The Obsidian Circle

The Obsidian Circle

Chapter One: The Invitation

I was eight years old the first time I saw someone disappear.

It happened in the library’s basement—a forgotten vault of dusty archives and water-stained floorboards. My mother, a researcher at the university, thought I was upstairs reading. But I’d slipped away, drawn by a flicker of candlelight and a voice humming in a language I didn’t understand.

Peering through a crack in the storage door, I saw five figures cloaked in black, standing in a tight circle. Each held a candle, its flame flickering against their hoods. In the center stood a boy, no older than seventeen, trembling like a leaf. One of the cloaked figures leaned forward and whispered something I couldn’t hear.

Then, without warning, the boy vanished. Not in a puff of smoke or trick of the light. One second he was there, terrified and shaking; the next—gone.

The figures extinguished their candles and turned to leave. One stopped, eyes piercing through the crack, and a woman’s voice, low and steady, said, “You saw nothing. Yet.”

And then they were gone.

I never told my mother.

Twelve years later, that moment hadn’t faded; if anything, it had grown sharper—haunting me. I’d spent years chasing rumors, following shadows, trying to understand who they were, what they were doing, and why that boy had to disappear.

The night I turned twenty, I finally got my answer.

A letter slipped beneath my apartment door, black parchment sealed with a wax emblem—a seven-pointed star inside a circle, with an eye at its center.

You’ve been chosen.

The Obsidian Circle meets at midnight.

Come alone. No phones. No questions. No way back.

That symbol was the same one tattooed behind the ear of the woman I’d seen in the basement all those years ago.

I went.

Of course I did.

And that’s where everything began to fall apart.

Chapter Two: The Gathering

The meeting place was an abandoned theater on the edge of the city. Its once-grand marble steps were cracked, the marquee flickering like a dying flame.

Inside, shadows clung to the walls. Hooded figures moved silently, faces obscured by darkness and secrecy.

A hush fell as I entered. Marcellus, the leader, stood at the center—a tall man with ice-cold eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

He spoke without ceremony: “Welcome to the Obsidian Circle. You are here because the world demands guardians, protectors of the unseen balance. You will learn what others fear. You will face what others run from.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his gaze pinning me.

They handed me a black cloak, heavy and unfamiliar. Pulling it over my shoulders, I felt the weight of centuries—of secrets, of sacrifices.

I wasn’t just joining a society. I was stepping into a world where the lines between reality and nightmare blurred.

Chapter Three: The Trials

The first trial was known as Crossing the Threshold.

Beneath the theater was a chamber lined with mirrors—but these mirrors didn’t reflect your face. Instead, they showed your deepest fears.

I stared into mine and saw a shadowed version of myself—alone, screaming silently in an endless void.

The air thickened, my breath quickened. I felt roots of panic sprouting in my chest.

But I forced my feet forward.

As I stepped closer, the mirrors shattered inward, shards dissolving into darkness. A tunnel of black light yawned open before me—cold, endless, infinite.

I took a deep breath and walked through.

The space beyond was neither here nor there—a swirling void of stars and whispers, where time bent and memories drifted like autumn leaves.

Voices echoed, soft and insistent, tugging at my soul. I clenched my fists, fighting to hold onto who I was.

When I emerged hours later, pale and shaking, Marcellus nodded approvingly.

“You have faced yourself and survived. But this is only the beginning.”

Chapter Four: The Secret Revealed

Weeks passed, and the Circle’s teachings grew darker, more urgent.

They revealed their true purpose: guardians of the Veil—the fragile barrier between our world and the Otherworld, where ancient forces lurked, hungry for memories, souls, and secrets.

The boy from the library basement hadn’t disappeared—he had been claimed by those forces, turned into a vessel for the darkness.

“We protect the balance,” Marcellus said quietly one night. “But balance demands sacrifice.”

The truth hit me like a fist to the gut. Had I been chosen to become the next sacrifice? Was my obsession with the Circle only a path to my own destruction?

Determined, I plunged deeper, desperate to uncover the Circle’s secrets—and find a way to break free.

Chapter Five: The Breaking Point

The final ritual was held beneath the blood moon, deep in the catacombs under the city.

The other initiates gathered in a circle, faces hidden but eyes burning with purpose.

Marcellus raised his arms, chanting in the ancient tongue, summoning shadows that twisted and writhed like living nightmares.

But I stepped forward, cloak falling from my shoulders, the emblem ripped from my chest.

“I reject your sacrifice,” I declared, voice steady.

Shock rippled through the chamber.

The shadows lunged, snarling and twisting, but a light flared within me—something raw, fierce, and untamed.

Light poured from my hands, driving back the darkness until the Veil sealed itself with a final, thunderous crack.

I collapsed, breath ragged, but free.

I came to the Obsidian Circle seeking answers.

I left knowing I controlled my own fate.

Acknowledgment

This story was written in response to a Reedsy prompt centered around transformation. I wanted to explore the transformation of obsession into revelation, and the quiet unraveling of a person who cannot let go of what they saw as a child. The dreamlike disappearance, the haunting invitation, and the unbreakable pull toward truth all drive the main character to uncover a secret society that has always existed just beneath the surface.

Thank you to Reedsy for hosting this contest and for giving writers a chance to share their imaginations.

A special thank-you to Lynn D. Jung for the opportunity to have my story read and possibly critiqued. I appreciate the time and consideration more than words can express.

— Gabriella Cooper