June 14–15 – Tenochtitlan & Mindanao
The team remains split. I’m still with Zara in Tenochtitlan, shadowing her meetings with board members, political contacts, and executives. The pace is relentless. Her circle is broad, and her influence, I’m beginning to understand, runs deeper than I realized. She plays a long game in a world full of short-sighted predators. I respect that.
Most of the 14th and 15th is spent in and out of corporate towers, private residences, secure conference rooms, and armored convoys. Tenochtitlan’s still beautiful, in its own razor-edged way. Lake Texcoco has been partially restored – a miracle of environmental engineering and arcano-bio work – and it makes a fine backdrop for high-stakes power lunches.
The real show started on the evening of the 15th. Dinner at a high-end restaurant nestled in the historic center of the city. The kind of place with exposed stone walls, flickering candles, and a menu designed to both impress and challenge your palate. Zara had a group of mid-tier contacts there – not board level, but not nobodies either.
That’s when Tequixolotl showed up.
Newly elevated to acting chairman of the Aztechnology board after the bloodletting that followed the last crisis, he’s not subtle. All white suit, dark eyes that don’t miss a damn thing, and the kind of posture that tells you he hasn’t been caught off guard since puberty. He brought his own entourage – adepts, shamans, mages – dressed in ceremonial Aztech garb. Colorful, ornate, deadly.
He wasn’t there for Zara. He was there for me.
Apparently, the board’s been watching me. I’ve been in rooms I wasn’t supposed to enter, seen things I shouldn’t have survived. And I accompanied Zara onto the Lost Continent – something he views as... presumptuous, for someone outside “the family.”
He came to see for himself whether I should be removed or rewarded.
It was a hell of a conversation. Not hostile, but sharp-edged. I held my own. We talked war stories, loyalty, magic, power. I sensed the bloodline in him, same as Zara. A feathered serpent, old magic coiled behind polite eyes.
He left me with a massive salary increase and 6,000 B-shares in Skyway Elite. Which, given the way the tour is going, could be worth upwards of 60 million nuyen. I'm not foolish enough to think that kind of gift comes without strings, but I also know what kind of people they’d be offering this to if it weren’t me. And maybe it’s better that it’s me.
We left the restaurant together, headed for a lakeside mansion on the edge of the restored Texcoco shore. Gorgeous, sprawling, and “recently vacated.” The previous owner? Likely one of the purged board members. I'm not sure if it's a gift or a warning. Either way, it's mine to use now.
And while we drank and danced with the gods of the modern empire, Halo made her stand.
Back in the Philippines, the storm still raged. Management had nothing to stream, no concert to salvage the tour’s momentum. Ratings were plummeting. So Halo – because of course she would – decided to hike a mountain and sing into the face of the storm. Everyone told her it was suicide. But Halo doesn’t do logic. She does emotion.
The Matrix connection was unstable. Greyskull (thank the ghosts) managed to hold it long enough to stream what happened next.
It’s hard to put into words. The storm noticed her. Or maybe Tonameyotl – the Serpent of Storms – had been watching all along. Above her stage of stone and wind, a serpent-shaped silhouette formed in the clouds, woven from lightning and magic. And then the strike.
Millions felt her pain as she was hit. Not saw – felt. Her screams of agony, the raw overload of her emotional pain carried through the simsense stream like nothing we’ve ever seen. The world stopped. I felt it from across the ocean.
She collapsed. The serpent moved in for the kill.
And Blink, sweet, quiet Blink, stood over her and refused to run. She took the next strike in Halo’s place. And she vanished. Gone. Burned from the world.
And then Halo rose.
Black wings of mana carried her into the air. The audience – the world – began to pray, cheer, beg, scream. I pushed it. So did Greyskull. We didn’t tell them what to say, just that she needed them. The response was overwhelming. A billion people linked together in the Matrix, feeding her with faith, hope, and love.
Tonameyotl struck again. And again. But with each hit, the storm weakened. And when the final bolt fell, it shattered against her.
And the skies cleared.
The Philippines was saved. The storm is broken.
Halo’s no longer just an artist. She’s something else. Something new. Something people will follow.
And I can't help but wonder if we’ve crossed a threshold we can’t return from.
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