The Tower of London, England
The Tower of London stood as a historical landmark on the north bank of the Thames River, a millennia-old symbol of British royal power throughout the ages. From a distance, the towering White Tower appeared majestic against the London skyline, its pale stone walls catching the afternoon light.
Upon closer inspection, one could see King William's coat of arms intricately carved into the white stone brick exterior. The ceremonial Yeoman Warders stood guard at the entrance, their elaborate Tudor uniforms meticulously maintained, their posture suggesting readiness.
However, an astute observer might notice a hint of complacency in their expressions. This was hardly surprising in the 21st century, where true power had long since shifted from the monarchy to Parliament and the Prime Minister. The royal family, while maintaining cultural influence, wielded minimal true authority.
The Tower of London, once the ultimate symbol of British royal might, had been transformed into a tourist attraction at the behest of the government. For the guards who worked there, the concept of "royal prestige" held little meaning. They had been selected primarily for their physical appearance and ability to wear the distinctive uniform, not for their vigilance or combat prowess.
Entering through the King's Gate at the main entrance led visitors into the vast atrium. The walls were adorned with reliefs depicting royal emblems of dynasties past, with doorways branching off to various sections of the historic fortress.
At this moment, standing before one of these royal emblems on the left wall of the atrium, a muscular figure examined the heraldic design with mild interest. His blond hair and unmistakable heroic bearing identified him immediately as Thor Odinson—the mighty prince of Asgard and future God-King of the Nine Realms.
Thor turned to observe the guards stationed at the main entrance, his expression shifting to one of barely concealed disdain. Though he understood that the monarchy which once ruled Britain had now relinquished most of its power, the sight of the former king's palace being guarded by men with no martial prowess, no alertness, and only apparent indolence struck him as utterly pathetic.
It wasn't just the guards Thor found wanting—in his estimation, the entire British royal institution had fallen into disrepute. For a king to compromise with usurpers rather than fight to the death against betrayers was the height of dishonor. In the eyes of the warrior culture of Asgard, such weakness was unforgivable.
For Thor, who had been raised with the strict martial values of the Asgardian royal house, his heart filled with contempt. To his mind, such a royal family would be better off extinct than living in disgrace. At least then, they would not dishonor the legacy of the kings who had established their line.
Utterly worthless, he thought. Complete incompetence.
After these dismissive thoughts, Thor strode through the atrium toward the main structure of the White Tower. Looking up at the tall, imposing building, he gave a slight nod of approval. Whatever else might be said, this structure at least commanded a certain respect.
Then, with purposeful movements, Thor gazed upward toward the Tower's pinnacle. He extended his right hand, and into it materialized Mjolnir, the legendary hammer of Asgard.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The dark gray hammer began to rotate at tremendous speed, creating a roaring vortex of wind around Thor's powerful form. Strangely, the tourists and pedestrians nearby seemed oblivious to the magical weapon. They sensed only a sudden, powerful gust that sent them scattering in all directions, clutching at hats and scarves.
This peculiar lack of reaction was, of course, Lockhart's handiwork. Thor had come to Earth—and specifically to London—at Lockhart's invitation. As host to the Asgardian prince, Lockhart believed it inappropriate to impose too many restrictions on his guest's activities.
From Lockhart's perspective, the matter of concealing extraordinary abilities from Muggles was trivial. A few well-placed spells from his arsenal could easily manage any unwanted attention, sparing Thor the inconvenience of restraint. Even if the Asgardian's actions caused significant disruption, Lockhart remained confident in his ability to erase all evidence within moments.
With a powerful thrust of his legs, Thor launched himself skyward. Dark blue energy crackled across Mjolnir's surface as the hammer pulled him high into the air. Within seconds, Thor had ascended to the Tower's uppermost point.
From his aerial vantage point, Thor surveyed London's sprawling expanse. The city unfolded beneath him: Big Ben standing vigilant, the Tower Bridge spanning the Thames, and the dense spires of historic buildings with ravens circling ominously above, adding to the atmosphere of ancient mystery.
Thor descended onto the Tower's roof, taking several steps toward the parapet. From this position, he overlooked the full panorama of London: the sinuous path of the Thames with ships moored densely along its banks, bridges teeming with traffic, and modern skyscrapers rising among centuries-old architecture.
The prince of Asgard had to admit that the city possessed a unique beauty. Even for one raised amid the golden spires of Asgard's eternal realm, London presented an impressive vista.
Thor stood silently, his gaze sweeping across the metropolis. Then, with sudden determination, he raised Mjolnir toward the heavens.
BOOM!
Dark storm clouds materialized with unnatural speed, gathering directly above the Tower. Bolts of dark blue lightning arced across the rapidly darkening sky. Within moments, Thor had summoned a storm that cast the entire city into premature twilight.
Pedestrians below began to disperse hurriedly, sensing the imminent downpour. The magical nature of the gathering tempest went unnoticed, mistaken for merely an unexpected weather system.
Pitter-patter! CRASH!
Rain began to fall—first as isolated drops, then quickly intensifying into sheets of water driven by howling winds. The deluge swept across the once-glorious city, drenching streets and buildings alike.
Thor raised Mjolnir high, his eyes closing in concentration. He extended his consciousness outward, allowing his thunder field—an extension of his divine power—to envelope all of London. Through this mystical connection to the storm, he sought to detect something specific—something hidden.
This was the mission entrusted to him by his father, Odin Allfather, God-King of Asgard. As Odin's eldest son and heir, Thor was duty-bound to execute this task with unwavering dedication.
He was searching for the Celestials—ancient cosmic entities of immense power.
More specifically, he needed to ensure that any Celestial presence remained dormant. Asgard had no desire for such primordial beings to awaken and bring chaos to the Nine Realms.
Kamar-Taj, Bamboo Forest Tea Room
As Thor unleashed his divine storm over London, Lockhart sat in the serene Bamboo Forest Tea Room within Kamar-Taj, his gaze turned toward the distant city. Though physically separated by thousands of miles, his magical senses easily detected the atmospheric disturbance caused by the Asgardian's hammer.
A flash of resignation crossed his features. He had naturally perceived everything unfolding in London.
Thor, your impatience remains your greatest flaw, he thought. Would waiting not have been wiser?
The god of thunder had tasked Lockhart with locating traces of the Celestials. While Lockhart possessed knowledge of these cosmic beings, he had thus far discovered no concrete evidence of their presence.
The only leads he had uncovered were rumors of ten false gods—puppet entities dispatched by the Celestials to manipulate certain forms of power on Earth. However, either due to time constraints or because these false deities had somehow sensed Lockhart's investigations, he had yet to pinpoint their locations.
Unable to provide Thor with the answers he sought, the Asgardian had predictably resorted to his own methods. In truth, Thor hadn't placed much faith in Lockhart's abilities from the beginning. The Celestials existed on a plane far beyond the typical reach of even accomplished human sorcerers.
Lockhart had traveled to the Bamboo Forest Tea Room in Kamar-Taj with two distinct purposes. Primarily, his curiosity regarding the Celestials had brought him to seek the Ancient One's counsel. He found it difficult to believe that the Supreme Sorcerer who safeguarded Earth would remain ignorant of any Celestial presence. Naturally, he hoped to extract relevant information from this meeting.
Additionally, Lockhart needed to ascertain Kamar-Taj's official position regarding these cosmic entities. Thor had maintained minimal caution in Lockhart's presence, allowing him to glean Asgard's attitude toward Celestial embryos with relative ease.
However, the stance of Kamar-Taj—and particularly that of the Ancient One—remained unclear to him. This knowledge gap concerned Lockhart greatly, especially regarding beings like the Celestials who utilized planets as incubation chambers, their birth invariably resulting in planetary destruction.
What position would Kamar-Taj adopt toward such existential threats? The question demanded an answer.
Lockhart required clarity because his fate was now intertwined with Kamar-Taj. Their position would necessarily determine his own. The politics of cosmic powers were delicate, and one misstep could prove catastrophic.
As he sat waiting for the Ancient One to arrive, Lockhart absently traced a finger along the rim of his teacup, the enchanted liquid within reflecting images of Thor's storm over London. The magical infusion allowed him to monitor the situation while simultaneously preparing for the delicate conversation ahead.
The Celestials use Earth as food, he contemplated, born at the expense of planetary destruction. Surely the protectors of this realm would oppose such beings at any cost.
Yet experience had taught Lockhart that when dealing with entities of such cosmic significance, no assumption was safe. After all, in his long life as both wizard and sorcerer, he had witnessed supposed guardians make unthinkable compromises for the sake of what they termed "the greater balance."
He could only hope that the Ancient One's priorities aligned with the preservation of Earth—and by extension, with his own interests.