"Obsidian is here."

I stumbled on my feet and nearly fell to the ground when Tess pronounced the words breathlessly.

Before I collapsed on the floor, Tess grabbed my arm, steadied me, and teased, "Well, someone might get lucky tonight."

I whirled around and jerked my arm away from her hold. In the back of my head, I didn't trust my luck. There was just no way I could meet The Obsidian in this LWJ mall. So, I ignored Tess's comment, thinking she was joking around, and took a few steps ahead. "Don't joke around, Tess. I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, you idiot!" Tess almost jumped at my side, pressing her whole weight on me before pointing her index finger toward a corner. "Look! It's him. Obsidian. He's doing a signing!"

I followed the way her finger pointed as my gaze fell on the poster showcasing Obsidian's famous latest painting, Kalon, and the large text announcing the signature signing.

Meet the Artist Behind "Kalon"

OBSIDIAN: Exclusive Autograph Signing

Don't miss your chance to get up close with the creator of Kalon!

Venue: Empyrean Art Gallery, LWJ Mall

Date: 7th November, 2024

Time: 9 P.M.

My heart skipped a beat. There was no way Obsidian was here! I glanced at my smartwatch. It was almost 10 p.m. now. I might miss this opportunity.

I rushed carelessly in the direction of the Empyrean Art Gallery as soon as the thought dawned on me. Tess followed me close behind. As we ran toward the escalator, we collided into several strangers. Some of them even verbally expressed their dissatisfaction. But I was past caring. I'd never let go of this opportunity, even in the darkest of my dreams.

I had been obsessed with Obsidian's art since I was in middle school. It had been years, and my obsession hadn't wavered for once. Art had been my safe haven since I was little. Not only was my father an accomplished artist, but I also found solace in exploring art. Naturally, I pursued art after graduating from high school. However, for some strange reason, I failed to connect to my father's art style. Undoubtedly, my father, Jeff Valentine, was well-known in his field of work. But he preferred the photorealism art style. His works were well-known over the world for obvious reasons, and I had never seen him sitting idly since I was a child. He was always creating portraits of renowned people for their private collections. My father rarely created anything unrelated to real-life individuals. I had never seen him convey his inner life on paper. The kind of art I preferred.

I liked it when the paint spilled on the canvas like a wild bison and galloped like a wild horse. The kind of art that revealed the deepest mysteries of one's turbulent psyche. The kind of art that would provoke brain cells to discharge torrents of current through the nerves and hit right into the heart. The kind of art Obsidian created.

Obsidian's art had been my inspiration, and they influenced my art style a lot, even though I couldn't quite compare my art with his. His art style was a mix of surrealism and symbolism with a subtle hint of dark romanticism. And I could literally sell my soul to put my hands on one of his many famous and expensive original art pieces.

For example, his latest creation, Kalon, captured a hauntingly beautiful woman standing under a ghostly moon, her body half-bare and cloaked in a sheer fabric that clung and flowed around her like mist. The moonlight bathed her in an eerie, otherworldly glow, illuminating her skin with a pale luminescence. You couldn't quite tell from the art piece if she was a human or a spirit in human form. Her dark, soft hair tumbled freely till her waist, framing her face that was both magnetic and unsettling, her gaze locked somewhere far beyond. As if she were lost in thoughts or perhaps waiting for something... someone.

The bamboo bushes behind her cast slender shadows around her, creating a mysterious appearance. An owl perched nearby, watching the girl with keen, unblinking eyes, like a silent guardian or harbinger of hidden truths.

The portrait screamed through the night's stillness, creating a mesmerizing yet uneasy feeling in the viewer's heart. Kalon was a delicate balance between attraction and dread that drew the viewers in with its enigma, just like the woman on the art piece.

I'd die tonight if I couldn't get a glimpse of him.

More so because Obsidian never showed his face. Nobody knew how he looked. All of his images circulating around the internet displayed him as a hooded silhouette, dressed entirely in black, with his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

So, no. Never in a million lives would I miss this opportunity.

When we reached the third floor, my jaw dropped. The floor was thick with crowds. Almost everyone held a leaflet in their hands. And there was a long queue in front of the entrance of the Empyrean Art Gallery.

I looked at Tess pouting.

Tess rolled her eyes, then pulled me into the line. "You're not anything special to get a VIP treatment. Learn patience."

I responded with a little pout, "But I am special. Aren't I? I'm the daughter of Jeff Valentine!"

Tess poked at the side of my waist. "Stop using that name already, Skye. Grow up. Besides, your father and Obsidian are rivals!"

I shrugged while taking a step forward as the line moved ahead. "So what? They are masters in their own art styles, and I admire them both."

Tess retorted, "Much like, you respect one because you don't have any option and you're obsessed with the other one blindly."

I turned around and looked at her with a sheepish smile. "You know me like no one else, Tess. You're my best friend!"

"Unfortunately." Tess let out a dramatic sigh. "I know you like the back of my hand, because I have to tolerate your nonstop nonsense."

I made a face. "Why do you always act like a fifty-year-old adult, Tessy? We're only in our early twenties. Let's not ruin our colorful days with forced maturity."

Tess stared at me unblinkingly for a few seconds, then tilted her head and crossed her arms. "You know what, Skye? Maturity doesn't come with age. Maturity comes with damages. But of course, you won't know this because you're sheltered from the real-life struggles by your influential parents."

I threw up my hands. "Oh, come now, Tess. You don't have to be serious all the damn time."

"Skye, I only mean good for you. That is why I want to make you aware of the dark side of this world. This world is not black and white, and you'll only understand the pain of it once you go through it. And I certainly do not wish you to go through such challenges. It might hurt you past the breaking point."

I sighed at my best friend's heavy words. I knew she cared for me, and her advice was for my own good. But I didn't want to ruin my mood tonight. I was going to see my dream artist for the first time in my life. I definitely wanted to make it more memorable.

So, I just hugged Tess for a few seconds without crossing her words anymore and waited for our turn to enter the gallery.

After around half an hour, we got inside. The organizers were allowing no more than ten people at a time. That was why it had been such a long wait.

As we finally made our way inside the gallery, my heart started beating rapidly with anticipation. The gallery was clean and polished-looking, with a lot of paintings hanging from the wall and statues covering the floor in a creative style. Some were placed on abstract-looking stools, while the others were standing on top of each other. The air inside was mixed with the hum of whispered conversations and the soft sound of footsteps on the polished floor.

My eyes scanned the area with wild anticipation until they finally settled on a corner.

There he was.

At the far end of the gallery, nestled in a dimly lit corner, sat Obsidian. A small table was positioned in front of him. Dressed in all black, he had a rugged intensity about him. He was signing his art prints with a disinterested air, without interacting with anyone. I couldn't take my eyes off him. It was as if I was frozen on the spot. I couldn't believe I was standing in front of The Obsidian.

I observed him with unblinking scrutiny because I wanted to memorize every minute detail about him.

His face was completely hidden, like every photograph of him I had ever seen, and yet, I could feel his presence more acutely than anything else in the room.

An organizer handed me a leaflet, the one with a mini replica of Kalon, with an inviting smile and said something. But I barely registered his words as I clutched the paper. My heart was racing like a wild caged rabbit. Even I completely forgot that I didn't come here alone. My legs moved on their own. Every step I took toward him felt like a dreamlike, unbelievable act.

When I reached his table, I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me. This was the moment I had dreamt of for years.

The person in front of me was an elderly woman. She pushed her leaflet toward Obsidian and blessed him with kind, generous words.

But what about me? My heart started palpitating. I never thought what I'd say if I ever met him in person. This was kind of an unexpected encounter. I clutched the paper tightly with my sweaty palms.

Obsidian didn't raise his head even for once as his pen scratched on the paper to put his signature on it. Once it was done, the lady moved aside, leaving me face-to-face with him. My heart stilled, acknowledging our closeness. Never in my most absurd dream had I imagined that. My hands trembled as I offered the paper to him.

Since we came in and found him signing, not once have I noticed him looking up from the papers. As I was contemplating what to say to him, he suddenly looked up and gazed into my soul with a piercing eyes. He was still wearing a black mask. Although his face was almost hidden under the shadow of his hood, his piercing green eyes were still visible. But before I could register anything else, my eyes shifted onto the unignorable scar adorning his face. My heart skipped a beat when I observed the hideous scar extending from his forehead, slicing across his left eye at an angle, and eventually disappearing beneath the mask.

His head tilted slightly as he took the leaflet from my hands with a deliberate slowness.

I seemed to lose my ability to breathe as I unblinkingly stared at his captivating eyes. They seemed to possess a hidden fire that made it impossible to look away, as if he were seeing right through me, not at me.

A strange, unsettling feeling pricked at my mind as his intense gaze lingered a moment too long on my face.

He murmured something inarticulately and gazed down again on the paper and signed on it with excellent precision before returning his gaze to my face, a little scowl appearing between his eyes. His eyes seemed to glow with a fierce, almost predatory clarity as he handed me back the paper.

I found my lost voice to verbalize my thoughts while taking the paper back. However, it was barely a whisper. "Your work... It speaks to me in a way I can't explain. I'm a devout follower of yours."

"Skye," he murmured, surprising me. "You shouldn't be."

Time seemed to freeze.

"You—you know my name?" I stammered, utterly bewildered.

"I know more than I should," he replied cryptically, "more than would be convenient for some people."

I frowned, confused at his words. But before I could ask him, a sharp movement to my right caught my eye. In the span of a heartbeat, a figure lunged at Obsidian with a tiny blade flashing under the orange light. It was so small, barely the size of a pen, yet aimed directly at the vulnerable spot at the base of his neck. It was the elderly lady who was standing just before me a few minutes ago. Her face contorted in rage as she attacked him like a mad beast.

The room exploded into chaos. People in the gallery screamed and scrambled away, knocking into one another.

But Obsidian reacted faster than I thought humanly possible. He moved like a shadow, sidestepping her lunge with a deadly speed. In a flash, his hand flew behind, grabbing the woman's wrist mid-swing. He twisted it sharply, with no mercy, forcing her to drop the blade with a metallic clink onto the polished floor. He swiftly arose, and with one fluid movement, he spun the lady around, pinned her against his chest, and kept her twisted hand pressed between them with a grip that was both controlled and unyielding.

My eyes widened as the scene unfolded way too quickly. I flinched, taking a few steps back until colliding with Tess.

Obsidian, on the other hand, raised his fierce green eyes and shot right at the security guards. When the guards rushed closer, he violently twisted the lady's arm and returned his gaze to her. The way he looked sent a chill down my spine. His deep, demanding voice cut through the commotion, "Why did you do that?" His voice was low and lethal.

The woman's eyes were wild, her voice trembling as she struggled in his grip. "Because you killed my daughter, you murderer! Her blood is on your hands!"

A tense silence blanketed the room. My eyes darted between Obsidian and the woman, my mind racing with questions. Murderer? How could my idol be a murderer? I stared at Obsidian with apprehension while his green eyes darkened with an emotion I couldn't name.

But he remained silent. He never once asked her about her grave accusation as the guards came forward, grabbed her, and hauled her out of the gallery.

The receding figure of the woman continued to scream at the top of her lungs. "You killed my only child! "You killed her!"

I returned my focus to Obsidian, only to find him already staring at me with the same piercing eyes.

At that very moment, I heard the small voice at the back of my mind whisper, 'Obsidian is danger.'

~~~

Author's note: I wanted to write this story for a long time. But I couldn't because of several reasons. But now that I look back, I know it needed a proper timeline for me to write this one. This one will be different than the rest of my stories and a very special one. I hope you'll give love to this story like you do for my other stories. 🖤