The train to Scotland cut through mist and frost, a silver vein across the bones of the Highlands. Marc sat alone by the window, his breath fogging the glass. The landscape rolled past in shades of gray—ancient stone, frozen lochs, ruins older than any government report could ever acknowledge.
He'd told Alexia it was a "classified field analysis," something about foreign energy readings near Inverness. She'd kissed him goodbye and told him to be careful.
He'd lied easily, and he hated how easy it had become.
The hum in his chest—the voice that wasn't quite his own—rose when the train slowed.
We are close, Tecciztecatl whispered. The first of their landing sites lies beneath the valley ahead. A vault built when the Aetherians still believed this world would welcome them.
Marc rubbed at his temples. "You said they were gods once."
To your kind, yes. But even gods bleed where air is thin.
"So they used guns?" he asked, half-laughing.
Every world demands its own language of death, Tecciztecatl replied. On Aetheris, gravity devours flight. There, even they needed tools to strike from afar. Energy rifles. Axes for the densest alloys. When they came to Earth, they buried their weapons—too heavy for mortals, too bright for eyes unready.
Marc leaned back, the weight of that history settling into him. "And you want me to dig up their mistakes."
No, the god said. Their wisdom. William is armored in favor; divinity must be met with something older than favor.
---
He arrived near dusk, the Highlands drenched in the pale light of a dying sun. The coordinates led him to a stretch of wind-carved moorland flanked by skeletal pines. There was nothing there—no ruins, no stones, just emptiness.
"You sure this isn't a bad joke?" Marc muttered.
Summon the veil.
"In broad daylight?"
Day hides as much as night. The sun blinds the curious. Trust me, Champion.
Marc sighed, glancing around the empty expanse. "Fine."
He drew a breath and closed his eyes. The crescent emblem burned faintly beneath his shirt, responding to his will. The cloak of Moonveil shimmered into existence around him, silver threads flashing once before fading to matte black.
The ground shuddered.
A low hum rippled beneath his feet.
From the grass, lines of light appeared—ancient circuitry forming a perfect circle around him. Symbols he didn't understand pulsed alive.
A doorway of stone rose from the earth, its surface smooth and seamless except for a single glowing aperture.
Tecciztecatl's voice carried reverence. Their seal remains unbroken. Step forward. It knows who you are.
Marc hesitated. "What if it doesn't?"
Then the world will know how it feels to die twice.
"Comforting."
He stepped closer. The aperture scanned him from head to toe, a thin beam of azure light. The air vibrated with static. Then, with a sound like exhaled thunder, the door slid open.
The vault beyond was vast—corridors lined with crystal conduits, the hum of dormant engines echoing faintly like the heartbeat of a sleeping god. When the lights came on, the color was not human—neither blue nor white, but something between both, too pure for Earth's palette.
Weapons hung along the walls, pristine despite the centuries. Some floated within magnetic fields, rotating slowly, casting ghostly shadows.
Marc walked among them, awe stealing his breath. Each piece was crafted with artistry that bordered on cruelty—elegant, lethal, divine.
"Which one?" he asked softly.
The wall ahead flickered, holographic runes rearranging until two shapes emerged: a long, slender rifle of pale alloy and an axe whose edge shimmered with shifting light.
Marc frowned. "Both?"
The rifle pierces energy. The axe severs essence, said Tecciztecatl. Together, they were once called 'The Duet of Silence.'
Marc reached for the rifle first. It was cold—colder than metal should be. But as his fingers closed around it, warmth spread through his arm, the weapon adjusting, reshaping, accepting him.
He hefted the axe next. It was heavier, ancient, almost mournful. Symbols carved along the handle pulsed faintly at his touch.
Tecciztecatl's tone softened. The Aetherians forged these to fight each other when their light began to rot. They carry memory. Do not mistake power for purity.
Marc stared at his reflection in the polished alloy. "Seems like I'm not the only hypocrite here."
The god chuckled—a sound like distant thunder. Welcome to divinity, Champion.
---
Night had swallowed the Highlands by the time he emerged. He sealed the vault behind him, the doorway sinking back into the earth as if it had never existed.
By the time he returned to London, the sky was bruised with early morning clouds. He hid the weapons beneath his apartment floorboards before dawn broke. Not even Alexia could know. Especially not her.
That evening, he sat beside her on the couch while the television played softly. The broadcast showed William again—standing before another sea of cameras, smiling like a god in tailored silk.
> "The Eclipse One has officially launched worldwide," the anchor announced. "Early reviews are calling it the most advanced mobile device in human history. CEO William Lex Webb promises a fully independent operating system, Crescent OS One, by late spring."
Marc's stomach knotted.
Beside him, Alexia sighed. "He's brilliant, isn't he? Imagine what he could do for the world if he actually cared about people."
Marc forced a smile, eyes fixed on the screen. William's reflection glimmered across the black of the TV like a phantom halo.
"Yeah," Marc murmured. "Imagine."
---
Later, when she'd fallen asleep, he stood by the window, staring out at the city. The weapons lay hidden beneath his floor, humming faintly like distant thunder.
Tecciztecatl's voice returned, quieter now, heavy with warning. He hides, but not in fear. He waits for alignment. When the stars complete their turn, the serpent will shed its last skin.
Marc clenched his fists. "And then?"
Then the war begins again. Only this time, it will not be fought in heavens—but in streets, and signals, and souls.
He looked down at his hands—the hands of a man who had become both protector and liar.
"Then I'll be ready," he whispered.
Good, said the god. Because he will be too.