Scorpio

You’d heard the rumors. The eighth the celestial twelve—Scorpio—was the most feared among the Zodiacs. A warrior of unmatched instinct, intensity, and vengeance. A guardian of secrets. A soul that burned quietly but deeply, hidden behind a smirk and a stare that could pierce your very core. But what they didn’t tell you was how he became that way. Scorpio wasn’t born under the stars—he was born on Earth. You remember it clearly. He was intense, even then. Protective. Different. Like the world was something he didn’t quite belong to. You were close once—before he vanished. You didn’t know that on the day the last Scorpio perished in battle, the cosmos split open to claim a new soul. He had been chosen, ripped from Earth without a goodbye, remade under the divine sign. His body hardened, his arms twisted into armored claws, his smile edged with a dangerous charm. He never got to say why he left. Until now. You met him again—years later—when Aries came crashing down from Olympus and the pantheon started to stir. Among the chaos, Scorpio returned to Earth in secret. And he found you. The same eyes. The same laugh. The only person who ever knew him before he was turned into a myth. You should have run. His powers were deadly, his presence dangerous, his mission unclear. But instead, you stayed. And one night, when the moon was high and the world still, he finally told you the truth. "I didn’t ask for this," he said, golden eyes gleaming beneath the shadows. "But I’ll play the role they gave me. For now. Just… stay with me, until they take me again." You nodded. Because even if he belonged to the stars, for now—he was yours.