"They say lightning never strikes twice but I know a guy who's been hit by it seven times...now he eats through a straw." Sorley, the assassin, smiles through teeth broken as dice. "It's tragic, when you think about it."

Salian explodes with neurosis. "Why would you tell me that? That has no bearing on this situation!"

"It was just a thought."

The two men occupy a large cabin at the base of a mountain excavation, the windows shuttered, a few pores of light penetrating the handmade darkness. Salian's thin face is full of sharp angles and panes, brimming with fear that runs like an electric current down to his fidgeting hands.

"What's a spectre?"

Sorley's smile is steep and inaccessible. "When the Samarians want someone killed, they send me. When they want someone like me killed, they send a spectre. Spectres operate outside the law, working directly for the emperor and his council. If a spectre has responded this quickly, we're in way over our heads."

They turn as the door to the cabin opens and two men enter. The first is a white man in his early forties: his brown hair is flicked stylishly to the side, while a hand wrapped in a dark blue glove, the same colour as his armour, rests comfortably on the hilt of a longsword at his side. The second man is slightly taller than the first, halfway between six and seven feet, and about fifteen years younger. Everything about him is black: his skin, his armour, the gloved hands hanging calmly at his side. Twin swords are strapped to his back.

Sorley's eyes widen in shock and he mutters to himself. "Two spectres?"

The white spectre strides towards Sorley and Salian, while his black colleague scopes out the room and keeps an eye on the door. The older spectre's voice is calm and husky, as if it has been dusted with flour.

"I'm Lord Scipio and this is my colleague, Squad Fearless. What's the situation?"

Squad Fearless says nothing, but his eyes are alert, checking all possible danger points while Scipio talks to the others.

Salian steps forward hesitantly. "I'm the head researcher here. Two days ago, an item was uncovered which we believe to be of alien origin. I study the Drakh—"

"How big is the dig team?" Scipio interrupts.

Salian's voice is cavernous, reluctant. His eyes fill with terror as he looks at the ceiling, pointing through it at something unseen far above as if dark, breathing powers could snatch him at any moment. "They're all still up there...with it."

Lord Scipio nods gently.

Sorley jumps in, eyes filled with the gleam of arson. "We haven't been up there since the incident. It's got nothing to do with us."

A quick glance is enough for Lord Scipio to measure his interlocutor. "Private security?"

"Yes. The name's Sorley—"

Raising a glove, Lord Scipio interrupts. "You two stay here. Squad and I will deal with this. What's the best way to reach the dig site?"

"There's an elevator around the side of this building. That will take you straight to the top."

Lord Scipio smiles curtly. "Thank you." He begins to leave, then turns back with a warning. "And remember, both of you stay here."

The scene outside is tranquil and clotted with snow. The small town of Guggenheim can be seen a little way down the path as Scipio and Squad make their way to the open-sided elevator. Clearly, no one in the town has any idea that something is wrong at the dig site: the archaeological dig is only a peripheral oddity in their everyday lives. They don't know anything about aliens or ancient races or spectres, or any of those sorts of things.

Scipio touches a panel and the magically-powered elevator slowly moves up the mountain.

Squad's eyes flick over to Scipio with affection. "What do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure yet," Scipio answers.

As the elevator rises, birds fly across the horizon like chips of coloured glass, dipping into inky shadows and then exploding into colour on the other side.

Scipio turns to his protégé. "How does it feel to be the first black man to become a spectre?"

"I'm proud...and excited," Squad replies. "I'm glad you're here for my first mission. I never could have done it without you."

In a simple but rare gesture, Scipio rests a hand on Squad's shoulder. "You can't imagine how proud I am."

As their destination approaches, Squad looks up. "What are we dealing with here?"

A great, wakening light appears in Scipio's eyes. "I don't know." Scipio's face is full of intimate confessions, but he has already turned away from his colleague. His whole life has been like that. "Last night I heard a voice in my dreams."

"What did it say?"

Scipio turns back to Squad but his face is wiped clean of emotion. "I can't remember, but I awoke with a...a new feeling. A man can't be solid and a mask at the same time."

Puzzled, Squad begins to ask. "What do you mea—"

With a shudder, the elevator arrives at their destination and the question is wiped from the conversation. A stone floor has been worn smooth as old silver by the passage of many feet and both men draw swords as they enter a long, dark passageway.

Lifting his hand, Scipio summons a ball of light to his palm. Squad's twin swords glow with a magical light that guides his way. Spectre training hones a candidate's magical skills to the greatest extent their ability allows. No resources are spared in the training of spectres, because a skilled spectre is the Samarian Empire's first line of defence, diffusing situations before armies or diplomats are required to get involved.

Outside of their light, the darkness is saturated with something subtle and powerful, almost like a whisper that is always just gone.

Their senses are heightened by natural ability and years of training, so they hear the hesitant approaching steps long before a normal person would. Scipio's remarkable longsword is poised to strike, but he holds back when he sees the middle-aged woman shambling out of the darkness. It's difficult to see any details through the gloom and the figure stops just before the light encroaches on her.

"Are you alright?" Scipio ventures.

There's no answer and the spectres share the briefest of glances. There's something eerie about this woman. Before either of them can do anything, she rushes forward with bone-chilling speed but, as she reaches Scipio, he steps aside and dexterously sweeps his longsword through her throat. Her head rolls across the floor and disappears in shadow as her body hits the floor.

Squad offers some helpful commentary. "That escalated quickly..."

"Perhaps she had a difficult childhood." Scipio runs a gloved hand across his blade and the blood runs from both glove and blade like a waterfall: his clothes and weapon are enchanted to prevent becoming encumbered.

"You've got a very bleak sense of humour, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I think she was under some kind of control. Perhaps we should try wounding any more we find," Squad suggests.

Scipio gestures ahead. "Time to test your theory, now."

More figures are appearing from the gloom. "Looks like we've found the dig team," Squad says, approaching the first group.

Squad ducks a clawing hand and slashes through his attacker's leg, in a move meant to incapacitate but not kill. He moves onto the second figure but before that can be reached, his senses warn him of an attack from behind; he leaps to the side and flicks his sword out, cutting off the hand of the first attacker, who rises remarkably quickly for a man who's just had the tendons in his leg severed.

Scipio readies his blade. "They're impervious to pain." He cuts through one attacker from balls to brain.

Squad dodges half a dozen grasping hands. "Yeah, I kind of figured that out for myself. These people are innocent. Perhaps we can knock them out, deal with whatever the problem is and give them time to recover."

"What's that based on, the science of wishful thinking?" Scipio dances through half a dozen opponents, cutting some in half and decapitating others. "They're obstacles in our way." He lifts a hand and a dozen enemies are ripped apart. Some are left as bloodied shinbones standing independently in their shoes, upper bodies blasted away.

Squad smashes the hilt of his blade into the face of one of the husk humans and it drops as if unconscious, but immediately rises again and attacks him along with several others. He looks over at Scipio, who has frozen entirely, staring into the darkness. "Scipio!" Squad calls, as more creatures surround him.

Then Scipio moves off into the darkness, away from Squad. None of the attackers follow. Scipio has never abandoned him like this before and, despite being given up for spectre training when he was just a child and the difficulty in truly trusting others which this caused, Squad is surprised to see Scipio walk away – and now he's hurt by the fact another human being has the power to surprise him. His eyes look both intense and abandoned, then he shuts away the moment forever.

Surrounded by several dozen attackers, Squad pivots backwards onto the balls of his feet, encouraging his opponents forward, then athletically stalls his rearward momentum and darts to the side, slashing one opponent across the chest with such force that they spin several times before hitting the floor. The impetus of two others drives them head first into Squad's waiting blades. Ripping his swords free, he steps back and shoots jets of flame from both hands.

More husks charge and Squad slices through them with sublime grace, his dancing swords a craze of radiance adrift in darkness. When they stop dancing the only thing moving in the corridor is Squad, who runs to where he last saw Scipio and follows the path. He wants to know why Lord Scipio just left him. A fierce, brutal resolve drives his legs as Squad powers along the corridors, some of which bifurcate into little tributaries, but he always feels as if he knows where he's going, as if he's following that strange whispering he felt earlier.

Squad stops abruptly when the corridor widens into a large, circular cavern. A pit in the centre of the room indicates a dig site and at the lowest part of this area is a little space where the diggers clearly found something. Whatever it is, it's gone now and Squad looks over to the far side of the room, where a flash the same colour of Lord Scipio's armour vanishes into another small corridor.

Squad takes off in pursuit, his mind filled with the strange whispering. There's no indication that it's an actual language, and he certainly doesn't recognise it, but there's an eery sense of intelligence to the sounds and, more frighteningly, there are times when Squad seems to understand what it's saying and agree with it but, upon focussing, he can't remember what the agreement was about.

The pace is fast but Squad's breathing is steady and controlled as he makes his way through the dark, twisting corridors. He emerges from one of the small tributaries into the main corridor close to the initial elevator and charges back to it, thinking that that's where Scipio is going and determined to catch him before he leaves.

Despite thinking of him almost as a father, Squad knows Scipio is a ruthless operator who will do anything to protect his country. He's seen Scipio sacrifice his own safety for the greater good hundreds of times, watched as the older spectre achieved things that seemed impossible and became a legend in their clandestine world, but he has no idea what's going on now. Perhaps Scipio is trying to protect him. Maybe Squad's initial instinct to try and disable their attackers rather than prioritising the greater good and just killing them, has caused Scipio to try and limit Squad's exposure to whatever's going on.

In the distance, Squad spots Scipio in the elevator and charges towards him yelling. "Scipio!"

Scipio is holding something in the crook of his left arm and his sword is in his right, but the elevator drops out of view before Squad gets a good look. Running down the corridor, Squad spots something in the shadows and vaults over a tackle from an attacker. He spins and cuts down two husks, backpedalling from the others while slashing at arms and legs, leaving a trail of limbs.

More creatures chase him down the corridor as Squad summons the elevator, fighting as he waits for it to return. He kicks one enemy into two of its fellows, freezes it in mid-air and explodes the iced creature, wounding several others. Squad's blades flash in the sunlight like signal flags as he cuts down more opponents, but the light is dimming to evening as the elevator arrives.

Squad leaps in and blasts the encroaching creatures away as the elevator descends. While it's going down, he looks up as if expecting the things to follow him, but nothing does. He focusses his attention downward and to the town of Guggenheim, where sounds of a commotion can be heard.

The first fires of evening can be seen – no, those fires are too powerful to be residential. As the elevator nears the ground, Squad leaps out and hits the ground running. Screams pierce his ears as he enters the streets of Guggenheim, where children had earlier followed the spectres in a parade of innocent colours, admiring their swords and dreaming of their own futures.

The snow-bound streets are clotted with tracks and bodies; trails of blood are spattered across the snow, linking like spider webs, and half the town is alight.

This couldn't be Scipio. It just couldn't be. His soul is diamond-hard but there's no reason for this. There have always been reasons in the past. Whoever killed these people hasn't discriminated between adult and child. No one is being spared.

The sound of people being cut down draws Squad onward and he charges towards the source. As Squad runs one way several civilians flee towards him, but before they can connect the people are cut down by a brutal spell and, using his expertise, Squad quickly identifies the source.

Scipio stands on the far side of a huge wall of flame, still clutching something to his side and his longsword in the other hand. A guard thrusts a spear at Scipio's head but the spectre rotates out of the way and, spinning, eviscerates the man, smashes the spear into the ground, runs along it before it can settle and flips over another guard's head, decapitating him in mid-air. He effortlessly bats another guard's sword out of his hands and plunges his longsword through the man's chest, plucking him into the air with one hand. With a casual flick, he launches the dead man into the flames.

Tensing, ready to charge, Squad launches himself at his old teacher then stops. There's only eighty metres and a wall of flame between them, but a pitiful little cough draws Squad's gaze. A boy of six or seven has survived the spell and Squad rushes to his side, lifting the boy into his arms and trying a healing spell by putting a glowing palm to the child's chest. This eases the boy's breathing somewhat.

Squad looks up at Scipio, the older man's eyes raking with a fixity of expression: there's something calm and wild in his gaze, as if he's two people, two things clapped dense in a single moment. Then he turns away and is gone.

The boy's eyes grasp up at Squad's face and darken with kindness. He tries to smile but can't. The eyes close. Attentive, Squad continues his healing but knows that it's hopeless. The boy's eyes, lifting their tents one last time, finally empty of life.

Everyone else in the town is dead and the fires are burning beyond repair. Squad stands and walks through the snow, as the fumes rise like condemned angels.

***

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