Andromeda: We Are The Universe

Prologue. Zygozz: The Awakening

"It's time," – He thought, standing alone amidst the desert's vast expanse, ready to leave. He faced the towering obelisk as the first hints of dawn warmed his back. His attire was a robe of stark white, resplendent with gold embroidery and bedecked with a multitude of stones and gems that caught the early light, making him shimmer like a beacon. The robe had an almost sacred quality, each thread woven with a sense of sanctity.

Atop his head sat a peculiar mask, difficult to describe: the primary segment formed an inverted "V", its points extending below the neck, its golden sheen suggesting it was crafted from that precious metal. This configuration, alongside the wide-set eye slots that hinted at a non-human wearer, ruled out the usual suspects—Orcs, Elves, Gnomes, Goblins, and even the large-headed Dwarves.

Trolls, known for their widely spaced eyes, could not claim such a delicate and slender build, nor were they ever seen adorned in gold-woven robes—they preferred the weight of armor or the simplicity of rags. This creature was something else entirely, an enigma not fitting any known species.

Attached to the mask was what resembled a white beak, equipped with four small holes for breathing, crafted from a material that might have been plaster or perhaps paper. From this bizarre face extended two slender, downward-curving horns.

The robe was alive with the sound of its ornate decorations clinking softly with each movement, most notably around the neck beneath the beak, where they mimicked the form of a beard. As the sun climbed higher, the desert sand and his robes alike sparkled as though both were sprinkled with gold dust. Now illuminated, the obelisk revealed its own secrets: a surface etched with messages inked in gold, while the sky above began to shift towards cyan.

He had been in this desolate place for days, unflinching, unfed, and unwatered, maintaining the "Cosmic Stance"—arms raised high, fingertips touching in mimicry of a lance, his chin tilted skyward, his back perfectly straight. This stance, known among his kind as Sssylhjzassy, was a sacred posture of vigil.

They called him Zygozz, "Hopeful," a name he had chosen over five centuries ago when he first assumed his vigil. Trained by predecessors who had also come to this very spot, adopted the same stance, and waited. To humans, each "shift" lasted 11 days; to his kind, mere hours.

As this vigil concluded, he relaxed his posture without fanfare, the number of times he had done so now uncounted. His movement toward the obelisk was not quite a walk; the lower part of his robes obscured any indication of legs, adding to his mystique.

Just as he was passing the ancient stone, everything halted—a pause so brief yet filled with an intense flash of energy. The sky exploded into infinite colors, converging into a singular, brilliant point. From this dazzling nexus, a beam of light, akin to a bolt of lightning, shot down and struck the top of the obelisk with the speed and force of light itself.

Whether it was real or imagined, he couldn't be certain—it happened too swiftly. Yet he felt an unprecedented surge along his spine, a connection to the universe deeper than any before. Breath held, he turned to face the obelisk.

It was glowing, it was pulsating, it was transformed. It was awakened.

It was the message that he and all his kind were waiting for so long.

"It's... Happening..." he thought, his gaze locked in awe on the obelisk, a surge of joy overwhelming him. For the first time in ages, Zygozz felt truly alive, grateful, and present. It was a miracle. It was indeed happening.

Read chapter 1 next. The Girl: The Rainbow Room