Earthquakes, floods, a massive solar eclipse suspended in a blood-red sky.
An evil stone altar etched with ancient symbols, and upon it lay a brown-haired woman—naked, adorned only with feathers, jewels, and a golden serpent mask. She was sprawled across the rough surface of the altar. The shouting of the crowd and the torches' flickering light couldn't pierce the darkness at the base of the stone steps. Rust-colored leaves rained down like a storm. A green-feathered serpent with wings and a crown coiled around the woman's body like a living vine, hissing menacingly in all directions with bared fangs and a gaping maw. Its pitch-black eyes were ringed with a halo of golden light—just like the eclipse hanging in the sky. Yet the serpent did not stop the obsidian dagger, decorated with gold and emerald, from slicing through flesh and muscle. Blood flowed freely onto the altar. The serpent stared at him with mournful eyes, then threw its head back and let out a pained, soul-shaking cry that echoed through the Sea of Spirits.
Wanda Maximoff quickly grabbed Solomon's arm, doing everything she could to keep him from collapsing. She felt the muted explosions of muscle and adrenaline beneath his thin clothing, his veins pounding like distant thunder. She didn't know what Solomon had seen, but his emotional reaction was unmistakable.
"I didn't see anything like that," he muttered, pale-faced, patting Wanda's shoulder to signal he could stand on his own. "If my plan works, this shouldn't happen!"
Lady Calamity withdrew her finger and wiped the sweat from Solomon's forehead—then stuck it in her mouth and tasted it.
"You're healthy. Nothing to worry about." No one knew where her train of thought had gone. She seemed to have slipped back into her usual madness. Walking back to her room, she shouted loudly, "No one can see everything! I want to watch Antiques Roadshow! There will be no antiques in the future! They'll be crushed under bullets and tank treads! Burned by the golden tyrant! Warriors with filthy blood will trample every land! Cannons will replace plows! Guns and swords will replace scythes! Cherish the present, my friends! For the future holds only war!"
Though wearing a blindfolded mask, she nimbly avoided the incense burners and decorations along her path—as if she could still see. But right now, no one in the Sanctum cared about the madwoman. All attention was on Solomon—ever since Lady Calamity had placed her finger on his forehead, something had been off. The magi of the Sanctum all possessed considerable mystical skill, yet under normal circumstances, none of them could perceive Solomon's emotions through his aura. His mind was too well-shielded.
This time, however, Master Daniel saw a shift in Solomon's aura: from calm blue to flickering red, streaked with lightning. Though brief, it was enough to prove that what Solomon had seen had shocked him to the point of breaking his mental defenses—something only fury and terror combined could do.
Yet Solomon remained one of Kamar-Taj's most formidable magi. He composed himself swiftly. The other magi could no longer read his thoughts. Wanda, who had received her foundational training from Solomon, had also learned the magi's "Second Sight." She too had seen his emotional spike.
Solomon furrowed his brow, replaying the vision Lady Calamity had forced upon him.
"What did you see?" Wanda asked worriedly. "Was it terrible?"
"It's hard to say, dear. The Feathered Serpent is a thread tightly woven into Lara Croft's fate. Everything related to her must be handled with extreme caution," Solomon said, shaking his head. "But remember—prophecies are only possibilities, not certainties. Don't worry, I'll be fine. Since Lady Calamity offered me a warning, I'll find a way to respond." He clapped Master Daniel on the shoulder, then addressed the other magi in the Sanctum. "I'm fine. Really. Everyone, return to your tasks."
He strode quickly toward the Sanctum's fixed teleportation gate, Wanda following close behind.
"What are you going to do?" she asked. "Are you going to find Lara Croft?"
"No, Wanda. You need to study more prophecy tales," Solomon rubbed his eyes. "Sometimes our actions are what make the prophecy come true. Stay calm. This kind of thing happens all the time."
"Happens all the time, my ass," Solomon muttered under his breath as he flipped through ancient books.
The mythology surrounding the Feathered Serpent was tangled and varied. The Mayans called it Kukulkan, a vision serpent; the Aztecs, Quetzalcoatl; further back, the Olmecs worshipped Quetzalcoatl as well. Other Mesoamerican civilizations had their own iterations, such as Huaxaclahuun Uba Kan. Its domains ranged from wind god to sun deity. The myth spread outward from Chichen Itza across the Yucatán Peninsula to Guatemala, Uxmal, and Mayapan.
According to legend, after the destruction of the old world, the Aztec gods created a new one. Our current world was the fifth iteration born of this process. At the center of this new world, embodying life and vitality, was the sun. Quetzalcoatl was regarded as the sun of the second world and the guide to the sun of the fifth. The Sun Stone in modern-day Mexico City depicted five suns, each representing a world—from past to present—reflecting the Mesoamerican worldview: that destruction and creation, death and birth, were part of an eternal cycle. Yet no matter the version, worship of the Feathered Serpent always included blood sacrifices.
Only with the arrival of Quetzalcoatl's semi-divine avatar—the ruler Topiltzin—did blood offerings cease, replaced by flowers and butterflies.
But Solomon didn't believe for a second that this change reflected the true will of the Feathered Serpent. Blood sacrifice was the most efficient and direct way for gods to gain power. No extradimensional being would willingly give it up. The ones who'd been trying to revive blood rituals—perhaps even the Feathered Serpent's ancient rival and dark brother Tezcatlipoca—were likely actual outer-dimensional entities.
This was a malicious assumption—but Solomon had no issue making the worst-case assumption about any such being.
He was searching for any myths where the Feathered Serpent had offered itself as a sacrifice. But all he found were stories of Topiltzin drinking pulque, losing his will, having incest with his sister, and heralding the end of a golden age—blood rites returned, and the beautiful city of Tula burned. In some stories, Topiltzin sacrificed himself, his heart becoming the Morning Star. In others, he journeyed to the mythical land of Tlapallan. But in all of them, he prophesied that one day he would return to destroy his enemies and rebuild a pious nation.
That day was known as the "Day of the Reed," the day Quetzalcoatl promised to return.
If Solomon's interpretation was correct, then the woman on the stone altar—Lara—was likely playing the role of the divine human (honored, not merely a sacrificial victim, which was his only faint relief). The sun was known as "Ipalnemohuani," meaning "the one for whom we live." In ancient times, the sun was believed to be the source of all vitality, giving life to the world, and in return, it demanded life. Since the heart symbolized life, both human and animal hearts were offered to maintain the sun's power and motion.
Solomon wasn't surprised by this new complication. He only felt that he still hadn't done enough.
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