The observatory's dome creaked as it turned, an old mechanical sigh against the hush of midnight.
Alexia leaned over the telescope, one hand steadying the cold metal, the other adjusting the focus wheel. The eyepiece shimmered with silver light. Through the lens, the moon hung close enough to touch.
"Hard to believe this thing still works," she said, smiling.
Marc stood beside her, watching her face rather than the sky. "It's been renovated a few times since we were here last. Guess they did a decent job."
She laughed softly. "Decent? Marc, this telescope barely showed the craters when we were kids. Now I can see the lunar bases."
He hesitated. "Maybe the optics improved."
Alexia turned the wheel again, zooming further. The gray plains of the moon gave way to something glinting—an array of silver domes joined by thin, spiderlike corridors. Cosmotee Station. The Aetherian moon base that humanity was never allowed to visit. Its energy grid pulsed faintly, patterns rippling like veins.
Alexia gasped. "Look at that. You can see the reactors cycling!"
Marc leaned in, pretending to peer through. He didn't need to. His sight—Tecciztecatl's gift—was sharper than any lens. What Alexia thought was magnification was actually him, quietly bending the light through divine perception.
Tecciztecatl murmured in his mind, Careful, Champion. She must not know. The stars see more than eyes can bear.
Marc smiled faintly, forcing normalcy into his voice. "Incredible what humans can do with Aetherian tech, huh?"
Alexia nodded, still entranced. "They say the base can generate enough clean energy to power a continent. If only they'd share it freely."
"Maybe one day," he said quietly.
But both of them knew better.
They watched the stars for another hour—talking, reminiscing, letting silence fill the spaces between words. For a moment, Marc almost forgot what he was. The mask, the moonlight, the whispered commands of an old god—they all faded. He was just Marc again, standing beside someone who reminded him what peace might feel like.
When he dropped her off later, she kissed his cheek at the door. "Next time," she said, "you pick a place with dinner and starlight."
He smiled. "Deal."
---
By the time her lights dimmed behind the curtains, Marc was already gone.
The cloak settled across his shoulders like a second skin. The world below glowed with scattered sins—each heartbeat, each scream, each whispered plea feeding into the same rhythm of decay. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, silent, fluid, a ghost born from smoke and devotion.
London was awake. And so was its shadow.
Moonveil moved through the night like an old memory. He stopped muggings before they began, intercepted thieves who thought the dark their ally. Each act was precise, efficient—no anger, no hesitation. Only purpose.
Yet beneath it all, a current of unease tugged at him. The air felt heavier, the city quieter. The moon above shimmered behind clouds like an eye half-closed.
Then he felt it. A pulse, faint but unmistakable—Tecciztecatl's warning through his veins.
He is near.
Marc froze atop a warehouse overlooking the river. Fog drifted between the cranes, streetlights dimming as if swallowed by unseen mist.
And then a figure stepped from the shadow.
William Lex Webb.
The CEO of Ynkeos, the architect of an empire, the smiling face that sold "clarity" to the world. But here, under the bleeding moonlight, his immaculate suit looked like ceremonial armor. The faint glint of gold traced beneath his collar—symbols of an older power hidden beneath the corporate gloss.
Moonveil's voice came low, almost a growl. "William. I found you."
William smiled thinly, his voice calm and rich with confidence. "Ah. The vessel talks. I was wondering when you'd stop skulking in alleys and come say hello."
"Tonight," Marc said, taking a step forward, "I end this. You've poisoned this city long enough."
William clasped his hands behind his back. "Poisoned? My dear boy, I built this city's new heart. I give it order, discipline, vision. You give it chaos and smoke."
"You call sacrifices order?" Moonveil snapped. "You summon things that should never exist—creatures from the dark between stars. For what? Power? Pleasure?"
William tilted his head, smiling with faint amusement. "Why not both? Power's an addiction, and I've always been a curious man. You should understand, Champion. Your god chose you for the same reason mine chose me. Curiosity."
Marc took another step, energy flaring faint violet beneath his cloak. "Don't you dare compare Tecciztecatl to that thing you worship."
"Worship?" William laughed softly. "No, no. This isn't worship. This is partnership. You give yours devotion. I give mine opportunity."
"Why?" Moonveil demanded. "Why the killings, the blood, the pain? What could possibly justify it?"
William's smile didn't waver. "Because I can. Because someone must. Because this world deserves to know what true divinity feels like."
Tecciztecatl's voice thundered through Marc's mind. Do not strike. The stars favor him tonight. His god watches. The tides are against us.
Moonveil's fists clenched. "You think I care about stars?"
If you fight now, you will die, the god warned.
William watched him, sensing the hesitation. "Talking to your moon again?" he asked with a smirk. "He doesn't answer much these days, does he? Fickle things, gods. Always whispering, never acting. At least mine keeps his promises."
Marc said nothing, every muscle coiled.
William's tone softened, mock sympathy dripping from every word. "You have no proof, you know. No evidence I've done anything. The world sees me as a savior. The philanthropist. The innovator. You're just a rumor with fists. A shadow blaming progress for its own obsolescence."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind, tugging at their cloaks.
Then William stepped closer, just enough that Marc could see the faint crimson reflection flicker in his eyes. "Until we meet again, Moonveil," he said, voice smooth as oil. "I'll send gifts your way. Something to remember me by."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the fog as though the city itself had inhaled him.
Moonveil stood alone, the chill of the encounter sinking into his bones. Tecciztecatl's silence echoed in his skull.
"Why didn't you let me fight?" Marc hissed.
Because the cosmos is not ready for another war, the god whispered. Not yet.
---
When dawn finally bled across the sky, Marc stripped off the suit and collapsed onto his bed, the mask tossed onto the table like a discarded confession.
His phone buzzed. A message from Alexia.
> Morning, stranger. You survived the stars. Want to grab coffee?
He smiled despite himself, fingers hovering over the screen. He typed back:
> No coffee. But I'll come if you have tea.
A second later, a laughing emoji popped up in reply.
For the first time in weeks, he laughed too.
But even as the sun climbed higher, his mind returned to the riverbank, to the fog, to the moment William's eyes had glowed red.
He knew now what Tecciztecatl feared.
William wasn't just a man playing god.
He was becoming one.
And somewhere deep beneath the city, in a vault lined with glass and whispering machines, William Lex Webb stood before the idol of Tzitzimimeh. Its eyes burned with distant stars as he pressed his hand to its surface.
"Soon," he murmured. "He'll learn the difference between faith… and ownership."
---