Crowning Achievement

The afternoon is warm and sunnier than usual; you stretch and yawn after your small catnap on this lazy Sunday. Climbing out of bed, you stumble slightly while making your way to the bathroom to relieve yourself, but something irks at you in the back of your mind.

You flush the toilet and wash your hands thoroughly, looking up; you see that the bags under your eyes have receded, if only slightly. Stress has been getting to you recently, but you're hoping things will start working out in your favor; you can only hope. You make your way out to the living room and begin to sit on the couch when you nearly jump out of your skin from the hammering at the front door. Taking a breath before the thunderous knocking continues, you rush to the door in a panic; someone is undoubtedly trying to get inside.

You swiftly reach for a nearby makeshift weapon, which turns out to be an umbrella... lovely, you'll threaten them with a 2ft umbrella. Just as you reach for the door, the knock lightens to nearly an indecipherable tapping, gentle tapping that ceases the moment you touch the doorknob. You brace and rip the door open, entirely ready to whack any to-be intruder with your less-than-threatening rain deterrent only to find air on the other side. Quickly left and right outside, you see the area is void of the owner of raucous knocking from earlier; you find only a glaring sun and the blowing wind outside, how strange.

Stepping back, you nearly kick a small box that lies at your feet, a box that you don't recognize yet surely it must be your right? It feels like it has always been yours; however, it never was until this moment. What? You must still be waking up despite the panic to be thinking odd stuff like that; though you still pick the box up and bring it inside, it's a lot heavier than you thought it would be. Dropping the umbrella back to its spot, you make your way to the living room like you previously tried to door before being mysteriously and suddenly interrupted. Putting the box on the floor while then sitting cross-legged, you look it over thoroughly, ensuring it won't kill you when you touch it, an outcome that you're quite against having come true. The jet black box is featureless and void of any defining characteristics. Yet, it feels so strangely textured when touching the top side, like sandpaper that moves and shifts underneath your fingertips. Feeling both sides of the box, your fingers pass over a line, what feels to be the edge of the lid, and you lift gently not to jostle what could be inside.

Inside is a note, that's it—no money, no anthrax, hell no dust even. Just a note, that's a little underwhelming. You pick up the note, the paper is a shining parchment of the same strange texture the box holds, and it only reads two words in beautiful penmanship, "Stupendous Serendipity." You muse out loud to yourself, "That's it? Nothing else? Stupendous Serendipity?" Your words don't sound your own as you speak them, yet they still fill the room resoundingly, like chimes in a wind-filled valley. The box flashes and pops; your hearing cuts out with a sharp ringing and then suddenly cuts back in as a breeze crosses your whited-out vision, and to your surprise, the box has changed, you think.

No longer jet black and featureless, the box is now a shimmering rose gold inlaid with glowing blue lines that pulse... no, breathe in rhythm with your breath. Brighter on inhale, dim on exhale. The inside now holds another note and a small latch on the side, and while you still blink out the spots dotting your vision, you pick up the new note.

In the same handwriting as before, the note turns out to be a letter. A letter addressed to you despite your name appearing nowhere on it, you know it's meant for you.

"To my child, If your eyes grace this paper, then your soul holds true, and all that we've done for you has come to bear fruit. I am your father, your true father, bound by soul than of true blood as that is what may never be lost. The mere fact that you can read these words means our power has not died out, but I have; I wish I could've held you in my arms one last time before I ended. I know not of your placement in the human society and the family you found yourself in as your 'uncle' knew I would want nothing more than to be by your side, yet I knew it would be the **** of us both."

"You yourself are not human, at least not obviously; we had to adjust your biology to ensure no mishaps would expose you to our enemies, ones that would hunt you to the ends of life itself. Our species were masters of psionic power, utilizing the energy of space, time, and the mind to use how we pleased, possibly what could sound like magic to you was our existence. War began when schisms arose in those who wanted our powers used in contrasting ways, some wanted to discipline them, some control, and some simply wanted to use them to unravel the very fabric of reality around us. The war had started before the universe had even taken its first breath and will end long after its last, but our clan is dying much sooner than then. The artifact within this box is our clan heirloom, a crown of such immense power that the collection and control of it was every faction's goal above all else. I now leave it in your hands, my little one."

"I cannot say any more in written words for this to make sense, but know this; you are my shining joy, I would snuff every last star in every last universe to keep you safe. I can not though, our enemies will hunt you until the end of time once you touch the crown, so use it, and may they all fear you, my child."

"Soulfully yours,

Alkendrios, forever your father."

"P.S. Speak familiar words to the crown."

Tears stain the paper against your will; despair and anger that does not feel yours yet still feel heartful wells within you. You brace yourself for the worst despite knowing deep down this is what you were always meant to do, right? The crown looks more akin to a circlet but still looks more regal and opulent than any human-made crown despite it holding no gems, jewels, or fancy ornaments. Your "father"'s last words seem strange, but you know what he means by them, speaking clearly as before; "Stupendous Serendipity."

A flash again, and a mirror appears before you, floating in the air with the same rose gold and blue inlay as the box. Your eyes look puffy and red, though you look nonetheless for wear. You look yourself over in the mirror while waiting for something to happen...