In the deserts of New Mexico, sandstorms swept across jagged rocks, raising fine dust.
Xiao stood silently on a protruding rock face, his golden eyes—visible beneath the Yaksha mask—coldly watching the four uninvited guests from Asgard before him.
Sif raised her hand to signal her companions to halt. She sheathed her longsword and took a step forward.
Golden sunlight glinted off her silver armor, casting a soft halo.
"This warrior of Midgard," she began, her voice clear and restrained, "we have no intention of offending anyone. We are simply searching for an important companion in this unfamiliar land—Thor Odinson, the prince of Asgard."
Xiao remained utterly still, only the hem of his robes swaying gently in the hot wind.
His gaze swept over the four warriors, then lingered for a moment on the double-edged battle-axe that Volstagg gripped tightly.
Sif noticed his attention and immediately explained:
"My companions are merely remaining vigilant. The Nine Realms are in turmoil. Loki has deceived Queen Frigga and usurped the throne. We must find Prince Thor, return him to Asgard, and reclaim the throne."
"If you know his whereabouts," she added, "please tell us. If you do not wish to speak directly, then at least do not obstruct us."
A brief silence fell over the desert—broken only by the wind whistling through sand and stone.
Xiao finally spoke, his voice as cold and clear as a frozen pool:
"I happened to notice that person's whereabouts."
Upon hearing this, Volstagg couldn't help but step forward, his beard trembling with excitement as he nodded frantically.
"You know where he is?!"
Xiao turned his head slightly, glancing at him sideways, and asked:
"I do. But is a god rejected by his own weapon truly worth pursuing so fervently?"
Sif frowned, a hint of displeasure in her voice.
"Your words suggest a misunderstanding of Thor. Though he may be reckless at times, he is righteous—and the rightful heir to Asgard."
With a light leap, Xiao floated down from the rock face, landing without stirring a speck of dust.
He crossed his arms, his golden eyes gleaming coldly in the sunlight—not moonlight—and said in a detached tone:
"Justice without the guidance of wisdom is nothing but unbridled violence—especially when those who claim righteousness wield absolute power."
Fandral interjected, displeased:
"That's still better than Loki—that liar and schemer!"
Xiao's gaze shifted to Fandral. His tone remained calm, yet carried undeniable authority.
"A brute who knows only violence is far more dangerous on the throne than a schemer who weighs consequences."
He paused, then added:
"As long as you do no harm to this land, you may proceed as you please."
Raising his hand, he pointed eastward.
"The one you seek is at the astronomical observatory three miles away."
Sif bowed deeply.
"Thank you for your guidance. However…" She straightened, her eyes blazing with determination. "Thor may not be perfect yet—but we all believe he will grow. He will change. He will protect Asgard… and become a great king."
Xiao was silent for a long moment, the wind ruffling his dark green hair.
At last, his voice softened—so quiet it nearly vanished in the desert breeze:
"I hope so."
Before the words fully faded, his figure dissolved into a wisp of dark green wind and vanished into the dunes.
Volstagg stared at the empty space, clenching and unclenching his fists, muttering:
"That arrogant Midgardian—"
"That's enough," Sif cut in. Her gaze remained fixed on the direction Xiao had disappeared. "He gave us what we needed. Now, we move."
---
Meanwhile, in the living room of the astronomical observatory…
Erik Selvig slumped on the sofa, wearing an expression that hovered between "unwilling to live" and "afraid to die," idly spinning the TV remote in his hand.
Daisy Louise sat cross-legged on the carpet, crunching loudly through a bowl of cereal.
Amidst this tense quiet, the cheerful laughter of Thor and Jane Foster drifting from the kitchen sounded jarringly out of place.
Selvig gritted his teeth and cranked up the TV volume.
On screen, a middle-aged priest in a black robe smiled at the camera, stained-glass windows glittering behind him in the sunlight.
The priest clasped his hands and declared solemnly:
"I believe sexual pleasure is one of the most beautiful gifts God has given to mankind. As the Song of Songs says: 'My beloved, how fair and lovely you are—'"
"Ahem—cough cough!"
The reporter beside him lunged forward, hastily interrupting:
"Father, please! Today's topic is whether churches should continue employing underage boys as altar attendants! This isn't the time for personal reflections—"
Selvig slammed the remote onto the coffee table, snatched it back, and frantically mashed the channel button.
"What kind of garbage is this news these days?!"
The new channel featured a scientist in a white lab coat pointing at a chart.
"Important warning: Canine brucellosis is a highly contagious bacterial disease caused by Brucella canis. It primarily affects dogs' reproductive systems—causing miscarriages, infertility, and orchitis—and is zoonotic, meaning it can spread to humans."
"Incubation can last up to six months," the expert continued. "Symptoms include fever, excessive sweating, joint pain…"
The scene cut to a street interview. A reporter thrust a microphone toward an Indian man in a turban.
"Are you concerned about canine brucellosis?"
The man blinked, puzzled—then suddenly brightened.
"Oh, that's fine! I'll just wear a condom."
"Cough cough cough!"
Selvig choked, fumbled for the power button, and switched off the TV, looking as though he'd narrowly escaped a psychological collapse.
This greatly displeased Daisy, who had been thoroughly enjoying both her oatmeal and the absurd broadcast. She shot him a glare and huffed:
"Erik, why'd you turn it off?! I was finally watching something interesting!"
Selvig opened his mouth to scold her questionable taste—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A sharp rapping came from the viewing window.
Both turned—and froze.
Pressed against the dusty glass were four bruised and swollen faces: a woman and three men.
Daisy dropped her spoon with a clatter.
"E-Erik… are those… drug addicts who got high and wandered up here? Should we… call the police?"
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