stopped. Think of them as… the Eclipser’s opening salvos.”
Gary muttered a curse under his breath. “Last night was bad enough. Are you suggesting it was just testing the waters?”
Sabine folded her arms, gaze on the astrolabe. “In a manner of speaking. It’s probably probing our defenses, gauging the strength of zodiac opposition. And perhaps trying to sow fear.”
Shiloh recalled the surging panic he felt under those swirling shadows, the hopelessness that had almost overtaken him before he and his family rallied. The psychic backlash they’d suffered – was that the Eclipser’s doing too, a side effect of fighting it? He shivered despite himself. The charm on his chest glowed warmly for a moment, as if sensing his fear and gently comforting him.
Kahmil noticed and put a hand lightly on his back. “At least now we won’t be facing it alone,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. She looked at Shiloh then Gary, including both. “We have each other. And now, we have the Society’s help.”
Gary met her eyes, then Shiloh’s, and gave a slow, resolved nod. “Together,” he agreed. He almost smiled as he said it, the word tasting of an old camaraderie renewed.
In that moment, standing in a circle under the painted constellations, Shiloh felt a shift among them. The bitter residue of last night’s personal confrontation was dissolving, replaced by a cautious solidarity. Healing had begun in the face of a greater foe. Shiloh offered Gary a tentative smile, which Gary returned with a subtle upturn of his lips – not quite the carefree grin of years past, but something real and friendly. And Kahmil beamed, sensing the change like sunshine breaking through clouds.
Elder Marius watched this silent exchange with a knowing gleam. “Yes,” he said softly, “unity is your greatest weapon. Never forget that.” His gaze lingered thoughtfully on Shiloh and Gary, as if he could read the history there. “The stars themselves shine brighter in concord.”
Sabine cleared her throat gently. “Before we conclude for now, there is one more thing I think you should see.” She directed them to follow her a few steps to a tall structure at the side of the hall: a series of vertical crystalline panels mounted in a frame, each inscribed with a delicate star map. Shiloh recognized it as some form of star chart display, but these looked odd – the stars on them were not static. Pinpricks of light twinkled and moved across the panels slowly.
“This is our Cosmic Archive,” Sabine explained. “It displays real-time configurations of certain astral forces.” She pointed to one panel where an array of tiny lights clustered and pulsed in a soft white glow. Twelve points were arranged in a circle – Shiloh realized they corresponded to the zodiac constellations, each light representing perhaps the combined energy of those under its sign. Those lights seemed steady. But another panel showed something more unsettling: a single large orb of darkness, like a black star, drifting at the edge of the map. Around it, filaments of dim light wavered, as if being pulled in.
“This tracks the influence of the Eclipser,” Sabine said in a hushed tone. “See here – this dark orb grew slightly after last night.” She indicated a faint mark on the panel’s edge showing where it was prior. “It’s minor for now, but it’s siphoning stray energy. If we cannot contain it, that orb will expand and encroach upon the others.” Her finger circled toward the cluster of zodiac lights.
Shiloh felt a knot form in his throat at the visual metaphor. It was one thing to hear words, another to see this creeping darkness represented so plainly. Kahmil reached for his hand and interlaced her fingers with his, squeezing. He squeezed back, grateful.
Gary leaned in, his analytical mind likely racing. “Is there a way to use this to predict its moves? If the orb responds to events, maybe we can anticipate when or where the next incident will happen by monitoring spikes or trajectory here?”
Julian answered eagerly, “That’s exactly our intention. I’ve been logging its motion. If my calculations are right, we might estimate the timing of the next surge of Eclipser activity.”
Mira added, “We’ll share all these findings with you. This knowledge belongs to all of us now.” She offered a small smile at Gary’s thoughtful expression, perhaps surprised by how quickly he was integrating into their research mode.
Shiloh realized Gary’s posture had changed – he was now leaning over the panel with one hand on his chin, eyes narrowed in concentration, much the way he looked when solving a complex equation or puzzle. The hostility from earlier was replaced by intellectual engagement. Gary loved a problem to solve, and the Eclipser was the ultimate puzzle. Shiloh felt a spark of hope; if anyone could help outsmart a cosmic enemy, Gary’s brilliant mind could. And now Gary was truly on their side, it seemed.
After a few more minutes of discussing the readings and clarifying initial plans – including an invitation for the whole Zodiac Family to relocate here for a while – Elder Marius concluded the session. “You have heard and seen much. I’m sure your family will want to hear it from you as well. We won’t keep you longer now. When you return with the others, we will formally convene and begin working in earnest.”
Kahmil thanked them graciously on all their behalf. “This has been… a lot to take in, but we’re deeply grateful for your openness. I know some of us were skeptical,” and here she shot Gary a playful look, “but I believe this alliance is the right path.”
Gary didn’t bristle at her teasing. He simply extended his hand to Marius, who accepted it. “Thank you for trusting us with your secrets,” Gary said. It sounded almost like an apology for doubting them, delivered in his own way. “We’ll do our part. And we won’t waste the opportunity.”
Shiloh added earnestly, “Yes. Thank you. We definitely have a lot to discuss with our team, but… I have a feeling we’ll be back very soon. There’s too much at stake not to.”
Marius inclined his head. “The observatory will be ready for you. Safe travels, Zodiac guardians. May the stars light your way.” He lifted his hand in a benediction of sorts, and Shiloh swore the constellations painted above glowed a little brighter at that moment.
Mira escorted them back to the entrance while Sabine and Julian began conversing in hushed tones—already delving into some new calculation with the astrolabe. As Shiloh, Gary, and Kahmil stepped out into the fresh midday light, Shiloh took one last look over his shoulder into the dim Celestium Hall. He saw Sabine’s silhouette against the golden orrery and Marius standing beneath the dome’s skylight, face turned upward as if communing with the heavens. It struck Shiloh as a beautifully cinematic image, something out of a dream. Who would have thought? A day ago they didn’t even know the Astrarium Society existed, and now these people felt almost like new allies… maybe even friends in the making.
Outside, the sun had climbed higher, beginning its afternoon arc. The lake beyond the cliff sparkled endless and blue. As Mira bid them farewell and closed the grand doors behind them, the trio descended the steps in a contemplative silence. A light breeze off the water stirred through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of summer.
Shiloh paused near the stone fountain instead of heading straight to the car. He felt the need to process before returning to the mundane world. Kahmil came to his side, looping her arm through his. Gary circled around and leaned against the car’s hood, watching them with an unreadable expression.
“That was… a lot,” Shiloh finally said, letting out a breathy laugh. His mind was buzzing with all they’d learned: prophecies, star-charts, cosmic archives. The threat loomed larger than ever, but somehow he didn’t feel as overwhelmed as before. They had direction now. They had hope.
“It was,” Kahmil agreed. She turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed for a moment. The light gilded the edges of her braid and the curve of her cheek. Shiloh saw a single tear glisten at the corner of her eye before she brushed it away with a quick smile. “Sorry,” she said softly. “It’s just…relief, I think. Knowing that we’re not alone against this.”
Without thinking, Shiloh pulled her into a one-armed hug, and she rested her head against his shoulder. He could feel her heartbeat, steady and strong, matching the quiet strength she always gave them. “We’ve got this,” he whispered, as much to convince himself as her.
Gary cleared his throat gently, and Shiloh opened the other arm in invitation. In the past Gary might have scoffed at group hugs or any overt sentiment. But now, after a tiny hesitation, he pushed off the car and joined them, standing close. He didn’t wrap his arms around them, but he put a hand on Shiloh’s back, and Shiloh felt the gesture’s warmth. Gary’s touch was tentative, unfamiliar after so long, yet full of intent. In that simple pat – which lingered a second longer than necessary – Shiloh sensed Gary saying what he couldn’t in words: I’m here with you. I won’t let you down.
Kahmil, ever perceptive, slipped her arm out from Shiloh to gently tug Gary in by his jacket sleeve. That startled a chuckle out of him, and he relented, briefly allowing himself to be embraced by Kahmil’s open arm. The three of them stood there, a huddle beneath the broad daylight, drawing strength from one another. On Shiloh’s chest, the astral charm gave a subtle pulse of warmth – as if responding to the harmony between them with its own quiet approval.
Finally, Gary stepped back, clearing his throat more gruffly this time as if to cover emotion. “Alright, alright. We should head back.” But he wasn’t fooling anyone; the softness in his eyes betrayed him. “The others will be wondering what we found.”
Kahmil nodded and wiped that single tear fully away, beaming now. “They’re going to be amazed. And probably full of even more questions than we had.”
Shiloh laughed, imagining Ari’s skeptical frown, Maya’s concerned curiosity, Buddy peppering Mira with polite but incessant queries. “We’ll bring them up to speed. Maybe we can all come by this evening. Do you think they’ll have dinner for, like, twenty plus people?” he joked.
Kahmil giggled. “If not, we’ll bring something. A potluck at the secret observatory.” The absurdity of that mental image made Shiloh grin.
Gary opened the driver’s door, then paused, looking at Shiloh over the roof of the car. “Shiloh… you alright?” he asked quietly.
The question took Shiloh by surprise. Gary’s tone held earnest concern. Perhaps Gary noticed the way Shiloh was gazing off toward the horizon, lost in thought. Shiloh realized in that moment just how tired he was – tired, but hopeful. He gave Gary a reassuring smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I am. Or I will be.” He ran a hand through his silver hair, feeling the dried sweat and dust from last night still there. “I think I just really need a shower and about twelve hours of sleep.”
Gary actually smiled at that – a small, true smile that lit up his usually piercing eyes. “You and me both.” He ducked into the car, and as Shiloh and Kahmil settled into the back seat once more, Gary added in a softer voice, “You handled yourself well in there, by the way. All of that information… it’s a lot, but you kept it together.” It was perhaps the closest Gary would come to praising Shiloh outright. And Shiloh felt his chest warm at the words.
“Thanks,” Shiloh said, fastening his seatbelt. “So did you. You asked the questions I didn’t even know how to put into words.” He met Gary’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “I’m… I’m glad you’re with us, Gary. Really.” The sincerity in his own voice was unguarded.
Gary looked momentarily at a loss, then gave a single nod. “Me too.” A simple agreement heavy with the years of estrangement that had finally begun to mend this very morning.
With that, Gary started the engine. The car turned and slowly made its way back down the gravel path. Shiloh craned his neck to watch the observatory recede behind the trees. The wooden doors remained closed, the secrets inside safe – for now. But not distant or unreachable any longer. They would be back, soon, and often, and next time with all their family by their side.
As the stone gate pillars passed by and they returned to the main road, Shiloh closed his eyes for a moment. He let the wind from the open window wash over his face, carrying the scent of lake water and pine, and something else… something comforting. When he opened his eyes, he realized it was the smell of Kahmil’s herbs and the leather of her journal mixing in the air, and the faint trace of Gary’s cologne – familiar notes of cedar and citrus from years ago. These small details grounded him in the present, reminding him of who he fought for and with.
The sunlight flickered through the trees along their route home, bright and warm. Yet Shiloh’s mind drifted to the image of that dark orb on the Archive panel, the Devourer of Light waiting out there. The Eclipser was still a looming threat, and darker days might yet come – the prophecy virtually guaranteed it. But the day’s discoveries had also unveiled new symbols of hope: an ancient society throwing open its hidden doors, hard truths shared and met with resolve, and the subtle mending of a broken friendship under that very roof. All of it was connected, Shiloh felt, like pieces of a cosmic puzzle clicking into place.
Kahmil gently started humming an old lullaby from the back seat, a habit of hers when hopeful or reflective. The soft melody intertwined with the low rumble of the car. Shiloh added a quiet whistle in harmony without thinking, and he caught Gary smiling to himself as if he recognized the tune. The three of them didn’t speak much on the way back. They didn’t need to. The silence was no longer strained; it was companionable, filled with unspoken understanding.
As they emerged from the forest road and back towards the town’s outskirts, Shiloh glanced at the sky one more time. It was cerulean and clear, with only gentle cotton clouds. No hint of shadow. Yet, in his mind’s eye he could almost see it – a phantom darkness just beyond the horizon, lurking, waiting for its moment. A symbol of the trials to come.
He reached up and clutched his new astral charm through his shirt. It thrummed faintly against his heartbeat. We’re coming for you, Shiloh thought, directing it toward that unseen menace. Whatever you are, we won’t let you win.
As if in answer, a sudden glint flashed across the sky – perhaps just the sun reflecting off an airplane, but to Shiloh it looked like a shooting star streaking boldly in daylight. He watched it trail and disappear, hope kindling in his chest.
“Together,” Shiloh whispered to himself, echoing Gary’s earlier word. He turned his head to look at Kahmil on one side and Gary on the other through the mirror. Both caught his eye and smiled in subtle solidarity.
Together, they would face the gathering shadows. Together, they would shine their light twice as bright. And when the true eclipse came, as all signs warned it would, together they would be ready to meet the darkness – and eclipse it in return.
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