Morning light settled over the City of Heroes like a benediction.
Golden rays spilled across marble spires and glass avenues, bathing Cardella in a warmth befitting the seat of the Goddess of Heroes.
The city was just beginning to wake, though the streets were still quiet, and the air was still damp with the remnants of night.
At the edge of the city, opposite the three massive peaks where Lady Sera resided, a tower of white marble reinforced with gold-veined architecture stood tall.
Its design radiated both authority and elegance in equal measure. Almost as if to rival the abode of the Goddess with its majesty.
And near its summit, carved in bold, uncompromising letters, was a single word:
PANTHEON
Inside, much of the building lay empty.
Personnel had yet to arrive, the early hour leaving its halls quiet enough that even footsteps would echo.
And at its top floor, at the start of a white-marbled corridor leading toward Pantheon's highest seat of power, a set of golden elevator doors slid open with a -
-Ding.
And from within stepped out Lady Strelitzia.
Her black hair, dark as ink until it bled into crimson at the tips, cascaded loosely over her shoulders.
She was dressed simply in a white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, yet the corridor seemed to widen subtly around her presence.
Her boots struck marble in unhurried taps.
In one hand, she carried a paper bag.
In the other, a detailed report.
Her red-slit eyes moved calmly over its contents as she walked, scanning lines of text detailing last night's containment failure.
Stolen ships. Escalation beyond projected parameters. Boomstick's loss...
Yet her expression did not change as she walked.
Sentries lining the corridor rumbled awake as she passed, massive constructs kneeling with reverberating thuds.
Her attention never left the report, as she passed by them without a single glance.
And at the corridor's end, the great doors to her office parted before she reached them, mechanisms disengaging in anticipation of her presence.
And flanking the entrance, the two largest sentries in the tower, both armed beyond necessity, dropped to one knee in perfect unison and spoke -
"Good Morning, Lady Strelitzia."
Lady Strelitzia passed between them without pause before the doors sealed shut behind her.
Her office was a sanctum carved from luminous white marble, its surfaces etched with faint gold filigree that traced old symbols of authority and binding runes.
The ceiling arched high, while the far wall was a single, seamless pane of enchanted glass overlooking the city far below.
A desk of polished marble stood near the glass pane.
Lady Strelitzia approached it and placed the report down without ceremony before turning toward the wall to her left.
There, running along the length of the wall, stood a long table of dark, aged wood.
Time had dulled its surface, but not its dignity, for resting upon it, on a carefully crafted stand, was a golden spear.
The legendary spear of Indomitable Will.
Its luster had long faded with age and its master's departure. Yet the air around it was dense, quietly brimming with barely restrained power.
Before it sat an incense holder.
And above hung a portrait.
A man gazed out from the canvas, handsome, in a way, born more from defiance than beauty.
His piercing violet eyes seemed to follow the onlooker no matter where they stood.
He wore a simple black attire, nothing ceremonial, nothing grand.
Only presence.
Beneath the portrait, engraved in clean, precise lettering, were the words:
Arlen Hale
26th of the Month of Rain, Age of Rapture, Year - 5025
19th of the Month of Harvest, Age of Unity, Year – 1092
A garland of yesterday's flowers hung around the frame.
And for the first time since exiting the elevator, the ancient calm on Lady Strelitzia's face softened as she approached the shrine.
She gently removed the old garland, setting it aside with care, before opening the paper bag and retrieving a fresh one. She lifted it and hung it over the portrait with deliberate reverence.
From a drawer in the table, she took out two incense sticks.
Then, with nothing more than a thought, their tips caught fire.
A moment later, she shook the flames out, leaving only glowing embers as pale smoke began to curl upward, carrying the faint scent of lavender, before she placed them into the holder.
The smoke began to drift lazily toward the portrait, as Lady Strelitzia stepped back and brought her hands together.
And in silence, she prayed.
Not as the head of Pantheon.
But as someone remembering the dead.
With a slow breath, Lady Strelitzia ended the prayer, lingering for just a moment longer, eyes resting on the portrait, before turning away and walking back toward her seat.
The leather chair accepted her weight without a sound as she sat, finger tapping the desk.
Tap.
Tap.
Her gaze then drifted to the small picture frame on the desk.
Ten figures stood frozen within the old photograph. Her master at the center, and the founding members of Pantheon gathered around him, younger then, worn in ways that spoke of effort rather than exhaustion.
For a moment, her thoughts slipped backward.
To a time when it had all been simpler. When it was just them. When every day felt like progress instead of damage control.
They had followed him willingly, knowing the consequences that would follow.
Yet they walked anyway.
Her thoughts wanted to linger there a little longer, but -
-Ding.
Her sensitive ears caught the faint ding of the elevator opening.
And Strelitzia's fingers rose instinctively to pinch the bridge of her nose as she slid the report down into her lap.
Hurried footsteps followed the familiar, heavy thuds of sentries kneeling, drawing closer with each step, then the heaviest keeling thud resounded before -
"Good morning, Lady Ver-"
-BOOM!
The doors exploded inward as the half-melted, sparking torso of one of Pantheon's strongest sentries smashed through the entrance, skidding across the marble floor in a burst of gold-glinted flame.
Heat flooded the room instantly.
And through it stepped a woman.
Red robes she wore whipped violently in the flames, long black hair snapping like a banner in a storm.
Golden eyes burned with raw, unbridled fury as she strode forward, every step leaving scorched cracks in the marble beneath her feet.
She reached the desk in seconds before she jumped and landed atop it in a crouch as massive wings of golden fire erupted from her back, filling the office with blinding light and crushing heat, nearly brushing the walls on either side.
She leaned forward, teeth clenched, flames spilling from her like breath as she spoke-
"Where is she!"
Lady Strelitzia did not rise. Did not flich.
Her gaze lifted, meeting the woman's directly, growing colder by the second as she spoke in a voice far too calm for the violence that had just occurred.
"Get off the table. You desecrate our Master's Throne."
The woman froze as her eyes slowly dropped.
To the picture frame beneath her wing, its enchantments straining as heat licked too close.
To the shrine of her master, her wing was almost touching.
Her hands curled into trembling fists.
Then, after a long moment, the wings collapsed into flickers of embers and disappeared. So did her flames, leaving only scorched air and silence.
With stiff movements, she stepped down from the desk, and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped the marks from the desk where her boots had landed.
With a touch of her fingers, the picture frame reverted back to the state it was.
Taking a deep, trembling breath, she lifted the fallen chair, set it upright, and sat.
Only then did she look up again and speak in a voice trembling with barely restrained fury.
"Where. Is. She."
"No…" the woman shook her head as she said, "The better question would be… Where are they?"
Lady Strelitzia exhaled softly as she slid the report across the desk.
Which came to a stop just short of the woman sitting opposite her.
The woman frowned, fingers brushing the edge of the file, and then, without opening it, she let her mana flow into it.
The parchment shimmered faintly as her pupils dilated.
And in the span of a single breath, she knew everything. Every word written in it.
Something even Lady Strelitzia herself could not do.
"They formed a Familiar Bond…" Verbena whispered, disbelief creeping into her voice. "And evolved two stages…"
Her gaze sharpened as she continued scanning the data imprinted in her mind.
"They didn't kill anyone," she muttered.
Then her head snapped up.
"And that man… the Boomstick."
Her breath hitched.
"There's no doubt about it," she said, voice rising. "The Destined Hero has appeared."
Lady Strelitzia rested her chin against her knuckles.
"Or," she replied calmly, "… that is what Lady Sera would very much like you to believe."
"What do you mean?" the woman demanded. "She granted him authorization to use her Divine Armament."
"That she did," Lady Strelitzia agreed, nodding once. "But you are overlooking a detail. He made two warships disappear. In a blue shimmer."
Verbena scoffed. "And? The Cronos Protocol has an inventory. Even the visual signature matches."
"Come now, Verbena." Strelitzia's eyes lifted as a small smile formed on her lips. "It may have been two thousand years, but we both once had access to its inventory through the Bond with our Master."
Her gaze then sharpened as she slightly leaned forward, "It cannot store such large objects. But you do still remember whose System can?"
Verbena's eyes snapped wide.
"The Demon God," she breathed.
"Exactly."
Strelitzia snapped her fingers softly.
"And that alone collapses your long-held theory, that the Destined Hero appears first, and the Demon God follows, making Hero the true cause triggering the Cycle of Civilization's Regression."
Verbena clenched her jaw.
"It wasn't just a theory," she said quietly.
"Perhaps not," Strelitzia allowed. "But now it wavers."
"But that raises another question," Verbena frowned. "Why would Lady Sera grant her personal Divine Armament to the Demon God of all beings?"
Strelitzia didn't answer. She simply looked at her.
Verbena froze for a long moment, gears in her mind turning before slowly her eyes widened as the realization settled.
"…It's no secret Lady Sera is not fond of us," Verbena whispered, voice rising as she continued. "Maybe she wanted us to start believing that theory. I didn't exactly keep it quiet."
Her fists clenched as she spoke on -
"She expected us to see the authorization and assume the Destined Hero had arrived first… and eliminate him before the Demon God could follow. Before the Cycle could begin."
Strelitzia nodded once as she said, "The world is already fraying. It will not survive another Regression."
Her gaze then drifted momentarily, her voice softening as she spoke, "We barely endured last year's Night of the Red Moon. And the next is less than a month away."
Verbena swallowed as the images of last year's abominations flickered behind her eyes.
"…At least Chimera A-3 will be ready by then," she muttered. "So there is that."
"Good," Strelitzia said quietly.
She leaned back in her chair, fatigue slipping through the cracks of her composure despite the day only beginning.
"But understand this," she continued. "All of that is just assumptions and deductions made upon limited data."
Her eyes returned to Verbena as she continued, "The truth may be something else entirely."
"…So," Verbena asked at last, "What's our plan? Whatever it may be, our priority must be securing the two girls."
Lady Strelitzia smiled like someone who had already begun moving pieces across a board no one else could see.
"Why don't we decide that…" she said softly, "… While you're here."
"Very well, but I repeat, our priority must be to secure those two," Verbena added.
"Obviously."