Lucian Vale wasn't the type of man to be shaken easily.
But even he could not ignore the storm building around him.
By sunrise, half of London had seen the serpent in one form or another—through screens, dreams, or visions they couldn't explain. News anchors offered theories about solar flares, airborne holograms, and mass hallucinations. Governments scrambled to contain the panic. But none of their words could compete with what people had felt in their bones.
And Lucian… Lucian had proof.
The mark on his palm still shimmered faintly, hidden beneath a glove now. He couldn't afford questions. Not yet.
He walked swiftly through the heart of Bloomsbury, his long coat billowing as early spring winds chased him down the street. His destination: the restricted archives of the British Museum.
Inside his satchel were three ancient artifacts that had activated in response to the serpent's arrival—a Babylonian seal stone, a Celtic torc, and the glowing Sumerian tablet that now hummed with low, rhythmic pulses. Together, they formed a pattern. He didn't understand it yet. But he would.
He had to.
---
British Museum — Restricted Wing
The security guard at the entrance gave Lucian a tired look. "You're back again?"
Lucian offered a polite smile. "New data. I've been approved under Grant Theta-7."
The guard checked his tablet and nodded. "You archaeologist types are all over the place this week."
"Something big's happening," Lucian said without elaboration.
He passed through the checkpoint and made his way down the narrow staircase to the lower levels. Few people came down here, and that was exactly what he wanted.
In a dim, climate-controlled room filled with unlabeled crates and crumbling scrolls, Lucian cleared a workspace and laid out his findings.
He activated his phone, which he'd modified with ancient symbol-recognition software—his own design, using patterns from dozens of forgotten languages. He pointed the camera at the Sumerian tablet.
> Ping. Symbol Match: 87% — Proto-Godscript. Likely derivative of Pre-Flood root language.
That was new.
He adjusted the focus.
The tablet pulsed once more.
And then—it spoke.
> "He is coming."
Lucian jerked upright, heart pounding. The voice wasn't from the device. It was in the air around him.
> "The mark is seen. The fire returns."
Another pulse, brighter now. The torc began to glow in response. Then the seal stone. The three artifacts vibrated in unison, forming a faint triangle of light between them.
Lucian stared, stunned.
"Are you… communicating?" he whispered.
> "The Blood of Fire answers. The Shadow moves. Find the Mirror-Bearer."
The lights faded.
Lucian blinked. "Mirror-Bearer? What—?"
A knock at the door shattered the silence.
Lucian turned, cautious. "Closed wing," he called out.
The door creaked open anyway.
A woman stepped through, not a curator, not a researcher. Her movements were deliberate, calm, almost too graceful for someone stepping into a dusty underground room.
She had long black hair pulled into a braid, and sharp, calculating eyes the color of wet stone. She wore a dark leather jacket, scuffed boots, and around her neck—a jade fox pendant, glowing faintly.
Lucian's instincts screamed.
"You're not staff," he said, fingers drifting toward the satchel.
She tilted her head, ignoring his challenge.
"You felt the Call."
Lucian stiffened. "Who are you?"
"Seo Yena," she replied. "South Korea. Mythborne—just like you."
Lucian's heart raced.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he asked carefully, "How do you know what I am?"
She stepped forward, not threatening, but not passive either.
"You bear the mark. The serpent appeared. The old ones stir. I dreamed of you three nights before the sky split open. You were holding that," she nodded to the Sumerian tablet. "And you were surrounded by fire."
Lucian's breath caught. "A prophetic dream?"
"No," she said. "A memory."
That made no sense. And yet, somehow, it did.
Lucian frowned. "You say you're Mythborne. What does that mean?"
Yena stepped closer and raised her left sleeve.
A glowing fox rune shimmered just beneath her skin—like Lucian's mark, but shaped in elegant curves and tails.
"There are dozens of us awakening now," she said. "Marked by ancient forces—gods, spirits, myths long thought dead. The serpent was the first sign. Now, the Veil begins to break."
Lucian eyed her carefully. "You came all this way just to find me?"
"No. I came because I followed a trail of whispers, glowing relics, and nightmares. They all pointed here. To you."
He looked down at the tablet. It was humming again, responding to her presence.
"What do you know about the Veil?" he asked.
"It separates our world from the mythic realm," she replied. "Long ago, it was sealed to protect both sides. But now... something's tearing it open."
"And who's doing the tearing?"
Her eyes darkened. "We don't know. But the Herald was only the beginning."
Lucian rubbed his forehead. "I need time to process this."
"You don't have time," Yena said. "Others are waking up. Not all of them are friendly."
Lucian stiffened. "Meaning?"
"Some are aligned with forces that want the Veil gone. Permanently. And if that happens…" she looked around the room, "…our world will drown in legend."
---
Somewhere in the Arctic Circle
Snow swirled in a blizzard of white and blue. Inside a military outpost, men in thermal suits screamed as something unseen tore through steel like paper.
A general shouted over the comms. "We've lost containment! Something came out of the ice!"
Cameras blinked. One final frame captured the image: a giant wolf, glowing with silver flames, walking through a wall of snow.
And above its head—a rune in the shape of a broken crown.
---
Back in London
Lucian and Yena stood in silence for a moment, the air between them heavy.
"I don't trust you," Lucian finally said.
Yena smirked. "That's wise. I don't trust you either."
"But," he added, "you might be the only person who understands what's happening to me."
Yena nodded. "And you might be the only one who can decode that," she gestured to the tablet.
Lucian exhaled. "Then I suppose we'll work together."
"For now."
They shook hands, both wary, both reluctant.
But in that moment, the marks on their skin pulsed in sync.
And somewhere deep beneath the earth, something ancient opened its eyes.