Dawn felt sick. A dull, nauseating ache settled in her stomach, her body sluggish and uncooperative. The weight of exhaustion pressed against her, making even the simplest movement feel distant and surreal.

  One moment, she was fighting to take another step, forcing her body to obey. The next, the world had flipped—her stomach lurched, her legs gave out, and suddenly, she was being carried. She tried to push through the fog in her head, but her thoughts felt like loose threads slipping through her fingers.

  Fragments of voices drifted in and out—Chris saying something firm, Luke murmuring half-formed words, and Liam’s deep, even tone beneath it all. She couldn’t piece them together. Couldn’t hold onto anything for long. Instead, she let the words pass over her, hoping Chris or Luke would remember enough to fill in the blanks later.

  Then—a drop.

  Weightlessness.

  For a single moment, she felt as if she were floating, suspended between wakefulness and unconsciousness. The air shifted. The breeze—so constant before—was gone, replaced by something cooler, heavier. The scent of earth, damp stone, and something ancient settled around her.

  Darker, she realized. It was darker here.

  Then—more movement. More bouncing. The sensation of being carried jostled her, grounding her enough to register the shift as her body tilted again, then stopped. Cold seeped into her from beneath, pooling against her skin. The weightlessness faded. She wasn’t floating anymore—she was sitting.

  Stone.

  She focused on that, slowly piecing together the sensation. The dense, sturdy press of stone against her legs. The faint chill radiating from it, smooth and polished beneath her fingertips.

  Water.

  The steady, rhythmic trickle of flowing water somewhere close by.

  Dawn’s mind pulled itself together, sluggish but steady. She was coming back to herself, the exhaustion lifting just enough for her senses to reassert themselves.

  Then—light.

  A flicker. A shift.

  Her breath hitched, and a shiver ran down her spine as something moved in front of her. She squinted, her vision still blurry, and made out a coiling, twisting shape above and ahead of her. It took her a second to register the details—scales, feathers, the fluid motion of something impossibly large.

  Her sluggish mind fumbled for logic. Chris? No… that wasn’t Chris.

  A snake? No—something more than that.

  She blinked, fighting against the haze clogging her thoughts. A feathery snake? That didn’t make sense.

  I must be dreaming.

  That had to be it. Her exhausted, battered mind was filling in gaps with nonsense, conjuring up fears and illusions.

  But then—the cold stone was still beneath her. The steady trickle of water still rang in her ears. The earthy scent, the absence of wind, the way her limbs still felt heavy but real—they were all there, grounding her.

  This wasn’t a dream.

  She forced her body to respond, struggling to push herself upright, to find an answer to the growing tension in her chest.

  Then—the snake moved.

  Not at once, but in a slow, deliberate ripple. Its immense body shifted, the feathery edges rustling like dry leaves caught in a current. Muscles coiled, flexing beneath shimmering scales, the sinuous motion both hypnotic and unnerving.

  Dawn’s breath caught. The thing was alive—aware. Watching.

  Then, as if the movement alone wasn’t enough to shake her already fragile grasp on reality, the creature began to change.

  No, not moved. Shifted. Changed.

  Right before her eyes, the great coiling beast twisted, folding into itself, its massive form condensing, reshaping.

  A man.

  The snake became a man.

  Dawn sucked in a breath.

  Her exhausted mind screamed at her that it wasn’t real, that it had to be some hallucination, some fevered delusion—but she was already too awake for that now. The stone beneath her, the sound of water, the lingering exhaustion keeping her limbs heavy—they were all too real.

  And so was the man now standing before her.

  Luke’s thoughts drifted in and out, weightless and untethered, a stark contrast to the grueling struggle of climbing earlier. The effort of each step had weighed him down, but now, he felt almost too light, as if his body had given up fighting gravity entirely.

  Sound came first. Voices. Muffled at first, distant, like they were slipping through water. He caught pieces. Chris saying something. Liam’s voice, steady and unbothered. A deep, low sound—a rumbling? No, maybe something moving.

  His body felt like stone.

  Heavy. Leaden. Like the weight of his limbs had doubled. Even thinking took effort, his mind lagging behind, struggling to connect thoughts in the right order.

  Where…?

  Memories slotted together in scattered fragments. The temple. The climb. The fight to stay upright. The way his body had finally given out as exhaustion swallowed him whole.

  The platform, he remembered dimly. It had moved. That much he knew.

  But—where were they now?

  He forced his eyes open.

  The world was too dark at first, only shifting shadows and faint golden glimmers reflecting off something fluid. His brain registered water. A fountain?

  His vision adjusted. Slowly, shapes came into focus.

  Then—movement.

  Something large.

  Something impossible.

  His gaze snapped upward, and his breath caught in his throat.

  A serpent.

  It hung in the air, impossibly massive, its form shifting slightly with each slow, controlled movement. Scales shimmered, feathers lining the edges of its coiled body.

  Luke’s mind blanked.

  Then, instinctively—No. That’s not real.

  It had to be a dream. A hallucination. His exhaustion messing with him.

  Then the serpent moved.

  Not just moved—changed.

  Its form twisted, folding in on itself, the shape pulling inward, condensing. Limbs formed where there had been none. The massive, otherworldly being collapsed into a humanoid shape.

  A man stood where the serpent had been.

  Luke barely processed it before another shape pulled at the edge of his vision.

  A figure stood nearby, watching with an amused glint in his eyes. His stance was relaxed, his posture easy, but something about him radiated a quiet energy, like he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  Luke’s gaze flickered to the features—sharp, yet oddly fluid, as if shifting just beneath the surface. His form was human, mostly, but something was off. The broad grin, the flicker of sharp teeth, the way his ears tapered just slightly too much.

  At first, Luke’s exhausted mind wanted to categorize him—werewolf? No… something else. The proportions were different, the energy playful but edged with something cunning. The fur-lined edges of his clothes, the gleam in his eyes—more trickster than beast.

  A coyote. Not a wolf.

  The man wasn’t just watching—he was grinning.

  That was the moment doubt truly crept in.

  Chris barely had time to process what he was looking at. A massive, feathered serpent, coiling and shifting in the dim light, its body moving in ways that made his brain itch, like it wasn’t meant to be perceived by normal eyes.

  What the hell…?

  His breath stalled in his throat. He wanted to back up, wanted to do something—anything—but his body refused to move. Every nerve in him screamed that this wasn’t normal.

  Then, before his mind could catch up, the thing changed.

  Chris didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.

  He watched as the massive creature began to fold inward, its serpentine form twisting in on itself, collapsing like a shadow being pulled into a singular point. The feathers and scales shifted, melting into something solid, something human.

  A man now stood where the snake had been.

  Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, the tension in his chest only barely loosening. Okay, he thought. That's bad, but at least it's human-shaped now. That’s gotta be an improvement… right?

  He was still wrapping his head around that when a voice—sharp and playful—cut through the air behind him.

  "Damn, I’m starving."

  Chris spun on instinct.

  A figure strode toward him with an easy, rolling gait, the kind that made it impossible to tell if he was stalking prey or just stretching his legs after a long nap. He wasn’t quite a man—his wiry frame was human enough, but everything about him felt off. The way his pointed ears twitched, as if listening for something beyond normal range. The way his sharp teeth flashed just a little too much when he grinned. And his eyes—predatory, glinting with amusement like he was already enjoying a private joke Chris didn’t know the punchline to.

  Chris’ stomach dropped.

  The loose, unpredictable energy in the stranger’s movements reminded him of something—something wild, something hungry. A werewolf? No. The proportions were wrong. The instincts behind the way he moved were different. Too fluid, too opportunistic.

  A coyote. Not a wolf.

  The not-quite-man stopped a few paces away, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn, his grin widening as his gaze flicked over Chris like he was sizing him up.

  "What’s a guy gotta do to get a meal around here?" he mused.

  Chris felt his shoulders tense.

  This guy was looking at him way too much like he was on the menu.

  Chris instinctively stepped closer to Liam, his body moving before his mind fully processed the action. Something about the coyote-man’s energy had him on edge—too relaxed, too casual, like he had already decided how this was going to play out.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  As he did, Huehuecóyotl reached forward, his movements quick but not aggressive. Chris stiffened as the man clapped a hand onto Liam’s shoulder, patting it with a laugh.

  "Thank you for not ruining my fun," Huehuecóyotl said, his grin widening as he turned toward Chris.

  Chris barely swallowed down the urge to flinch. The coyote-man was grinning at him now, eyes glinting with something unreadable—humor, maybe, or something sharper hidden beneath it.

  "Don't worry," Huehuecóyotl added, tilting his head slightly, "I've already eaten."

  Chris forced a smile, trying to look relaxed, but something about this guy still put him on edge. Maybe it was the way he moved, too smooth and calculated, or maybe it was just the unsettling way he watched people like he was sizing them up—not necessarily as prey, but not exactly as equals, either.

  Chris did his best not to let it show, standing his ground, but he still felt better positioning himself opposite Liam. At least that way, he wasn’t completely exposed.

  Huehuecóyotl didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the coyote-man looked even more amused.

  "Now, now," he mused, stretching his arms over his head lazily, "no need to look so nervous. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?"

  Chris wasn’t convinced. He stayed exactly where he was—opposite Liam, watching, waiting.

  Meanwhile, Quetzalcoatl had turned away from the exchange, stepping toward the fountain. He reached into the water, his movements slow and deliberate, as if this act had been performed countless times before. His hand skimmed the surface, fingers trailing through the liquid before he plucked two cups from the fountain’s edge.

  Without a word, he dipped them into the water, filling each to the brim. The faint glow of the water reflected against the polished stone, casting rippling patterns onto his hands.

  He turned, stepping toward Luke and Dawn, his expression calm, unwavering.

  "Drink," he said, extending the cups to them. "It will help."

  Chris watched from across the room, his arms still crossed, his weight shifted slightly onto his back foot. He wasn’t sure what was in that water, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the first to drink it.

  Quetzalcoatl, however, paid him no mind. His focus was solely on Luke and Dawn.

  "I imagine you have questions," he continued, his tone kind, patient. "I will answer what I can, to the best of my understanding."

  He lowered himself slightly, just enough to meet their gaze.

  "But first," he said, studying them both with an air of quiet expectation, "your names. I prefer to know who I am speaking to."

  The question hung in the air, soft but purposeful. His golden eyes settled on Luke first, waiting.

  Quetzalcoatl's smile didn't fade as he watched Luke lift the cup. The boy hesitated only briefly before drinking, the cool liquid slipping past his lips. It was refreshing—crisp, mineral-rich, carrying the faintest sweetness beneath the taste of metal from the cup itself.

  The moment the water touched his tongue, something changed. He felt it absorbing into him almost instantly, a strange but not unpleasant sensation, as if his body had been starving for it without realizing. His limbs tingled faintly, the exhaustion clinging to his muscles loosening ever so slightly.

  Luke shifted, sitting up a little straighter. His head felt clearer now, his thoughts aligning as the fog of exhaustion lifted, if only marginally.

  “Luke,” he muttered, answering the earlier question. Then, blinking up at the man before him, he returned the inquiry. “What’s your name?”

  The man’s grin widened. “Quetzalcoatl.”

  Luke’s mind tripped over itself. He knew that name. It tugged at something in his memory, something distant but familiar. He thought for a moment, sifting through what little he remembered of myths and history—then, it hit him.

  "Also known to some as Kukulkan," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "The plumed serpent… the teacher."

  The words lingered in the air as fragments of Liam’s conversation with Chris resurfaced in his mind.

  Quetzalcoatl let out a soft chuckle, then dipped into a graceful bow. "One and the same," he confirmed, his voice light with amusement. "Though I must say, I’m impressed. Few remember so many of my titles."

  Luke barely registered the compliment. The memory of what he had seen moments ago flooded back—the massive, coiling form, the impossible movement of scales and feathers in the air.

  His fingers tightened around the cup.

  “You were really a giant feathered snake a moment ago, weren’t you?”

  Quetzalcoatl met his gaze, his expression calm but unreadable. He nodded, this time without the bow.

  “Indeed, I was,” he said simply. “It is one of the few abilities that remain.”

  Luke frowned. “Remained?”

  Before Quetzalcoatl could respond, Dawn blurted out, “My name’s Dawn, and I’ve got a few questions.”

  Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. The moment she sat up, clarity crashed into her like a wave, and the disjointed fragments of her memories from the past few hours or days? began stitching themselves together. Something was wrong.

  “Why have I been here before?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she glanced around the temple. The familiarity gnawed at her, but she couldn’t place why. “What’s going on here?”

  She barely took a breath before jabbing a finger toward Liam, accusation clear in her expression.

  “And what were those devices he gave us?”

  Her tone carried frustration, exhaustion, and a lingering sense of something deeper unease. Whatever those things were, they hadn’t just been simple trinkets. She could feel it in her bones, even now.

  Quetzalcoatl exhaled a soft chuckle, tilting his head. He looked neither surprised nor offended, as if he had expected such a reaction.

  “Ah,” he mused, glancing at Liam before turning his gaze back to her. “I suppose we should start from the beginning, then.”

  Liam turned to Chris, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “I have better things to do than dwell on the past,” he said. “You’ll be safe with these two, regardless of how it may seem.”

  His gaze flicked toward Quetzalcoatl and Huehuecóyotl, lingering for just a moment longer on the latter. “They know better than to harm anyone under my watch.”

  He smirked as he said it, but there was an edge to his voice—something that wasn’t quite a threat but wasn’t far from one, either.

  Huehuecóyotl grinned in response, placing a hand over his chest and offering a slight, exaggerated bow. “Indeed, we do. Aside from that, we’re just too kind.”

  Liam let out a chuckle. “Right. ‘Kind.’ Just the word I was looking for.”

  With that, he reactivated the stone lift. The platform rumbled softly beneath their feet, and Chris instinctively stepped to the side, shifting off to stand opposite of Huehuecóyotl.

  As the platform began its slow ascent, Huehuecóyotl wandered over to a nearby pillar, his fingers tracing along the carved surface. A series of runes lit up beneath his touch, flickering to life one by one.

  A pulse of golden light spread outward, illuminating the room.

  For the first time, they could all fully take in their surroundings.

  They were in what could best be described as a study—though one far more elegant than any Luke had ever seen. The space was vast, roughly fifty by fifty feet, yet every inch of it felt purposeful.

  A long dining-style table stood near one side, polished to a near mirror sheen. A desk sat tucked against another wall, its surface arranged neatly for writing, though a few stray scrolls and papers hinted at recent use.

  Another table stood off to the side, this one far less organized—piled high with books, some open, others stacked haphazardly, their covers ranging from pristine to ancient and worn.

  Lining the walls, towering shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with countless books of all sizes and colors. Some spines gleamed with gold leaf titles, while others were bare, their bindings faded with age. It was impossible to tell if they followed any particular order or if they had simply accumulated over centuries.

  At the heart of the room, the fountain they had seen before took center stage, its water glistening under the newfound light. Four massive pillars framed it, each carved with intricate symbols and designs that seemed to shift under the glow.

  One section of the floor was clearly designated for the stone platform, its edges worn smooth from repeated use. The remaining three walls each held a single, towering doorway—tall and wide, their archways imposing, their doors closed but humming with the weight of something beyond.

  Dawn and Luke felt most of their energy returning. The aches in their muscles eased, the heavy fog that had clouded their minds lifting with each passing moment. Their headaches dulled to a mere whisper, and the weakness in their limbs faded, leaving them feeling more like themselves again.

  Quetzal—or rather, the man who had introduced himself as Quetzalcoatl—gave a warm smile as he reached for a pitcher from the table, filling it with water before topping off their glasses.

  "You may refer to me as Teacher," he said, his voice smooth and welcoming. "Or Khan, if that’s easier for you."

  He gestured toward the dining table, the polished surface reflecting the glow of the surrounding light.

  "Please, let’s sit for this."

  His gaze then shifted to Chris, who stood a short distance away, still watching everything unfold with cautious curiosity.

  "And you?" Quetzal continued. "Would you like to join us?" His tone held no pressure, only invitation.

  Chris hesitated, but before he could answer, Quetzal added with an apologetic tilt of his head, "And I’m sorry—I didn’t catch your name."

  "Chris," he said, moving toward the table, still in awe of the room. His gaze swept across the towering bookshelves, the polished stone, and finally, the glowing runes lining the walls just above the shelves.

  He pointed at them. "Those use electricity?"

  Quetzal smiled as he took a seat. "No, they use ?nd," he corrected. "I'll get to that."

  Luke and Dawn, now feeling steady on their feet, made their way to the table as well, settling into the seats across from Quetzal. Their exhaustion had nearly faded, but the weight of unanswered questions still lingered in their expressions.

  Meanwhile, Huehuecóyotl wandered toward the table stacked high with books. He plucked one from the pile, flipped it open, and casually sat down, thumbing through the pages as if the conversation unfolding before him held no interest at all.

  Khan took a seat at the end of the table and let out a deep breath, a wide grin spreading across his face. "It's been quite some time since I’ve had the chance to teach anyone," he admitted. "So first, thank you. I've missed this role dearly."

  His expression softened slightly as he continued. "That said, I may be a little rusty—and a little out of date on current events. I know some things, but not much."

  He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "To start with, the devices you received were gifts from your father. No one else, to our knowledge, has anything like them. What they do isn't exactly known to me, except for what your father told me before he passed. You knew him as Owen." Khan’s gaze flicked to Luke and Dawn, watching their expressions carefully.

  "He said, 'These will guide them, help them navigate their world, and ultimately help them unlock ascension again.'"

  Luke tensed at the words. "So... we’re gods?"

  "Not yet," Khan said quickly. "Maybe not ever. That depends on a lot of factors—some within your control, some unknown even to me. The first that comes to mind is the device itself. I don’t fully understand its capabilities, but I do know it requires time and ?nd to charge."

  He paused for a moment before adding, "?nd, mana, ki—whatever you want to call it. The energy of life. It’s been known by many names, in many times and places, and has had many different understandings and uses."

  Khan's expression darkened slightly, his usual lighthearted demeanor fading. "Humans—everyone—used to be capable of ascension," he said, a note of sadness creeping into his voice. "But then... certain events took place. Terrible events, leading to great changes. Among them was a ritual—a ritual that stripped away the vast majority of humanity’s ability to access and even remember their own abilities."

  Luke and Dawn exchanged glances, the weight of his words settling over them.

  Khan continued, "Now, the beings you call gods? They were originally all known as teachers, in one form or another. Some of us are undying. Others are reborn, time and time again, just like humanity."

  He took a slow breath, then gave them a knowing look. "I was lucky enough to know your father. Only... I knew him by a different name."

  Khan’s golden eyes met Luke’s.

  "Odin," he said. "The Allfather."

  Khan leaned back slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. "Some of the teachers decided they wanted more than students. They wanted followers—worshippers, or even slaves. They stopped being teachers and started calling themselves gods. And when that happened... chaos followed."

  His fingers drummed against the table as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of old wounds. "Humanity rejected the cruelest of them, fought back where they could. But it was often pointless. Those who stood against them rarely won, and when they did, it usually came at too great a cost."

  He sighed, shaking his head. "The ones of us who still believed in teaching, in guiding rather than ruling, saw what was happening and knew something had to be done. We came together, those of us who refused to see our students turned into subjects, and we made a choice."

  His eyes flicked to Luke and Dawn, watching their reactions. "We, too, started calling ourselves gods. Not because we sought worship, but because it allowed us to counter the influence of those who did. If humanity was going to believe in gods, then we would be there to guide them instead of rule them."

  His lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "That choice gave birth to many new gods—those who would stand against the oppressors and offer something different. Gods like Liam." He gestured toward where Liam stood, then pointed at Luke and Dawn.

  "And even you two," he added.

  Luke stiffened. Dawn frowned.

  "Though," Khan continued, his grin returning, "not in this life. During the war, when magic was sealed away from most of humanity, so too was their ability to ascend. It wasn’t just knowledge that was lost—it was the very connection to what made ascension possible. That’s why, for now, only reincarnations of gods can ascend."

  He exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the table. "And that wasn’t the only consequence. The sealing stripped away much of our power—mine, Huehue’s, and many others like us. What you see now? It’s only a fraction of what we once were."

  Huehuecóyotl, still leaning lazily against the table, flicked a page in his book without looking up. "Tragic, isn’t it?" he mused, though there was an edge of bitterness beneath his playful tone.

  Khan ignored him and continued. "But it wasn’t all bad. Some of the worst of the so-called gods were sealed away along with magic. They couldn’t be destroyed, but they were locked beyond reach, their influence cut off from the world."

  He gestured toward Luke and Dawn, his expression unreadable. "Others… they died. Some of them, like Odin, like you, can be reborn. Their souls cycle back into the world, given another chance. But the ones who were sealed? They can’t return—at least, not unless someone breaks the seal."

  Khan’s expression darkened, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup. "The dark gods are content with the seals remaining in place. They sacrificed some of their own, yes, but it was a price they were willing to pay. The balance we have now is in their favor. They rule over a weakened world, one where the masses no longer remember what they once were capable of. If the seals were never broken, they would never have to fight true ascended beings again."

  He folded his hands together. "That’s why it must be undone. That’s why your father set this plan in motion."

  Luke exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Great. So we’re just tied up in our dad’s grand design, and we don’t even get a say in it?"

  Dawn crossed her arms, frowning. "It sounds like everything was already decided for us."

  Khan’s expression softened, but there was something solemn in his gaze. "No," he corrected gently. "It was never prophecy—only a plan. One your past selves agreed to."

  Luke and Dawn both stiffened at that.

  "Make no mistake," Khan continued, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. "You are not bound by fate to fulfill this. But the world is not kind enough to wait for you to make up your minds. I fear what humanity will endure before your father reawakens… and hopefully, before he can manage something new."

  His eyes held theirs, steady and unwavering. "The choice is yours. It has always been yours. But so will the consequences."

  Dawn and Luke exchanged a look, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. Finally, Dawn spoke. "We’re not sure we trust you."

  "No offense," Luke added quickly.

  Khan smiled knowingly. "None taken. And I wouldn't expect you to make a decision now. Not when you’ve only just begun to understand the world you’re a part of."

  He stood, stretching his arms before gesturing toward the doorway. "For now, the past is just that—the past. What matters is what comes next. You have much to learn, and I have much to teach."

  He paused, glancing back at them. "Finish your water, then follow me. We have work to do."

  Chris, who had been quiet through most of the conversation, cleared his throat. "Uh… I could use a drink too."

  Khan chuckled, pouring him a cup. "Forgive my poor hosting. It’s been twelve years since I’ve had guests."

  The three downed their glasses, rose from their seats, and followed Khan out of the chamber. As he pushed open the next set of doors, he grinned.

  "Welcome to the dojo."