1

04.12.2021

Thunder and rain whipped through the sky as the shuttle broke through the all–consuming black clouds. Tremors went through the craft as they passed through the storm which true scale the people inside the hatarian shuttle could only imagine from the flat images on the screens.

 

“You look tense.”

 

Ravalor’s eyes refocused from an undefined point in space and time to the here and now as he heard Aeven’s whisper, clearly directed at him.

“I’m fine,” he answered briskly without considering any other option, and shifted in his seat, straightening up a bit more.

Another hard tremor went through the shuttle. But it couldn’t dampen the general mood inside. Almost the entire crew of the TSS Northforce was here and the spacious shuttle had still room to spare. The design was dark and gloomy and unmistakably displaying the dramatic sense of architecture common in the northern hemisphere of Hatir – but despite that, and despite the apocalyptic weather outside, the mood of the crew could only be described as jolly.

There was chatter and laughter, and Ravalor couldn’t remember having seen the entire crew ever this relaxed. His eyes ended up watching the Northman who stood in the middle of the cabin, holding himself steady against the turbulence with a strong grip around one of the rails running alongside the ceiling. He seemed, of course, confident enough that no amount of turbulence would be able to shake him around. The question however was; Why was he standing in the first place? And why was the answer probably that he stood because they had been explicitly told to remain in their seats and strapped in till they landed? Ravalor was about to, at least try to, order the Northman back to his seat but before he could find the right words to do so the Northman’s booming voice filled the shuttle.

“Alright kids, listen up.”

The chatter fell silent in an instant. The soldiers were exceptional in following orders, however, the level of obedience they granted the Northman bordered on blind submissiveness. Ravalor wasn’t yet sure they wouldn’t throw themselves out of the next airlock without second thought should their god ever ask it of them. And he wasn’t sure he liked that. On the other hand, the Northman had become basically the head employee representative and he noticed more and more often that requests from the crew no longer came through his first officer, but the Northman instead. If they ever reached him. The Northman had started to take some liberties here and there he had noticed. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe not. But so far it was working and he got more time for more pressing matters, that was all that counted.

 

“This one’s gonna be a new one for most of you, but that’s no reason to cost our dear captain and commander here their last nerves. I want all of you on your best behaviour. Keep your hands to yourself and your dicks in your pants and we’ll have a grand time down there.”

Spoke the Guidance of decency.

Ravalor felt again a little twang in the back of his mind, making him even tenser. If he were to survive this night, he would make sure to let every future invitation disappear into the void before Aeven could ever get wind of it and enthusiastically accept.

 

The com system hummed before the calm voice of the shuttle pilot took advantage of the silence the Northman’s little monologue had ended with.

“We’re going to land at the Holy Crypt in roughly 10 minutes. The weather is mild but there will be some turbulence in the landing process, so please keep seated till we’re in.”

 

Ravalor met the Northman’s eyes for a brief second with a plain, yet blatantly judgmental look. Then the Northman did sit back down with an amused smirk on his face. As a sign of demonstrative compliance, he even bothered to strap himself in as noticeable as humanly possible.

 

“If this is mild weather here, what’s a storm like?” Aeven mused looking back at the screen that was frequently lit up by the ongoing apocalyptic thunder. The pratting of rain was reduced to a constant static noise by the layers of hull and plating of the shuttle and mostly drowned by the sound of the engine.

“It’s because of Tyr, Ravalor said with the intention of leaving it at that, but as he was met with the endless curiosity in Aeven’s face he decided that he might as well indulge him for a moment. This was at least something he could safely tell Aeven.

These two planets are affecting each other very strongly. They used to be one planet a long time ago before they broke apart.

That wasn’t quite true. The planet had not broken apart, it had literally exploded taking all its previous inhabitants with it. It had scattered it’s mass into this starsystem and in time Tyr and Hatir had emerged from the destruction. A twin set of planets not even half as large as the one that came before, locked in a steady elliptical orbit around each other, either becoming the other’s moon. But that was distant history no mortal today knew more about than what the still lingering scattered remains of the planet that came before told them. Unloading that kind of information onto Aeven now while considering earth’s own fate, felt unwise, dangerous and inappropriate. So he continued more on the surface level.

Right now Tyr is at its farthest away from Hatir. He raised his hands, fingers pointing together as if he held an invisible string between them as he pulled them apart. Imagine a rubber band being stretched to its limit. To the point where the tension is the highest. Something similar is happening here, fueling the storms and tides. If they get closer together again, the tension eases so to speak. It’s not quite natural, but it has been like this for a very long time.

Aeven listened with undivided attention and a spark in his eyes.

It’s also why we’re here now – They celebrate Leitnacht because it’s now that Tyr will come closer again. Of course it all ties in with their religion, the guidance from the father and the birth of the holy son – you should ask them about it. I’m sure they will be happy to give you all the details if you’re interested.”

Another hard tremor went through the shuttle, receiving a cheer from one of the soldiers followed by laughter.

“Oh, I certainly will.” Aeven grinned.

Ravalor sighed in spirit. Aeven seemed excited enough. Now it was just up to Ravalor to prevent this friendly visit from ending in a disaster.

*

 

“Wow.” Aeven whistled through his teeth as they exited the shuttle, Ravalor before him, North right behind him. The heavy mechanical gates closed in a dizzying rotational motion behind them, letting the last howling of the storm and whipping rain through as well as a glimpse of thunder. The howling increased in pitch as the opening shrunk, peaking in a wailing and unsettling scream – then the gates closed fully with a dooming rumble and the hall fell into utter silence.

“Man, this is gloomy,” Aeven said with an excited tone that wouldn’t quite match his words as he let his eyes wander over the dramatic architecture. There was a sense of technical blandness here, as this area was undoubtedly merely a hangar bay for the shuttles to land and exit from, however, already it was foreboding of what was to come. Everything was dark. The floor was made from a matt black grating, the walls covered with brushed metal and dramatic red lighting stips basking the area in an unsettling shine. The shadows were strong and every corner vanished into pitch–black darkness. Breaking about two dozen standard safety regulations at first glance – at least by earth’s standards.

“Should have bought a torch,” the Northman said beside him, clearly utterly unfazed, while the last of the soldiers poured out of the shuttle.

 

“I hope the light level proves adequate once you get used to it. We excuse any inconvenience it might cause.”

The voice seemed to come suddenly out of nowhere, echoing in the hall like the voice of a god. Aeven almost made a jump, even the Northman turned a bit more rapidly than usual. Only Ravalor seemed perfectly unimpressed.

“Falk. It’s good to see you, Ravalor said without any sign in his face that he meant what he said, while Aeven still recollected his countenance.

“I’d say the same, but feel like we two never had a chance to speak before.” The sly voice lost some of its unnatural reverb as he the hatarian appeared from the shadows, only a second glance identified said shadows as a doorway. He was tall, slender, and wore markings not unsimilar to those Aeven had seen with the other hatarians. Aeven wasn’t sure if he had been on the ship with the King or he had only seen him later in the transmissions, but he had definitely seen him before. A slim jestfull smile lay on his face as he reached the crew of the Northforce.

“Let me extend the most heartfelt welcome from the King and the Hatarian people. We’re honoured you’ve come to celebrate Leitnach with us.” The words were followed by an overly dramatic bow. “Please, if you would, follow me. Let us descend down into the crypt. They are already waiting for you.

And a descent it was.

For what felt like at least 15 minutes the group followed the hatarian. Stairway after stairway. Here and there Aeven spotted what suspiciously looked like elevators – but he figured it was probably custom to enter the crypt the long way. At least the first time around.

It gave them all a moment to appreciate the almost gothic architecture – though he was sure it was called something different here.

The way was sparsely lit by what looked like candles but were almost certainly electric. Finally, they seemed to reach the end of the stairs, a hallway opened up before them, guards in dark, ornamental armour lining the sides, so perfectly unmoving Aeven wasn’t sure they weren’t statues.

At the end of the hallway, a massive set of doors stood wide open, inviting them with a warm golden glow.

Ah, hello friends! Prince Aeven! Kingmaker! The moment King Attila spotted them entering the enormous hall he opened his arms wide approaching them in welcome. And before Aeven could have answered he was heartily embraced by one of the best hugs he had ever received in his life – from the hatarian King of all people.

It came as an utter surprise and accordingly awkward was he with his hands for a moment, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Then Attila let go of him and turned to Ravalor who had almost magically slid back about a meter away from the imminent danger of the threatened hug. There was a brief stand down; Attila’s open arms versus the skittish wizard who seemed ready to disappear into thin air should the King make one more step towards him.

Right, excuse my enthusiasm, King Attila said, his mood not dampened in the slightest. But you! The Northman, right? Come here, friend.

The Northman chuckled and indulged the King, receiving a heartfelt hug as well.

I’m honoured you could come! We’ll have a wonderful night, King Attila promised joyfully, addressing all three of them and the rest of the crew that had followed them inside.

The honour is all ours. I’d like to, personally and in the name of the entire crew, thank you for this invitation! Aeven said with a wide smile. He had been looking forward to this ever since the invitation had arrived and he felt a pleasing excitement. It was a welcome distraction.

Of course. Of course! You’re friends here. Then the King addressed the crew, Please, get comfortable, find a seat and drink. Tonight’s a night of joys and pleasures, of gratitude and celebration. If there is anything you need, do not fear to ask. You are our guest now, and your blood will be honoured tonight.

 

The crew said some thanks (though there was more than one cautious and inappropriate mumble about ending up as the main course of this feast) and, led by the Northman, did as suggested and dispersed into the hall accompanied by curious but still low chatter.

First now Aeven noticed that the hatarian who had led them here, Falk, had seemingly vanished without a trace.

 

Prince Aeven, I hope the flight wasn’t too rough. King Attila signed him to follow him.

Not too much, no. Afterall, I was told it was mild weather. He smiled as the King laughed warm and heartily.

For Hatir it is, yes. But on Tyr they’d call it a hurricane! Just wait and see how their delegation will complain once they arrive.

Will the Admiral be joining us?

Why, of course! King Attila said with a beaming smile as they crossed the hall.

Along the centre of the room stood a very long table, decorated festively and easily able to seat about 200 people. Its headpiece was centred before an arch in the wall in which a massive blood-red tree stood. Pine shaped but with no needles or leaves left, the tree had surely been dead for quite a while already. Nevertheless, it was draped festively in gold and lights. On the thick, dried out branches hung golden ornaments shaped like severed hands, polished so well they were reflecting every small glimpse of light.

That’s an interesting tree you got there, Aeven noted wonderingly and King Attila glanced back at him as they stopped close to it, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

Is that reservation I hear in your tone, Prince Aeven?

Oh no, I think it looks amazing. Never seen one like it though. Is it specific to the occasion?

Attila seemed satisfied as he nodded. It is indeed. This tree has been in our family for generations. Originally they drenched it in blood for the colour.

Aeven smirked, he should have suspected that. I see. The skulls and severed hands are a nice touch too.

Yes. All to celebrate this joyous night! Attila’s tone shifted within a second from jolly to unsettlingly serious, You’re a man of strong guidance, your hands would be worthy to hang on it.

I– what? Aeven blinked, not really fond of the mental image those words suggested – nor of the dark, red gleam in the King’s eyes leaving no doubt that he wasn’t joking.

 

A cast of course, Attila said, and that dark gleam turned to a joyful spark. Lasts longer too.

Ah, yes. Of course. Aeven smiled his most winning smile – and found himself subconsciously holding onto his wrist to prevent any sudden dismemberment.

*

Almost an hour later, the entire crew had successfully mingled with the hatarian guests and hosts. Some groups sat at the table, others were spread out throughout the hall. Dim, golden light and the shine of hundreds of candles basked the room in a warm and comfortable atmosphere. The alcohol helped too. From several types of wine to cold ale and sparkling blends. Aeven noticed that the Northman had already managed to secure at least one bottle of that hatarian Wild Wolf he had been talking about earlier. Everyone else wasn’t yet going for the hard spirits. It was still early in the evening after all. He himself had his second challis worth of wine in his hand – a very sweet, red one the King had recommended to him. It was very good. So good that he should be careful not to drink too much of it too quickly.

The table was filled with all sorts of small desserts, snacks and meals, and Aeven tried his best to try each and every one of them. They all were amazing, bar a few dishes that were just a bit too spicy for him.

He had been talking to King Attila for most of the hour with both of them sitting at the head of the table. Ravalor and the Northman were there too, but the latter was talking with a group of hatarians on the other side of the table. Ravalor, sitting right next to Aeven, was trying to appear as busy as possible reading something on his datatab so as to prevent anyone from even trying to start up a conversation with him. Aeven had consequently and prudently refrained from trying to include the commander in his conversation with the King.

If you would excuse me for a minute. Aeven stood up with the polite smile that felt by now glued onto his face, but it turned genuinely amused when he noticed Ravalor raise halfway too.

Ravalor, this I can do on my own, trust me. He chuckled.

For a few moments, his words didn’t even seem to compute with Ravalor who first then let himself drop down again with a mumbled, Right. Followed by an even more mumbly, I wasn’t thinking.

That’s a first for you. The Northmans booming laughter allowed Aeven to slip away, but not before glancing concerned back towards Ravalor as he sat back down.

He left the hall and turned right, being swallowed by the darkness that was just barely kept at bay by very dim lights. He worried a bit about Ravalor today. No, not only today but today it was the most obvious. Even before they had arrived here, the commander had been tense – well, he always seemed tense, but now it was borderline ridiculous. Like looking at a bunch of tied together ferrets that happened to wear a commander’s uniform and were just about to unravel any second now. He wasn’t quite sure where that mental image came from, but he figured it was kinda fitting.

Aeven’s thoughts of worry were abruptly cut short when he heard a noise from in front of him that he could neither place nor had expected. And so he stopped. Listening.

It was quiet now. He could no longer hear the voices from the hall, but he could hear no other sign of life besides that either.

Until he did.

It was a tapping, like steps but softer, and more numerous. A multitude of clicking came with every tap.

He squinted, looking down the corridor. In the flickering lights the shadows seemed to dance – but then his breath stopped. Something dark moved before him, close to the ground, tapping, his eyes trying to find any familiar form in that shadowy figure, but failed. A shuddering chill raised his hackles, his heartbeat rising. Then it gleamed at him. Burning embers in the darkness – a set of eyes – but then two, three, too many eyes appearing from the shadow. Tapping. Turning. Clicking. Quicker.

Aeven made a step back –

and the shadow burst from before him!

*

Ravalor had noticed Aeven’s concerned look and cursed himself quietly.

Aeven was gone when Attila, his voice respectfully lowered, said, I was already wondering. You two do seem inseparable. Not willing to have his words being read into too much, the King added quietly Is it because of what you told me? His injury? Is it so bad?

Ravalor nodded slowly, trying to relax a bit. So far everything was going fine. This was good for Aeven, he seemed happy and his mind was occupied. But, throwing him at strangers of this universe was a great risk. He had made up a mostly believable story about the Prices’ condition, lying through his teeth without a hitch, and asked the King for absolute discretion in this matter. He knew he could trust King Attila, his close circle too would not go against the King’s order, but these were hardly the only people in the Holy Crypt. And it only needed one person to mention something that would seem out of place to Aeven, one person to mention the ongoing war the Twilight Force fought at the galaxy’s edge, one person to speak of the empire’s capital planet that was definitely not earth – and he would have a lot to explain to the young prince. Leaving him out of his sight, where he couldn’t make sure exactly that didn’t happen, was killing him.

“I just don’t want him to get overwhelmed.”

 

He doesn’t seem the type to break easy, King Attila said after a thoughtful sip from his chalice.

No, he’s definitely not, Ravalor said soberly and for now, even the Northman’s expression seemed unusually serious. Both were aware that Aeven’s struggle with his own mind was getting harder by the day.

 

What interrupted the gloomy thought could be identified, subjectively for Ravalor, as the loudest possible sound in the universe; Aeven’s scream amplified by the winding labyrinth of hallways rang through the room and Ravalor had jumped up before any of the others had even processed the sound.

He felt sick, frozen by fear inside, and yet his body reacted more on its own than on conscious thought.

Aeven?!

 

Steps followed him as he rushed into the hallway, following the path he knew Aeven must have taken. He called out again but received still no answer – then he almost stopped in his steps when he finally heard ...something.

Not wanting to fit into the worst he expected, it took him a couple of steps till he really realised what he heard and his steps slowed down by the time he reached its source.

 

Aeven. Ravalor stared down at the young prince.

His voice was filled with strangeling irritation as well as endless relief.

The hallway filled with low woofs and the laughing of the prince who must have been tackled down to the ground by the massive wolflike creatures now happily occupied with licking his face, snuggling against his side and sniffing him up and down with childlike curiosity.

Ravalor! Aeven snickered, trying to push one of the wolves away to even let him talk. Sorry, they took me by surprise.

 

Children! Attila’s voice cut harshly through the corridor. The playful wolves immediately jumped back to their feet, but kept their bouncy demeanour, the golden eyes glowing with excitement.

Prince Aeven, I’m so sorry. Attila pushed himself past Ravalor and held his hand out to help Aeven back up. They should be long in bed already.

Nah it’s alright. Aeven took the King’s hand and pulled himself back up, grinning from one ear to the other.

It’s alright. Ravalor took a deep breath. And another. Everything. Is. Alright.

You’re too kind. But– Attila turned back to the young overexcited wolves and his frown and tone turned into fatherly disapproval. You three better be in bed by the next bell or there won’t be any presents for either of you tomorrow!

The threat did exactly what one would expect it to do to little children, even when those came in the form of oversized wolves. They looked startled and then bolted off as quickly as they could – hopefully in the direction of their beds.

Attila sighed watching after them, then turning back to Aeven and Ravalor.

Behind them, in a leisurely stroll, the Northman finally caught up with them.

I really have to excuse that behaviour. The children get always overly excited the night before Leitnacht. And they were really excited to meet our visitors – tomorrow, mind you. Not tonight.

Really, it’s alright. Aeven chuckled while brushing off the dusty grey hairs from his black uniform as best as he could and failed miserably.

The genuine moment of fear he had experienced just moments ago was already long forgotten.

2

11.12.2021

Quietly Aeven’s gaze hung on the massive painting. He barely looked at it anymore, lost in thoughts. Maybe him starring seemingly intensely at a grand depiction of a lot of sex and blood was a questionable look but he didn’t even think about that right now.

First, as he heard steps approach he turned around.

I’m alright, Aeven said reflexively as Ravalor stepped up to him, leaving the other small groups in the hall to their chatter. He had seen the question in the wizard’s face before he could even ask it.

Something on your mind?” Ravalor asked instead.

Aeven just shook his head, letting his eyes wander back over the crowd of people in the room. The crew of the Northforce all mingled with the inner circle of the King. Then he glanced back at Ravalor as he kept quiet. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re standing here all by yourself. That doesn’t seem like you.”

Aeven smiled weakly. “To be honest, I feel a bit rusty in this. I don’t know, it feels like an eternity since I’ve been at an event like this. I don’t even remember the last time–”

“You’re doing great. They adore you.” Ravalor cut in reassuringly before Aeven could lose himself further in memories too far beyond his grasp.

Aeven chuckled, “Then why do you keep looking at me as if I’m about to start the next system war any second now?”

Ravalor just mildly shook his head, keeping his face stoically neutral “Be assured, it’s not that I’m worried about.”

“What then?” Aeven asked, the lightheartedness slowly fading from his voice and face, being replaced with a hint of irritation when Ravalor just lightly shook his head again, promising once again only silence as an answer.

“Does it interest you?

The sudden unexpected voice made Aeven almost jump – again. Ravalor though only took a deep breath as he turned towards the voice, addressing its source with an utterly neutral tone.

Falk.

 

The hatarian smiled non threateningly enough but there was a manic gleam in the dark red eyes that Aeven had to fight against finding unsettling.

What do you mean? Aeven cleared his throat, reassembling his composure. While he had met this hatarian before, probably on the Northforce and definitely back at the shuttle bay, he had never been formally introduced to him so Aeven couldn’t say if Falk was his first name, last name or maybe just a title and if it would be appropriate for him to call him that, to begin with. Ravalor obviously knew him, but how friendly they were with each other was also impossible to discern from either of them. Falk wore similar markings to most of them here so Aeven assumed him to be one of their holy cast as well. He was tall and slender, the tips of his fingers softly pressed together in front of his chest.

Oh, the painting. He waved with one spidery hand at said painting Aeven had absolutely forgotten about at this point. If you keep standing here, you should at least be made aware of its meaning.

Aeven looked back at the painting, and he noticed Ravalor doing so as well with a slight frown.

Okay, what’s it about? Aeven asked, failing to discern any deeper meaning beyond orgy, and there is also blood from it by merely looking.

It’s our holy mother accepting the father’s gift, the blessed mother in his grasp right there as you can see. We hang these for Leitnach, but it’s actually depicting the night leading into Leitnacht. Which would be tonight! Falk exclaimed downright thrilled as if the mere explanation should have opened their eyes to the gift of the father.

Ah, I see, Aeven said with a nod, not yet feeling any godly enlightenment. He had picked up some of this religion here and there to not be utterly lost, but it still held no deeper meaning to him. It does seem a very coital way of receiving a gift, he couldn’t help himself but note.

Falk chuckled, fortunately taking the comment as light-hearted as it was meant, his long fingers brushing against each other as he nodded. Oh yes. It’s a very coital night all-around one might say. But– Falk raised one finger, a serious spark in his eyes. –beware. One may choose one’s mate carefully this night, as it is tradition, and expected by law, to marry the one whom one spends the night before Leitnacht with. The seriousness fell as he lowered his hand again to rest before his chest again, the slim smile back on his face. It’s an old law, but breaking it, at the king’s discretion, can still be punished by death.

 

Neither Ravalor nor Aeven said something to that. Not because there wasn’t anything to say but because both, maybe to equal amounts, suddenly felt a stone drop in their stomach. Their eyes met briefly, the same ashen expression in both of them, before sheepishly glancing back into the room.

 

Is it still enforced?

Aeven heard Ravalor ask distantly. Another chuckle from Falk.

Oh, in a way, on occasion. Falk waved his hand nonchalantly. If either party feels betrayed enough to press charges.

Then Aeven met Ravalor’s eyes again. The same question on both their minds.

 

Where was the Northman?

Prince Aeven! Please come, join me for a moment. There is someone I want you to meet. King Attila’s sonorous voice and request couldn’t come more ill-timed, Aeven glanced at Ravalor who in turn looked at Attila.

I got this, you stay here and just– Do your thing. Just don’t get surprise-married if you can help it, Ravalor pressed through his teeth. It struck Aeven again how tensely unwilling Ravalor seemed to leave him alone tonight. But there wasn’t another way right now and he hurried away. Hopefully to find the Northman before he could cause a major diplomatic incident.

 

Just briefly he followed Ravalor with his eyes before redirecting his attention back to the King. In a moment of whiplash he realised that Falk was once more simply gone but, keeping appearances, he just smiled that diplomatic smile that had hammered into him since he could barely stand.

Attila held his arm out in greeting as he joined the small group.

It was now him, the King, a Hatarian whose name was Charles if he remembered correctly and a young woman who smiled the same smile as him. He felt they shared the same burden. And should be right about that.

Prince Aeven, may I introduce you to my first daughter, Princess Maria.

It’s an honour, your highness. Smile, low bow, kiss the hand. All part of the motion.

*

 

Ravalor walked quickly through the corridors.

A quick last glance in the hall had only confirmed that besides the Northman more than one of the hatarians had left the festivities which wasn’t reassuring.

At least the Northman was easy to locate with that neutron heart of his – and he could have ported straight to him. Could have. If he wouldn’t feel like having to prepare for something he didn’t want to see in the first place. A bit of tact was in order.

 

He reached his dreaded destination and stopped abruptly when he heard an incriminating groaning from the other side of the door.

For the lords’ eternal grace– he cursed quietly, then, if there was something like shouting in thoughts he did so as he contacted the Northman directly.

 

Northman!

The sounds from the other side of the door stopped abruptly.

Oh fuck you, if you want me to blow myself up again forget it! I’m right in the middle of something!

 

He heard the Northman’s muffled voice behind the door in addition to the clear version directly in his mind. There was another much lower voice though Ravalor could not quite make out.

I’m right outside the door. I need to see you, right now!

He heard the grumbling in his head.

 

It didn’t even take half as long as he had expected before the door opened, the Northman leaning against the frame.

What?

Who’s with you?

The Northman looked back behind him, Matthew, was it? Then looking back at Ravalor Matthew.

Ravalor grabbed the cyborg by the arm and dragged him into the corridor. Really? What happened with ‘Keep your hands to yourself and your dicks in your pants?’

What are you talking about, old man?’’ The Northman laughed perfectly carefree. I mean I’m usually on the ‘do as I say not as I do’ front, but relax. Nothing unruly happened here. Northpromis. We had a little debate about my max bench press – he didn’t want to believe – so here we are.” The Northman looked back, then turned conspiratorially and not at all setiously back to Ravalor, lowering his voice, “I think I’m slowly converting him.”

 

Ravalor squinted suspiciously at the barbarian–cyborg–god–king posing seriously again as the–Guidance–of–decency. Without another word, he reached past him and opened the door again.

Meeting the eyes of a young hatarian straight away who was fully dressed, which was one point for the Northmans defence, and the room turned out to be indeed a small personal gym, another point.

“Hi.” Matthew raised his hand, a light, but suspicious fluster on the pale face.

“Matthew, do you have any intention to marry this man?”

 

Matthew blinked. “Eh – I mean it was quite impressive, to be fair. But– not quite yet. No?”

Ravalor glanced back to the Northman who wore that wide grin like a batch of pride on his face.

“What’s with the purity control anyways? You usually don’t care.”

“Just – I’ll explain later. Just don’t. Here. Tonight. With anyone. Alright?”

“I’d never, commander. Northpromis.” The Northman grinned and took a half step away from Ravalor who looked about ready to curse him into oblivion.

*

Aeven glanced briefly back at King Attila who had left him alone with his daughter for surely absolutely innocent reasons – as he met the King’s eyes there was a beaming smile on his face – which confirmed that. Some may have called him oblivious in these matters at times, but he wasn’t that blind. But he couldn’t even be angry at the man – not when he seemed this happy. King Attila had a disarming aura of kindness. That was as long as he wasn’t seemingly trying to appear as menacingly evil as possible – which Aeven chose to chalk that up to cultural differences and technical translation difficulties.

 

So. He looked back to Princess Maria, that everlasting polite smile on his own face that she wore as well. Some things just transcended cultures. Both of them shared the burden of having to have this conversation now for politeness sake. I hope this isn’t too one the nose to ask – but I rarely have met people as kind and hospitable as yours. And I do wonder – this whole aesthetic you have here. With the blood, skulls, the black and red and darkness – that doesn’t quite seem to fit?

For a moment Princess Maria’s smile was genuine, probably amused by the bluntness of the question. It wasn’t as vapid as small talk could be, intentionally so. He hadn’t just blurted out a train of thoughts, he was testing the waters, seeing where the line of cultural sensibilities was drawn so he knew where to avoid it. It made him seem open and approachable, not shy to speak his mind or ask questions while interested in the other – and he hated that he was thinking so clinical about it while he genuinely wanted to know. But it really was like muscle memory.

I’ve seen pictures of Earth – so it must seem all very, well, dark to you, I assume. We are aware that it doesn’t quite mix well with many of the day-fairing cultures, she said, slightly reserved, not irritated, just considering her words. Some do think of us as evil. We try to keep the whole blood thing more secretive, but of course, there are rumours. But nobody is getting killed and drained for their blood here.

I wouldn’t have assumed so, he assured her with an underlining light shake of the head. But I have to admit, it really is very different to what I’m used to. Also from most worlds I’ve visited before. I’m definitely interested in how this all came to be, he said with genuine interest. While they both were now forced to talk he might as well talk about something he actually wanted to know. He smiled. I’m not expecting a whole history lesson now of course.

Princess Maria was a good looking young woman, objectively downright gorgeous with the long wavy dark grey hair and the fine black markings on her pale skin. But he sensed that she was as much interested in what her father probably hoped for as Aeven himself was. He saw it in that polite smile as she was indulging him for the moment.

Sparing you that, what you see here, the design and colours, it’s actually one of the most joyful places in the crypt. A celebration of life.

Really? Huh, well yes I guess I can see that– Aeven nodded, giving the room another more careful look. From the carpets to the drapes, everything was drenched in that dark blood red colour. Blood equals life equals good, right?

Exactly, Maria said, satisfied with his answer. The other part, the darkness, the blacks and greys, it’s an expression of who we are. We’re a people of the night. It’s comforting. It’s home. Also, on a less ethereal level, it’s most agreeable to our eyes, she admitted with an almost apologetic tone.

Makes sense. He nodded. There is also a strong emphasis on those that came before, right? Your father told me about the tree, being handed down for generations – the skulls commemorate the past generations?

Yes indeed. You’re good at this, Maria said, clearly pleased about his openness.

I’ve been fascinated with other cultures for as long as I remember, he admitted freely, a wide smile on his face. This felt good, familiar, like something he had been missing for too long. His smile turned mildly apologetic as he added, Though I have to admit, I still a bit unclear on those severed hands.

Oh, I can’t fault you for that. They represent the hand of the father that gave the holy mother our gift. So the hand of those that provided great guidance will be conserved and displayed at Leitnacht. In the past, each family used to keep the hands of the family leaders of several generations. But, nowadays it’s usually more cast ornaments than actual mummified hands.

The King mentioned that, yes, made me fear for my own hand there for a moment, Aeven noted, which drew a first genuine chuckle from Maria. The stiffness they had started this conversation with was slowly vanishing.

Don’t worry, you’re still too alive to receive that honour. Some more traditional and rural congregations still perform the ritual in its original form regularly, mainly the Monistants, but they are a bit intense anyways. Most of the old hands have ended up in museums by now where they are conserved, a few are still here in the crypt. She assured him with a smile. But the focus on hands is still strong. You’ll see that in a lot of artworks too.

Now that makes more sense. Aeven thought back to Ravalor and wondered if this whole thing might be something magical after all, since wizards had a distinct thing about hands too. He had visited enough civilizations to know that wizards got obscured into legends under all sorts of names, from gods and angels to demons and devils. But, without further evidence, that was a long stretch and most likely just an unrelated correlation. Also, remembering that Leitnacht picture Falk had explained to him earlier, it was hard to imagine any wizard he had ever met in such an ...intimate situation. They all rather tend to be on the distant no-touchy side.

 

Aeven.

Speak of the devil. Ravalor’s voice got his attention. Relieved he also spotted the Northman having rejoined the celebration, he was talking to a young hatarian. Ravalor looked even only slightly more tense than usual – Aeven chose to believe that meant that he was merely irritated but nothing bad had happened.

All good? he asked nevertheless.

Yes, Ravalor answered briskly as he joined them as the proverbial third wheel. But Aeven was fine with that. Princess Maria. Ravalor finally acknowledged her presence with a respectful nod.

Kingmaker, she smiled and Aeven noticed that despite Ravalors rather reserved demeanour she displayed an unexpected fondness for him. I wanted to thank you personally again from all of our people.

Of course. A slight nod.

Also, we would like to remind you that you are always welcome here. It’s been too long since we could welcome you as a guest.

I know. Ravalor answered, and for a moment that seemed all he was willing to say but then he added, My presence was required elsewhere, but I assure you, your hospitality always humbles me.

Her smile became more radiant. I admit, I’m glad you returned now. I don’t know if you remember, we met only once. I was just a pup back then. But you left an impression.

There was a faint spark in Ravalor’s eyes, another of these brief moments where the wizard seemed to be completely elsewhere for a second before he answered I hope a good one.

Certainly.

 

Aeven listened silently, curiosity burning on his mind, but asking about both their past while he was excluded from the conversation struck him as rude. So he kept his question to himself – maybe he could ask Ravalor later about it. Not that he had been particularly forthcoming with any kind of personal information ever, but it was worth a shot.

3

18.12.2021

Attila!

A firm and loud voice cut through the room, turning heads.

Joakim!

And it was answered in kind.

 

Ravalor felt a fresh wave of tension creep up his spine as he and Aeven watched both men giving each other a hearty hug. The Kingmaker was the most culturally accustomed of all of him but even that part of him had never managed to bring himself to indulge the Hatarian people in this regard. That, however, wasn’t his concern now – after all he had successfully dodged that bullet already – now it was the arrival of the delegation from Tyr presenting the next danger. More people always meant more problems. And this gathering had long reached numbers worthy of being called a crowd. And he had never liked crowds.

 

King Attila held the Admiral at his arms with a radiant smile on his face. Even Admiral Brodén’s frown seemed happy. How that worked Ravalor couldn’t quite tell even though he saw it with his own eyes. Consequently, the first time he had seen those two together in one room on the TSS Northforce and the tension and downright hostility from back then seemed like faulty memories to him in retrospect.

He watched the two men talk for a moment, a brief catching up and pleasantries from the delegation from Tyr were exchanged. There were a few officers from the ST–Stridsvagn too who voiced some of the expected complaints about the weather even though the entire delegation still was dressed like they had just stepped out of a raging snowstorm. With Tyr this far away, its long and planet wide winter was in full force. But, as one of the officers declared firmly, if given a choice, they would pick the snow over the rain any day.

 

Then Admiral Brodén spotted them, made a short comment to King Attila then he came over, leaving the King to greet the rest of his new guests.

Prince Aeven, Kingmaker. Admiral Brodén greeted them both with a nod, his tone was hard and carrying the usual military strictness and Ravalor couldn’t help but straighten up. It was more a reflex than conscious thought. And it helped a little against the still lingering and burning urge to tell everyone in no uncertain terms to finally stop calling him Kingmaker. But then he’d have to explain a whole lot more and that wasn’t worth the little comfort of being addressed with his actual title.

Not wasting much time for small-talk, the admiral addressed him directly.

Any new information concerning our runaway?

No, Sir, Ravalor replied swiftly and almost flinched the moment he did so. And as expected only a second later he received amused mockery from the Kingmaker,

What was that now? Pavlovian reflex? 

 

Oh, be quiet. 

He answered slightly disgruntled. His Wizard found it amusing too.

 

That’s what those wizards you send say too. I guess now I have to believe it, the admiral said with resignation in his tone, perfectly unaware of Ravalor’s internal back and forth with his parts. They are not exactly forthcoming.

That seems to be a common characteristic, Aeven noted, and Ravalor briefly glanced at him. Aeven wasn’t looking at him and he had sounded carefree enough – but Ravalor couldn’t help but notice the underlying accusatory sentiment in his words.

You do not happen to be talking about serious matters on this holy night? A looming dark voice cut through their conversation – and while Ravalor managed to keep his face free from any reaction both Aeven and Admiral Brodén visibly flinched, turning abruptly towards King Attila who had suddenly appeared right behind them, the dark red gleam of his eyes drilling into them.

Of course not! Admiral Brodén said firmly, head held high – having recovered his countenance a lot quicker than Aeven, yet his fingers brushed quickly over the lines of his moustache down the sides of his mouth. A subconscious move to hide the lie, Ravalor noted. He must be an honest man with a tell this obvious.

Of course not. King Attila repeated with a dangerous growl in his voice, one hand lay on Aeven shoulder, the other on the Admiral’s. Because that would be a shame now, wouldn’t it be?

It certainly would. The admiral crossed his arms, nodding seriously with his lips pressed tightly together.

Attila met each of their eyes for a good moment, then suddenly his face lit up again. Good! Waving his hand he shooed the entire group further back into the hall, following them along as he raised his voice. Let the blood flow strong and bow to the father of sin for tonight, death shall not do us part! Gather now, for the feast of Leitnacht!

 

Wait, I thought we already– what was that first meal then? Aeven whispered, visibly confused and worried. He had praised the hatarian dishes wholeheartedly before and ate accordingly.

Appetiser? Ravalor suggested plainly – culinary traditions sure were something he had absolutely no knowledge of, hatarian or otherwise.

Oh god, I’m going to die. Aeven groaned.

Please don’t. Ravalor pressed through gritted teeth.

*

It took a moment till everyone had found their place and got seated. Aeven had returned to his place at the head end of the table. At its very head, the King stood waiting for his guests to settle. Across from Aeven was Admiral Brodén, and to Aeven’s right sat Ravalor. The rest of the table was colourfully varied, someone had made sure to thoroughly mix all three of the present groups. As at the first meal the moment the Northforce’s soldiers removed their helmets it caused another wave of chatter between them and the delegation from Tyr who obviously hadn’t been told about the whole clone–soldier business. They had reliably offered an endless supply of conversation starters so far.

 

As he sat down, Aeven glanced over the excessive amounts of food on the table. He had thought about what he now had to classify as an appetiser already as too much. Now, this took the cake. And there was cake too. And everything else.

Still steaming meats, pies and gravy, fruits and vegetables, cream and whipped sauces, at least thirteen kinds of cheese and bacon he could see, dried meat, cooked meat, fried meat – there was soup with meat, too.

Who would be supposed to eat all this was beyond Aeven to see, but he was determined to do his part. Only time would tell if about two hours of standing and walking around talking to people were enough time to digest the first meal. He had some serious doubts but that rarely had stopped him in the past.

 

The crowd slowly settled under the endlessly patient gaze of King Attila.

“My friends, It is so good to see all of you here in good health. We are honoured that all of you decided to spend this evening with us. Tonight, we’re all family here.

“Together now, alive or undead, and even immortal, under the gaze of our forefathers, we praise this sacrifice of life and blood! Let us eat and drink together and celebrate till only the dawn can tear us apart!”

The moment King Attila spoke the last word as on cue the earth rumbled below them and half of the crowd mumbled nervously, glancing around to the hatarians that seemed utterly calm and unimpressed of what had felt like a weak earthquake.

“It is almost time.” King Attila said lowering his head, a deep shadow falling over his face. “So let’s not linger too long. Eat.”

The King sat down, thanks and cheers were expressed, some still unsettled murmurs mixed within those.

 

“What was that?” Aeven asked, keeping his voice down as he leaned to his right. Ravalor’s eyes seemed to refocus into the here and now as he looked at him, then briefly to the King and down the table. That tension within Ravalor still hadn’t gone away, if anything it seemed to get worse Aeven couldn’t fail but notice.

“There was a minor seismic event emitting from a site further north.”

“Ehh what does that mean? I mean, I know what it means, but is that bad?”

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t seem unexpected to him, does it?” Ravalor nodded towards King Attila who was listening to Admiral Brodén while most of the table was filling up their plates.

We brought furs too, Admiral Brodén added to his previous point that Aeven hadn’t quite caught. Thirteen Weißbiest this season and counting.

I do admit, I prefer their summer coat. King Atilla noted while letting his chalice get refilled. The Admiral gave a short barking laugh, Of course you do. toasting the King, then looking over to Aeven and Ravalor. The latter wasn’t looking at them as Aeven noted so the Admiral spoke to him, but loud enough to make it clear he was addressing Ravalor as well.

The retrofitting is going great. Though there is quite a divided opinion on the matter with the population.

At that Ravalor finally did look up, but it was King Attila taking the word first, frowning at Admiral Brodén.

That again sounds suspiciously like political talk.

Only this time the Admiral leaned back, folding his arms. I’ll just inform our mutual acquaintances about the results of their efforts. This is a night of gratitude is it not?

Hm. For a few seconds, King Attila and Admiral Brodén downright glared at each other, then the King sighed with an overdramatic exasperated tone. Very well. It’s a loophole I will accept. Briefly.

What’s the problem with the public opinion? Aeven asked promptly as it was now temporarily allowed to ask. You’re making the system safer, that’s good right?

It’s the wizards. Part of the ministry doesn’t like them neck-deep in our defences. Even if they are helping. There are… concerns.

Well, from my own experience, as far as countermeasures against evil wizards go, having some good ones on your own side helps immensely, Aeven said.

As we have seen. King Attila added with a surprisingly judgmental tone. Aeven figured that the hatarian attitude towards wizards had always been a lot greater than that of Tyr, and he wondered what the history behind that was.

And we are very thankful for that. But I do have to inquire how long they plan to stay?

Joakim. You have the most curious idea of showing gratitude by wanting to throw them off your planet as soon as possible.

Believe me, this is not coming from me, nor the Supreme Commander – but we’re still in the wake of a tragedy, there is a war being fought on Tyr right now – unfortunately it’s not with might and battle, but the words of the press eating each other alive. Irritation coloured his words stating clearly how much the Admiral despised having to deal with this matter. It obviously wasn’t his prefered battleground.

Instead of letting the discussion between the King and Admiral escalate, Ravalor finally cut in. The Envoys are there, by my request, for your own safety. If you don’t want them to be there, they will leave. Right now if you want. He said plainly, However, I will remind you that we still do not know of the goals of this particular chaos wizard, nor if you wouldn’t become their target again.

Good. Attila declared with a tone that left no doubt whether this topic was finished or not. That should have answered all the questions. If anyone dares to raise such a dreadful topic again tonight I will feed them to the crows myself. He also left no doubt about how serious he was about that threat.

It will not happen again. Admiral Brodén promised, finally taking some of the food onto his plate. I shall instead bore you to tears with more hunting stories!

That prospect soothed the irritation in the King’s face who smiled again. That is acceptable. Tipping his head in agreement as he took a sip from his chalice.

Aeven slowly started to fill his plate himself again, but by far not with the same enthusiasm from earlier. By North, everything here looked delicious, and it smelled even better. Speaking of North, the Northman himself sitting on the other side of the table seemed to have no reservations towards a second proper meal. He seemed to be the only one of the Northforces crew thinking so though.

“You still not going to eat? It’s amazing,” Aeven asked, glancing at Ravalor who shook his head.

“I don’t feel particularly tempted,” Ravalor said perfectly neutral.

“How? There is literally everything here. What else could there be?” he asked, taking the first bite, almost groaning to himself because god this was good but he was soo not hungry anymore. Ravalor in the meanwhile didn’t see it necessary to answer that question.

Come to think of it, Aeven couldn’t remember having seen the Commander eat – ever. He tried to think back, definitely not on the ship, no. He had seen him on occasion in the mess hall, but the most he had ever seen him with there was a mug with something that Aeven no longer believed was coffee. He was pretty sure however that he had seen wizards eat before, back home. At this or that gala or ceremony. He was sure of that.

“What would tempt you?” Aeven asked after swallowing. “Just theoretically speaking. If you were inclined to be tempted right now?”

Ravalor raised his brows. He didn’t seem particularly exasperated, more surprised about the question itself. Nevertheless, it took him only a second to deceit to dodge the question – Aeven should have expected that. “I’ve never been overly fond of eating.”

“Well, that shows.” Aeven chuckled.

For a brief moment Ravalor seemed actually confused, then he nodded with light “Right, of course.” as he understood Aeven to be referring to his build.

Aeven smiled with raised brows. “Sometimes you’re just… a little bit weird, you know that?”

Ravalor looked at him, a moment of silence between them that felt strange, Aeven felt like he knew what the Commander would be saying.

“Yes.” And he was right about it.

He felt a nauseous sense in his stomach and laid down his fork and knife. He really couldn’t be eating much more, he figured.

But before he could distract himself by pestering Ravalor some more about his theoretical favourite food, the room fell abruptly silent as another, now stronger tremor went through the earth, making the plates on the table clatter.

Once more, the hatarians didn’t react.

 

“King Attila. What was that?” Aeven finally leaned over to the King.

“It’s the Father’s Guidance. Well, there are other less flowery names for it, but this one will fit the setting. It’s a volcanic casm to the north – and it’s about to erupt.”

“A volcano?” Aeven asked, he felt that nauseous pang in his stomach again. “Should … we be concerned?”

“Oh no, no Prince Aeven. This is all normal. The Father’s Guidance tears open once every year, on this day, when Tyr is the farthest away from us. It has done so for thousands of years. A line of fire shooting into the sky, guiding our beloved moon back to us.” Attila explained with a friendly nod to Admiral Brodén at the reference to Tyr.

“As it turns out, our planet has better eyesight than most of us. Because you can definitely not see it from the surface when Hatir is this far away.” Admiral Brodén said after a sip from his ale, not shy of openly poking lighthearted fun at the religious notion.

“Ah, be silent heathen.” Attila laughed, the full bellowing sound was comforting, assuring that everything was indeed fine, yet Aeven still couldn’t get rid of this uncomfortable feeling. He shifted in his seat and took a good sip from his wine. For once he actually eyed the spirits the Northman had bunkered over on his side with envy – he felt like a strong drink would do wonders for his stomach now.

King Attila turned back to him. “We will see it. It is almost time. It became a tradition for many over the years to watch the eruption on this day – from properly prepared observatories on the surface of course. There is one specially built on top of the holy crypt.”

Aeven smiled and nodded, it was all he could do.

 

“Aeven.”

Almost relieved, he looked back to Ravalor. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, of course,” he lied reflexively because he knew this wasn’t a moment to excuse himself without leaving a bad impression. He had to see this through.

“We can leave anytime,” Ravalor said quietly as if he had read his thoughts. By his tone, it was less of a reminder than a strong suggestion.

“No, I’m good. I really just ate too much.” Aeven laughed, and he figured it almost sounded convincing. “Also, I’m really curious now. Can’t wait to see it.”

“Right.” Ravalor nodded with that everlasting hint of a frown on his face having drawn a bit deeper. Aeven figured he would have loved for Aeven to give him a reason to get away from here already. Ravalor may wasn’t the most forthcoming nor easily readable person in the room – but that he wasn’t a fan of events like this was a fact that didn’t need to be spelt out because it was so obvious. Aeven appreciated however that Ravalor had come with them anyway, instead of staying on the ship.

 

Aeven leaned back, allowing himself to just breathe deeply for a while. Ravalor was quiet. Now and then King Attila or Admiral Bodén roped him into a brief discussion, but Aeven wasn’t doing too good in staying active in the conversation, so more often than not he just listened to both men talking with each other. The Northmans booming laughter filled the hall occasionally, even overshadowing the constant chatter and clattering.

Then, slowly the clattering died down, the chatting increased, and instead of food, more and more drinks were consumed.

 

Then another deep rumbling went through the holy crypt. And taking this as his cue, King Attila stood up.

“Friends – it is time.”

*

Through long and winding corridors the King led his guest to the observatory. They passed those imposing hallways like his own personal conflagration. In the darkness, only illuminated by the small lights the hatarians carried, the gothic architecture around them was shrouded in dancing shadows and at times Aeven felt like they were walking through a forest more than the catacombs of a holy house. They ascended wide sprawling stairs that seemed without end, but of those present neither was out of breath by the time they finally did come to an end after all.

Soon they reached a massive set of doors that opened before them when King Attila approached – and for the first time since they had arrived the apocalyptic sky opened up above them.

The storm was still raging around them, the clouds above were pitch black and flashing with lightning. The sound of thunder was muffled by the glass dome surrounding them but it still was a constant rumbling vibrating in the air.

The dome itself was made by hundreds of window panes, weaved together by an intricate net of dark veins of metal like an impossible constructed stained glass window. Large areas were plain, showing the outside, but between them reached large pillars of darker glass, weaved together in detailed patterns.

 

Aeven followed the King’s gaze and saw the volcanic mountain range in the distance, in the darkness already illuminated by a faint glow of fire.

It was closer than he would have thought and he felt a distinct nervous tingling. He had to remind himself that they did this seemingly every year and that this consequently ought to be safe.

 

The Father’s Guidance was shining in the darkness, an ominous gleam from deep within while a massive pillar of ash and smoke rose into the sky and was whipped away by the storm.

Another tremor shook the ground, it was so strong that Aeven had to catch his balance. Yet he was unable to tear his eyes away from the dooming mount that was about to erupt.

 

Your Highness?

A polite voice finally ripped him from his daze, and he realised a tray was offered to him with various drinks. At first, he thought to decline but thought better of it when he realised how dry his throat felt. He took one of the fine long glasses and thanked the waiter who then continued to offer drinks to the other guests.

He emptied half of his in one go and held onto the rest while trying to keep his hand relaxed. He feared breaking the fine glass if he wouldn’t.

 

There is no reason to be nervous.

Aeven glanced back at his side where Princess Maria had appeared.

Well, it’s not every day you see an active volcano this close. Aeven countered. There was no point denying that he was indeed nervous, but he didn’t quite understand why. He knew everything was fine. Everyone around him seemed perfectly relaxed. And yet he felt like someone had stuck their hands tight into his chest and was now twisting his heart, lungs and stomach into a tight knot.

Of course not. She smiled. The light will be first, then the shockwave. It will feel like tearing the crypt apart, but everything here is built to withstand it, as well as the seismic activity surrounding this event. The glass is no ordinary glass either. It won’t break. We’re safe here. She assured him and Aeven felt a wave of gratitude towards the young woman. Her words did not help his nervousness, but they were kind.

 

Thank you. He looked back to the Father’s Guidance. How long now?

Only a few minutes.

As to confirm that the earth shook again.

To the far right of the observatory, he saw Ravalor talking to King Attila. Aeven frowned slightly, from the expression on their faces it wasn’t a relaxed conversation, which worried him. For a moment Ravalor’s eyes met his, and questioning Aeven rose his brows, but Ravalor just shook his head. Aeven wasn’t sure that was less concerning.

When he looked further he saw the Northman who was watching him, giving him a brief nod.

He returned that and looked back to Maria, then the volcano.

Something felt very wrong about this.

 

When another tremor shook his stance, this one didn’t stop. King Attila’s voice rose above the rumbling, and the last quiet conversations died down.

For your own safety, please step towards the hand railings and do not let go. Now, let us witness the light of our father in silence, so it may guide our beloved moon back to us!

 

The rumbling below their feed became worse. Aeven felt his heart beating hard in his chest. Standing already close to the windows he grabbed the railing with his free hand. In his other, he still held his forgotten drink. Nobody spoke anymore, all eyes were directed north.

Then there was a breath, a short moment of calm and absolute silence as if the sky itself and the ground below knew what was about to happen. Or maybe his own brain just failed to process any of it retrospectively.

 

A radiant line of light exploded from within the mountain range, traveling  across the horizon and followed by a massive burst of gas and molten rock spewing into the atmosphere as the land tore open. For a brief moment, the sight seemed downright surreal, the magnitude of force displayed before them in utter silence – like an explosion in space.

He saw the clouds tear apart as the shockwave ripped through them before momentarily it hit the observatory. Even while holding the railing Aeven almost fell and for a moment the entire structure around him screeched under the stress, the earth shook violently – only a breath after, the deafening sound of the explosion drowned out everything else.

And for a moment, with his hand gripped tightly around the railing, he felt like not being here at all. As if that shockwave had not only hit the crypt but torn him from his own body, drowning him in a nightmare becoming real. He felt a sting in his right hand. His skin was tingling as if he could feel the heat of that mountain. His heart was racing. His legs felt weak.

He gasped for air.

 

Before suddenly a strong grip took him by his shoulder and he was pressed with the other against a tall and solid body.

Aeven blinked hard, the world before his eyes seemed swimming, distantly he saw the pyroclastic cloud rush towards them. Then he realised that it was the Northman holding him with his arm around his back.

They’re so dramatic, eh? the Northman hummed, sounding not as amused as he usually would.

Aeven took a deep breath. Yeah… he tried to chuckle but no further sound came from his throat.

Relax your hand. You’re bleeding.

What..?

First now he looked down, the glass in his hand was gone, instead sharp shards had cut into his palm, the alcohol that had been inside stung like hell. There was Princess Maria, taking his hand, pulling the glass from it with one hand and wiping away the blood with a napkin. She was saying something he did not hear. I’m sorry… I didn’t notice.. he mumbled, but to whom he was apologising he didn’t even know himself.

Aeven looked back up, past Princess Maria, just in time to see that last shine of the burning line of fire, now in the light he saw that the dark spaces within the windows were not dark at all, against the light they shone in a thousand beautiful colours, staining the entire observatory in a dance of radiant colours. And for a surreal moment, he was alone. The lights danced around him, his mind ached, his chest hurt.

Then like someone flicked a switch, all the light disappeared at once as the pyroclastic cloud enveloped the observation.

Even though the thick, shielded panes he could feel the intense heat as the mass of gases and molten stone swirled before his eyes, getting ever darker.

 

And darker.

*

Aeven woke up, almost jolting up, his hands grasped into the bedsheet. His heart was racing, aching, his shirt drenched in sweat.

 

For a moment his memories fused ill fittingly with the nightmare he had just awoken from and confused he looked around before realising that he was back on the ship. In his cabin as a matter of fact. And already the vivid nightmare had disappeared into barely graspable images in his mind.

He felt a headache pulse at the base of his head, radiating all the way through his brain.

His right hand stung badly as he loosened his grip around the sheets and for a moment he looked at the light bandage around his palm.

That he still remembered. Vaguely but he did. The glass, the volcano, the Northman – then that pyroclastic cloud – and then… nothing.

 

He hadn’t been drinking enough to explain the lack of memory so with an embarrassment filled realization he had to assume that he had either lost consciousness, or someone had hit him very hard over the head. Besides that pulsing headache, he did not feel any injury though so ...fainting was all that was left. Which was unsettling.

 

Aeven stood up, yawning, and squinting against the headache.

He rummaged through the first aid cabinet for some painkillers and washed them down with the by now stale water. Then he noticed the desk, or well, what was on the desk.

A good handful of wrapped presents sat on it waiting for him, before it one of the slim datatabs. As he woke it up there was a note from Ravalor.

 

Aeven. You fainted.

 

That wizard really had a way with words at times.

 

We assume the cause to have been an allergic reaction to some of the hatarian food.

 

Hm. Aeven supposed that was as good an explanation as any. It would explain why he felt so horrible after the feast.

 

King Attila wanted these presents to be delivered to you. They are from several members of the holy cast and royal family that wanted to express gratitude to you personally. I attached a personal note from the King to you as well.

Come see me if you are awake.

 

Aeven put the datatab aside with a light smile. He felt sorry that he couldn’t have been there in person to receive these gifts but as he continued to read the King’s message he found no resentment, just concern, best wishes and kindness. He wondered if they should have brought gifts as well, he would keep that in mind for the next time he was to visit Hatir. He would definitely welcome a chance to do so.

 

He picked the largest gift of the small pile, which was from the King itself. It was quite heavy too. He picked open the delicate paper and was presented with a wooden box roughly the size of–

He smirked to himself, already knowing what it was as he opened it. In it, placed on soft fabric lay a golden hand, the index finger pointing forward, the others curled slightly inwards. He picked it up at the golden band which would be used to hang it up onto a tree if he had one.

Instead, he hung it above the desk, wedging the golden band around a protruding screw. He would need to find a safer place for it soon, but this would do for now.

He was glad he had inquired about their meanings, so he now could appreciate the gesture and sentiment of the gift.

 

And who knew, maybe some extra guidance would come in handy.