1 The Warrior, the rat, and the engineer

Ravalor was alone.

In the vast construction hall spanning over half a kilometre in length, with its rows upon rows of machining tables, the massive beams holding the hall itself and the ship in its metal harness basking in bright, cold light, the Warrior’s lonely presence seemed more a distraction of peace than a show of progress.

Hunched over he stood before one of the workcounters he had claimed as his. Over the span of several metres his tools and materials were mixed with half a dozen works in progress. He tried to keep it tidy. He was usually good at that. But not every part of him was. And now he seemed to try to compensate for that in the worst way possible.

The heavy scent of heated silicon and nano soldering lay in the cold air while the fabrication benches kept hissing and building the queued parts and materials. More than one of the required raw elements showed up dangerously low in the repository. They’d soon have to disassemble a lot more of Obermoor to keep the system running.

The retractable roof, forming part of the airfield above, had been open for most of the day, allowing for some fresh air in the underground structure, but it was now closed again. Now the air stood still, because there wasn’t any proper ventilation by any standard. The assembly hall wasn’t built with that need in mind. Nor was there any proper heating.

Nothing in here was designed to accommodate human needs. And it turned out to be one of the biggest hurdles he hadn’t even considered at first.

There were two linchpins to his plan: the first was Aeven and the Hammer arriving in this reality at some point, the other was the ship to give them at least a fighting chance to get even close to Treva. Unfortunately, as it was, the latter was more likely to kill the prince at this point than facilitate their victory.

The ship was naturally air-tight — able to withstand the total vacuum of space as well as the absolute pressure of the deep sea without bursting a leak. It also meant, however, that there was only a finite amount of breathable air inside once it was shut tight. Which wasn’t usually a problem as neither wizards nor their soldiers had any use or need for oxygen, and they merely kept an atmosphere around for the luxury of speaking actual words to each other and even that they could do without.

However, his plan was to fill that ship with the cyborg soldiers in addition to Aeven — and all of them were still very much human with an impractical need to breathe. To drink. Eat. Digest. Sleep decently too. Even now, with only the soldiers, there were accommodations that needed to be made. They were still only human — and they had needs accordingly. The need for socialisation, for entertainment, for exercise.

A hundred and one problems more than he ever would have had if he just could have proper build soldiers. But, fate had played her hand and these were the cards he had been given. Now it was his turn to make something from it.

It was cosmic luck that Obermoor was here. The resources in storage weren’t plenty and the fabrication tools and machines were old and not maintained for centuries, if not millennia — but they were here. He had resources to work with. He wasn’t facing the impossible — it would just need a lot of work. And time.

He lay down the connection wires and took both the input and output connector of the air-filter. The magic tingled through his fingertips, a low current making the device hum, no clanking, no high pitch snarl, the readings he got back checked out all good, and let out a brief sigh of relief. One step further to not having his entire crew suffocate. A million more to go.

Never before in his life he had dreaded setbacks just as much as right here. Mezchinhar had the comfort of knowing that he had all the time in the world, the universes even, to make what he set out to make.

Now he was faced with an uncertain deadline and too many things he had to do before that.

Even a single thing, like making sure they could breathe, was a rabbit hole with no end to it. The ship was big enough to carry a lot of air, but no way of moving or recycling that air. So first there needed to be an entire system of ventilation installed into the ship which had no such thing originally. That meant, because he couldn’t use portals to connect things, he had to basically tear down everything inside and rebuild it from the skeleton up. But also it meant to build this system and the acording parts from scratch, which meant to actually figuring out how to do that first because he had never done anything like it before — all that with no margin for error. There had to be water tanks installed to be able to create the oxygen needed, and those had to be filled too. Which also needed more construction, pumps to syphoning water from the lake and filters to keep it clean enough. Nothing of that had existed here. Fortunately they could reuse the water filters directly in the ship, to accommodate for the new piping and plumbing, keeping a tightly sealed water circle with minimal loss once the air filters were working as planned. Of course the waste from the filters needed to be handled too —

But at that point he knew he was going too far and he probably wouldn’t need to worry about that. He estimated the way from here to Treva to take at most six hours since he wanted to take the journey as stealthy as possible. How long the inevitable battle would last nobody could tell, but he doubted it would be long enough that clotted air and waste filters would become a problem.

He was lucky, in a way, because he had already gotten more time than he had hoped. Or feared. He was still not clear on that one. In the last two years they had made an impressive amount of progress, especially in the last half year when more and more of the soldiers really started to pull their weight after having been ordered to study their respective fields extensively in theory first and praxis later. Now they finally were really able to help - with his assistance still of course, but given time he was confident they would be the help he badly needed.

He couldn’t do this alone. Not when he feared every day could be the day of Aeven’s arrival — and what waves that would cause.

He put the air filter aside on a small roll table already stacked with more of the same before sitting down on one of the high stools and glanced back over the mess of his work station. One piece less, and still it looked no different. One step forward, no end in sight.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed a small disturbance of heat moving in the cold. He leaned a bit back on the stool, letting his hands rest between his legs as he watched a small rat scurry along the floor, inspecting the construction of the work counter and then climbing up the mesh of metal with elegant ease.

The small animal sniffed along the counter.

What are you doing down here? He mumbled more to himself. The small rat looked at him for only a moment, considering how much of a threat he was, and boldly decided to ignore him and continued its search.

He assumed this one must have found its way down here when the airfield had been opened.

Slowly he raised his hand and laid it on the counter. With confidence caused by a life without any natural predators left to fear, the rat approached his hand. Overall it did look suspiciously healthy and well fed, and Ravalor wondered if the soldiers had been feeding it.

There’s nothing to eat for you down here, he explained quietly as the rat sniffed along his fingers. Its little hands grabbed his palm and he felt the soft and warm fur of its belly against the side of his hand. There was something strangely comforting about the gentle warmth and the curious little hands.

Ever since he had left Mezchinhar for the first time these little critters had been part of his existence. Wizard towers were usually not very attractive for rats and mice because there was no food and more often than not they had no direct entrance. Since there never had been anything usual about Zenozarax his tower had consequently provided both. The former was satisfied by Zenozarax’ indulgences in fancy meals just for the sake of pleasure, the latter was given due to the direct connection to the ancient tunnels.

There never had been what any human would call a rat problem but they had been in the tower from time to time and neither of them had cared much about it. (Minus the one time a rat had allegedly chewed through a set of cables causing critical failure in the familiar projection matrix of the tower which Ravalor to this day didn’t believe to have been actually caused by a rat. During the entire week they had been searching for the failure Ravalor had been under strict order to throw out any rat he encountered. All the while the matrix had lit up the entire tower like an overenthusiastic dance club.)

Later when he had lived in the tunnels he had found out that these dark and ancient structures were more alive than he’d have ever thought. For a long time rats had been his only constant companion down there. He had shared his cave with them and they had kept him company, even though it had cost him a few books and scrolls over the years.

Carefully he moved his thumb and gave the small rat a little rub behind the ear and it raised its head against his touch. Before he knew it he felt a light smile in the corners of his lips.

The way the rat relaxed into being petted just confirmed to him that this probably wasn’t the first time this happened to it. He wondered if he should be saying something about it to the soldiers. Maybe remind them to not feed stray animals when they had barely enough to feed themselves. Or not to get too touchy with them to prevent any possible infections.

He kept brushing his thumb over the little head of the almost dozing rat and sighed in spirit. As it turned out, even he as a wizard wasn’t immune to the simple and innocent joy of petting a small animal. So maybe he shouldn’t try to take that away from the soldiers either.

Then, moving his hand so quickly the rat had no chance to react he grabbed the rat. Startled and distressed it struggled against his grip, sinking its teeth into his finger to punish this horrible betrayal, but Ravalor ignored that as he raised his other hand and with a small glow—

Not more than a small sizzle of light sparked before his hand.

And he actually chuckled, amused over himself as he shook his head. Of course portals still didn’t work. One would think he would have written that to memory after two years — but old habits indeed die hard.

Not wanting to cause the little critter much more distress he stood up and made his way out of the hall and up the stairs. By the time they reached the outside the rat had actually calmed down in his hand — but of course, the moment he sat it down on the floor it ran as fast as its little legs allowed it too.

For a moment he inspected the bite on his finger. It was relatively deep, but not the worst he ever had. The Hermit had earned himself his fair share of rat bites down in the tunnels when reaching into this or that dark space for this or that scroll and scaring a dozing rat in the process. It would heal soon enough.

He withstood the temptation of looking up into the dark sky again and turned around, returning to the assembly hall. His every step felt heavier than the one before. By the time he sat back down at his work counter the small distraction of the rat was almost completely forgotten again as he looked back at the pile of work before him.

Mindfully he pulled out the hair tie from his hair, briefly brushing his fingers through it before retying it firmly. The Kingmaker did this whenever he took a moment to silently ponder a problem, to centre himself. A little ritual to focus his mind.

His hands dropped onto his legs.

Zenozarax used to do that too.  

Another heavy sigh.

Commander.

He blinked, not surprised or startled, but in that very moment his expression became firm again as he pushed that mess of emotions and feelings back down where it belonged and assumed his role again.

Dion, he greeted his chief engineer. Is there a problem?

No problem, commander, no. Unless you count Nate snoring like those thrusters on 13% preheat. The young soldier grinned as he nodden up to the ship, his tone as chipper as always. I thought I’d find you here. Thought I lend a hand?

Ravalor took a deep breath, looking back over his work queue and felt an undeniable wave of gratitude.

Appreciated.

*

Ravalor looked tired. But as far as Dion could judge, he always did. Which wasn’t very surprising given the fact that the commander seemingly didn’t sleep. Or if he did, he was very sneaky about it. Possible.

That wasn’t what worried him.

It was more that kind of expression he had glimpsed here and there in his face, like just there when he thought himself alone and unobserved. Dion needn’t be a rocket scientist to see that they were faced with a lot of work and they were in over their head. Ravalor did his best to pretend it wasn’t so, and he was very convincing, and Dion wasn’t one to share his estimation with the others because he understood it to be unhealthy for moral. All he could do was to be as helpful as he could be.

He joined Ravalor at his workstation and for a while they worked quietly. It was how Ravalor preferred it. It was contrary to his own chatty nature, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Only here and there he asked a quick question when he wasn’t perfectly sure if he was connecting things correctly, and Ravalor answered always patiently and calmly. It was also how he preferred it — naturally he rather had them ask thirteen times than them making mistakes now they’d all pay for later, so he never seemed exasperated or angered when they asked questions that must be trivial to him.

To Dion’s surprise, it was Ravalor himself who broke the silence after about an hour or two.

How is Teseni?

Dion cleared his throat, slightly taken aback by the unexpected question — but also anticipating a certain unavoidable disapproval.

Well— he said, drawn out, —he’s not blind. Yet.

Good. As expected, Ravalor’s voice was dripping with some form of dry sarcastic judgement when he added, Would have been a shame to have our only dedicated doctor lose his eyesight.

Dion knew Ravalor wasn’t angry — he was disappointed. The wizard had never shouted at them, never shown any frustration with them, or anger. But by North — feeling his silent disappointment directed at them was the worst.

He didn’t mean to cause any trouble, Dion said, trying to soothe that disappointment.

I know. Ravalor glanced at him, and from the look in his face there was no doubt of that. And I understand it. I don’t get it, but I understand it. You’re still human, and you’re still very young. I just wish you’d be more careful.

Dion shared the blame and he would admit it anyday. So he just nodded. That wizard truly had enough troubles on his mind without them making more. The almost infantilizing tone in Ravalor’s voice was irritating, but he understood it came from a good place. A place of trying to understand. Because they were so different.

For a moment Dion just watched Ravalor continue working on another air filter. Then he asked, So… you’ve never been drunk?

Ravalor scoffed. Wizards don’t get drunk.

As in won’t-don’t or can’t-don’t?

Can’t.

Bummer. Teseni’s Moonshine was usually safe and Dion was sure, Ravalor getting properly drunk and relaxing for just one evening would probably help him to just wind down for a moment. But there went that option.

Ravalor glanced back at him, a faint hint of exasperated amusement in the black eyes. Maybe even the faintest idea of a tired smile. It has some advantages. Like not going blind from some basement distilled mushrooms.

Dion chuckled. I hear you.

2 The Fleetmaster and the soldier

The Northforce’s soldier with the designation 15AC — who went by the name Isaac for his friends and fellow soldiers — had kept dutifully silent since the very moment the Northman had ordered him to see to the Fleetmasters’ needs.

Because Fleetmaster Nemoneleus was by all accounts a very imposing and extremely unnerving wizard to be around.

Isaac had been there, of course they all had been, when the Fleetmaster had ported straight into the mess hall after the funeral service and each of them had immediately realised that the wizard they had followed for the last four years was by far not the end of the chain of command they had thought him to be.

The moment the Fleetmaster had arrived, Ravalor’s position relative to him had been clear the moment Nemoneleus had addressed him, his voice cold and merciless. While Ravalor had kept his usual confident and stoic demeanour, even if only present as another part of him, his every answer had made clear that Fleetmaster Nemoneleus was a wizard he had not only the utmost respect for, but maybe even feared to some extent. While the commander was very hard to read at times, Isaac had never seen him as tense as right in that moment.

Isaac didn’t quite understand what the tension had been about, because he hadn’t been able to understand what they had said. Each of them had been woken up with an intrinsic knowledge of several languages, but the one the two wizards had spoken wasn’t one of them. He assumed it to be the same that he had seen written down in those real books and journals in Obermoor’s library.

Concerning the current situation, he hoped there would be a briefing soon, but for now he accepted to stay in the dark. He trusted the commander.

All he knew now was that the commander was currently unavailable. So was Prince Aeven. The other Ravalor (well, that other Part as it were) had been escorted away, and the command of the Northforce assumed by the Fleetmaster himself — temporarily Isaac assumed and hoped. It felt wrong. This was their ship afterall.

He stood outside the cabin the Fleetmaster had claimed for now. It was the middle of the night. His very first night spent on the ship around which his whole life had revolved up to this point. The Northforce creaked in the silence, and Isaac was worried she might have taken more damage in the insane manoeuvres during her maiden battle than the first reports had shown. He knew there was currently quite the commotion in engineering to fix all the things that were broken, and he felt guilty for not being there to help — but he had a task.

Ravalor hadn’t seemed worried about the state of the ship (to be fair he had seemed worried about quite a few other things), neither seemed the Fleetmaster who surely must have noticed the sounds already as well (if he would even care about this one ship, of course). At least the Northman was here (Isaac still tried to wrap his head around that), so he was sure everything would turn out alright.

He yawned, his mind was boggled by the boredom that gave way for heavy thoughts. He tried his best to not think about the battle. To not think about how he, only by a hair, hadn’t been assigned to the first strike team — which was now entirely wiped out. Or think about how he had understood perfectly well why he had been swapped out for Deke, who was arguably a better shot than him, and yet it had hurt his pride. Missing his chance to fight side by side with the commander.

Now Deke and the rest of the first strike team were gone. Too many of whom he had called brothers and friends had died just hours ago.

They all had known it would come to that, they all had accepted that after that day, they may never see each other again. There hadn’t been a time for goodbyes, not a last big get together before the battle — it had been expected, but when it finally arrived, it came too suddenly for that. Neither of them had been eager to say goodbye too early, and now they had missed that chance.

His heart ached and he felt a treacherous tickle in his eyes, the same that had overtaken him earlier at the makeshift funeral service. He remembered the Northman’s words and found comfort in them. He would remember those that had fallen, keep them in his memories. They had fought well, and they had won.

Sheepishly he pushed his helmet up, the light mechanism hissing softly as the front plate settled on top of his head.

He blinked hard against the usual slight disorientation as his vision, while still artificially enhanced, was restricted by the limitation of being still human after all. The helmet’s visual sensors expanded his vision exponentially feeding straight into his visual cortex. With it he saw better and more than he could ever normally. And they all had gotten so used to it, that without it felt like walking around with blurred vision.

He rubbed his eyes. Drying the faint hint of tears away. Then he scratched his itching jaw. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the dark stubble in his face became really bothersome already.

With a low sigh, he looked down the deserted corridor. He wished anyone would come by. Not only to alleviate the boredom but also just… to be with someone. Not being left alone with his thoughts now. Usually, when he felt like talking he would join the engineers for a while. Dion had a way to disperse gloomy thoughts, and he longed for the lighthearted company of the engineers right now. His own more close colleagues would be fine too, but with Walker around, the security team was by far not as easy going as the engineers. Especially now that they had lost so many of them… But he figured even the engineers would be nothing but tense and stressed out to hell and back right in this moment. He was probably the only one even having time for gloomy thoughts.

Despite the slight visual discomfort, he kept his helmet up for a moment longer, longing for a sense of refreshment from the faint airflow he felt now on his skin. There was something lowly clattering in the vents every now and then — in all likelihood a screw someone had forgotten there during construction. Not surprising as the entire air ventilation and recycling system had been built from the ground up — the original ship’s layout didn’t include any of that. He noted the maybe-screw down to bring up to the engineers asap. For now, it was just an annoyance if anything, but in a worst-case scenario, should the force-dampener fail and there be a hard gravity shift — that thing could turn into a dangerous projectile. Given the current state of the ship it wasn’t even that unlikely.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the filtered air. It still left an unfamiliar taste on his tongue. Then he looked back down at the wrist-tab, gave it a light tap and it glaringly displayed the time, just to inform him that he still had several hours left on his shift. If he even was still considered on shift work? Was there someone else designated to take over assisting Nemoneleus? His fingers hovered over the display, ready to ask Nathaniel for more information, but he stopped himself and reconsidered. It really was the middle of the night and the executive officer probably got some badly needed sleep himself right now. And if not, he was undoubtedly busy with whatever else needed to be done down in engineering.

Everyone still awake now had been so for almost two days, and while they were allegedly quite a bit more efficient in staying awake than regular humans, the battle and grief of the last day had taken its toll on Isaac too.

Nevertheless, Isaac straightened up, pushed his helmet back down and continued his assignment. If it wouldn’t be a wizard he was watching right now, he might have called it pointless. But he had learned from Ravalor well enough that wizards didn’t seem to adhere to a very regular sleeping schedule to begin with.

Another few quiet minutes. The Northforce’s engine hummed idly in a steady and faint pulse, the low aching in the ship’s structure, the slow whistle of the air recyclers, the little rattling in the ventilation shaft.

Isaac tapped his wrist-tab again, almost sneakily glancing around as if anyone would know, and a low synthetic tune started playing over the internal speakers of his helmet.

One of Teseni’s little side projects. Their doctor, Teseni, was an engineer by all accounts, but a medic in their case as well (to be fair, there was a big overlap given their enhanced bodies). Just that Teseni’s main fields of study he had been assigned to had been in short demand during the last years besides a few unfortunate work accidents. It had given him some time to work on things not strictly necessary for the success of the mission — and Isaac had always wondered how he had gotten away with it. Now though, feeling a strange clarity of hindsight, he wondered if Ravalor had realised that all of Teseni’s little side projects had offered some form of entertainment for the rest of them. A way to relax and wind down. Be it his infamous moonshine, the various card games he had thought up, or the music.

Because there had been no music in the wizards’ database in Obermoor, and he had never had the chance to hear any of what would have been played in the taverns on the earth they had left behind — if there still had been any left where music would have been played. The few songs Teseni had composed himself with the systems Obermoor offered him were all the music he had ever known. He knew the songs by heart, and there was something comforting about them, something deeply melancholic too.

“Soldier!”

The sudden, harsh voice took him by utter surprise and he felt like his heart had just jumped out of his chest as he twitched around, a deep fluster on his face that fortunately nobody could see and would give his guilty feeling away, but by the time he had fully turned towards the previously closed door, it just stood open, with nobody standing in it.

Trying to calm his hard beating heart with a deep breath he took a careful step forward. Obviously, he was ordered inside. Quickly he turned down the music again and cleared his throat.

“Fleetmaster?” He stepped inside the cabin, standing straight and propper. The door closed behind him.

The cabin, which originally was supposed to be the commander’s, was only sparsely furnished. Besides the built-in bunk, there was a desk and a chair they had borrowed from Obermoor and that was all. The heavy red cloak and the golden pauldrons of the Fleetmaster lay on the bed. The wizard in question however sat with his back to the door at the table, a low glow from a hologram before him shrouding his back in a hard shadow. His hat lay next to him on the table.

Isaac fixed his eyes on the back of the Fleetmaster’s head, the half-long blond hair brushed back properly and neatly just like Walker wore it usually. He felt a distinct nervousness tingling in the back of his mind growing with every second the Fleetmaster kept quiet.

Then finally he spoke. His voice had been harsh and cold when he had heard him talk in that foreign language to Ravalor, now, speaking words Isaac could understand, his words carried a distinct accent. An almost soft rolling of his Rs and yet with the same hard vowles he had heard before.

Soldier, what is your purpose?

Isaac frowned slightly, hesitating only a brief moment. I’m to assist you in every way you might require, he finally said.

Beyond that. Your ship’s purpose, your mission now?

I- I don’t know, Sir. We had no briefing yet, he carefully said, confused as to why the Fleetmaster would ask him of all people after they surely must have gotten all the information from Ravalor already. After all, it had seemed like they had more or less taken him into custody.

The Fleetmaster stood up and it was the first time Isaac was slightly taken aback as the wizard now met his eyes.

He knew it was impossible, wizards didn’t get drunk, Ravalor had made that clear the first fifteen times they had invited him to drink with them (after he had inevitably found out about Teseni’s little moonshine production and disgruntledly had allowed it to continue. Not without noting that they shouldn’t waste resources though), but the initial gut impression he had now was that the Fleetmaster seemed drunk. At least tipsy.

There was no flush in his face, but his movement seemed just a bit sluggish, his eyes just not as sharp as they should be, not as they had been a few hours ago. But his voice was steady.

You’re human.

Yes, Sir, Isaac said faithfully even though Nemoneleus’ words hadn’t sounded like a question. It was factually true, even though he still wasn’t quite sure what that even meant for him. Being human — but mostly a cyborg. He had fought a battle to save humans (though he understood that it had been merely a side effect of defeating Zenozarax), but he had never been a part of them. Or felt like he would belong in their world. The only people he knew were the clone cyborgs that were just like him in every way, and the commander. He hadn’t even personally spoken to the Prince of Treva before the battle.

The Fleetmaster now stood directly before him, towering over him, and Isaac was unsettled by the fact that he could clearly see a sense of contempt in the black eyes. It was an utterly novel realisation — because up until now  nobody had ever looked at him like this. This wizard clearly disliked him, and he didn’t even know what he had done to deserve that. Besides being somewhat human.

You shouldn’t even be on this ship, Nemoneleus almost growled, his eyes dark under a heavy frown casting a harsh shadow on his face.

Sir?

The most prehistoric part of his very much human brain tingled with a clear fight or flight response to the wizard that had come very close now. Unusually close for a wizard. But he kept standing stoically stiff before him, not much unlike he had seen Ravalor do just hours earlier.

Something about the Fleetmaster struck him as odd and clearly different than before — but what context did he have for that? The only wizard he had ever known and interacted with was Ravalor, and if the Subcommander was a faithful representation of how wizards usually behaved only time and experience would tell.

Nemoneleus gave a disgruntled murmur and, without Isaac having done anything to deserve it, shoved him backwards with a not too soft push against his left shoulder. Isaac stumbled backwards but caught his footing before he’d have hit the door behind him or the floor — but by then the Fleetmaster had already turned away from him, walking back to the chair as if he already lost interest in him.

Isaac knew he couldn’t just leave, but to make matters worse he felt a distinct irritation burning in his stomach. “Sir! If you require my assistance, please tell me. Otherwise I’d request to be allowed to return to my post.”

Nemoloneleus stood with his back to him at the table, a short and utterly humourless, downright grim chuckle came from him.

“That disrespectful tone. Your commander taught you to speak to a superior like that?”

And suddenly it dawned on Isaac; the Fleetmaster had no problem with him — but with Ravalor. That made more sense. “No, sir. But he told us to speak our mind truthfully.”

“Hm,” Nemoneleus grunted scoffingly, not pleased with the answer as it seemed. Isaac saw a light glow in the Fleetsmaster’s hand, something he held between his fingers before putting it back down on the table.

Then he turned around, and once more he seemed wavering in his steps. You know how a proper soldier behaves? A proper soldier doesn’t speak his mind; he doesn’t speak up; he follows orders, he does so without asking why. You’re no Soldier — none of you is. You’re just a pointless little experiment that never should have left the planet. Nemoneleus came closer again and this time Isaac backed off a step before he could stop himself. You’re pathetic. And you’ve defiled this ship in an attempt to accommodate your human needs. A hard grip on his shoulder, his back hitting the wall This ship is not meant to be walked by mortals. Our magic is not yours to behold.

Isaac now stood with his back against the wall, Nemoneleus was right in his face. There was irritation in the wizard’s face, but it was calm and cold — and it was more terrifying than if he’d have shouted at him in rage.

The young soldier swallowed hard, mustering all of his courage. I’m sorry, sir, but it had to be done. There was no other way.

He merely repeated what he had heard Ravalor say more often than he could count, and he didn’t know why, but suddenly the expression in the Fleetmasters face softened. Only a little, but for a moment, there was a sense of empathy in his eyes. The grip on Isaac’s shoulder became less painful.

I guess it must have been so, Nemoneleus said, a deep growl in the back of his throat that was more used to clear and loud orders than to speak quietly. And his voice just got deeper as he continued.

“He killed you. All of you. The moment he let you board this ship. Are you aware of that, soldier?”

Isaac couldn’t answer, didn’t know what he could say to that, nor what Nemoneleus was even talking about. The Fleetsmaster’s strong hand reached from his shoulder up his neck, his fingers closing hard around his throat.

“You don’t? Do you think they will let you keep this ship? That you will keep on serving on her? Or does your vat-grown mind long for another life? A human life?” Nemoneleus asked, every word like an ice-cold dagger piercing right into the soldier’s soul. “It doesn’t matter. Because neither will happen. They won’t let you walk away. They won’t let you stay. Maybe for a while, till Ravalor’s plan succeeds or fails, but it doesn’t really matter.”

The grip around his throat tightened, his thoughts were swirling. On a fundamental level he understood what Nemoneleus was saying but he didn’t want to believe it, nor did he really want to understand what it meant. By now the Fleetmaster’s words dragged almost into being slurred, and he blinked hard as if he wasn’t seeing clearly. Isaac barely had time to notice or think about that as an undeniable fear for his life became stronger with the pain of the grip around his throat.  

“If the prince lives, they will allow him to continue. They wouldn’t want to spend another eternity to find a human able to carry the hammer. Maybe Ravalor will continue too. But not you.” At his last word, the Fleetmasters eyes seemed to meet his again, and for a moment Isaac forgot that he was still wearing his helmet, and yet — he felt the dark glare pierce straight into his eyes.

“The commander won’t let that happen,” Isaac croaked against the hard grip, believing with his whole heart that Ravalor never would allow them to be — what? Just killed off? — more so than he believed Nemoneleus to be telling a lie.

“It’s not his choice! Nemoneleus’ other hand slammed against the wall besides his head and Isaac flinched, pressing his eyes shut for a moment, fearing an even more violent reaction. And he will follow his orders. Because he’s just a warrior. He’s pretending to be something he is not, just as you are. As this whole ship is,” Nemoneleus sneered. For a moment the grip around his throat became so hard he could no longer breath, he felt his heart hammering in his chest, his hands shooting up, grabbing the Fleetmasters hand, but he knew it was pointless, felt it in the sheer strength, even with both his hands he couldn’t pry even one finger away from himself.

Then he was pulled forward, his throat free, gasping for air, before he was grabbed at his collar and stumbled, almost falling, as he was dragged through the room, coughing, still catching his breath again. Fleetmaster! He managed to force in between his coughs but it was cut short as he was slammed onto the table, his head held down hard by his helmet.

Isaac took a deep breath, his survival instinct, for now, stronger than the panic in the back of his brain. He could not fight back. Fleetmaster Nemoneleus? he said again, as calmly as he could, just trying to even get the wizard to respond.

But the hand pressing him down stayed right where it was, as immovable as a locked down machine. He heard the hard breath of the Fleetmaster, through the expanded vision he partly saw him behind him. Then Nemoneleus’ other hand appeared in his direct view again, and his eyes twitched to the small device on the table he had glimpsed earlier in the Fleetmaster’s hand.

Barely larger than a thumbnail, made from the same bright alloy as most wizard’s tools, it lit up the moment Nemoneleus’ slightly trembling fingers touched it. The magical markings on them lighting up to his wrist.

For a moment the Fleetmaster seemed to calm down again. Isaac heard a deep breath, the pressure with which he was held down easing just a little.

And while he may wasn’t an expert on anything wizard related, he sure put two and two together right that moment. The Fleetmaster was intoxicated! Or at least, whatever the wizard equivalent was — because that thing did something to him.

Fleetmaster? He tried again, his hand twitching slightly with the idea of at least trying to break free — but he knew it would be a futile attempt. If Ravalor was anything to judge by, the wizard was not only stronger, but had better reflexes and the added bonus of terrifying magic at his fingertips that still held down his helmet. Isaac may was a cyborg, improved and enhanced and stronger than any human, but he was no match for a wizard. So instead he carefully asked, Why have you been telling me all this?

The small device fell back on the table as Nemoneleus let go of it again and it turned dark. His other hand pressed onto the table now.

Because you should know. The slur in his voice had become stronger, yet carrying sober nihilism. You should know that you’re nothing. Your life has no value. No life has. His voice trailed off for a moment, then, It doesn’t matter. My orders have ignited galaxies, collapsed systems, evaporated planets and annihilated fleets. I’ve seen empires spanning galaxies fall because we willed it so, the mighty regents the likes of Vsa Schau, Kobal and Tz’tlak that crawled on their knees in the end as their stars turned dark. Geldan turned into stardust… the nebulas of M-23 forever gone… they were beautiful once. They all were… And yet here they are, again, and again, just to disappear eventually as well.”

A cold horror went down Isaac’s spine as he glimpsed for the first time at the true nature of wizards, the unimaginable power they held over the multiverse — and the utter lack of empathy.

Though maybe — Isaac swallowed hard, trying to move just a bit as the forced position made his neck hurt, but to no avail — maybe that wasn’t quite true. Because then why did he speak of it, think of it to this extent, if it truly didn’t matter.

Suddenly the hard grasp around his helmet vanished and he heard the low scratch of metal on metal that echoed in the sparsely furnished cabin.

Hesitant Isaac tested his unexpectedly regained freedom and he slowly pushed himself up. His neck cracked slightly as he was finally able to move again, freed from the uncomfortable position.

Nemoneleus had sat back down on the chair, almost slumped down, watching him now calmly, almost sombre.

The faint idea of running to the door came to mind but what really would that achieve? If Nemoneleus didn’t want him to leave, he wouldn’t let him get away one way or another. But that only raised the question of what it was he actually wanted from him now. For a moment there Isaac had feared the wizard would just kill him — and he doubted he would have mattered to the wizard or would have had any repercussions for him.

But after what seemed to have been the worst of the spell the Fleetmaster was under had passed, and Isaac was still alive, he doubted it was his life he was after, even in anger.

There was silence, the Fleetmaster just watched him, seemingly in thoughts. Then finally, when Isaac almost squirmed under the discomfort of not having a clue of what he should say, Nemoneleus said, You didn’t deserve that…

The Fleetmaster didn’t tell him he was sorry and Isaac very much doubted he was, but at least it took the sharp edge of the situation. Not so much of the swirling mess in his thought the Fleetmaster’s words have caused.

“Are they really going to… just kill us?” Isaac finally asked very carefully, barely able to grasp the sense of impending doom his own words conveyed. For the first time in his life he felt truly terrified and slowly it settled in every fibre of his being. There was a heavy and cold lump that seemed to push up into his still hurting throat that made his breath shallow.

Nemoneleus’ expression didn’t change. It stayed sober, dark, and thoughtful. “Maybe,” he said, his words again more of a slurred murmur, “But if they will it so, and you’ll resist and flee, because of course you will — It will be me they send.” Another brief pause, his gaze never wavering “I will hunt you down. And I’ll kill you.”

“Why?” was in the end all Isaac could ask while he felt that ice-cold shudder creeping down his spine. He swallowed hard but the tightness in his throat wouldn’t go away. The idea that his own death, the death of the whole crew, all the people he knew and loved was all but already decided upon felt so ridiculous and unbelievable he would almost laugh if he wouldn’t believe Nemoneleus with every fibre of his body to be absolutely serious right now.

The Fleetmaster smirked. It was a humourless smirk, a painful one, not even close to a smile and his eyes stayed cold as he repeated what Isaac himself had said earlier,

“Because it will have to be done.”

What a terrible sensation to be on the other side of that reason. “But that’s not true. We’ve done nothing—”

“And it doesn’t matter,” Nemoneleus cut him off sharply, “Neither you or I will have any say in that matter. Your fate will be decided based upon the decision of another, and my action will be the will of the circle. That’s how it is.”

The Fleetmaster stood up, his legs just giving in briefly and he had to steady himself on the table, but then he stood straight again before Isaac, towering over him.

He froze when the Fleetmaster took his helmet and forced it up. Isaac blinked hard, his vision for a moment disorientated, blurred, before focusing back on the Fleetmaster. And without the layer of technical overlays and enhancements, Nemoneleus standing right before him now seemed unsettlingly more real. And he felt vulnerable more so than at any time before. “Fleetmaster—”

“I’m not going to kill you. Not yet,” the wizard said, raising his arm, and for a surreal moment in which Isaac just couldn’t move by sheer terror, he felt the Fleetmaster palm press against his forehead. “But you shouldn’t live with this knowledge either. Enjoy your little adventure as long as you can.”

And before Isaac could have said anything, a blinding flash went through his vision straight into his brain before everything went dark within a split second.

*

Nemoneleus caught the unconscious body before it could have hit the floor. Holding the soldier with one arm he pushed the helmet back down before picking him up properly.

For a moment he had to steady his stance, he took a deep breath. The curse was wearing off again, and some unfortunate clarity returned to his thoughts.

Quietly he went over to the door, opened it and put the soldier down next to it in the hallway. Then for a moment he just looked down at him.

He was sure the soldier had been introduced to him by designation, but Nemoneleus hadn’t bothered to be able to recall it. He rarely did with living beings he knew he probably would end up killing at some point.

The soldier would be fine. Probably waking up with the worst headache of his young life — but also with his short term memory wiped clean. And that would hopefully be the most of the damage he had just inflicted upon him. What he just had done wasn’t without risk — but better than the alternative.

Not that it mattered….

He would take no pleasure in killing them. Neither would he in having them live in fear until then.

And he had only an influence on one of these things.

The door closed softly again behind him as he entered the room again.

Just a few more lives counted towards a number that was so high humans couldn’t even truly comprehend it.

Not that it mattered….

He sat back down. He felt more clear, more himself again. His fingers hovered over the small device laying all inconspicuous on the table where he had last dropped it.

He shouldn’t even have brought it with him. Compromising himself like this, even with its short duration. Knowing his tendency to let his unfiltered nihilistic thoughts out on a poor, unsuspecting soldier like this in one way or another. Just that this time it hadn’t been just a soldier. It had been a living, breathing being.

Not that it mattered…

But he still felt pathetic for doing so.

Finally, he took the small device, letting its smooth surface push against the tips of his fingers. Just a moment of hesitation again. A moment in which he couldn’t stand his own thoughts, his Wizard was quiet and asleep, the Spare in suspended slumber as always on board the Leviathan. Even the Leviathan was quiet now — as if every part of himself tried to look away — he was alone. And the emptiness in his heart and every atom of his being longed to return to Tempest Atum.

Then the ancient runes lit upon his fingers, his mind embracing the curse stored within the small device. And for a brief moment his mind was at ease as a blissful slowness took over his thoughts.

And he closed his eyes.

And it all truly didn’t matter.

3 The Northman and the ship

Teseni, right? What’s the situation? The Northman’s booming voice filled the dead quiet of the med bay and Teseni — who had been dutifully busy monitoring both Aeven and to a lesser degree the Commander himself — almost fell from his stool.

The Northman didn’t need to see the face beneath the helmet to read the rest of the doctor’s body language as very similar to the rest of the soldiers. An undeniable awestruck awkwardness. He knew that one well — also that it was best to not point it out directly. Play into it, yes, have it cause embarrassment, no. That was counterproductive. He’d need to address the crew and situation soon and until then he had to decide how he wanted to play this. For now however he would ignore the elephant in the room.

The prince is stable. It’s hard to say when he will wake up. Then Teseni glanced over to Ravalor and his shoulders dropped a little. Concerning the Commander, I’m at a loss, he admitted, sounding downright defeated.

He’s going to be fine, the Northman assured the doctor as he stepped between the two beds. Based on his tone of voice nobody would have doubted his words or suspect that he was mildly concerned to even see Ravalor like this.

It was surreal. Not only the juxtaposition of Ravalor to his left, still looking as if he had been dragged through hell and back, his uniform was dirty and torn; the blood, dirt and dust was all over his face and hair too. And to his right, Aeven; looking like freshly peeled and groomed, as if nothing had ever happened to him. Aeven also looked younger, the Northman thought. He couldn’t tell if it was just the lack of sweat, stubbles and dread in his face.

But also, the mere fact of seeing Aeven, laying there in what seemed to be perfect health just after the Northman himself had witnessed him walking straight into that fiery abyss with his own eyes not too long ago.

He had gotten so used to seeing people die — but seeing them literally being resurrected was new.

The wizards were notoriously secret about their magic and the Northman assumed he was maybe the only human that knew as much about them as he did. But he realised that even he had still no idea how far their powers went. Or how far they could bend the nature of things.

Then again, defying death seemed a very consistent motif in what he had experienced this far. He was the living, breathing proof for that.

Ravalor needs to wake up before Aeven does, he announced to the doctor. Can we keep him asleep till then?

An artificial coma? Certainly. Though it might be risky keeping him drugged up for an extended period of time. Teseni straightened up, seemingly encouraged, if not downright excited, by the prospect of actually being able to do something helpful.

Nah. That sounds bad. The Northman looked for the medical summoning circle That one working?

For the most part, yes.

For the most part? The Northman walked over to the summoning circle and started to browse through the set of available items.

We’re short on almost all raw materials. So I can’t make too much without taking away resources from engineering, Teseni said as he watched what the Northman was looking for with blunt curiosity.

Well, let’s assume Ravalor is going to take care of that problem once he wakes up. There we are. The Northman selected one of the items and immediately the summoning circle started to light up. Almost like growing from within itself a crude device took shape, enveloped in an almost liquid looking mass of glowing magic.

What’s that?

The wizards used this on earth, primarily on the cyborgs. It was a fringe project so you wouldn’t stumble about it on your own. The summoning circle finished its task, the glowing magic fell off the device and went dark again as it was reabsorbed into the circle. He picked up what looked like a decorative circlet. It does something to your brain. Human brains I mean — something about harmonising brain waves. They found that many subjects tend to die when being drugged up to high heaven after getting half their insides torn out. So here’s a less intrusive solution. Keeps the patient sleeping for as long as needed so that the pain wouldn’t drive them insane.

Teseni stared at him. That’s grim.

Sure is. Sparing Teseni more grizzly details concerning both of their creations, the Northman had walked over to Aeven and in the most quiet and unceremonious inauguration he put the fine circled on the prince’s head. Momentarily fine bright lines pulsed through the metal and bundled in a bright cristal in its centre.

You’ll have to take it off, or else he won’t wake up on his own again. As in, he’ll literally just die in his sleep if you don’t take care of him.

Understood.

The Northman mustered the freshly crowned prince for a moment longer. Maybe some extended sleep would do him some good. And give everyone else more time to figure out what to do next.

*

When he later left the medbay he avoided the command centre. He suspected Fleetmaster Nemoneleus to be there and he had a gut feeling about that one being trouble. The worst kind of trouble — which was the kind of trouble that couldn’t be solved by a good punch or a bottle of hard spirits.

The Northman had no quarters that were assigned to him and he quickly found out that everyone of the crew was too busy to probably think about that.

Instead of going up to the conning tower and the command centre, he left the centre deck where the medbay and most of the crew quarters were for the engineering deck below — and the previously calm sense of things are over and done shattered in an instant.

The soldiers down here were scurrying around like a kicked beehive. Some running down the corridors, others carrying stacks of things and boxes towering almost two heads over them, and all of them who spotted him barely managed to pay him the respect they thought he deserved.

Soldier, what’s your name? Who’s in charge? He asked one of them who carried a large toolbox into the subdeck below.

Name’s Sahra, Sir. XO is in the CC, but Chief Engineer Dion is giving orders down here, Sir, eh, your holiness— the soldier stammered, his whole body was twitchy as the Northman’s sensed clearly that Sahra wanted to go, not out of disrespect, but because he really needed to do something important.

Just, Northman, please. Where is Dion now?

Down there, right side, main engineering node.

Thank you. Now go.

Thank you sir! Northman, sir. Sahra bowed about three times in a row punctuating his words before he almost stumbled in his rush to get back to his task.

While the soldier hurried away, the Northman made his way down to the main engineering node. As he entered it felt like he’d set foot into a hectic battle command centre on the front lines — not an engineering workshop. Orders and tasks were shouted and spoken into com consoles, holograms flashed in bright red outlines before screens with unreadable amounts of status updates.

Dion, what’s the situation? He asked firmly as he came close to the centre column of screens and panels — banking on the assumption that the one called Dion was actually one of them.

Northman! A low gasp in that one word, Sir, — fuck. Sorry. To the Northman’s surprise, Dion laughed. But he heard the strain and exhaustion. He started to see it in every one of them and the way they stood. Dion straightened up, standing at attention, hands behind his back, then he started anew.

Status: Compartments S12 to S27 on the lower deck are currently vented, air filters are at 12% and are being replaced manually in the most important sections, others are being sealed off and repurposed, we lost 24% of our water reserves, and there seems to be a fault in the recycling routing of the summoning system.

There’s a hole in the ship? The Northman asked unfazed, watching the running line of red highlighted statuses on the main panel. All of that had sounded bad, admittedly, but besides the hectic he didn’t get a sense of imminent panic. So everything was under control.

Yeah. I’m not a fan of it either, Dion said, displaying the same sense of twitchiness as Sahra before him as he was already spending too much time not trying to fix it. But the ship is stable. We had never planned for extended spaceflight though. We need more materials in the repository as soon as possible.

Alright carry one. I’ll see what I can do about that. If anything happens, inform me asap.

Dion nodded and promptly went back to answer inquiries that had stacked up on his console.

*

For the next 24 hours nothing really happened.

The situation in engineering calmed down a bit, finding a working rhythm of what needed to be done to keep the ship flying and all of them breathing, but they had not yet gotten the new resources they needed. He had brought it up to Nemoneleus who had been nothing but utterly dismissive and the Northman knew they’d have to wait for Ravalor to take care of it. Many of the soldiers were finally getting some rest. They needed it.

The Northman still had no quarters. But that was alright.

The crew was tense, no longer only due to the status of the ship, but because of the looming presence of Fleetmaster Nemoneleus.

The wizard hadn’t bothered talking to him or anyone else for that matter, and the Northman had been around enough people (and wizards) to know that that wizard had a problem with him. But the most irritating thing was that Fleetmaster Nemoneleus didn’t see it necessary to tell him why.

There was no sense or even reason to tackle the matter head one and risk escalating a fight with a being he could not win against on his own. So he had accepted the cold shoulder from Nemoneleus and had gotten to know the crew while not disturbing their work too much. In between he kept checking on Ravalor and Aeven. The latter wouldn’t wake up anytime soon unless they wanted him to, but Ravalor’s extended nap was starting to worry him. Especially since he hadn’t heard back from any other part of Ravalor yet. As he inquired about it, Nemoneleus had assured him that it was of no concern to him. The Northman had in turn assured him that it very much was. And then he had just in time remembered to not piss that wizard off and had let it go. He had spent too long answering to no one, had gotten too used to being the most powerful being on the planet — but it turned out there was still a little bit of survival instinct left in him.

For now it was easy to pretend he knew exactly what was going on in front of the crew, but that sharade he’d only be able to keep up for so long.

With Nemoneleus still on board they had the Leviathan still sticking to their ass, accompanied by at least two more ships of the same build as the Northforce herself. And that struck the Northman as extremely odd. How much of a danger and or threat did they believe Ravalor to be to justify three ships escorting them, the flagship of the entire fleet included, while he knew for a fact that their fleet was already stretched painfully thin as it was across the multiverse?

The Northman entered the medbay again, nothing of the view offered had changed. Well, almost nothing.

A soldier named Isaac had been here for a few hours after the morning shift had found him passed out in front of Nemoneleus’ cabin. Teseni had informed him that Isaac was physically fine, and probably had just caved under the exhaustion and stress. It made sense to the Northman. He hadn’t been here whenever Isaac must have woken up and left, but now there were only Aeven and Ravalor again.

Ravalor looked less battered after the Northman and Teseni had, after a drawn out debate, decided that it might be okay to wash at least the dirt, blood and dust from the battle marked wizard. Chances were good Ravalor wouldn’t be very happy about having been touched while he was unconscious but he’d have to suck it up. At least that had been his winning argument which Teseni couldn’t refute.

For a moment he stood at the foot end of Ravalor’s bed, crossing his arms, watching the still unconscious wizard.

From all of Ravalor’s parts — however many there were - he had known the Engineer the best. Reserved and quiet, yet surprisingly judgemental when something drew his ire —  but at the same time he had shown him a sense of kindness that had been in short demand during his time in Obermoor. Then Zenozarax had attacked earth and things had changed. Ravalor had. The Northman had never seen the Engineer again after that, but instead had met the one they called the Hermit.

That one had been very curious — but at the same time extremely weary of anyone else. The Engineer hadn’t been a social butterfly either, but the Hermit had been truly living up to his name. Anytime he had visited him he had always felt like being merely a distraction to what the Hermit was doing.

The Hermit was dead now. And he wondered what had happened to the old Engineer, given this new part had introduced himself with that same title. But he probably wouldn’t learn about that. Ravalor usually didn’t like talking about himself like that. Or at all for that matter.

Now. His eyes lingered on the unconscious face of Ravalor. He looked older than any of the others had. The Warrior he didn’t know beyond the few words they shared on that ledge overseeing the battlefield of Rodenborg . Meeting him with an unfamiliar level of stoic confidence. But he felt like he would come to find out how Ravalor’s character was expressed in this one soon enough as it seemed like they would spend quite some time together.

...the loss of someone so dear to my heart…

The Northman slightly tilted his head as he remembered those words of the new Engineer. Words that seemed unusually outspoken for this particular wizard, but it was still just Ravalor. Just another facet of who he was.

But he wondered. The new Engineer had spoken of Zenozarax then, spoken of a relationship long past. But how long ago? Or maybe better; how recently? It was impossible to tell with wizards.

Maybe that was it. Whatever connection he once had to that blasted chaos wizard could very well be the reason for this unusual show of force around them now. They didn’t trust him. And they made that blatantly obvious. He had never much liked that aspect of wizards.

4 The Commander, the Prince and the Court Wizard

The Warrior woke up, but kept his eyes closed for a while longer.

He lay soft, a little more comfortable than the bunks would be. He heard the low peeping around him and recognized it as clinical. Below that he heard and felt the ship hum. Every ship had its own voice. He had listened to this one for any hiccup and flaw for almost two years - now it was stable, familiar and comforting. Like the Wizard and Stargazer would listen to the hum of the Iumzache in Mezchinhar.

A sharp sting tore through his mind, like pressing a finger onto an open wound that had been hurting before but now flared up with pain. As his mind so naturally reached out to the Stargazer — but he just wasn’t there. Neither was the Hermit.

He remembered what happened more clearly than he could have noticed it in the moment. No longer clouded by exhaustion and stress his memories were now clear and merciless.

First from five parts. Then four. Then three. And then only from two when the Warrior’s own mind had shut down temporarily.

Both the Wizard and Kingmaker were in detention now and would stay like that for a while. And in a way, he supposed, he was too. He was no longer commander of this ship. But that had never been his rightful title to begin with. He’d be allowed to stay. But he’d be as much a Commander as Aeven would be a Captain. Both just make believe.

Aeven.

Finally he opened his eyes and took a deep breath. His deflated lungs filled up again.

He sat up.

Faintly he noticed the smoky scent of his uniform. It was run down and dirty. But the burns and scratches on his skin had already healed.

His eyes fell on the body in the bed next to his.

There was a curious feeling.

The Warrior stood up, standing next to the bed for a moment, looking down at the young Prince of Treva.

And he was younger now. More in his mid to late twenties than early thirties. But that wouldn’t be a problem. This body, this Aeven, had always been an option. A fallback point.

Aeven, his Aeven and the Hammer Izarax, had been too important to not consider emergency options. To keep him alive no matter the cost should for any reason the Hammer fail to do so and no new iteration had yet been born. Fortunately with the multiverse at their fingertips, there was always another suitable Aeven somewhere, even though it required a lot of searching and maybe no less luck.

To be aware of these options had been part of the Hermit’s given purpose. Have them ready to execute should they be needed. And with the Kingmaker and Warrior as his hands he had fulfilled this purpose.

And here he was, he had kept Aeven alive. He would be okay.

Someone had brought the Hammer Izarax in here to seemingly hold vigil over Aeven’s slumber. A wise thing to do, even if he had to assume the real reason was more sentimental. Its light shone softly, confirming that it was alive and well and had accepted that the man in this bed was still its Aeven. It had been done once before by the hands of Treva’s now late Court Wizard Bepazulux (whom one young Aeven had kept calling Pazu, which he sure hated, and who frequently allowed the young prince to get lost in the tunnels because it is somehow part of his journey to meet you), so they had known it could work. But he had never done it himself.

Now what he had to do was wait till Aeven’s mind had acclimated to its new body, guided by the existing one, and then… he’d have to finalise the process. It shouldn’t take too long.

What was now a carefully crafted layer above the consciousness of this body would completely overwrite the host. One Aeven that didn’t matter would die to save the one Aeven that did.

It had always sounded very simple and straightforward on paper. He hadn’t really thought about it further than even getting to this point successfully.

But now he felt a horrible trickling sensation in the back of his mind. And it wasn’t just due to his two missing parts. Yes, both of them, the Hermit and the Stargazer were a lot more … emotional in their decisions, more caring too. But they were still just him. And even the Warrior now, standing before Aeven, remembering the young prince on that terrace willing to throw himself into the dangerous unknown to save the life of a man he had never met before…

He knew he couldn’t do it.

But it would have to be done.

Maybe we really need to stop saying that…

The Wizard mused tiredly, having followed his thoughts quietly and patiently, giving him time to come to terms with all that had happened.

Slowly he stepped around the bed and took a chair, pulling it close to the bed and sat down. Just watching the sleeping prince with his magical circlet. The circlet was a smart choice, and he wondered if Teseni had stumbled over it by chance or if the Northman had made him aware of it. But that didn’t really matter now. It gave him some more time to think, and that was good.

Commander? Are you alright?

The hesitant voice made the Warrior look up from Aeven and he saw Teseni standing in the door to the doctor’s office.

Yes, he said downright automatically. You can inform the others, but I still need a moment here.

Teseni only nodded and again, hesitatingly, went back into the office and closed the door. Ravalor sensed that there probably were a lot of things he needed to know right now and he assumed Fleetmaster Nemoneleus to be still on the ship too, but for now he just needed a moment to sort his thoughts.

He looked back down at Aeven.

Cloning.

There was an option. The Kingmaker was mind bogglingly bored, so he took that chance to ponder over a problem quite willingly, almost desperately clinging onto it.

They are both safe like this, we’d just need time. But it should be possible. But the circle needs to be convinced first. And they won’t like it because it makes things more complicated. Or we come up for a good reason to stall for time. But I can do it. You keep him alive, I take care of the clone, and the Wizard rebuilds the Hermit.

The eagerness to do something was admirable, but the Warrior couldn’t help but take once more note of the fact that both of his other parts were currently in detention. They would be building nothing like that.

He remembered the sense of disgruntled frustration of the Kingmaker. He was bitter and irritated and the boredom did not help. The Wizard kept quiet, almost numb and apathetic, just waiting. Of course he agreed with him about Aeven’s fate, but the Warrior knew he feared that whatever he did now would only make things worse. He was scared for his own existence.

But he needed to find another way.

Carefully he raised a hand and gently touched the prince’s head. The magic in his fingers shone softly as he made sure everything was indeed still fine and the two minds were healthy, safe and perfectly separated.

He needed to find another way because he couldn’t put this on Aeven. Of course he’d never learn of it. Aeven would undoubtedly question why he was not dead and Ravalor would make up some magical miracle to explain it away — but even if Ravalor alone should stay the only being ever to know what he had truly done, he would still be aware of how much Aeven would hate it, him, maybe himself for having unknowingly taken the life of another just to save himself.

He had, for a moment, held everything the legendary Prince of Treva had been in his hand, in his own mind. A consciousness that could not work within the confines of his own body, but a sensation of feelings and memories close enough to give an impression. A feeling of familiarity.

He felt like for the first time in a thousand years, he really saw Aeven VonTreva. Not just the man who carried the Hammer, not just an abstract idea or sense of importance. But a man with a pure heart, who would sacrifice his own life if it meant to save only one other in peril. A man with an unshakable moral conviction who despite all believed still in the good in the heart of men.

And he couldn’t do this to him.

He needed to find another way. Force it if he had to. Make it happen and make that clone himself somehow. To save them both. To make this right. And do it right.

That had to be his purpose now.

He kept sitting there for longer than he should. He had things to do, orders to give, preparations to make. He felt that rhythm his life had fallen into in the last 5 years looming. Only now with everyone watching him.

A low chime tore him from his thoughts and he glanced at the panel which had lit up at the nearest wall and which informed him that he had unread messages. Of course it didn’t say what those messages were, but the Northforce herself had noticed him awake and, after obviously judging his current sitting around as idling, seen it appropriate to remind him that he had duties and responsibilities to take care of.

He searched in his breast pocket for the shoddy datatab he had used for the last years and found it shattered. With a disapproving click of the tongue he placed his hand over the broken surface and the entire device lit up brightly as his magic embraced the broken device, tore it apart into its base matter and reassembled it anew.

It still looked rather rough, the magic was run down and not well cared for, but once it was ready the pale screen lit up again and by his authorization linked back up to the Northforce. He skimmed through the messages and reports, many of those were automated ship reports, a few with outdated orders from his previous position as Pyromancer under Grandmaster Dasidevi — but one message took his attention. A personal message from another wizard.

A brief but urgent request to speak one on one by Treva’s late court wizard Bepazulux. The message seemed genuine and carried the proper identification and validation of the sender — so he agreed to it and not even a minute later there was a request for his location. He hesitated only briefly before accepting that also.

Then he stood up and waited. This time it took a bit longer because he knew Bepazulux had to request access to port directly into the ship. As the Northforce however did not redirect the request to him, he at least got the confirmation that Fleetmaster Nemoneleus was indeed still on board and in command.

Then finally a portal appeared in the room and Bepazulux stepped through.

It had been a while since they had seen each other in person and the last time they had not parted ways on the friendliest of terms. Back then Bepazulux had accused him of not taking his given purpose seriously. An accusation that had been factually true unfortunately.

Ravalor had always counted on Bepazulux to make sure Aeven was okay, while he had spend his time on his research. It was a strange turn of fate that he had been the one now to actually save Aeven.

How is he? Bepazulux asked, forgoing any form of greeting as he spotted Aeven laying in the hospital bed.

He’s going to be fine.

May I? Bepazulux approached Aeven and Ravalor nodded. They wanted me to check on Aeven and give an estimate of how long it will take. Given that I’m familiar with the process — and the subject, he explained curtly, his voice carrying the almost teacher-esc strictness Ravalor had expected.

Ravalor nodded once more but felt a heavy weight pressing onto his chest. He watched Bepazulux touch Aeven’s face, the magic lit up and as himself before the court wizard examined what Ravalor had done.

They are stable, Bepazulux confirmed, then a light frown appeared on his sharp face, but he didn’t take his hand away nor stopped his eyes glowing. Did you do this by hand?

Yes. There wasn’t much time. Ravalor answered truthfully. Is that a problem?

No… it will just take a while longer. There are significant disharmonies here, undoubtedly caused by your own mental state. Bepazulux managed to make it sound almost neutral, but Ravalor still heard that judgemental tone within those words. But he wasn’t sure if Bepazulux just referred to his perceived instability, given what happened to the Stargazer, or the exhaustion of that moment. He didn’t feel like asking.

His memories will be affected, Bepazulux added.

I know. Pause. Can you tell how much?

Bepazulux’s frown deepened over his glowing eyes as he kept observing Aeven’s state of mind. Considering the amount of trauma and these disharmonies, considerable, I’d say. But it’s hard to tell since I haven’t been with him in the end. He removed his hand from Aeven’s head and looked up to Ravalor.

To make it as safe as possible, he should be made fully aware of what happened. Of course, only to the extent he would know of it. The more he remembers before you override the host, the better. Otherwise blank spots might be filled with foreign memories which would lead to instability.

I know, Ravalor repeated tensely.

I’d like to request staying on board so I may oversee his recovery and help him find his memories again as quickly as possible. Bepazulux stood up again, straightening his robe as he did. By the tone of his voice it was a done deal and merely a formality to request permission to stay on board.

Ravalor took a deep breath. No.

Bepazulux blinked. That was obviously not what he had expected to hear. Consequently, his eyes narrowed under a frown and his next words were filled with light irritation. Listen, Ravalor, I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye, but you have to agree that I am a lot more familiar with the prince than you are. My presence will be—

No, I— he stopped himself, sorted his words, and realised that he needed Bepazulux to know. That he needed his help, but not in the way he thought. I don’t want him to remember. Not yet.

But why? Unless he does it would be extremely risky to override— Exasperation, but Ravalor cut him off before he could have finished.

That’s exactly why. The moment he remembers I’ll have to finalise the process. I don’t want to do that.

Silence.

You want to save them both? Bepazulux’s question was unexpectedly gentle, so was the expression in the usually so strict face. Ravalor had prepared for an argument, for being belittled or mocked — but not this.

Yes. If I can. He admitted tensely.

What do you need?

After everything that had happened. After the hurdles and tripping stones before his every step. After all the hostility and mistrust Mezchinhar had shown him. This simple question caused a strange feeling to bloom in his chest. It was light and easy, taking away some of the heaviness that seemed crushing upon him.

And he realised it was gratitude. For the first time in a thousand years he finally understood that Bepazulux’ irritation with him had never been about him. That Bepazulux really did care about Aeven. That this prince, who had been his purpose for a thousand years, was more than that to him.

Time. Tell them there were complications. Just as you saw. Say it will need time and that we should not try to rush this process, he finally managed to say.

It’s not a lie.

I wouldn’t dare ask it of you otherwise.

Bepazulux nodded and looked back at Aeven, still resting unmovingly in his artificial slumber.

I read the events as your wizard remembers them. But as I understand it they might have been incomplete, Bepazulux said. Did he mention what happened to me?

No, Ravalor said. You were with him?

Of course I was. When you ordered him to throw himself into that vortex for that chance to kill Zenozarax, he was adamant. No doubt blinded by shock and the need to act in the face of such tragedy. No words would deter him. And so I led him there. And there my memories end. Just as yours did. Just that my part never returned from that place.

Ravalor nodded in understanding.

When he arrived at Obermoor, he was alone. But he was also exhausted. We did not speak of earth.

Bepazulux smiled, but it was a grim smile. Of course. He lost everyone – all those he loved so dearly, he sighed heavily, then looked back to Ravalor who had kept quiet.

There really has been enough death in his life.

5 The Chief Engineer and the crew

Dion groaned when the lights were turned on. He had successfully pretended it wasn’t morning yet so far but this aggressive display of light was too much as that he could hold onto that pretence.

Maybe — just maybe — he had stayed up too long.

Maybe — just maybe — he had drunk a little too much.

But the evening had been good. For the first time since the battle, just sitting together with the others and the Northman (who had insisted all of them attend and in the end most of them had, minus Ravalor and a very few of the crew for personal reasons), drinking and chatting till eventually that heavy wall of tension broke and there had been laughter and jokes. The Northman had encouraged them to tell him about those that had died. And while there had been tears, slowly but steady, the bitter grief that still lingered had been replaced by stories of appreciation and joy, reminiscing about the time in Obermoor. Maybe it had been just for an evening — but it had been badly needed.

Why are you up already? he mumbled into the pillow, ignoring the bright light in the cabin.

It’s half past 5, Nathaniel answered calmly, his tone implying the counter question of; Why are you not up yet?

Nathaniel had a very strict If the commander doesn’t drink, I shouldn’t either policy. Additionally he had gone to bed at a much more reasonable time. So it was no surprise the evening had left him without long lasting side effects.

Dion and Nathaniel shared quarters ever since they had been woken up. Because back then, they had been the first ones; Executive Officer NA10 and Chief Engineer DI01. And they had been the only two soldiers awake for a while. Back then Ravalor had put them together into a room for them to figure out the whole socialising thing on their own while he made sure they were actually functioning correctly. Today they could choose to have individual quarters — but neither would even consider that anymore.

Dion heard the rustling of clothes and turned himself on the side, opening his eyes halfways. Quite unashamedly he watched Nathaniel picking up his uniform and getting dressed. There wasn’t a lot of body diversity within the crew. They all had been created, grown and enhanced the same way, to be the most effective soldier a human cyborg could be. They all ate the same, they all trained the same — they all had the same metabolism. Nathaniel’s cybernetic legs were no different from his or any of the others, the chest well defined, shoulders and arms strong, able to provide three times the strength of the strongest human. He understood the concept of decency and modesty in principle, but between the soldiers there was really no point in getting flustered about seeing anyone naked. For Nate and him even less.

Briefly he glanced at the embedded clock on the headpiece of the bunk.

“We still have about 10 minutes. That’s plenty of time.”

“Maybe for you.”

Dion whistled through his teeth in pretend outrage. “Ouch. Nate. That’s rough.”

Nathaniel glanced at him with that all too familiar judgemental look on his face. Dion sighed and dropped on his back, smiling at the ceiling. “You’re a cruel man.”

“And you’re acting irresponsible. Get up and get dressed.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dion said downright automatically and seriously. A response that was ingrained into him since his creation and hard to shake when he received an order. However, where his words came quickly, his actions lacked behind.

Nathaniel picked up his helmet and looked back at him for a moment. Nathaniel’s eyes were bright with the low glow — they both shared those too of course. The short black hair was still a bit dishevelled (he’d need a haircut soon), but that would vanish under the helmet that would stay right where it belonged for the next 16 hours. But for now he could still look in his face and he saw a brief moment of regret in the first officer’s face as he now looked upon Dion’s still very naket body.

“You still have a choice.” Dion grinned, opening his arms wide. And finally a slim smirk betrayed the serious look on Nathaniel’s face. Nevertheless he said,

“And so do you. And I suggest you choose to get dressed now, otherwise you will be late. Nathaniel picked up Dion’s jumpsuit from the floor and tossed it over to him.

Dion chuckled as he half-heartedly catched the jumpsuit. Then the light flickered and the smile turned into a disgruntled frown. North blast it, those power fluctuations, he grumbled, finally standing up. Since that weird power failure it’s like something’s in the system that’s not supposed to be there. But I can’t figure out where it’s coming from.

Both flinched when a sudden ping allerted them to a direct message and the commander’s voice said, “XO report to the bridge as soon as possible.”

“On my way, commander.”

Dion chuckled the moment he was sure the line was closed again. “He just waited to do that, didn’t he? Probably been up there for hours already, he said as he pulled the jumpsuit over his legs.

Probably. Nathaniel slightly shook his head with a sigh before he put on his helmet. A brief flash of light went through the flat surface as the helmet connected to his neural functions. He had almost turned towards the door before he halted and touched the lower part of his helmets with his fingers.

Dion smiled, halting his getting dressed efforts and repeated the gesture. See you tonight, babe!

Nathaniel nodded and left their cabin in a brisk stride.

Dion looked at the tablet — fifteen minutes till the first complement had to report for duty. He better hurry.

*

With still five minutes to spare Dion jogged down the hallway, greeting every soldier by their appropriate nickname (which differed from the names they had chosen for themselves). Quickly he took a turn to the mess hall and grinned from one ear to the other as Bishop already put the small container on the counter.

You’re the best, honey, he said with a wide grin as he grabbed his breakfast and lunch.

I know, Bishop grunted. Have you seen Isaac?

Dion, already halfway turned away, halted. The grin disappeared from his voice. He’s not shown up for breakfast again?

Haven’t seen him yet. Keep an eye out, will you? He worries me. Being assigned the one soldier to manage and make sure everyone of them was able to eat had made Bishop acutely aware of the wellbeing of each of them, maybe even more so than Teseni. If he said there was something to worry about, he was usually right, and both Nathaniel and himself in their officer positions had quickly learned to listen to Bishop in this regard.

Me too. And I will, Dion promised. Shoot me a message if he doesn’t show up in the next hours and I’ll send someone.

Thanks. Now get a move on, three minutes, Bishop said with a tilt of his head as if nodding to an imaginary clock on the wall.

Already gone! Dion chuckled and picked up the pace the moment he was out of the mess hall again.

*

At exactly 0600 hours Dion stood in the main engineering node, his lunchbox wedged under one arm while the other was busy waving people good morning as he got to the centre node consoles.

Where’s Tate? he asked Sixofour as he put down his food. Sixofour slightly shook his head, brushing his fingertips briskly forward over the right edge of the helmet’s jaw. Even without that the frown was well audible in his answer.

Remember how he fell yesterday? Wasn’t as much nothing as he said it was. Couldn’t feel his left foot anymore at all when he woke up. He’s in med now.

Dion rose an eyebrow as well as a hand with a slight twist to convey the same meaning. That sounds concerning.

Tell me about it. Teseni calls in as soon as he knows what’s wrong.

Alright. Missing Tate wasn’t good. They were making good progress as far as Dion was concerned, the ship was no longer doing any wildly unpredictable things (power fluctuations aside), and that was great. But there was still a lot of work to be done, all of which should have been done by yesterday if Ravalor would have had any real say in that. But there were only so many hours in the day and so much work they could do. And keeping that in mind, they had made damn good progress. He was proud of all of them.

For the next two hours he and Sixofour went over the day’s work and logistical plans while having breakfast. By the time they were done the engineering crew of the first and second complement had gathered in the centre engineering node to receive their task for today. Right now, with the heavy focus on further retrofitting the ship before Aeven woke up, Dion had gotten almost all of the crew under his command. Besides the dedicated engineers most of the pilots, strike teams, the logistical officers and maintenance crews were now assigned to help again build the ship. They may all had a secondary duty on this ship, but when push came to shove they were all engineers first and soldiers second.

The tasks given didn’t differ too much from the work yesterday so not many questions were asked as Dion gave each team their instructions.

This should be a good workload for today — remember, stay conservative on the water, I’ll make sure another shipwide is posted too. If we blow another leak we will have to refuel asap and that’s more trouble than we need right now, Dion said after outlining today’s schedule. Hydroponics is almost completely set up and they will take a good bite out of the water reserves. Fofo, I want you to join Bishop on this and give me a) a clear estimate of how much we’ll actually need and b) a working solution for mining some water out here. You probably should work with Sahra on this if we do use the eagles.

Fofo nodded dutifully with a Yes, Sir.

Also, please keep an eye out for Issac. He’s not shown up for breakfast and he isn’t in his room. If you find him, contact me or Teseni directly. Depending on his state. He didn’t say it, it was understood. Alright, that’s it.

Tyler raised his hand.

Yes, hun?

About those— as on cue the light flickered again. —power fluctuations. Can I accompany you on that? I was thinking about something that might help.

In that case, absolutely, Dion said with a crooked smile. Take this as an official bulletin. Whoever comes up with the easiest working fix for this gets my still sealed 991 bottle of Shrine.

There were some chuckles and playfully outraged comments, one especially questioning why, in the name of North, he even still had that one.

It has sentimental value, Dion said sagely, crossing his arms with a slow and thoughtful look down as if he remembered an especially cherished moment he had shared with that particular bottle of distilled mushroom.

Must be, because I’m sure the last few years haven’t improved the taste, Tyler threw in which caused more laughter.

Probably true. Dion chuckled. Alright. Now, let’s get working. This beauty ain’t going to fix herself!

The engineers, all soldiers in their own right saluted with a yes sir, and off they went.

Would be neat if she would, wouldn’t it? Sixofour said as they walked down the hall, Tyler in tow.

What now?

Fix herself. You think with some magic that would be possible?

Huh. Dion pondered that for a moment, considering the way they even rebuilt the ship. Yeah. I can see that. I bet they got something like that. Just this one ship hasn’t, because it’s old.

Would render us pointless though, Tyler chimed in thoughtfully. Engineers I mean. To fix things.

Right. That would suck, Dion said with a light frown, brushing his fingers past his right jaw. Okay, nobody bring that up ever again. I don’t like it.

Sixofour chuckled. Copy that Chief.

Their group of three turned a corner passing into the bowls of the ship and the still very makeshift and rough subdecks. A lot of the ship’s interior was still sealed off, empty and not built in. Currently they only used about 60% of the available space and already now the ship felt way too large for the size of the crew. The many empty crew quarters that had never been occupied by those that hadn’t had a chance to spend their first night in them did not help that feeling. Their names still hung on the little plaques besides their doors.

Three flights down Sixofour suddenly stopped and took Dion by the arm to stop him.

Dion followed the nod of the other Engineer down the side hallway. Oh thank North. He sighed. You two go ahead, I’ll be there shortly.

Sixofour and Tyler nodded slowly, he didn’t need to see their faces, their body language told him enough of the discomfort and worry they too shared.

Dion walked down the side hallway to the figure sitting against the rough wall. The hard floor and the bolts sticking out of the weaved metal plating of the wall couldn’t be comfortable.

Hey Sweetheart, Dion said carefully. Have you been here all night? He crouched down beside Isaac. He wasn’t wearing his helmet nor his uniform, merely the light pants and similar shirt he’d probably slept in. With a soft touch against his own helmet the visor slipped up and Dion had to blink a few times for his eyes to get used to the sudden change in vision.

Isaac looked up to him, his eyes were teary and the skin around them slightly swollen. How late is it? Isaac sounded hoarse, his vocal cord coarse from probably hours without anything to drink.

A bit after half past eight. Dion reached out and gave Isaac’s leg a soft touch, a gentle squeeze. Couldn’t sleep again?

I asked Teseni for some painkillers. Isaac’s voice broke lightly as he wiped his face with his hands. Didn’t help, so I came here. It’s the most quiet here.

Dion slightly raised his head, for the first time noticing that indeed, through some weird acoustic conundrum within the framework of the Northforce, the constant hum of the ship was almost silent here.

Maybe you should ask him for something to help you sleep? Dion suggested, looking back to Isaac.

No. What if something happens? We need everyone that’s left. You said so yourself! Isaac made a halfhearted attempt to straighten up some but gave up halfway through and slumped back down. The movement alone caused signs of pain in Isaac’s face and he squinted as if suddenly the dim light had become too bright.

Dion clenched his teeth. He shouldn’t tell Isaac that it would be fine, he didn’t want to suggest he wasn’t needed, he shouldn’t tell him that nothing would happen because he couldn’t know that and he shouldn’t tell him that in his current condition he wouldn’t be much help anyways because that was just cruel.

Listen sweetheart, you need to sleep. There’s already one of us here trying to be a second Ravalor and that’s exhausting enough. And I have to know, I have to deal with it every day. He smiled, gently rubbing Isaac’s arm. He was sure Nathaniel would forgive him for dragging him like this. It was for the greater good.

Isaac actually smiled weakly. It was a relief to see no matter how fleeting it ultimately would be. Ever since the battle, Isaac hadn’t been the same. Nothing physical had happened to him, and Teseni could explain this sudden shift in character only by assuming it to be very bad coping and the psychological shock of having lost so many of the others.  

But that was just a theory, and a weak one at that because it didn’t want to hold up to scrutiny in Dion’s estimation. Neither of them had taken it lightly, but Isaac was the only one who had become like this. The only one who had dropped unconscious afterwards. The only one suffering heavy and debilitating migraines since. As far as Dion could judge he had even stopped drawing. Before it was hard to not find Issac scribbling on this or that piece of paper whenever the opportunity arose — but he hadn’t seen him do that ever since the battle. And that was just not right.

There had to be something wrong with Isaac, something that happened to him, but they just didn’t know what it was. There was nothing physically or technically wrong with him. At least as far as Teseni could say.

Come, can you stand up? Let’s go see Teseni again, okay?

Isaac nodded weakly and let himself be helped up by Dion. But before Dion could urge him to walk, Isaac kept holding his hand, staring at it as he spoke, his voice a mere whisper,

I’m scared, Dion.

Of what?

Isaac looked up at him, shaking his head very lightly. I don’t know.

Dion took his hand out of Isaac’s and pulled him closer at his side. Let’s get to Teseni. It’s going to be alright. You need to sleep. And without any resistance Isaac let himself be dragged along.

6 The Commander and the Prince

The medbay was quiet and, beyond Ravalor and Aeven, empty. Teseni had set up in a room down the hall to see to any imminent injuries should they occur right this moment, so unless any major accident took place, Ravalor would have the privacy he’d asked for.

He would need as much control over the situation as he could get.  

Carefully Ravalor removed the glimmering circlet from Aeven’s head.

He had pushed this moment away for too long already, he was aware of that now and had been while doing so. But there had been many good excuses to delay the moment of Aeven’s awakening. At least now the ship herself no longer was running the risk of just snapping apart, Nemoneleus had left and given the command of the ship back to him (temporarily and begrudgingly at least), the crew was working efficiently on their new stations, and he himself felt marginally more stable having come to terms with the way things were now concerning his fractured mind.

Aeven had been sleeping for a while now, and if kept sedated like this for much longer he would suffer some serious consequences of it soon. Already now, despite all magical care and tricks, he looked thinner. Of course, this new Aeven living a life of comfort and peace hadn’t been quite as muscular as the other body, formed by years of war and training. Still by all accounts fit, but already it could cause a dangerous disconnect in Aeven’s mind.

But it wasn’t only the physical aspect at risk, or else he probably would have preferred to just freeze the prince till he was ready. The two overlaid consciousness were in a delicate state now with the native one completely shut down and the foreign one still mostly detached from its new body. The slumbering consciousness he didn’t worry about; in its dormant state it was safe as long as it wasn’t dragged to the surface. However, the new consciousness with all its memories and functions needed a body to not only start healing, but also keep structural integrity. If kept unconscious like this for much longer, he ran the risk of Aeven’s consciousness deteriorating which would not only cause further memory loss but ultimately be fatale when the mind would lose any sense of self. It needed to connect to the body.

Bepazulux had warned him to not extend Aeven slumber too long, and he had reached the end of that given timeframe now. The late court wizard had confirmed as much at his latest and last visit for now after having periodically checked up on the well being of the two Aeven’s consciousness during the last weeks.

He put the circlet on the bedside table and sat down. Now without it, Aeven immediately started to move slightly in his sleep, just moments away from waking up.

Ravalor took a deep breath. He wished he wouldn’t feel so tired, he needed his mind sharp and quick, but his sleep was still not half as restful as he’d like it to be. Not as bad as it had been on that earth beyond the vortex, but still not good either. Not with two of his parts gone.

The Northforce hummed around them, low, rhythmic, calming, as this wide net of possibilities and countless strings of time all twisting together into this one moment, revealing all the unknown variables.

The most crucial of all would be how much Aeven’s actually remembered. Ravalor had a plan for most possibilities. Some of them he didn’t like. All them but one included him lying through his teeth.

The Northman was close by, not for any security reasons, but in case that Aeven would… break down. Should his mind be unable to handle what had happened, Ravalor knew the Northman would be much better equipped to handle and hopefully calm Aeven down.

Aeven’s eyes fluttered open, drowsy from sleep as he stretched his limbs — Ravalor heard some light cracks of joints and vertebrae resetting into movement.  

For a moment there was an uncanny, shuddering twitch in Aeven motion, his eyes blinked a few times too rapidly - Ravalor knew it looked more concerning than it was, because the new consciousness was just reattaching itself fully into this body. However, all better knowledge aside, it was still an unsettling sight at this moment, as if some demonic possession had just taken the young prince in his sleep. But when Aeven finally fully came by, he didn’t even seem to have noticed.

After a heavy yawn Aeven blinked hard again, this time it looked normal and his eyes focused, spotting Ravalor. When he finally spoke, he looked utterly puzzled.

Ravalor?

Ravalor felt a paradoxical sense of relief and fear alike. Aeven recognized him. That could be a good sign, or a very bad one. But he seemed calm for now.

What happened?

Ravalor waited a moment before he answered, very carefully watching Aeven. Waiting to see if there was any recognition or a flash of memory to his own question. Then he asked,

Can you tell me what you remember?

What do you mean? Aeven looked around the room, a confused frown on his face. It made him look even younger. Where are we?

You don’t know? he prompted, getting Aeven’s attention back on himself.

The young prince shook his head, the confusion changing to concern. He understood that he should know and that he didn’t wasn’t good.

What is the last thing you remember doing?

Aeven’s frown deepened. He lightly shook his head — whatever memories he was trying to grasp seemed to vague as to make sense of them.

We left Luna. I took command of the Somerville and we prepared for the invasion force. He briefly glanced around, realising that this couldn’t be the Somerville. His frown became even more strained. We were to fight at Mars … Intercepting them there.

Ravalor nodded ever so slightly and a sense of unsettled alarm took hold in Aeven’s face.

Did… what happened? Did we lose?

Is there nothing else you remember? Try Aeven, it’s important. Because whatever he told the young prince now depended on it. Anything, about this ship?

I don’t even know what ship I’m on! Aeven countered exasperated, shifting up. The fact that he didn’t know clearly was starting to make him uncomfortable if not worried.

This ship is the TSS Northforce.

Aeven halted. A slight twitch of his brows. That rings a bell… I think. It sounds familiar. But… no I don’t know.

She’s a wizard ship, but for now she’s yours. After the battle at Mars, we were sent to patrol the galaxy on a peacekeeping mission. You, me and the Northman. The crew are clone soldiers from earth, provided by the wizards in Obermoor. You are the captain of this ship. All of this was utterly new to Aeven. Of course it was because all of it was a lie, but Ravalor said it with such plain factuality that it was impossible to know that.

And he saw the conflict these lies caused within Aeven, who believed his words because he had no reason to doubt them, but there were simply no memories of it. It wouldn’t be the last lie he’d tell him and if Aeven started to remember this would become a problem. But until then, it would postpone and obfuscate Aeven regaining his memories in the first place.

“Okay.” Aeven nodded slowly. “Then what happened? Why don’t I remember any of that?”

“There was an accident. We already suspected it to have affected your memory.

Aeven sighed and dropped back into the cushion with closed eyes. Man. That sucks. Then he squinted back at Ravalor. What exactly happened? Was there a fight?

You fell. Very dramatically, Ravalor said dryly.

Oh you gotta be kidding me, Aeven groaned.

Ravalor raised his eyebrows but kept quiet. Aeven seemed to take it well so far, and being told that everything was alright and he had just forgotten seemed perfectly logical to him. There was a faint sense of embarrassment caused by the fact that what he probably now assumed to be a simple slip down some stairs had knocked him out cold like this. It was ordinary enough that Ravalor didn’t fear he would start asking many questions about that.

Aeven turned his head back to him How long till I remember?

Don’t worry too much about that. The crew has been briefed accordingly and there will be a ship report and crew briefing once you’re ready for it. We’re all here to help you if you need.

Aeven smiled. Thanks. Appreciated.

And Ravalor nodded. But he wondered if Aeven’s loss of memories was as clear cut as Aeven himself thought it to be. He spoke to him as if he knew him — but Aeven, the Aeven that had only fleetingly known the Hermit, had always met him with a strange sense of familiarity.

But it was also simply the way Aeven was. Ravalor now knew of the open friendliness directed at anyone, even those he didn’t know, as if they were already friends and they just didn’t know it yet.

This made it a lot harder to figure out where Aeven’s mind was right now. Did he remember him beyond the name? Somewhat inside of him seemed to. But it might also just be this friendly disposition covering for the fact that the prince didn’t quite know who he really was and just assumed that they had to be friends. But pushing that, inquiring further felt dangerous.

Is Pazu here too? Aeven suddenly asked.

Bepazulux? No, Ravalor answered. The question seemed out of nowhere, but of course, if Aeven’s memories ended with him shipping out on the Somerville, Bepazulux would be one of the last persons he remembered.

Oh that’s weird. Aeven chuckled. How did you manage that? He almost never lets me out of sight. Like a hawk that one. Aeven now leaned comfortable against the headrest, seemingly perfectly relaxed and content with the situation. Just happy for some conversation.

I have taken over his duties for now. He is currently occupied elsewhere, Ravalor said plainly. There was that missing piece in the chain of events Ravalor and Bepazulux himself didn’t know about yet.

Like the Warrior himself, Treva’s court wizard had been cut off from the rest of himself the moment he had entered the wormhole. And then that part of Bepazulux had died somewhere between their arrival in that dark universe and Aeven’s arrival at Obermoor. How and why? Those were memories only Aeven would know — but even he didn’t remember them now.

He stood up before Aeven could ask any more questions. I’ll let you rest.

I’m not exactly tired.

Rest. You need it.

Aeven chuckled. Aye, commander.

Ravalor met Aeven’s eyes for a moment, carefully looking for any crack in the cheerful composure. But there was nothing. He had just naturally called him Commander, and yet he seemed to have no idea why he would have done that.

Are you hungry?

Ravenous actually.

I’ll see to it. And if you start wandering, As he was sure Aeven would do soon enough. Don’t wander too far. The ship is yours, but she’s still a retrofit and some areas are still under construction. See Chief Engineer Dion to give you a tour of the ship if you want.

Chief Engineer Dion, Aeven repeated slowly.

Do you remember him? Ravalor asked, hiding well the tension he felt. Of all the soldiers, Dion had spent the most time with Aeven, welding him out of that broken suit in Obermoor. If Aeven would remember any of them, it would be Dion.

Not at all. Aeven raised his brows with an apologetical smile. I guess this will be a little awkward.

I don’t think that has ever stopped you.

Nope. Allegedly I’m quite good at meeting new people. That’s what this basically is, aye? Aeven chuckled but stopped once he noticed the gloomy look on Ravalor’s face. What?

I was just thinking of something else. I’ll let you rest now.

Then he turned around, quickly leaving the medbay.

He couldn’t decide if it was mercy or cruelty to see Aeven like this. Maybe it was both.

The young prince, still so unburdened, optimistic and cheerful. Perfectly unaware of all the death his mind now kept from him. His own included.

Ravalor did not know how Aeven would ever be able to deal with it once they returned to him, if they returned to him. Nor how he himself would, facing that situation.

The only thing he knew was that he needed time now. As much as he could get.

7 The Northman and Hatir

Hey… Northman.

The viking god king looked up lazily, barely raising a brow. Aye cpn’?

What… are you doing?

The Northman rose the second brow, briefly glancing back down to the book in his hands, then up again. Like, given a basic level of observation, he would have assumed it to be pretty obvious. Reading.

Yeah. I can see that. Aeven looked at the book too, confirming that with all the things he had forgotten, the concept of reading wasn’t one of it, but there was a slight frown in his face nevertheless. Are you okay?

Am I..? Aeven, what are you talking about? The Northman laughed, closing the book and finally raising up halfway, but still not removing his feet from the console.

I think I’ve never seen you with a book before. That’s all. Aeven smiled apologetically. What are you reading?

The Northman raised the book again so Aeven could read the cover. It was a thick volume, with a bare cover and a plain golden font. As most books printed today for private collections and those nostalgic for a time long past, the book tried its very best to look old and important — but even the dyed pages couldn’t hide the fact that it was brand new.

The Hatirian Family Unit?

Got recommended to me, the Northman answered the unspoken question. Took a while to get the proper translated copy. I was told there are some very bad ones out there, but Francesco gave me a good pointer of where to find it on Altrada because apparently that license is hard to get by.

But his answer didn’t seem to answer any of Aeven’s questions. Is it a story? Or nonfiction?

It’s a social cultural breakdown of the traditional Hatirian family structure and the roles and responsibilities of each member, the Northman said in an overacted tone of voice he would label: Serious, objective, emotionally detached science guy.

Ah, Aeven said plainly after letting the assemble of unexpected words wash over him. The confusion in his face only grew. Okay, I don’t get it — why are you reading that? I mean, it sounds super interesting, The Northman knew Aeven was absolutely genuine here and he probably should gift the book to Aeven once he was done with it. But it’s more like something I would read… not you?

Dunno. He shrugged, pretending ignorance over his own reasons. I kinda like those guys. Was thinking of maybe hanging around there at some point. Might be fun. They have amazing spirits.

Well now that’s a reason I can believe. Aeven chuckled.

The Northman grinned. There was utility to play up an image. Even if that image was whoever he used to be a couple thousand years ago and everyone else seemed to know much better who exactly that was.

Aeven pointed at one of the empty chairs with a questioning look, giving the Northman a moment to decide if he wanted to talk about it or rather continue reading. But he just nodded and Aeven sat down. Might be good if he talked with him for a bit. Especially now that Aeven grew increasingly irritated with Ravalor.

Ravalor hadn’t said it directly, because he seemed alergic to say anything directly, but between the lines the Northman had picked up a clear sense of please try to do something about it.

It was still a mystery to him what that would be, but maybe talking with Aeven about whatever was on his mind would help.

All things considered, Aeven didn’t look too good. The healthy tan he had started this journey with months ago had all but completely vanished from his skin, not flattering the tired rims under his eyes nor the stubbles in his face. With how unkempt he looked it seemed like he barely had remembered to put on the uniform this morning.

He looked tired and dishevelled, yes, but mood–wise today seemed to be a good day. Still, the Northman saw something in Aeven’s eyes he didn’t like seeing there. Something that seemed too far away and yet always present, and no amount of laughing could make it vanish for long.

So, anything interesting about Hatirian families? Aeven asked, dispersing the Northman’s gloomy thoughts.

Plenty, actually. The Northman laid down the book on the console turning halfway to Aeven as he crossed his arms. The main thing seems to be the pack. Or well the ’Rudel’ as they call it — which is a cute word I think. Still not sure how to say it, ruddle? Roo-dl? Anyways.

So like actual wolves?

Kinda. They do live together in these packs of several generations of one family. But it’s not always exclusively blood family. The children will be raised by the entire pack instead of just the parents.

That actually sounds quite nice. Big family life. Aeven smiled softly, for a moment there was a fondness in his eyes, maybe a longing, thinking about his own family.

The Northman knew he better kept on talking. So far Aeven was listening with intense curiosity, soaking up all the knowledge the Northman was willing to give. Which was good, it would keep his mind busy for a little while. But he should avoid leading the topic to potentially dangerous memories.

The real interesting thing is — while there are married partners within these packs — it’s more a way of including the married person into the pack and making them an official part of it, less a solemn oath between two individuals. It doesn’t even have to be romantic necessarily. Like saying; This person is important to me, so much so that I take them into my pack, he is now part of my family and my blood. It can be anyone really.

So, I could go and say, hey North, do you want to be part of my pack? Will you marry me? Aeven smirked lopsidedly, obviously somewhat amused by that idea.

Jop, that would be absolutely no problem. Since the children are raised by the whole pack anyways, there isn’t much focus on any one couple to begin with. Sex really is something that isn’t very eh …limited. As you noticed with the whole theme they had going on. The Northman chuckled as Aeven muttered It was hard not to notice under his breath.

It’s like in your example, say this whole ship is your pack, and we just got married, and I’m now part of this pack, you could still be sleeping with like, Nate, Dion, Ravalor — me too — and that would be perfectly okay.

Huh. Sharing partners? There ought to be some tension occasionally?

The Northman shrugged. Book didn’t say anything about that yet. There is something about bonded partners — but I’ve not reached that part yet. Maybe it really is just a mindset thing. From all I read, people just have sex without anyone’s feelings getting hurt or anyone getting judged for sleeping around so to speak. It’s everywhere, and that makes it just ordinary. Less special. You could probably crack a dirty joke at a business meeting and nobody would raise an eyebrow.

Aeven pondered that for a moment, then he frowned slightly as he asked, Then what’s with the whole marry on Leitnacht when you sleep with someone that night thing? That seemed very important.

Yeah, that one is religious. Because the holy father took the mother of the first wolf into his pack that night, not extending that to the one you sleep with that night is just bad form.

Bad form punishable by death, Aeven added with raised brows.

Really? Huh, that I didn’t know. Explains why Ravalor was so pissed.

Yeah - we were a little bit worried.

Oh ye of little faith. The Northman clicked his tongue while shaking his head. Afterall, he was very capable and willing to honour a holy oath if one presented itself. There was nothing to worry about.

Oh don’t act all holy! Aeven actually laughed and it was a strangely refreshing sound. Something that had become eerily rare as of late. I very well remember the banquet of Lady Hagen.

The Northman grinned. Ah well… and shrugged. He had no idea what Aeven was talking about. Not even the name rang a bell, but he could infer enough from the context to assume that he may have caused a minor incident on said banqued. And it may had involved sleeping with said Lady Hagen. That was the old me. Look, the new me reads books.

Right. Yeah. Aeven still grinned, slightly shaking his head in amusement and disbelief alike. He leaned back against the console, looking over the command centre.

They were quiet for a while and it was a comfortable silence. The Northman was sure he could have gone back to reading and it would have been just them sitting here, relaxing in silence for a while.

Instead he followed Aeven’s gaze for a moment. The command centre was filled with the usual low chatter of the soldiers, some of it private, some of it ship status related. Ravalor wasn’t here which always turned the atmosphere in the CC more casual. This happened a lot as of late — leaving only the Northman to babysit the command centre, infrequently aided by an overtired captain who in the recent past seemed to spend more time in the command centre in the dead of night than during work shift.

The chatter, and low sound of the Northforce wasn’t enough to not make him notice the quiet flicking sound as Aeven’s nervous fingers flicked over his own fingernails. As the flicking sound suddenly stopped he noticed Aeven looking at his own hand in thoughts.

What about you though? Everything alright? The Northman asked, feeling a hint of worry. He had noticed some pretty dramatic mood swings over the last weeks which he attributed to Aeven simply not sleeping well, but he also understood that there might be a lot more to it. Because Ravalor seemed worried. And that wasn’t a good sign.

Aeven raised his right hand, showing him the outer side where the pinky finger was. Do you know how I got that scar?

The Northman had to look very closely, but indeed he spotted a light scar, roughly four centimeters in length, near the bottom of Aeven’s palm near his wrist. No? He expected some kind of story, maybe something that was on Aeven’s mind that would somehow relate back to something presently happening. Some deeper meaning.

But instead Aeven said, Me neither. He lowered his hand again and looked at the scar. I noticed after we left Hatir again. Teseni had patched up my other hand because of the glass — so that wasn’t it. But it’s weird — it looks like it must have been quite the cut. But I can’t figure out when that would have happened. I mean it must have happened after we left earth right? Otherwise Bepazulux would have taken care of it. Aeven mused, brushing the thumb of his other hand against the faint scar. His assumption was bullshit, they probably both knew that because the scar was already faded enough to be several years old.

The Northman understood though. Because this wasn’t Aeven’s body. He also understood that he had just stumbled into a situation Ravalor would label as a critical disconnect. And because he didn’t want to make up any more lies he did what Ravalor would have done and stayed quiet. Just as Aeven noticed his silence and looked back up, he shrugged.

It was a weak performance, and it earned him a slightly suspicious squint of Aeven well deservedly. But what else was he to do? At some point they had to stop making shit up and making Aeven’s confusion worse. But not saying anything instead wasn’t helping either.

He felt a strange but very intense urge to just tell Aeven everything. Maybe that would help. Maybe that would make everything unimaginably worse.

And so instead he said, I’m almost sad Ravalor patched up those cuts I got back on Altrada. Tapping his chest. It sucked, but I think there was something cool about that square. Like cyborg-autopsy scars.

The comment took Aeven by such surprise that he couldn’t help but laugh. North, that’s horrible!

But — kinda cool. There’s a movie idea in that somewhere.

What’s that? Undead, Punch, Dead 4 - Scrawny returns from the dead? Aeven quoted the fake movie title still chuckling.

Yes! That’s it. The big reveal - He’s been a cyborg all this time.

Turns out it was you after all. Aeven grinned.

Now you sound like my worst critics. With a pretend roll of the eyes the Northman crossed his arms. We should watch the first one again. I could go for that — Hey Fofo, what’s on for movie night this week?

Midnight Glacier, Fofo answered without missing a beat nor without looking up from the consoles.

How do we feel about UPD one?

Now Fofo glanced back at them, Again?

What can I say, I just really like that one.

8 The letter and the lie

Ravalor watched the panels of the main consoles, standing front and centre, arms crossed and perfectly unmoving. The position in which the commander of any MTCS was supposed to be. Also a position he neglected more often than not — but now on their approach to Galast he felt more calm keeping an eye on things himself. There was unrest in the Twilight Empire, and while Galast was a fringe planet, apparently spared by the tension deep inside the empire, he hadn’t yet been able to find out what exactly was happening there currently. Nevertheless he had a gut feeling to be careful about this one. He had that feeling about a lot of things recently.

It wasn’t helping that the Kingmaker was currently blind in this regard, still held in Mezchinhar. The Wizard would be given a chance to plead to the circle in 13 hours and 21 minutes from now, arguing for the Kingmaker to be released, stating that with the strangely coincidental incidents they had run into so far, something didn’t feel quite right and he needed the Kingmaker to act independently in this universe to gather more information.

He felt tense waiting for that hearing, but didn’t dare to get his hopes up. However, having at least the Kingmaker at his disposal would be a tremendous help. Afterall, one of the wizards greatest advantages was the fact that they could be at two or more places at once. Being forced to only act with one Part of himself felt frustrating as much as it was exhausting as he tried to compensate for their absence by doing about three things at once at any given time.

The most frustrating aspect about it was that he needed to stay on the TSS Northforce, limited to moving only on the ship and in Mezchinhar as long as he didn’t want to break the connection to the ship. It was tempting to simply port to Galast and find out what was happening there. But he did not dare to leave the ship without its commander and, consequently, defenceless and unable to manoeuvre. Not as things stood right now with the tension in the empire, their strange wizard encounters, and Aeven’s volatile state.

He took a deep breath, refocusing his eyes back on the view screen and the information panels alongside it. The CC had become very quiet, everyone still present was tired and what little chatter there had been earlier had dried up.

It was late already, the main shift had ended over an hour ago leaving only the soldiers of the second complement still on their stations. In 47 minutes they too would leave and the midnight shift would start. Only a very few Soldiers would keep watch over the idle ship operating mainly on autopilot for the time being. He had never had enough men to fill three shifts properly. Even now with each of them clocking in 12 hours of active duty at minimum per day he was operating with what would hardly justify being called a skeleton crew. The soldiers didn’t complain, but they just didn’t because they never knew it any different and they were still young. But Ravalor was very much aware that he was blatantly disregarding any human convention of workers rights or even a healthy idea of work life balance.

Fortunately the ship itself was, as long as he himself was present, very capable of handling a good chunk of the basic routines on her own so the soldiers could get at least some free time and rest.

Commander.

Ravalor dragged his eyes from the console as he heard that all too familiar voice. The same voice all of the soldiers had. But already from the stiff way he said it, he knew who it was.

Is there a problem? Already expecting the worst he looked at his first officer. NA10, Nathaniel, always started his shift with the first complement, so he was already in his spare time. Despite that he was still wearing his choosen uniform (though alternatively, given Nathaniel’s strong sense of duty, it may was safe to assume he had gotten back into uniform just to see him in the command centre).

Yes, Nathaniel said, his voice was quiet as he held out a small datatab and Ravalor took it. Walker noticed and notified me.

And here he was notifying him. So it was something serious. Ravalor pressed his thumb onto the screen and within a second he understood the grim tone in Nathaniel’s voice.

Walker, WA74, was their security officer but as most here he held at least one second position, communications was his.

There was nothing going in or out of this ship that Ravalor didn’t want — but Walker was supposed to monitor what could.

The message that was presented to him on the datatab had come from inside. It’s destination, earth. But even if it had gone out, it would have died in the aether — the recipient of this message did not exist in this universe. Nor did they in the universe they originally belonged to anymore.

He felt a horribly and ugly sensation vearing its head in the pit of his stomach. He had feared this would happen. Careful warnings and serious orders that they were flying as silent as possible in their patrol of the galaxy had worked this far — but he had known it wouldn’t last forever.

The message was from Aeven.

To his parents.

For a moment he just looked back to the screens, away from Nathaniel, away from the tablet. But the words the young prince had written were clear in his mind.

Aeven had an exceptional sense of duty — but he also was very much not okay right now. He was desperate, grasping at everything to make sense of the world around him — and nothing did.

The tone of the message was friendly, but between the lines Ravalor sensed the confusion. Here and there it was proven in plain text. Aeven’s mind tried its best to pretend he knew, but the gaps in his memories, the dark spots his mind did not want to remember, were like bottomless chasms and no amount of patchwork and pretend could overcome and cross them over.

He spoke to his mother. His father. Asked about family, home, asked how they were, if they were well, and hoped it was so. Said that he missed them, that he wished he could be home soon.

And that ugly feeling just got stronger.

Words of care and longing for the comfort of family and familiarity — towards people who had been dead since months. People Ravalor had killed.

And by the lords, he felt guilty. Maybe he could blame it on the loss of the Hermit and Stargazer. Maybe his mind just tried to compensate for their loss, making this guilt more strangeling than the Warrior ever experienced it before.

But maybe it was just him.

This was it. His great plan. This was all on him alone.

The Wizards’ soothing thoughts assured him it wasn’t so, that he wasn’t alone. That this was horrible, but they would see it through. He had to. He would make it right.

It felt hollow.

The worst part was, with all the struggle Aeven went through, it became harder and harder by the day to keep up the lie. Ravalor was a good liar — arguably a questionable quality, but a common one among Envoys. Exavidar had once told him that they had always seen him taking on that purpose one day. He doubted it would ever come to that, not after he had fallen in disgrace and mistrust more than ever after his most recent missteps.

But even with the natural ease the lies passed his lips, every day, every night, every time he spoke to Aeven, he felt himself closer and closer to slipping up. Maybe he already had said too much. And so he now tried to keep their interactions to a minimum — for each their sakes.

He just didn’t know what to say to him anymore. And so he rather said nothing at all.

He never missed the sense of hurt and disappointment in Aeven’s eyes. And so he rather didn’t look at all.

Commander?

Ravalor looked back at Nathaniel. After another moment he gave the datatab back to him.

Delete it, he said calmly. If he asks, tell him it was automatically blocked and remind him we’re on emission control. If he tries again — tell me, but do not send it.  

Nathaniel kept quiet for a moment. Ravalor didn’t need to see the first officer’s face behind the helmet to imagine the uncomfortable look on it now. But then he nodded.

Understood.

9 The fight after Nolava

Both the Northman and Aeven had been brought back to the ship via transport once all heartfelt goodbyes and thanks had been said.

The Northman was somewhat glad to leave Nolava behind. Watching both Aeven and Pelagius chat and laugh in the end had felt… off. His memories weren’t the best anymore, as it turned out a human brain, even artificially improved, wasn’t really made to hold onto thousands of years worth of memories — but there was still that feeling. And that feeling led to things he thought he remembered. It had turned his own mood a bit brooding — though he knew better than to show it.

Aeven was tired, if the constant yawning hadn’t given it away the fact that on the way back to the ship he had nodded off at least twice gave that blatantly away. He was looking out of the window; Since they had entered the transport they had not spoken.

While the transport dashed over the snow the Northman pondered over what he would say to the crew once they all found a quiet moment to mourn Tyler’s death. He didn’t feel like blaming himself for that one, not yet and not without a bottle in his hand, but there was a possibility that his own dismissal of the danger at hand had directly contributed to the slip of attention of the soldier. Nobody could poof it this or that way, but… possible. Man, he really was broody.

He glanced back to Aeven, just to see the same sense of broodiness on Aeven’s face. That wasn’t good. This silence gave too much room to think. So he asked if Aeven was okay (yeah.) And noted that they all would need a good night sleep after this (hm.) And gave up as Aeven wasn’t even turning towards him. Maybe he was giving up too easily here, but there was something that kept him from trying harder. There was still something off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was exactly, but he had a gut feeling about this. And that one had never failed him so far.

Ravalor appeared the moment they arrived at the ship and ported them back up. The Hootman had expected to see the judgement in Ravalor’s face that would tell him if the wizard blamed him for Tyler’s death, but there was nothing. It was the kind of void expression that told the Northman that there was actually quite a lot that nobody said right now. Not a single word was spoken during that time.

And with every step, to the portal, out of the portal, into the ship, through the command centre — the Northman felt it. It was an ugly and suffocating tension growing with every second, festering on words unsaid. Ravalor seemed oblivious to it as he walked before them, but the Northman felt it. Hell, he saw it in the hard lines on Aeven’s face. That was not only not good, it was downright bad.

Ravalor.

And everyone could hear it the moment it broke through. The low chatter in the command centre died down in an instant.

Ravalor stopped and turned to Aeven, a questioning, but tense look on his face. Well, maybe he wasn’t as oblivious after all. Yes?

We need to talk, Aeven said.

The Warrior was impressive in the way not a single emotion would betray the stoic frown on his face, his eyes held Aeven’s direct stare steady and unwaveringly, but the Northman knew that wizard well enough to see the small signs of stress. A small twitch of his fingers, the way his chin propped up a half centimetre higher than usually, an almost defiant reaction to the problem staring him right in the face.

Ravalor nodded for them to follow, or at least he did to Aeven but the Northman took it upon himself to make sure everything stayed alright and followed too.

Ravalor had told him that as of recently Aeven was quick to lose his temper to the point of getting physical — and he hoped he himself might be more capable of somewhat calming the young prince down should it come to it again.

They entered Ravalor’s office and neither Ravalor nor Aeven commented on the Northman having naturally invited himself to this private conversation. Nor did any of them pay any attention to him.

There was a stretch of thick and suffocating silence  as Aeven stared at Ravalor who had walked up to his own desk, but stayed in front of it, merely turning back to Aeven, some healthy three metres between them.

Finally Aeven broke the silence.

You’re not going to talk about it?

About what?

The Northman pressed his lips together; Bad start. If he would have had a moment he might have coached Ravalor on not acting like nothing of note really happened. Not with Aeven being like this.

About wh— Aeven repeated in disbelief, falling baffled silent halfway through. Everything that happened there! You obviously knew what was going on, and the whole Kingmaker thing? Aeven’s voice rose but before Ravalor could have answered (the Northman doubted it would have improved the situation anyways) Aeven continued, having made a step forward which made Ravalor visibly tense up.

You told me that I am the captain of this ship — but I don’t get the feeling that I am! You’re — no actually, both of you— Aeven glared briefly at the Northman who slightly frowned. Are constantly dotting around me like I’m some five year old about to get lost. I get that there is something wrong with me, and none of you will tell me what it is, but the least you can do is be honest about the missions when there are real life’s at stake!

Aeven, it was a wizard problem and I wanted to take care of it without getting you involved, Ravalor said stiffly.

That’s really nice for you, but it didn’t work out, did it?

Come now, Aeven, you know he’s terrible at communicating things, the Northman interjected, stabbing Ravalor in the back in an attempt to calm the situation.

And that makes it okay? No! That’s his problem and he’s making it ours.

The Northman had to admit that Aeven was right. Even Ravalor seemed to agree, because there was only silence.

Aeven looked back to the Northman, his brows drawn into a hard frown — then he looked back to Ravalor.

For North’s sake, say something!

A last desperate moment, just waiting for either of them to say something, anything, that would make things make sense again, that would justify at least something.

Please …

But those words didn’t come. For a moment the Northman took a breath, to at least try to — but he realised there really was nothing that he could say.

When Aeven ever so slightly shook his head and turned around, and the Northman met his eyes only briefly again, there was barely any anger left in his face. Just sadness. Hurt. Maybe even betrayal.

There really was nothing to say anymore. Not by him. Not by Aeven. Now it was all on Ravalor. And Ravalor stayed silent.

There was no slamming of doors, though the Northman would have considered it more appropriately. As it was, the door simply slid shut in that gentle hiss after Aeven had left, leaving both Ravalor and the Northman standing there in even more silence.

The previously unmoved expression in Ravalor’s face had become darker, more irritated.

And the most concerning fact was that the Northman felt that irritation directed suddenly at himself as their eyes met.

You should not have left him alone, Ravalor said, finally breaching at least that point of irritation. It was a start.

Oh, now it’s my fault? The Northman raised his brows very much unimpressed.

Would you look at that, there was a spark of anger in those black eyes.

It was irresponsible and did more harm than good. You need to take this more seriously. Aeven isn’t well, and meeting Pelagius—

Listen. The Northman looked Ravalor straight in the eyes, meeting that still lingering anger. He stepped closer, a little too close for wizards.

Aeven is fucked. He’s been on this path for weeks. You’re frustrated, I get that. He’s barely talking to you as is. I get that too.

Ravalor’s frown deepened. What are you—

I left him there, because you didn’t answer when I tried to contact you. You never do, the Northman continued. I went back to the Northforce to tell you about what was going on. But you were not here. In fact, nobody knew where you went. Just like you always do.

You want to know everything that’s going on, but you tell us nothing of what is happening. You want to know where we go, while you just disappear, randomly, for how long, where to? You don’t tell us. Something goes wrong and off you are trying to fix it yourself without even considering our help.

The anger in Ravalor’s eyes had turned defiant but less sharp. Yet he stayed quiet.

The Northman made another step forward and he saw Ravalor tense up even more. Nevertheless he raised his hand, and then bumped his fist with the underside against Ravalor’s chest.  

Let me help you. Let all of us help you. We want you to make Aeven okay. But you have to talk to us. We’re your crew and we’re in this together. You don’t have to do this all on your own.

Ravalor looked up from the fist against his chest meeting the Northman’s eyes again.

And finally he said, We have a problem.

One?

A wizard problem.

Ah. That one. Yeah I was starting to get that feeling too. The Northman grinned grimly, taking a step back to give Ravalor his personal space back. With that lingering frown on his face Ravalor went around the desk and sat down, spinning up the holographic display.

There are so few of us considering the size of the multiverse, that the chance of running into another wizard by accident is astronomically slim, especially rough ones. I don’t believe for a second that we just managed to do that thrice now.

Yeah. The Northman looked at the pictures of the three faces, one of them extracted straight out of his own memories. Three is a pattern, eh?

Ravalor nodded, hands folded before his chin as he frowned at the pictures. Filtered through the holographic display, the Northman would swear to see a very clear sense of quite significant disdain on the face of the Warrior.

Looking at the old man again, the Northman felt it too. Naturally, being reminded so rudely of his own mortality on Altrada had not left him free of resentment.

Yeah, this was a problem.

It’s an Envoy. Ravalor said quietly, downright sinister now in his tone. And I think it’s the same wizard. All of them. And he’s burning faces.

That sounds bad.

He wants us to see him.

Why?

Maybe so we don’t see something else.

10 The Northman and Dion after Nolava

The Northforce’s mess hall was empty. It was quarter past 2am.

Before the Northman, sitting at the large central table, stood four empty bottles. A fifth in his hand, half full.

He felt tipsy. Maybe a bit more. What an achievement. Blasted artificial liver.

He also felt tired. But he didn’t want to sleep.

It was quite bare the hum of the submarine. He had considered turning on some music. Or a movie. But everything the Northforce could offer he already knew back to front, consisting of a very limited and hand picked selection back from the Empire which Ravalor had approved off. Naturally they weren’t given access to any news or media out of this galaxy just on the off chance that Aeven could stumble in onto something he wouldn’t be able to explain away.

He had coaxed Ravalor into at least giving him access to local information that went through the local portnet on his own personal tab — making a case for his own combat readiness being a lot better when he knew what they were flying into. So far he had mostly used it to check out anything relating to Hatir, even starting to learn a bit of the language just for the sake of it. It was as good a hobby as any to have something to pass the time and keep the boredom at bay — but even that had lost its appeal tonight.

He was moody. He didn’t like to be, but even after some four thousand years with change he hadn’t found a good fix for that. He was thinking too much. He had to stop that.

But even though it didn’t help with the moodiness he kept the silence. It somehow felt right. More appropriate. Nobody had felt like celebrating their latest victory on Nolava or honour Tyler’s death the way the Northman would usually feel appropriate. But somehow this one really didn’t want to feel appropriate. He had always disliked that word.

Steps came from outside the room, a low echo in the bare corridor. Too heavy for Aeven, too casual for Ravalor. One of the soldiers then.

The Northman didn’t turn to look while he tilted the bottle in his hands, watching the clear liqueur splash from one side to the other.

The steps came inside, followed by a low and dull cling sound of shatterproof glass as a cupboard was opened and a bottle taken. Then Dion appeared in his field of view. Said bottle in his hand.

Can’t sleep? the engineer asked as he sat down.

Don’t feel like it.’’ The Northman raised his eyes from the bottle. Dion gave his helmet a slight push on the sides, and with a slight hiss it slid open. The engineer removed the front panel and put it on the table before taking the bottle again to open it.

Same. Dion took a good long drink. He looked tired.

Are you okay? He heard himself ask. He wondered why. Obligation? Care? To fill the air? Hm.

Not really, Dion said plainly, taking another sip from the bottle. It burned like hell, at least the brief grimace on his face said so. But it might as well have been grief. Tyler’s been — I don’t know. A brief consideration. Another drink. I’ve read people referring to others as brothers. Little brothers, big brothers. Siblings — not family, but close. But I don’t really know what that means. We’re all brothers in a way. But little brother, big brother — I don’t know that. But he was important. To me. To most of us.

I know, the Northman hummed.

I didn’t think more would die, Dion admitted. There was nothing left of his happy go lucky easy going way tonight. And that too was more appropriate. After that first battle, I thought that would be it. I know things have been dangerous since then here and there, but it’s never been like that. It was all so easy. Nothing like before. And now Tyler is gone. Another sip. To drown sorrow in alcohol. The Northman could tell him that didn’t work. But he didn’t.

We joked before. We didn’t take it seriously. In the engineer’s words was a silent question, begging for absolution.

It’s not your fault, he said downright gently. A soothing tone for a troubled mind. But if it was so, he didn’t know. Maybe it was their fault. Maybe they had been too safe for too long, and became cocky. But maybe they just had been lucky it hadn’t taken more of them. Maybe it was his own fault. Maybe it was Ravalor’s fault.

With this insane charade they kept playing, things getting out of hand, the wrenches thrown into Ravalor’s plan — maybe in his attempt to save Aeven he’d end up killing them all. The Northman made a mental note to be elsewhere should it come to that.

What about you? Dion suddenly asked, giving a slight nod to the bottles on the table. Yeah, drinking alone in the middle of the night while just sitting around doing nothing but staring at the bottle really didn’t speak of too much fun.

For a while he considered if he wanted to speak about it in the first place.

I had a friend once. A damn good one. But he died a long time ago, the Northman finally said, letting his tipsy mind get the better of him and blurting out what lay on his mind for hours now. I saw him again on Nolava.

Dion looked at him, the bright eyes already slightly hazy by the quick amount of alcohol in his system and blessed with a liver that wasn’t as ridiculously overzealous as the Northman’s. You… saw him?

Yeah. It wasn’t him of course. But in a way it was. But he didn’t know me — we’ve never been friends here. Different universe and such... He drank another quarter of the bottle. He didn’t feel like sobering up yet.

They brought him back during the war, some magical nonsense, and I didn’t like that. It wasn’t him either. I had almost forgotten about it I think. Seeing him back down there — was strange. He was alive. Not some conjured up spirit or anything. Alive. He chuckled hoarsely.

And then that bastard almost gets himself killed…  After a silent moment he grimly added, I felt that. When I saw him plunged into that darkness, for a moment there, I was… hm, yes, what exactly? Afraid? Scared? He hadn’t felt either in a long time, and he wasn’t quite sure he still knew how it felt. Even when he had lost his heart on Altrada he hadn’t been afraid. Tense and maybe a little stressed out initially — it had been more like a really shitty inconvenience. He could have died. But he hadn’t been afraid of that. I was concerned. For the life of a man I don’t know and have never met before.

Dion just listened. The Northman wasn’t sure if anything he said even made sense to the clone soldier, but at least he listened.

I’ve been alive for a while now. Couple thousand years. And you get used to it. Death I mean. He emptied the bottle. But seeing him there… made me remember a time where that wasn’t so. He too was like a brother to me. I wasn’t used to losing people like that back then.

Maybe that’s a good thing, Dion mused carefully, clearly unsure of what to say. The Northman didn’t fault him for that.

Not when you’re immortal, I think. Then it just drives you insane.

11 The Warrior and the Stargazer after Nolava

The Stargazer was not okay.

The Warrior, as well as all his other Parts, knew that.

It had been almost a year now since the destruction of earth, since he himself had broken apart. 11 months almost to the day.

The first three months had been the most disorientating. Not only due to the separation.

Every time the Stargazer slipped into the void, each Part of Ravalor felt the chilling sensation of a part of himself dying. It was a subconscious sense, nothing he had control over, just an awareness whether or not the Stargazer was still alive or not.

In those first three months, the Stargazer had been more dead than alive. Days on end Ravalor had felt him to be lost in the void, just for him the re-emerge as the faint sense of presence again. Never returning fully to him, but alive again. Just to slip back into the void soon after.

At one time he was gone for weeks. And in that time he had discussed the possibility or more so the option of rebuilding the Stargazer eventually. But when he then had reappeared in their subconscious they realised that it would be near impossible to really know for sure whether or not he was truly dead or not.

And all discomfort aside, he was not willing to run the risk of double parting, not while he didn’t know what the Stargazer would do and not while there still was a chance of him returning.

After those initial three months the Stargazer had become more stable. The length of his time in the void shortened drastically, and he chose to believe that meant he was doing better. That the Stargazer would be okay and return at some point.

But in the following seven months that hope had started to fade away.

On occasion the sudden sense of death still took the Warrior by surprise, but he had gotten used to it. But not used enough as that he could sleep soundly.

The absence of the Stargazer and the Hermit still clawed at his mind. The Hermit was being rebuilt, but it was a slow process. He wasn’t given any priority treatment nor access to the chambers of time, of course not, and he assumed this to be just more part of his punishment. Exavidar was overseeing the process at the Wizard’s side. But at this rate it would still take one or two more months. The drawback of being a wizard of five.

But at least he would be… a little bit more whole once the Hermit was alive again.

Leaving only the Stargazer problem.

Which he couldn’t solve.

And the chaos wizard problem.

Which he wasn’t equipped to solve.

And the Aeven problem.

Which he didn’t know how to solve.

Since Nolava every conversation with Aeven had been purely on a professional captain-commander basis. He no longer came to him for council, he no longer saw him on the bridge or mess hall in his spare time, no longer joking or laughing with the crew, no longer talking to him — or anyone else for that matter. Now he was spending most of his time in his quarters. Alone.

Twice in the last week he had shown up late in the morning. And Ravalor wasn’t sure what to do about that. Of course in any real military organisation that behaviour would need to be reprimanded but he feared another fight should he do so. Maybe that would be what was necessary. Maybe, him not pointing it out made it just worse. Less real. But he didn’t know.

The Warrior turned in his bed, laying on his side, staring into the cramped cabin. It was a mess. And he hated it. He wasn’t even really sure how all of this had ended up here in the last 11 months. There had been nothing in here at first. But now every available space was stashed full with artefacts, books, documents, encrypted datatabs and, lords, all the loose paper. He had been writing — loose collections of things he tried to sort in his head, ending up scattered and unsorted all over the place. Maybe he should try to get some order into it instead of trying to sleep. Which was pointless in the first place.

It was 3:32 am. Standart earth time. In 118 minutes he’d have to stand up and see to his duties again. He hadn’t slept so far. This was normal by now.

The earth based 24 hour day and night cycle was very generous for sleep when compared to Mezchinhar and most wizards didn’t need to sleep that often. The standard cycle in Mezchinhar was roughly 80 hours. 70 hours awake with 10 hours of sleep.

Neither of those facts did matter. He had the chance to sleep every day but couldn’t. Even when staying awake for days on end and his mind cried out by exhaustion, proper sleep would not come. And once he did fall asleep, due to his missing parts, even the few hours of sleep he managed to get weren’t even half as restful as he’d need them to be. Every part of him felt it.

He was so tired.

Stubbornly he closed his eyes again. At least pretending he was sleeping.

Something ached in his heart. A sense of emotion tightening inside him, seemingly out of nowhere, and then suddenly, the Stargazer was dead again.

The Warrior let out a deep sigh, accepting the uncomfortable sensation. After all there was nothing else he could do.

A little bit over an hour later he was back. The faint sense of the Stargazers existence returned to his subconsciousness.

He felt an anxious sense deep within him but he didn’t know where it belonged.

Not much later he finally stood up after another sleepless night and got dressed.

*

The mood on board was tense since Nolava.

Aeven behaviour aside, something had changed with the crew too. It had been almost a month now since Tyler’s death and leaving Nolava, after which Ravalor had plotted them on a stealthy slingshot course through interstellar space. They ran dark and undetected, with full emission control in effect, far outside any chance for surprise encounters as they drifted between two starsystems. It was as safe as it could get; the only Wizard he had told where he had disappeared to was Fleetmaster Nemoneleus because he had to, which meant the First Circle knew as well. But that was safe, nobody else knew  — but that safety also meant that for a month really nothing had been happening.

The Northman had informed him earlier that indeed the crew was starting to get stir-crazy as he had put it. Cabin fever.

It was a concept probably no wizard could really relate to, but he understood it. Technically. Realistically he knew he should get them somewhere, some port or station, just to give everyone a chance to stretch their legs and wind down. Aeven too. But there was still their chaos wizard problem. And he feared no matter where they went next, trouble would follow them. With Aeven being as unstable as he was right now, he couldn’t risk it. Especially not when the whole Twilight Empire seemed to be on the brink of war and every port they could set course to was just ripe with more trouble to follow soon.

He just needed a little more time.

The clone was almost done, and once he had separated the two Aeven…

He’d have to face another potential problem.

There was something wrong with Aeven.

It wasn’t just the missing memories. There was a temper and anger within him now Ravalor had never known of him. He even had asked Bepazulux about it and Treva’s late court wizard had just confirmed his worst fears.

This wasn’t Aeven. This was something else and it was still within his mind. Once buried within his lost memories, it seemed to unearth itself with every day more and more. Growing stronger with every sliver of recollection he managed to grasp.

It was that curse of the knife, it could only be that, it was the only explanation. The only variable he had no control over. But if it was just a memory or the actual curse he couldn’t tell. There was no way to be certain even though it should have been impossible for the curse to infect this new body.

But then again, it was the magic of their lords. He couldn’t even pretend he understood it.

First when he separated the two Aeven he would know. If it was something burned into his being, it would stay with him even in the clone’s body.

And then Ravalor would need to take care of that.

There was an option, an insane one, but the only one left. He couldn’t dispel the magic of their lord’s with any conventional means of magic — this was beyond any wizard’s ability. And so he had to fight fire with fire.

Izshushnaya — The lord’s essence. He had read about it, the Hermit had brushed past it’s name centuries ago and what information there was was sparse. It was an impossibly long shot. But in all likelihood, it was the only thing that could still save Aeven if his assumptions were correct.

The Warrior was staring at the panels of the front consoles without really looking at them. The soldier’s chatter around him blended in with the him of the Northfoce and he barely heard either.

Aeven wasn’t here. In fact he hadn’t seen him the entire day.

He felt that anxious sense in his core again. And for a moment he thought it was because of Aeven. Maybe it was, for a little while, before the feeling got unbearably worse.

The Warrior took a sudden and shuddering breath as all of the sudden he knew, so very clearly, that the Stargazer was in deathly peril. Suddenly, through some twisted path in the void, what felt like a full blown panic attack rose in his chest and he staggered back.

The Stargazer still wasn’t there. He still didn’t see him. But whatever had just happened to the Stargazer was so intense that it transcended every normal sense and connection. Because in this moment, every part of himself felt the same.

The pain was unreal, nothing physically hurt and yet it was in every atom of his being. Something in his mind cried out, desperate to mend the broken link, and yet —

Suddenly.

It was all gone. The pain, the unbearable tightness in his chest. And the Stargazer.

As he once more had fallen away into the void. Into death.

And a horrible shudder went down the Warrior’s spine as he had to wonder … if maybe the Stargazer really was dead now. Leaving another branch in his existence he would never know about.

The Warrior took a deep breath. He blinked.

The sounds around him returned to his perception. The chatter. The hum.

And nobody had noticed anything.

Another breath. He crossed his arms, trying to find his centre again and straightened his stance. And no single emotion betrayed the calmness on his face.

12 Bonus: Northmovie

By North I forgot how good Magdalena Meña was, Aeven whispered between two hands full of popcorn.

The Northman hummed in agreement, while on the screen before them he himself embraced the petit figure of the young actress, the heartache dripping from every spoken line. More than one snivel was heard in the room around him from the oh so proper soldiers.

She was great. ’Twas a joy working with her. The Northman gave Aeven a not-so gentle nudge as the prince kept hoarding the snacks, and for a moment he held them deliberately far away, eying the Northman with suspicion.

So?

The Northman chuckled. So what? Gimme those. He reached over, halfway wrestling with Aeven, before a less than subtle clearing of the throat behind them stopped them.

Sorry. Aeven whispered as they both settled back into their chairs, being reminded of the others in the room. Defeated, he handed the Northman the bowl, then adding with hushed whispers again, Was she really a wizard?

At the question the Northman’s face shifted into an expression of benevolent mysticism. Ah, that. Such a great mystery.

Aeven gave him a little punch against the arm. Come one. Tell me.

Nah. It was just marketing, the Northman finally said with a shrug. Wizards had been such a prevalent part of earth’s civilization that, of course, their imagery had found its way into pop culture. But as far as Aeven knew, they had never convinced an actual wizard to partake in it. But then again, it was hard to tell at times, since, if they wanted to, they were quite capable of just blending in.

Dammit, Aeven cursed with genuine dismay. Then he sighed. Guess I should have known. With how much they got wrong about wizards and all I mean. Then he looked back at North. Come to think of it, why did they? You were there. You know these things.

Who am I to fix a creator’s vision really? the Northman said with that benevolent calm again, but then added more amused Plus I was always under a strict NDA. I could have given them the nitty gritty, but that just would have got me into hot waters with the circle. They like to be mysterious.

His comment drew a quiet scoff from Ravalor, who, sitting to Aeven’s other side, hadn’t paid much attention to the movie so far but read something on his datatab instead.

Aeven glanced at the Commander with an amused smirk. What, you can’t say he’s wrong.

Let him, he’s still disgruntled about his portrayal in Nightwalker, the Northman chuckled.

Aeven now looked at Ravalor aghast. You don’t like Magdalena?

Finally Ravalor lowered the tablet in his hands, exasperated looking at Aeven and the Northman.

I do not have any personal grudge with this woman. I just think that the portrayal of ’the Hermit’ as some poor lost damsel in dire need of saving from a strong hero isn’t very flattering.

Told you he took that personal, the Northman whispered giddily.

And you just let that happen! Worst of all, playing said hero!

Twas a good movie though.

Really was. Got me right into the heart first time I watched it, Aeven coined in, nodding in agreement.

Ravalor only looked at both of them as if he was about to throw the tablet at them.