1 Earth

05.09.2020

Tearing space and time apart, the earth was vaporized in a thunderous explosion, leaving behind nothing but a horrible rift in reality.

It was roughly three minutes from Mars to Earth.

Three minutes that Aeven VonTreva would remember with disturbing clarity.

Three minutes before everything he had ever loved and sworn to protect vanished into nothing.

Three minutes in which he knew that something terrible was going to happen. It started the moment he saw the Northman break from the battle and, leaving nothing but a faint glow behind, shooting off faster than the speed of light towards Earth.

Follow him! Aeven ordered, his voice still firm and calm, and everyone obeyed his order. What he could not voice were his worry and confusion. Under his banner and command, he had led the united fleet of the empire’s home system into battle. In their advances against the enemy forces, carefully considered optimism had turned to cautious hope as he felt their victory was drawing near.

But now he was taken with the daunting premonition that something wasn’t right. He was the one supposed to know. There was nobody he could ask what was going on. Nobody but the one they were following.

Northman!

But the coms stayed quiet while their ship burned as hard as it could to keep up with the cyborg. Without the help of the wizards, they couldn’t dream of catching up to him. Grasping for an explanation he looked to his court wizard, “Bebazulux, what is happening at earth?”

But the frown on the wizard’s face spoke of nothing but concern and tension. “I don’t know, your highness.

Sir, we’re hailed from Earth. No known signature. One of the officers called out.

Put it through. He felt an irrational moment of hope that it would be the Northman. Could he have reached Earth this quickly?

A loud crackling hiss filled the command room before a voice overlaid it while the communications officer did his best to clean up the signal. It wasn’t the Northman.

Aeven VonTreva.

Positive. Whom am I speaking to? In the current moment, Aeven wouldn’t even dream of considering the lack of formal address. The voice was distantly familiar, but the distortion was still too strong as that he could recognise it.

Ravalor. The Hermit, as you call me.

Where are you? Aeven raised his voice in alert attention. Any other time he might have been thrilled to have a chance to speak to the enigmatic wizard whom he had met only a very few times in his life. But being contacted by a figure out of legends speaking only of great peril felt less like an honour and more like the worst omen.

He could never have imagined how right he should have been.

Listen to me closely.

Crown prince Aeven VonTreva, Admiral of the seven fleets of the Northstar, did listen. And cold terror froze the blood in his veins as Ravalor continued to speak, he spoke quick, but without any shift in tone, distant almost,

“There is a horrible force at work beneath Treva. The chaos wizard Zenozarax is conjuring the old god from hell, and he succeeds the world, this system, maybe the entire galaxy of not more, will be consumed and destroyed by this madness! He has to be stopped!”

None of that wanted to make sense to Aeven.

The evil wizard Zenozarax was right there. On Earth. His home. The war above Mars with all its lost lives, suddenly turned into nothing but a mere distraction for the true horror rising in the darkness. Bringing upon the destruction of the galaxy, maybe even the universe, from below the very city he called his beloved home.

Whatever happens next, Aeven, you must kill him. Ravalor spoke calmly, without the panic Aeven felt, like he was merely stating a fact that was not to be questioned, as if he was talking about the undeniability that Monday was followed by Tuesday.

Wait, hold on— Aeven wouldn’t question the words of the Hermit but he needed more information. More time. Time for his mind to fully grasp what he had just heard if he didn’t want to stand frozen in his spot.

If he does as I asked of him, the Northman will prevent the summoning of the elder gods. But it won’t guarantee the wizard’s death.

Ravalor—

If he survives, do not hesitate. Do not linger. The Hermit’s voice wasn’t raised to barking an order at him, yet, Aeven felt his control of the situation slipping away. Ravalor wasn’t in command and Aeven wasn’t ordered to follow; he told him what needed to happen and Aeven would do what he needed to do. But he wanted to understand what was happening to him, his friends, the people who trusted him with their lives, and to the universe.

What is the Northman going to do?

He will destroy the portal to hell and the surrounding rift space. The destruction will be absolute.

A sickening sensation overcame Aeven, but his brain already flooded with the adrenaline of the battle knew better as to stay quiet now. Absolute? What do you mean by that?

Earth will be destroyed. I’m sorry.

Aeven felt his heart hamming in his chest, rushing in his ears. The words caused upset voices on deck. He didn’t know how these two sentences could be equally horrifying when the first was of such magnitude that he barely grasped his meaning. But almost as disturbing was the coldness in Ravalor’s words as he said he was sorry. An apology added seemingly just for politeness sake. Earth, destroyed. What a shame. Just two more circumstantial facts.

That’s billions of people down there! Aeven shouted, his voice ringing from the walls of the deck and in his own ears. To think that he was so close to follow the Hermit’s instructions because they were delivered with the sound of reason. There was no reason in the acceptance of the death of billions of people — and all the other forms of life surrounding them — as circumstantial.

And it’s the price that must be paid to save this universe.

Aeven almost laughed. He had half expected this reply. Yes, he even saw the math behind it but there had to be variables that he could twist to his favours. One that the Hermit hadn’t thought of or discarded as not relevant to the cold nature of a calculation. This wasn’t how honour and doing the right by his people worked.

There has to be another way!” If there was something he could do, he’d figure it out. “Where are you now?

Where I’ve always been. Through the strain in Ravalor’s voice, there was something almost akin to melancholy, Aeven registered with a desperate sense of relief. The Hermit wasn’t devoid of all emotion, so there was hope.

In the caverns? Is the Northman there already? We’re almost there, just hold—

Aeven, you must kill him! I’ll find you after—

The connection was abruptly cut.

And the world seemed to stand still for a moment.

It was slow.

A blinding light growing in front of them, like a flicker of a torch illuminating a small fraction of the universe that, for a moment, reduced the sun to the fragile flame of a candle.

And somewhere in his mind, Aeven imagined that it only seemed so slow because nothing of this magnitude was supposed to also possess speed.

Or maybe it was his mind not wanting to see reality at the speed it happened.

The glow engulfed Earth in its sickening embrace, blinding the screens for a merciful second.

Then it was back and before the terrified eyes of those who waged a war far away to protect their home, the light collapsed and swallowed everything it touched.

Billions of lives. Millions of years leading up to them. History, rising and falling civilisations and cultures, their tragedies and triumphs that paved the way for those who dreamt of tomorrow. Countless threads of fate, destiny, and chance.

Doomed.

Gone.

Not even a speck of dust left to be discovered by curious wanderers of the future.

A rift exploded in the centre of the glow. Light cracked and exploded in thousands of colours falling into a vortex of chaos.

Aeven stared at the picture in front of him. Where his beloved earth had been seconds ago was now nothing but this terrible wound in space, relentlessly ripping itself apart.

He did not process what that meant. He wouldn’t for a very long time.

Like filtered through thick cotton the sounds around him came back to him, panicked shouting, questions, curses, demands for orders.

Guidance.

Sir, what should we do?

There was comfort in guidance.

That’s- is that a wormhole?

How could he give them guidance if that meant to move on, every step towards what was coming next turning Earth into an afterthought?

What-?

He barely listened. Ravalor’s words echoed distantly in his mind. He barely grasped what had happened, but he did understand what was asked of him.

I have to go there… he whispered, his voice blank from the shock.

*

How long ago had that been?

With all that happened, it felt like a lifetime. Maybe an eternity.

He stared at the map of the solar system. The planets were slowly moving around the sun. All of them, including Earth. Their own position was marked, too. Close to Earth. But this wasn’t his system. Not his universe.

Back home, this little blue dot was gone. Erased out of existence, leaving only empty space.

What a terrible loss of life. The heart of the empire just vanished. He looked up at the viewscreen showing nothing but space and in this moment this emptiness made his heart clench tight and sunk a heavy feeling in his stomach. His breath shuddered only for a moment as he exhaled. Memories of those lost filled his mind, and he let them wash over him with calm acceptance.

How could he have even survived that? he mumbled more to himself, but Ravalor, who had given him the time with his thoughts till now, answered anyway.

He must have been shielded by the powers he tried to summon. Allowing him to pass through the rift caused by the explosion of the portal.

Hm. An explanation. Sure. But satisfying, it was not. Maybe his brain tried to find a way to justify all this death, but even after the long-deserved victory, he knew he couldn’t. There was no justification. It merely had been the only option.

And yet, he remembered the guilt and anger strangling him when he had been lost on the other side. The horror of even imagining having to make such a decision, the ice-cold shudder caused by the coldness of Ravalor’s voice had stayed in his memories and the confusion over how the Northman could have done this just because of one man’s words.

They had decided to destroy his home just like that. May it have been the only option to save the universe, their universe as a whole, but still. The helplessness of that moment he could not forget. Just watching the total destruction that had left nothing and no one left alive.

How did you manage to get through it then? He dragged his eye from the screen. Staring at nothing was making him nauseous.

Ravalor stayed quiet for a moment before he looked at him.

I wasn’t on Earth when this happened. The Hermit was.

For a few moments, Aeven just stared at him, until he really understood what he was saying. That the horrible conversation he had with Ravalor the Hermit, distorted by static and magic, had also been their last. He had died there.

Oh. I’m sorry.

It wasn’t the first time I died. It won’t be the last.

Aeven clenched his teeth, It’s still dying, though. I got some experience with that now, too. He paused. But you. Do you remember it?

I remember the last words I said to you. I think you underestimate how sudden this death was. There is nothing to remember. The moment I saw the light of that explosion, I was dead.

Aeven looked back at the screen and the empty space displayed on it. While the idea was unsettling, it was also strangely comforting. Terrible, but soothing in a gruesome way, that most if not all people on Earth wouldn’t even have noticed that they would die. That it was just like that — over. Someone in another room flicked a switch.

He wanted to say something, anything, to take his mind off these thoughts, but as he saw the downright brooding look in the Commander’s face he stayed silent for a moment longer. Ravalor wasn’t looking at him. He seemed lost in thoughts.

What are you thinking about?

A brief moment followed in which Aeven wasn’t sure the other had even heard him. Then Ravalor said:

I’ve been alive for quite a while now. And I’ve been trying to make things right again for most of it. That seems to be my purpose — my destiny as some would say. The smile was weak, carrying a hint of grim amusement, and Aeven remembered his own court wizard echoing those words often enough. And still, when I received that call for help — I would have never imagined what I was getting myself into. He paused, then added, I guess none of us did.

2 Dark Treva

12.09.2020

And through the rift in time and space, the Warrior arrived in an unknown reality.

Northman!

A clean separated goblin head crashed against the nearest wall. The Northman already had turned, clear surprise in his face when he heard the voice. He looked around to face its source but realised that it was just in his head. Damn. This wasn’t the normal communication network of the army he was linked into, it was directly in his brain. A failsafe connection to reach him everywhere, anytime — but until this day, since he had been enhanced, nobody had ever used it.

Ravalor using this line of connection was bad news.

Ravalor? What’s the matter, old man? You alright? He stood, showered in guts and glory, resting his hands on the handle of his axe. He wouldn’t like what was coming but there was no reason to let it ruin his good mood before he even heard it.

We don’t have much time, listen—

Quickly, Ravalor told him what was happening on Earth, told him what it was he was asking of him, stressing that it was their only chance.

To detonate his neutron heart to destroy the portal.

His own death destroying the Earth.

For maybe the first time in centuries the expression in the Northman’s face turned ashen.

You’re serious? His fingers twitched on the handle of his axe.

Yes. I’m sorry. But you are our last option. This has to happen and quickly. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stall him.

A tense frown drew the Northman’s brows deep, shadowing his eyes. Maybe, if it wasn’t the whole universe at stake, there would have been a chance that the Northman would have considered a “No” — One big, final adventure did not outweigh the many to come.

But if there was no universe left to circle around him and witness his glorious deeds, what worth would lie in a “No”?

As it was, the Northman nodded grimly. Deciding on his own death without asking for more details, because they knew each other for too long for that. The trust built over a thousand years between them now reaching its final destination as the Northman granted what was asked of him because he knew that Ravalor’s reasons were absolute. It had to be the only way.

All right.

*

 

The urgency behind the call made him come to this earth at once. A cry for help of the most desperate kind.

The one called the Warrior stepped through the portal he had summoned and arrived instantaneously on the other side. He also knew immediately why he had been called.

He could feel it. Something of unspeakable destruction bled into these dimensions from places beyond space and time, trying to take hold. Suffocating like a deluge.

Spurt into haste by the dooming feeling, his eyes searched for his equal. At this moment, he appeared from the shadows thrown by the massive stone arches. He was almost running, glancing back over his shoulder, haunted by more than the demons of the past.

He staggered in his pace as he stumbled and almost fell. He looked only long enough into his direction for the Warrior to glimpse at the stress in his face. His eyes glowed when he turned to the hallway behind him as ancient runes pulled up his arms and hands. The air changed and was now sizzling with magic. The ground under their feet rumbled as the two forces clashed.

Here, he was called the Hermit. More a description than a name for the loyal ally and silent protector of great Treva who had carved out a humble existence in these tunnels and solitude for centuries.

He had always been here, for what was an eternity in the perception of mortals, expecting this day to come. The Warrior understood that what happened right now was what had kept the Hermit from leaving. Even though he hadn’t known it before.

There was no relief in that knowledge.

What do you need me to do? the Warrior asked as soon as he reached the Hermit. Time was scarce and wasting what little they had an insulting distraction from the sacrifices that brought them together.

Even his one, curt question shouldn’t have been necessary but as hard as he tried, the Warrior failed to clearly see and interpret his equal’s memories — too great was the strain of the electric current that tingled through his brain and jammed their connection.

The Hermits tension was clear in his face and the Warrior felt it taking hold of his own body. He focused and trusted the Hermit to do all he could to disrupt the approaching chaos.

The Northman is on his way here. The Hermit’s voice was tense. He didn’t look at him. His focus was claimed by nothing that was to be seen with the blank eye.

“He will arrive at any moment and destroy the portal.

The Northman.” The Warrior put this information together with the details he perceived in spite of the current and parsed them with his own observations.

“The sheer chaos in the air in close proximity to the rift exposed to his amount of power will rip the earth and all space around it apart. The Warrior merely stated the facts and naturally, the Hermit did not misinterpret it as an objection. The Warrior had asked, the Hermit answered, they knew what they needed to know and talking more about the Northman would have meant jeopardising precious time.

The acceptance of the fact didn’t mean the Hermit was void of opinion. The centuries he left behind to come to the final conclusion had only given the grief time to seed deeper into his being. For the first time, it coloured his words as the conversation moved on.

“Zenozarax is right at its centre. Lords only know what it will do to him. Maybe it will kill him. If it doesn’t — follow him wherever he goes, we can’t lose him now! I’ll urge the Prince of Treva to do the same. You have to help him. Only the Hammer can defeat him now if the explosion doesn’t. He has grown too powerful. It must end!”

The Hermit trembled under the strain of chaos pushing back against his own magic. He gasped for air as in his feverish burst of words he barely allowed himself time to breathe. His voice was hoarse and brittle. Today, he had spoken more than in the last century combined and there were only moments left to wrap the weight of knowledge and future into words.

“Wherever he goes, keep Aeven safe! Bring him back here! This universe needs him! We’ve done too much to them already, don’t let this be their downfall. Now go, quickly!

The Warrior nodded. He reopened his portal and stepped through it. He heard what he needed to know and knew which purpose to follow. There was no point in false sentiments. Threads of fate as old as the universe itself were coming together and which would end and which pattern those that kept running would weave wasn’t his concern.

The death of his equal was near. The Hermit would hold off the chaos wizards spell as long as he could and die right here when the Northman would do what he was asked to do.

It would finally be over. The end of an unknown mystery that had tortured his mind for centuries.

 

*

Calm sorrow filled the Warrior as he watched Earth implode into a beautiful vortex of light and colours. The place he had spent so much time on, a place that had brought him the most cherished and most painful memories he possessed, returning to the stars.

The last words he had directed at the Prince of Treva echoed clearly in his mind — but the one who had spoken them had now turned to stardust, too. The Hermit’s memories remained with the Warrior. A chapter had come to an end, for now leaving terrible silence where this part of him used to be.

Taking a deep breath, he dragged his thoughts out of the melancholy, ignoring the troubled thoughts the total destruction of earth caused. As he had said to Aeven, he shouldn’t linger or hesitate. This dimensional rift was most likely not stable, so he should hurry to at least find out where it led. If there was any trace of Zenozarax there he better hurry to find it. If it led anywhere and if this anywhere was even safe. He needed to learn what he could before Aeven would enter it.

The Warrior opened a portal and pulled his hands back at once. He hissed when a sharp pain flicked up his arms. The magic that was infused into his fingertips sizzled. The portal crackled and threatened to burst as it was barely able to withstand the pull of the vortex on the other side. The Warrior had to act fast before the portal collapsed under the strain of the wormhole.

He took a leap of faith into whatever world this would send him.

 

Then the Warrior crashed into soft mud. He groaned from the fall through gritted teeth. A chunk of dirt left a foul taste in his mouth even after he spat it out.

So much for elegantly porting through wormholes.

He looked up and felt a wave of relief. This place looked like Earth and if he read the landmarks correctly — while relying on the Hermit’s memories — he only had to turn westwards...

And sure enough, in the distance, he saw the glistening spire of Treva.

He had to be near the southern shore of the river Elba. The sun was just beginning to rise. Tiny drops of dew glistened on the grassy plains before they evaporated in the first rays of sunlight. Only the gentle mist in the shadows remained untouched from the warmth a little longer.

The Warrior stood up and wiped his dirty hands on his damp clothes. Dirt and grass had softened his fall and now covered his pants and shirt and he did his best to brush it off in an ill-fated attempt to look presentable.

At this moment, it didn’t matter. A gentle breeze rustled in the trees and would soon be warm enough to dry his clothes and the only eyes that saw him in this state were songbirds enamoured by spring. And they didn’t care about the state of a wizard who had just materialised out of thin air. They were too busy greeting the morning with their cheerful trilling.

Only one sheep in the distance eyed him with startled suspicion and was still undecided whether he posed a thread or not.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected to find on the other side of the wormhole but this seemed quite peaceful. A dizzying contrast to the war and destruction he had just left behind. It could have been worse, a lot worse. He pulled a small data tablet from his shirt’s pocket and started it.

The first thing of importance was to figure out where exactly he was, and when. Then, he had to locate Aeven. The Prince of Treva had not yet entered the wormhole when the Warrior had, but he should be, theoretically, arriving momentarily. With how unstable the wormhole had been, most likely not at this exact position though.

The data tablet idled for a while on load and he frowned slightly, looking back up as if he was expecting to see some kind of obvious interference in the sky. It was blue and cloudless, a peaceful sight far away from turmoil.

Yet, a sudden wave of unease overcame him as he realised that he was truly alone. The Hermit was gone and with his death, there wouldn’t come new memories from him.

But the memories of the other three also hadn’t changed. He didn’t have to pay attention to them and they didn’t interrupt his existence, their fluctuation was as natural as lungs feeding blood with oxygen and the heart pumping it through the body.

And while he didn’t receive the updates of his other selves in real time as they happened, silence from all ends over a longer period of time was rare. It might even be too early to be sure that he was cut off or if it was a coincidence, maybe a delay, but it had been long enough for him to feel uncomfortable.

Finally, the query processed, interrupting his unsettling thoughts, what data he got back was helpful, even in its noninformative way. Neither time nor space could be determined. He had already suspected as much. This told him two things — first that this was a pocketed reality to the one he just left, not a natural one. Probably created by the explosion and the violent destruction of the rift space. A shadow, so to speak. Second, that time itself was not quite reliable here. It might be going a lot faster or slower than in the parent universe. There was one simple way to find that out.

Quickly he tried to locate Aeven with the markers he remembered from the Hermit who always had a careful eye on the one chosen by the Hammer Izarax.

The query ran again, very slowly.

He would get an answer eventually, whether the result was null or one. Of course, two might be an option, should this universe have created an exact copy of Aeven, too. That could also taint the reading if the result was one.

Apart from that, if Aeven would be in this reality already, being the one having arrived through the wormhole, it would mean that the time here was going slower than in the other reality, and all three of them, Zenozarax, Aeven and he himself, would appear to have arrived roughly at the same time. That would be good.

If Aeven was not here yet and neither arrived in the next few minutes, it meant that time was most likely going faster.

And that would be bad.

Because then, Zenozarax would have long been here already, and Aeven might not even appear for an impossible to determine amount of time.

The data tablet finished the query and his heart sank. It was null. Aeven wasn’t here.

He better got comfortable with the fact that he had to wait for Aeven to arrive, however long that would take, and stay undetected by Zenozarax till then.

Not hoping for a result he tried to find Zenozarax. After a while, the result was null again. Of course, it was. Unfortunately, in this case, null might present a false negative. The chaos wizard might be here, he might not. And he wasn’t easily found if he didn’t want to be found — neither was the Warrior. Both blind for the presence of the other. And at least on Ravalor’s part, hoping that Zenozarax wasn’t actually here. After all, who knew what that explosion had done to the chaos wizard.

He pondered over what to do next, staring at the inconclusive data. If Zenozarax was here he was most likely scheming and plotting something, somewhere, if the madness he had just witnessed was any indication to go by.

Ravalor had been taken aback by the sheer destruction Zenozarax planned to achieve with the opening of the portal.

At first, Ravalor had been certain Zenozarax was out for simple revenge, right the wrong that the world and wizards had put on him. Unjust and cold, but swift and efficient. His last actions, however, had spoken of so much more hate and anger. The total destruction of a universe as the desired outcome of his plans because… he could? For the sake of death and destruction? And now Ravalor worried what dreadful plans a place that hadn’t even existed until a few moments ago could inspire in Zenozarax’ merciless, cruel mind. A place where he might act undisturbed by the circle.

However, so far everything seemed quite peaceful, and this earth wasn’t sinking into chaos at this moment. While it was still possible that he wasn’t even here, the Warrior erred on the side of caution by assuming he either hadn’t put his sinister plans into action or they hadn’t reached the destructive phase yet.

The Warrior sighed, the only thing he really could do was put in the legwork and try to find Zenozarax before Aeven arrived, so they would at least know where he was. Asking a bit around, trying to hear if anyone had seen something strange lately, like, let’s say, an egomaniacal wizard obsessed with the idea of absolute chaos. Or in the last years. Or decades. For all he knew, enough time could have passed for Zenozarax to become a name of tales and legends.

Despite the potential stakes, it was a comforting task because he had done it before. Trying to find the other wizard, trying to bring order to the Chaos he sowed.

He longed for that sense of familiarity because it had become so hard to focus. The void left by the lack of the constant flow of memories of his other parts was unsettling. Usually, he wouldn’t even truly pay attention to them unless the situation called for it. It was simply a part of him. But now, without it, it was like his vision was restricted, as if what had been visible from the corner of his eyes before had gone dark. He sighed and straightened, stashing the small tablet back in his pocket. Musing was a bad habit and hadn’t saved lives and universes before. Actions, however, did, especially if they followed a reasonable step-by-step plan.

First of all, he had to get out of this field. Maybe he should go to Artlenburg. It would be as good a point to start his search as any. Even considering nostalgia as a factor, it was unlikely he would find Zenozarax in his old tower below Artlenburg. However, he might have been there briefly at some point of this world’s hypothetical history. And if not, the Warrior could make his way to Treva from there.

A dark shadow fell over him and surprised he looked up. He didn’t remember seeing clouds in the sky as he arrived.

And his heart stumbled.

It wasn’t clouds darkening the sky.

The sun had risen over the distant skyline of Treva, framed by a powder-blue sky. But her light was fading as did the warmth the sunrise had promised. The world around him was sinking into darkness as the sun’s light turned to black fire and the sky to a crimson sea.

He couldn’t stop himself from muttering a curse under his breath, and really, what did it matter? He didn’t have to ask what was going on; he knew what — and who — was happening at this exact moment. Impeccable timing. As if that cursed wizard had planned all along to wait long enough to lull him into a false sense of security. Just long enough to find comfort in his plans and the prospect of control over the looming threat.

Whatever Zenozarax had been scheming, no matter for how long — it had started right now.

The planet rumbled by the time the world had fallen into utter darkness. Light glimmered faintly in the distance where the peaceful lives of the unsuspecting people of this land were taken by the sudden darkness.

A magical glimmer suddenly spread over the hills, moving like a wave over the plains as far as the horizon. It was fast, racing towards him, reaching him, the magic sparkling around his feet, and passing him. And for a brief moment, there was silence.

Then something was moving in the ground below him, tearing his thoughts away from the misery he couldn’t prevent. He knew what it was and he knew he had to get out of here right now.

His thoughts raced — questions of where to go and what to do if there was anything he could do. He knew Earth, he didn’t know of the state of the surrounding universe, so he was only relatively safe to port on the planet’s surface. Only a few places that might be safe for the time being, where he could remain unnoticed and think of a plan to move forward.

He raised his hands, a low hum in the back of his brain — a light appeared in front of him, a strip so bright it was blinding in the darkness — and then it just disappeared.

Oh, no.

He tried again, concentrating even stronger, his fingers twitching, he felt it burn in his fingertips — the strip of light hung in the air — but it would not open. Letting out an exasperated gasp he let his hands drop and the light disappeared into darkness again. The daunting realisation that he wasn’t only trapped right here but also on this planet for an indefinite amount of time only slowly sank in. That cursed wizard had managed to create an extremely effective disrupting field that disabled his ability to port completely. The corruption of the sun itself and this massive disruption field at least confirmed his assumption that Zenozarax had been here for a while already.

This was nothing one could just shake from one’s sleeve on this scale. Most likely he had intended to keep people out rather than in, and wouldn’t the Warrior have used the wormhole he most likely would not be able to reach this place anymore.

There was the noise of something dragging through the soil, behind him at first. Then it was all around him. He whirled around, alert and tense, raising his hands, unsure if he could even do anything.

What unearthed itself from the moist ground was most likely too horrific to be described by any human.

Fortunately, he wasn’t human, nor easily shaken, and yet he still found himself taking a whistling breath through his teeth as the abominable demon dug itself from the ground, like rising from its own grave. Teeth filthy and dark like the dirt they grew out of but still as sharp as razors, under too many burning eyes. A foul stench reeked from its bloated body as loose earth and stone rolled off its shape and tumbled to the torn ground. Its unnatural body formed from dead matter, rubble and earth, held together by the chaos wizard’s magic.

And it wasn’t just the one. All around him, the army of demons rose from the decaying ground. The scale of the chaos wizard’s power was staggering.

And he was right in the middle of them.

The Warrior did the only sensible thing he could right at this moment.

He ran.

He’d run and head down any way that would take him out of here with his hide intact. But his movements didn’t remain unnoticed.

The demons turned towards him, their bodies groaning — and they leapt, propelling their misshapen bodies towards him, some twisted kind of yaws wide open ready to tear him apart should they take hold of him.

In reflex, he raised his hand, pure muscle memory with no consideration, and it took him by surprise as a bolt of sparkling white, blue energy exploded into the demon’s face, ripping its head into atoms.

He allowed himself a short sense of relief — he could still use some of his powers and it was enough to surprise the demons and make them hesitate for a moment. One might have been surprised they displayed enough intellect for that instead of blindly charging towards what might be their destruction. But the Warrior knew it was just the magic crudely recalculating its approach, not the vessels it was running through. He was, however, greatly relieved that Zenozarax wasn’t willing to neuter his power to the point where the Warrior himself would have been helpless. The chaos wizard’s paranoia turned out to be the only thing that had saved the Warrior right now.

But he still wasn’t safe, so he ran.

In the shine of the dark-red sky, he saw them everywhere. As far as the horizon, the ground vibrated as if it itself was coming to life. Over the hilltops to the south, framed by the excited dance of merciless fire, a whole army rose from the darkness.

He imagined he could recognize the figure at its head whilst birds of war thundered through the sky. Because it could only be one.

A moment of foolish distraction, and he was tackled by something enormous from the side. Both hit the ground. Leaving no time to think, the world exploded in front of his eyes. The stench that streamed from the wide, open jaws still lingered when the creature was reduced to bits and rubble.

Dead earth and magical matter rained down on him, the now broken demonic magic pulling at his uniform, pinching the Warrior’s skin as it tried to summon its body anew. He quickly got to his feet again, trying to wipe the dirt and magic off, all the while continuing to run. His altercations with the demons drew more and more attention and he’d be overwhelmed sooner than later if he didn’t find a solution quickly.

A horn sounded, a deep gruesome tune carrying the inevitable fate of this land. Suddenly, the demons lost all interest in him and turned away. He ran past them, ignored by each of them as if he had never existed. Their new target was Treva.

He reached the forest unnoticed. Once he thought himself hidden from the plains, he stopped. Turned around. Listened. But his attempt to call out, to reach anyone beyond this world, yielded once more only silence. The only sound he could hear was the ground rumbling by the sound of thousands advancing to the capital. Treva would fall. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He was on his own, alone, and crippled in his powers. This was the closest he would ever come to feeling the bottomless weight of mortality. Should he die now, all his experiences from this world would be gone. His part in this story would be lost in an unreachable reality and not even he himself would remember. For the reality on the other side, he stopped existing when he stepped through the wormhole. What happened from there would always remain an unanswered question. He knew that dread. He never wanted himself to feel it again.

There was no sense in hoping for help to arrive. Centuries could pass here before anyone in the other reality would consider his absence as strange. It could have been centuries here and only a few minutes there.

With a frown, he turned away from the wave of death and destruction rolling towards Treva.

 

He could only make sure he was ready to fix it when the time came and Aeven arrived.

3 The Last Bastion of Hope

19.09.2020

Terrible darkness had fallen over the earth as the forces Izvi scoured the land. The Warrior knew he had to make his way to the last bastion of hope left by the wizards of yore.

It was dark when Soltouwe burnt at the horizon, red and glowing like a terrifying sunset as the city was ravaged by flames. There was nothing the Warrior could do; he left it to the fire and made his way around it in a safe distance.

It was dark when he crossed the plains of Kivinan. Awakened by chaos tearing through earth, the fires of Rodenborg were a beacon in the oppressing darkness, spewing ash and fire, but that he also passed, soon taken in by the presumed safety of the mighty forest that stretched as far as the eye could see past the once unknown valleys.

It was still dark when he rested. Although, it wasn’t a rest, it wasn’t even sleep. Between the horrors he had witnessed and those he anticipated, sheer exhaustion forced his mind into an unfamiliar, quiet unconsciousness, almost as dark as the world around him had become.

Once he came by, nothing had changed. The world was still shrouded in darkness, fires and demons spreading havoc without any perception of time.

A small light hovered above his fingers, illuminating his way through the forest. He had reached the thick and hostile part, wary of glowing eyes lurking in the shadows. More than once, he had to pause and fight down the urge to move on to untangle his clothes from thorny branches. His path led him up a steep incline that didn’t seem to end. Even his body felt the strain of every step but he didn’t let it stop him. He had a long way to go and the demons could resume their pursuit of him any time. The next rest had to wait until exhaustion didn’t leave him a choice.

Zenozarax’ army had naturally come from the south once more, focusing primarily on the city, and forcing everyone who fled towards the sea without any chance for escape. Once Treva was taken, and it most likely had already fallen, he would spread his reach from there.

He had to keep up the pace lest he lost the advantage of yet still free roads. With the war behind him, he could travel west without being caught by the invading forces.

Another small settlement emerged from the shadows as he stepped out of the trees. It was in the middle of the night, but without a clock, the ever dark sky would not tell that. A few lights were still lit and he approached the houses slowly.

 

He had sneaked past other villages before, deeming them too close to his enemies to consider them safe. He had, however, been close enough to learn more about this world. He had indeed arrived in another reality but he had also gone back in time. In this area of Earth, mortal men still only dreamt of conquering the stars.

A dog barked as soon as it spotted the extraordinary looking stranger that walked into its territory. He didn’t only attract the attention of watchful guard dogs. Barely concealed glances had followed his every move since he left the forest behind him.

Quiet and remote as this town was, its peaceful atmosphere was fragile and they knew it. The crimson sky was the dooming sign of war coming and the citizens were tense and alert.

A door opened, and a man stepped out.

The Warrior found himself at the sharp end of a blade before any words were exchanged. He wasn’t surprised. The people, none of them fighters or soldiers, sensed that the life they had known was coming to an end and wouldn’t be the same should they survive. They were scared and in walked he, a stranger looking nothing like them. For a messenger Izvi, however, he posed a pathetic sight. His clothes were damp, dirty and torn where he didn’t stop fast enough to escape the grasp of the forest. His hair was a mess. He had gotten rid of most of the smell of the demon that attacked him but judging from the scrunched up nose of the man in front of him, he hadn’t done as much of a thorough job as he thought. He refused to entertain the idea of getting used to such an abominable stench.

“Who are you and what do you want?” The man spoke with practised authority. He wasn’t young anymore but still had a decade or two ahead of him before he’d be considered old. Only a few first grey strands showed in his dark hair and judging from his light-brown skin, most of the wrinkles he already had were due to working under the sun, not from old age. He also knew how to hold a weapon and was certainly able to defend himself and his family from the few threats they could expect living in a forest village.

But not from what was lurking in the distances and the quiver in his voice showed that he knew that.

“Have you heard what happened in Treva?” the Warrior asked in return, with a similar tone of authority but careful to respect the villager’s, not challenge it. Fortunately, it showed the desired effect.

The frown deepened the lines in the man’s face but he lowered his weapon.

“Something is happening, we know that much. Everyone does. But nobody can tell what.” He shrugged, his sigh heavy with unease. “News comes in slowly, if you can call them that. For all I know, I’ve heard nothing but rumours and those who learned what’s happening didn’t get out of there to tell the story.”

The Warrior nodded. These people lived in an area that had become obsolete in many other realities but they weren’t blind, or dumb. Their eyes and instincts told them the undeniable truth but that wasn’t enough for the details. Things were happening too fast and what means of communications they had before had already broken down.

Now it was on him to become the harbinger of terrible news. He lacked the power to end the threat but he could warn the people he encountered on his path. He didn’t waste many words or bothered to explain who he was and where he came from. All they needed to know was that a fiend had risen to power, a fiend with an insatiable hunger for chaos that was spreading its dark tendrils into the once peaceful land.  

The man listened to him in silence, his face pale under his tan. During the Warrior’s report, the man’s wife had joined him on the steps to their home and was clinging to her husband’s arm. They exchanged a glance, looking for hope and doubts in each other’s eyes, but they had all seen the distant flames shooting up in the night’s sky.

“Please warn the others, too. Warn as many as you can.” A grim frown darkened his features by the time his recount of the events he witnessed came to an end.

“And you’ve seen it?” the man asked, visibly shaken. The Warrior didn’t blame him, the scope of the doom that was falling over the world was difficult to process.

“Yes.”

“What can we do? How do we stop this?” The man’s back straightened under the pragmatism. They didn’t have much time, that much he understood. They didn’t have the luxury to wait until their minds fully grasped the situation. They had to act if they wanted to survive this horror. Or to survive as long as possible before the inevitable caught up with them.

The Warrior stayed quiet for a while. A group had gathered around them. He saw fear in their eyes, the struggle between realisation and the wish for disbelief. Their peaceful, simple lives hadn’t prepared them for danger like this, now they hoped for answers from a stranger they hadn’t seen before.

He shook his head. “You can’t. There is nothing for you to do but flee. When the time comes to fight back, be ready. Until then, stay alive as long as you can.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet.” A lie. But necessary. Even though he might be able to save these people from the approaching doom, he did not dare to draw this level of attention to himself. Not now.

“Please,” the wife said. “Stay a while, you look like you’ve been going through hell. We still have leftovers from dinner—

He smiled weakly at her, and the just-so human kindness, compassion, and reluctance to grasp the gravitas of the situation. Just one dinner, to preserve a few minutes of normality, a few more minutes, a chat, a glass of wine, until the time to leave couldn’t be pushed to later anymore.

It was tempting to grant her this last wish for comfort.

Odds were that come dawn, the village would be no more and that his advice might have come too late. Even if they fled now, it was well possible that the fate of these forlorn looking faces was already sealed.

“Thank you. But I have to go.”

The man just nodded in grim understanding. The wife smiled at him.

“Then stay safe, and may the Northman watch over you.”

The Warrior, about to turn on his heel and leave the villagers to their faint hopes and preparations, blinked. “The Northman?”

The question and the blatant surprise as he heard the name puzzled the couple. They exchanged a look, trying to make sense of his confusion. It wasn’t so much the concept that someone called “The Northman” existed in this reality that threw him off. There was, however, something about the context and the way she said his name that struck him as odd.

“Do you know where he is? The Northman?”

She smiled at that like a lenient mother would at a silly question of her child. “I believe he is always here. With us. I can see in your face that you have doubts, but he will see us through this.”

The Warrior had every reason to doubt that, indeed. From all he could pick up in the immediate area, they were most certainly very much alone here. At least to the extent that he didn’t register a ridiculous power spike that would indicate the presence of a neutron based PPS which powered the Northman’s cybernetic body.

He understood she was speaking on a spiritual level and how she referred to the Northman as a form of deity. And it was this belief that kept her this calm despite the horror he had spoken of and that her family and friends would eventually face.

“Let me pack you something for the road. Yes?”

“That would be very kind, thank you.” He produced a smile to give his gratitude weight. Then, he added, If it’s not too much to ask, do you have any kind of bag you don’t need anymore? I lost all I had when I fled Treva. A little bit of a white lie but true nonetheless, in a way. He had nothing but what he wore on his body. He used to travel lightly, lulled into comfort by the certainty that whatever he needed was merely a quick portal jump away. That hope, for certainty, was lost.

Oh, of course, let me have a look.

She disappeared into the house. The crowd of listeners around them was still growing. In the gardens around, in doorways, along the paths that connected their homes. Adults, the elderly, and children alike were gathering. They whispered as they tried to learn what had transpired so far while craning their necks to catch anything the odd stranger might add. As it was the nature of tight-knitted communities like this, news travelled fast.

Ravalor turned to the husband who waited with him for the return of his wife, his hands twitching around his weapon.

“Don’t stay here.” He raised his voice enough for the first row of bystanders to catch his words. “Gather your people and go north, as far as you can. This army doesn’t spare the lives even of those who surrender. The only goal they have is to spread chaos. Spilling the blood of the innocent fuels them and your village is no exception.”

People gasped behind him, restless whispers spread and were quickly carried away by raised steps. What lingered as the crowd dispersed was their fear and more than one scared but hostile pair of eyes glared at him.

Ravalor didn’t take offence. It was human nature. The end of their lives was maybe only days away, if not hours. They had no time for nuance. For them, he didn’t only deliver a warning message. Not all of those who might survive would remember him as their ally. To them, he’d be the harbinger of the end of their future, the deaths of those they loved, and by that, the harbinger of chaos itself. There was a bitter irony in that.

 

Fortunately, for now, it was the overwhelming shock that allowed these people to move with a rational calm. But how long until the shock faded and they turned at each other? When the vanguards of the cursed army appeared at the horizon? When the first loved one fell? When food became scarce and what was left spoiled?

They had a chance but Ravalor didn’t fool himself. They were good people but they were also still humans. There were only three outcomes — they all were sacrificed to the gluttonous hunger of chaos, some survived, or they killed each other and the last survivors starved or fell prey to what lurked in the shadows of the forests.

The villagers were blissfully ignorant at his grim prognosis for them and he intended to leave it that way. If they fell, they fell, be it by the force of the army or their own fears turned into madness.

Ravalor’s thought returned from the realm of hypotheses. He focused on the reality around him and noticed the man’s gaze on him. He didn’t expect what he saw in his eyes.

“You’re not going to leave?”

“No.” He spoke with resolve, free from hesitation and the previous insecurities. He pressed out a grim laugh. “I won’t give up this land. They will have to take it from my cold, dead hands.”

That they will. But Ravalor remained silent and nodded gravely.

His wife returned from inside, a shoulder bag in her hand. She didn’t acknowledge her husband’s grave mood and she approached the Warrior with her unwavering smile. He graciously took the bag she handed him.

“You can keep the container too,” she said, almost jolly, and maybe both felt the string of ridiculousness that sentence contained in the current situation. I also put in some other essentials for the road.

“Thank you very much, your kindness humbles me.”

She smiled at him, again this amused smile of ignorance, as if his overly polite way of talking struck her as odd again.

 

They said their goodbyes. For a moment, an odd mood surrounded them. They had known each other for the best of an hour. It wasn’t enough to determine if they liked each other but it had been enough for him to upturn their world. Ravalor didn’t really care about them but he wasn’t indifferent to their fate. It was not personal, it was more like — a shame. Neither of those he had seen today would change the course of the universe, they weren’t important in the grand scheme of things. But they lived and had importance in that, doing their best to cultivate their existence. They shouldn’t just find a gruesome end. If he had to choose a word to describe what he felt, it’d be regret.

He sensed similar feelings when he gave the man a last firm nod and returned the woman’s smile politely. He hadn’t done them harm, they knew that, no matter how they felt. He was a stranger to them and like him, they didn’t expect this to be the beginning of a warm friendship. But it was also there on their side, a vague sense of regret. Even though nothing of this was his fault, the memory of his face would always symbolise the dread that was awaiting them.

They parted like fleeting acquaintances with the knowledge of never meeting again.

He walked along the main road that would eventually lead him out of the village. Now and then, people came up to him to ask him about the fragments they had caught earlier or what had already been spread, in the hope of exaggerated rumours. He kept his answers short and as vague as possible without making light of the seriousness of their situation. They couldn’t afford shallow comfort but he did his best to avoid a mass panic by sharing too many details with too many people.

The edge of the village stopped the questions like an invisible barrier. The steps behind him stopped and they watched him in silence as he walked out of sight and disappeared out of their lives and into the obscurity of the dark crimson sky above them.

 

By the time the Warrior reached and crossed the river Wesera, the concept of day and night had lost all meaning. The news of what had happened in Treva had reached further west, and as he passed through Lehe the city was in chaos. He didn’t draw attention and nobody noticed him. Military tried to keep the peace but the whispers of the soon to arrive forces of chaos were louder than the voices of order and justice.

He did not linger and kept on going west. Not always following the set path he crossed the land pin-pointed into one direction with the precision of a compass leading him towards hope.

Following the winding and hostile path along the river

A feeling of triumph filled him as he finally saw the wide open marshlands before him. Its peace was untouched by humans. And that was good. The lack of artificial structure may have been disheartening for anyone seeking Obermoor on rumours alone, but he knew better. Because so far, this reality was almost identical to the Earth known by the Hermit.

And of course, the creation of this reality had been unnatural, formed after the image that had spawned it, a distorted echo of a world that wasn’t anymore.

So he had come here on nothing more than a hunch, searching for a place that by logic wouldn’t exist here.

Quickly, and following a near invisible but stable path through the marshlands, he walked deep within it. The vegetation had taken over long ago and he needed a moment to orientate himself. Even then it didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. He pulled moss and dead grass from what looked at first like an inconspicuous rock that had been exposed to storms and rain for centuries until it was given an angular shape.

Yet, indeed, it was a metal container.

The moment he saw its true nature, a heavy weight fell from his heart. Allowing himself a precious moment of relief, he just kneeled there, thanking the winding machinations of cosmic chaos that this had made it through.

It wasn’t large. Unless someone searched the moor knowing what they were looking for, no one would ever be able to spot it, let alone see it as anything other than an unimportant rock.

He lightly pushed the side. Time and dirt crunch as the pressure set the mechanics inside in motion. After a few seconds, a panel opened.

He didn’t waste time worrying whether it was still operational and just pressed his hand against the panel. A white-blue glow outlined his hand and confirmed his identity and input. It turned dark again. As he pulled back his hand the panel closed again.

Before him, sparkling and like growing from ice, an archway appeared against the darkness. Its cold glow was the most wonderful thing he had seen since his arrival in this reality. Not only because of its serene beauty. Beyond the glistering gate lay hope.

Obermoor. Seemingly deserted for an eternity and resting in silence ever since. In this reality, it was impossible that anyone had ever lived here as he and Zenozarax were the first and only wizards who had set foot on this version of earth.

And yet it was here, the last safe haven. Waiting for what the tides of time might bring.

He stepped through the gate. The bastion of light lit up before him and pushed away the darkness. His presence was all it needed to awaken the vast fortress from its slumber and to offer him full access to an arsenal of total war. Years after its time, rendered obsolete and useless to him.

Herds of the Unicorn MK 1 and 2 stood frozen in the fields he passed, staring at him from dead, empty eyes. Hanger halls housed the quick and nimble Eagles, once the pride of a future army, now frail, the joints brittle from rust. Somewhere, if he searched long enough, he might even find a Dragon, with its heart turned cold.

Once upon a time, every piece of this forgotten machinery would have inspired pride, awe and even fear in those on their side. But time rarely was merciful to those who could have been and instead of giving him the hope he had come for, Ravalor was walking past the rows of a graveyard of metal joints and forgotten dreams.

A strange sense of melancholy overcame him as he judged what once promised power as old and unimpressive compared to what he had seen and gotten used to. They wouldn’t hold up Zenozarax’ creations, not if they were still new and functioning, never in their crumbling state.

He wasted too many thoughts on what didn’t matter. Considering this weaponry would have been foolish under any condition. He was alone, he lacked the power and wizards to form an army to control these vehicles of war.

He had lost count of the many useless machinery he had walked by when he reached the one that was supposed to surpass them all. The pinnacle of ingenuity and technology.

Propped up on a metal harness between two massive construction halls, stood a vessel.

It looked akin to a submarine out of another time, but it was enormous. It also wasn’t a submarine, or at least, not only that. It was an MTCS, a Multi-Terrain Combat Ship like there were millions within the fleet of Order.

The sea, the sky, even space — no matter the battle terrain, it could do it all.

Or rather, it used to.

Seeing the majestic vehicle in such a poor state pained him. He had always had a weakness for these ships.

Nature had begun to claim it as its own many life cycles ago. The surface was covered in moss and dirt. Shut away from humans and wizards, life had built its own ecosystem within the magical dome. Countless generations of birds had built their nests in the pale vines ranking around the conning tower. The most recent descendants nervously twitched their heads into the intruder’s direction. The past days of darkness had left them confused and eyes sensitive to the now blinding light.

The distress was palpable and there was no doubt that the life that had made this place its home didn’t want him here.

The main building showed similar signs of age as everything in the valley, but as he approached the doors they opened just the same fully automatic and without a hitch.

Inside it was dusty but brightly lit. Only a single lamp was not working.

The bodiless voice of the being buried deep inside spoke, the language ancient and harsh in its words, greeting him by his wizard-name, welcoming him.

Welcome to Obermoor, Ravalor. Mezchinhar can’t be found. The circle is silent. You are hereby granted Command Status over Obermoor.

They sure are, he muttered as he glanced back on his data tablet, ignoring the unceremonious promotion he just received. The query searching for the arrival of Aeven had still not found anything. He wondered how much time he would have.

4 Obermoor

26.09.2020

Trapped in a twisted time where the dominion of the chaos wizard had become reality, the only hope of this universe was the great hero, lost in time.

The data tablet showed signs of tear and wear. The sides were covered in superficial scratches. Once smooth, the surface had become coarse over the years, from being carried around and stored in places it didn’t belong.

Four and a half years had passed since he arrived in this dreadful reality. Four and a half years where the world around him had fallen into madness and destruction under the erratic rule of the chaos wizard. Four and a half years in which he had been unable to do anything against it.

The tablet was mostly useless to him in this reality, just like his powers. The neutralising disruption Zenozarax caused was as strong as it had been since Ravalor’s arrival.

But he held on to the tablet and kept carrying it around. Always waiting, expecting, hoping.

“How is the engine coming along?” He reached the narrow balcony overlooking the assembly hall. His chief engineer looked up from the notes in his hands.

“Purring like a cat, Commander.”

“That’s not good.”

“It’s not, I know,” DI01 admitted without hesitation but also undisturbed by the fact. Sounding confident enough, he added, “We’re working on it. We could put her to water in a few days, I think.”

The young engineer was hard working and excelling at practical and theoretical problems alike, despite Ravalor asking the almost impossible from him. The only information available was from Ravalor’s memory and whatever they could salvage from the ancient data stored at the local database. That was all they could work with when the engineer began to learn rocket science from scratch over the last four years.

Ravalor looked at the ship in front of him, as it was still suspended by heavy metal beams. The plan was simple enough: Wait for Aeven. Once Aeven was here, reach Treva unseen by sea, get close enough to Zenozarax and then let Aeven kill him.

Admittedly, it sounded simpler than it was. But there were still too many unknown variables and there was no point in putting together what he had of the full picture with this many pieces missing. Until he knew more and those pieces he did know about were actually in front of him, the details of his plan had to wait. Too many unpredictable changes were still possible.

He went down the metal stairs, the smell of welding and sparks lay heavy in the air.

He had fewer people on his side and to help him than he would like, but as it was, he did not dare the risk of freely recruiting from the outside — as long as Zenozarax wasn’t aware that Ravalor had followed him here, they were reasonably safe. But, in fact, this was another “if” — if Zenozarax wasn’t aware. Despite laying low, he might already know and had decided to do nothing about it because finding and fighting him now was a waste of time and effort. There was no way of knowing for sure what was going on in the head of a wizard seemingly in love with destruction but if staying out of the way and not rubbing his presence into Zenozarax’ face was what it took to buy their cause more time, Ravalor was more than fine with that. Even if that meant less manpower when there were probably many humans who’d gladly join a resistance against the one who took pleasure in destroying their homes and loved ones.

The soldiers he had now had been those left in storage at the point in time this earth was created from. There hadn’t been many. Enough to man the submarine and a few eagles, but not enough to reasonably fight a war. Military-grade cyborgs, genetically engineered and the best human fighters he could ask for — but they were still outnumbered to a ridiculous degree, especially in a battle where losses were expected.

Obermoor gave him all the tools he needed to create more — but the world around him didn’t offer the necessary time and resources. A ridiculous thought as he had already spent close to 5 years in this place, but cloning was a tedious and long process outside of Mezchinhar. If he happened to spend another two decades here, maybe he could reasonably hope to double, or even triple, his forces in secret, but he’d need materials for that that were no longer easily accessible.

Leaving the industrial scents and sounds behind, he stepped outside. It was bright within the dome that surrounded the base but the ever-present darkness embraced the world around with the familiar quietness. The land was suffering and dying. Chaos had taken hold of every living being that survived the initial slaughter long enough to struggle from one cold dark day to the next. He felt it within himself, too, as the disruption of the chaos around them had a very clear effect on him too — especially the lack of communication between him and the other parts of himself. How he missed them — it kept him awake and distracted more and more often the longer he was forced to stay in this blasted reality.

Ravalor just stood in front of the hall for a while. Thinking again. Pondering. He’d had a lot of time doing that in the last few years. As many times before he imagined, if he was given the chance to talk to him one last time, how he would ask the other wizard he once knew so well, how this could possibly be the freedom he dreamed of? Death, destruction, famine and sickness — the people free from order, free to die anyway they could dream of? He wondered what the answer would be and if there was one that would really answer anything.

“Commander?”

He was taken from his thoughts and looked towards the voice. NA10 approached him from the main building. One of the first he had woken up and his First Officer. Wearing what had become their standardised uniform of metal and fur — a homage to the god they had devoted their engineered lives to.

Ravalor knew that the clone soldiers always were easy to fall for religion, it gave them a clearer idea of the world they were thrown into and helped them to make sense of it when they had no time to grow into it, so he had seen no reason to reject it. Answers, motivations, comfort, all neatly bundled up in one concept and wrapped into the image of an all knowing, benevolent deity. The godly idea of the Northman was as good as any other god — and as useless to him.

“Can you look these over?”

He glanced at the list NA10 gave him. Equipment and provisions their next supply run would try to gather.

“Engineering added a few items,” NA10 clarified as they pointed at one of many highlighted bullet points. “I marked those that are too risky to acquire right now in my opinion. We’ve got a lot of movement south of Lehe.” Ravalor nodded more to himself than in agreement as he quickly browsed through the list. NA10 was right, getting close to Lehe was dangerous these days but the engineers also had a point. Many good points, in fact. Yet, they couldn’t risk losing men and, worse, that their activity was noticed too soon. Yet, there was no guarantee that the situation around Lehe would calm down any time soon.

“They leave at 0600?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll get this back to you asap.” Some risks were worth it in the long run, others not, pondering over the list in solitude later would hopefully help him to call the right shots.

“Commander.” NA10 stepped back and left him to his thoughts.

There was a certain tension among his men now that the ship was almost ready. They were equipped and ready to strike any day — but they were forced to wait. Wait for an event nobody knew when it would happen. Ravalor had vaguely promised them that it would be soon, but, of course, it was impossible to know, even for him. They might finish the restoration and any improvement he could think of of the ship and Aeven’s arrival could still be decades in the future. A daunting prospect. But not nearly as hopeless as the possibility that Aeven would never arrive. That he hadn’t passed the vortex in time. He dared not to think about it. How long before he’d have to? Another five years? Ten maybe?

He wished he could have the faith his men had. Their unshakable belief in their god.

A god who, as Ravalor couldn’t fail to notice, was frustratingly absent from all of this. Four and a half years and he had not seen the Northman nor even heard a potential hint to his whereabouts.

There were countless realities, most grown naturally, a few, like this one, created artificially, by accident or circumstances. It was entirely within the realm of possibilities that in one of those realities, the Northman manifested as a belief and nothing else. An idea, a concept, created in the minds of humans to make sense of the universe where their knowledge and skills still failed to explain, without there ever being an actual physical presence of the Northman.

Ravalor would fear this was the case here but he had seen the iconography and imagery. They were created in the Northman liking. And while there was the slimmest of possibilities that the worshippers just happened to imagine him in the shape and form Ravalor was familiar with, there were also the legends told and written.
During his time in this reality, Ravalor had taken the rare opportunities offered to him whenever he could and learned as much as possible about the religion of the Northman. When and where it started, the oldest stories and the newest interpretations, whatever he could get a hold of. As it was to be expected, there was not the one simple story people believed and followed but whichever reinvention or retelling they chose, they were all unmistakably about the Northman he knew and respected. His appearance, his bravery and confidence, his love for the epic and small town taverns, the casual sense of power whenever he wielded his mighty axe.

It was too true to the Northman for him to be born solely from the beliefs of people. He had been real, long enough to leave a lasting impression on humanity, he had either appeared as a god or influenced the world enough to be elevated to godhood in the minds of his admirers and defeated foes.

Be it as it may, he wasn’t here.

And by the madness that was Zenozarax and the sanity Ravalor desperately tried to cling to, he had tried to find him. But the shadow of the powers and tools left to him weren’t enough to pick up any physical sign of his existence, neither alive nor gone.

The data tablet in his pocket gave a low ping.

And for almost two seconds his thoughts just didn’t compute the sound or its implications as he gazed into the night. His mind had wandered far off with his thoughts into a wide silence where the echoes of the thoughts of his other selves should have been. His focus snapping back into the reality at hand almost hurt physically. He gasped, flinching as he fumbled the tablet out of his pocket. He stared at the screen.

Only one single digit.

The same query he had started four and a half years ago, that had kept running all this time, unchanged, over and over again. One single digit, changed from zero to one.

Aeven had arrived!

“Nathaniel!” Ravalor shouted for his first officer who hopefully was still in hearing range. He felt his thoughts rushing. Instantly, quick steps ran towards him. NA10 almost fell around the corner, alerted by the intense tone in Ravalor’s voice.

“He arrived!” Ravalor still shouted, leaving his officer no time to ask what had happened.

“By North! All right!” NA10 came to an abrupt halt and straightened. He nodded, and turned on his heel, gone as quickly as he had appeared; he knew what he had to do. Ravalor left as well, into the other direction.

Finding Aeven and bringing him here was their top priority and they had to act fast, before the news reached Zenozarax’ forces. If the chaos wizard got his hands on Aeven everything would have been in vain and their last hope lost. He had the greatest trust in the young prince’s ability to not get himself killed shortly after his arrival, however, his existence in this reality might just cause enough of a ripple in the fabrics of this plane that would catch Zenozarax’ attention.

But Ravalor’s spies had been looking for Aeven for years, he wouldn’t escape their eyes for long. They expected him, which was their advantage but they couldn’t cover every inch of this planet and if he appeared in the middle of an open meadow away from the remains of civilization, they better hurry and get him away from there. After years of patience, time was suddenly a crucial and scarce resource.

Once again his own uselessness due to his inability to use all his powers was irritating. Without the disruptive field Zenozarax had created, he would have located Aeven’s exact position within seconds, ported to him and gotten him here before a minute had passed. But as it was — there was no way to get to Aeven quickly, wherever he was now. Zenozarax had thrown their ability to communicate and travel successfully back into the middle ages — at least as long as Ravalor was intent on keeping a low profile. So the only thing he could do was to contact his people in the field.

*

The search lasted a week.

A whole week of terrible tension. Ravalor caught himself over and over again looking at the data tablet, expecting the small one to be replaced by zero again. But it stubbornly remained a glaring, cruel positive that was taunting him with all the unknown variables of what could go wrong. But also, as long as it was there, it was his greatest and only comfort: Aeven wasn’t dead.

Yet.

The grasp of chaos wasn’t new and fragile anymore and with every passing year the dark power strengthened. Its forces had spread through the land, but it was still possible to elude them under the right circumstances. But the more time went by, the more difficult it was to remain unnoticed. That was for the experienced and fools. But Aeven was neither — or maybe a little bit of both. If someone like him, someone who carried the weight of destiny on his shoulders, wandered between two established realities, they might as well welcome him with fireworks.

Because he was the wielder of the Hammer Izarax.

If Aeven made it this far unnoticed but did so much as lifting the hammer in an attempt to defend himself against a potential threat, it’d destroy any chance for secrecy.

They’d know.

Zarhotrax would know. And he’d come for Aeven with planned and overwhelming force to destroy him before he had a chance to begin his quest.

So far, however, nobody reported any suspicious activities from the wizard or his henchmen. Luck remained on their side but it was only a question of time until it moved on. Ravalor could work with that even if this meant that his best strategy also worked against them.

He was counting on even finding Aeven before anyone else did. This meant, the more time passed without a satisfying result, the more urgent and intense the search became. Consequently, once his men finally figured out Aeven’s location, Zenozarax’ eyes and ears among the surviving communities would, most likely, notice the underlying bustle across the chaos realm and report to their overlord. Zenozarax would quickly put two and two together.

An alert came from the display in front of Ravalor. He looked up from his data tablet. Someone was approaching the area from the east!

Ravalor jumped off his chair and hasted to the nearest gate leading outside. The cold air hit his face and he ran across the wide airfield. The crystalline gate registered his presence and began to open and he rushed through the crack as soon as it was wide enough for him to fit through. He halted. The gate closed behind him and he was surrounded by complete darkness. A cold chill crept through his clothes and embraced him.

He turned to the east and squinted against the black night.

There was no guarantee that whatever was in the distance came to their aid. For all he knew, one of the wizard’s cruel creations might have lost its way or knew exactly where they were venturing. They could be a vague scheme in the endless night and overwhelm Ravalor with their stenches before he could even open the gate again. And then, it would already be too late for them.

Then, something was moving in the darkness. It was too far away to make sense of it but what was more like a guess at first quickly became a certainty. Someone was walking into his direction and they were carrying a light.

A small, lonely light dancing above the ground and too far away to reveal its truth.

It came closer, faster than expected, passing the treacherous marshlands, and higher in the air than Ravalor had thought. This could be a bad sign. Or...

Robbed of powers that would make a difference, Ravalor was still able to conjure a small ball of light and let it hover above his fingers. Not to see, but be seen.

The unknown light stopped moving. After a torturous minute, it came closer again, slower than before. This time, there was an indistinguishable rhythm to its dance.

Ravalor swallowed a sigh of relief as the silhouette of a man on a horse emerged from the shadows. Zenozarax’ minions were a lot but they weren’t fine horsemen.

Finally, as the two faint lights in the dark moor merged, the rider revealed his face.

Shadows danced over Aeven’s face, the wariness in his unshaven face changing into a smile so weary it was more painful to look at than the prior suspicion. The young prince looked awful, tired, and exhausted. His armour was covered in dirt and blood. His back bent under the weight of the Hammer. The horse, a fine stallion under the dirt and damp sweat, was as exhausted as its rider.

The sight struck Ravalor as a sudden reminder that Aeven had just arrived in this reality. Ravalor had made use of the years to prepare for Aeven’s arrival, enough time to accept the dark reality as his normal until the time to strike back came.

For Aeven, it had barely been a week since his homeworld was destroyed in front of his eyes, everything and everyone he had known, loved, and cherished since he was a child turned into dust. And without knowing what to expect, he was thrown into a world so close to what he had just lost, and so close to losing it all over again.

And yet, there was no moment of peace and reflection for him, no time to mourn. The dark circles under his eyes and the dried blood on his cheek and chest told a tale of violent encounters and battles that would have meant death if hesitated.

Ravalor had sympathy for the prince. Aeven was young and, after all, only human. But the time for him to grief hadn’t come, not yet.

“Are you alone?” Ravalor asked. Aeven nodded weakly, the look in his face turning confused as he seemed to realise who was standing before him. They had met a handful of times before, talked only a few times more than that, so it was no surprise the exhausted prince didn’t recognize him immediately. After all, he wasn’t the Hermit.

“Ravalor— how? What are you doing here?”

“That’s not important. I’ll explain later. Did anyone follow you?”

Aeven slid off the horse. The poor animal barely lifted its head, its ears slightly tilted to the sides, the big, dark eyes tired beyond exhaustion. Aeven pulled its reins and it trotted after him, barely registering what was happening around it.

“For a while.” Aeven shrugged. “But I haven’t seen anyone I haven’t killed for two days.”

Ravalor looked worried at the prince, his voice was dull and tired and with no noticeable shift in intonation. He stared down the path but there was nothing to see. Which didn’t mean much.

“All right. Let’s go,” Ravalor finally said and gestured Aeven to follow him. He opened the gate and guided the prince through it.

They watched in silence as the gate closed behind them, staring at it for another moment after it had shut them in and away from the hostile world.

Almost five years he had worked towards this moment, calculated, stocked up, instructed, planned, revised, researched, improved. And now that the big, crucial moment had come Ravalor didn’t know what to say. Despite all the preparation, he had never thought about what he’d tell the young prince once they finally met. He had meticulously planned the way up to this encounter and next, how they’d end the terror of the chaos wizard. But what to do in between, he hadn’t thought of that.

He hadn’t considered the possible — likely — state of the Prince of Treva at all, his thoughts had only moved between the binary of dead and alive. Glad to be barely alive, he hadn’t thought of that either. Or the toll the arrival would take on Aeven’s body and mind.

Should he say something encouraging, some words of comfort? Would it be a waste of time that the prince could use for a much needed rest, before Ravalor introduced him to the next phase of his plans?

Fortunately, Aeven took the burden of choice from him by breaking the silence.

“Has this always been here?” his voice sounded terrifyingly distant next to him.

“Actually yes.” Ravalor still stared at the gate. “It’s— but before Ravalor could continue his sentence, a sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him jerk around. By the fraction of a second, he caught the unconscious prince before he collapsed to the ground.

5 Wittenmoor

03.10.2020

The great Hero finally arrived, but a dreadful truth followed him beyond the crystalline gate of the Land of Unicorns.

“How is he?” Ravalor stopped NA10 before he could pass him. The young officer didn’t seem too eager to answer him. It wasn’t like Ravalor couldn’t vividly imagine why. For years he had promised the arrival of the hero to save them all from this nightmare. Now the hero, the promised symbol of hope, had arrived in the dead of night like a common thief. Exhausted, covered in dirt, and with a beaten look in his eyes.

“He’s awake now. But he did not speak to me,” NA10 said flatly and with that, Ravalor granted him his unspoken wish and dismissed him.

He hesitated before entering the room. He hesitated again before speaking. Aeven sat at the plain table with his back to the door, a half-empty glass of water before him. He turned around slowly without making the effort of facing Ravalor.

Aeven had fallen into a deep sleep before his head had hit the pillow. He looked better than last night after the much needed food, drink, rest and a bath. His own clothes had been too torn to be saved. Instead, he wore one of the garments intended for wizards that never had been to the base. They had been stored away for many, many years until Ravalor repurposed them for his soldiers. At first, it had been strange to see anyone else but a wizard walking around in them but he had gotten used to it. It was only a minor detail, a superfluous pinch of nostalgia that Ravalor had dismissed immediately. Times were dire and they had better use for their few resources than worrying about fashion.

Still, it was odd to see the human prince dressed just like everyone else. He could wear it, that was not the question. It tied in with the disappointment he could see in the hanging shoulders and hear in the tired voices of NA10 and the others. Ravalor wasn’t disappointed. These were just clothes, they were clean, and they were functional. It didn’t matter that the hero he had built up for years as the saviour of the world was dressed like everyone else. Aside from the tired, resignated look on his face, Aeven would blend in perfectly. Even his shoulders were dropped in a similar, hopeless manner.

It didn’t matter.

It felt odd, that was all. A feeling, nothing else.

After a moment of silence, Aeven finally lifted his head to glance at him, for the first time showing a hint of curiosity for his visitor.

“You look tired.” Aeven’s voice was as tired as he accused Ravalor to be. It was admirable that the first thing he showed worry about was the wellbeing of someone else, while in his own eyes a certain haunted shadow lingered.

“I’m fine.” It was a stretch to say so. But even if he were one to pour his heart out to someone who barely was more than a stranger to him, this wouldn’t be the time to do so.

“What is this place?” Aeven waved his arm in a vague gesture.

“This is Obermoor.”

“No.” Aeven shook his head, but there was something slow and almost dreamlike about it. As if he still was caught in the absent daze from last night, a moment before he fainted from exhaustion.

“This ...place. Land. What happened?” Aeven turned his head to gaze out of the window. It was impossible to say what he was looking at and what he really saw.

Ravalor nodded. Of course. Like him, Aeven had no idea what would expect him at the other end of the wormhole. It should have occurred to Ravalor that while he himself had been surprised, he could never have been as surprised as Aeven, who barely had any time to grasp the loss of his homeworld and everything he fought for.

Only to find himself in said world a moment later.

Ravalor pulled a chair closer and sat down at the table. Aeven was already overwhelmed and hurting. Nothing he could say would cushion the truth enough to save the young prince from more confusion and pain so he came straight to the point.  

The explosion and the rift in time and space created this reality. It is earth as you know it, but it is not natural. What was true there is true here, this universe was created in the image of yours, he explained, closely watching Aeven for any signs of having troubles to follow him, but the prince just listened quietly with no change in his face. Ravalor went on, The rift caused a time anomaly, and while we all entered the wormhole roughly around the same time, Zenozarax has arrived here years, maybe decades before us. Giving him all the time he needed to finally conquer Treva. His strength has grown unimaginable, his actions more unpredictable. When he attacked, he stood unopposed.

The last sentence hung heavy between them. Something in Aeven’s face twitched but for a while, he remained silent. Then, the look in his eyes changed.

“Why haven’t you done anything?”

“I’m flattered that you think I could have done more,” Ravalor said dryly. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand where that reproachful tone came from. “Unfortunately, I’m all but powerless in this dimension. The truth is, I’ve done everything I could to prepare for your arrival since I came here. Over four years ago.”

Aeven frowned and looked away. His fingers tapped restlessly on the table. The long rest and a late breakfast had taken the worst of the weariness away, scratches had been cleaned and the dried blood from who knows who, or what, removed. The bruises on his hands and face, however, were still visible and if anything, their colour was only beginning to reach the darker stages that inevitably came before the healing and fading. Aeven’s knuckles were blue and purple but he didn’t flinch when he slammed his flat hand on the table. He took a deep breath.

“You’re not the only one then.”

Ravalor tensed up and leaned a bit forward. “What do you mean?”

Aeven looked past Ravalor and nodded at the wall behind him. Ravalor followed his eyes.

“It doesn’t work anymore.” A simple statement, there was no doubt that Aeven didn’t try to be mysterious but a dark tone was swinging in his voice, giving it an ominous mood.

Ravalor stood up, fighting the urge to repeat his question. He had an inkling of the answer and delaying its truth wouldn’t change it.

Standing on its head, leaning against the wall was the Hammer Izarax.

Ravalor stretched out his hand. Something wasn’t right. He closed his fingers around the handle. This felt wrong. He hadn’t noticed it before, he had been too concerned with Aeven’s wellbeing. How should he have known that the Hammer was in desperate need of care as well?

He lifted it easily with one hand and there it was, the massive, mighty weapon, the key to his plan and tool of their hope. Right there, light and easy in his hand, as he walked with it back to Aeven and put it on the table as if it was nothing but an oversized but otherwise ordinary piece of cutlery.

“Since when?”

“Moment I arrived here she was out. Zenozarax must have done something.” Aeven sighed and took another sip of water. “Almost got me killed by those bloody cultists.”

Ravalor sat down and studied the sigil that was so faint it was barely visible. Its light had completely vanished. Then he looked at Aeven and back at the Hammer, frowning even deeper.

“You know what’s wrong with it?” Aeven almost sounded disinterested, only the slight rising of his eyebrows expressed the last shred of hope that was still in him. Ravalor stroked his beard. Aeven wanted the answer Ravalor wanted to give but lying for a few moments of comfort wouldn’t help them in the long run. He avoided Aeven’s eyes and stared at the hammer for another minute.

“I know what’s not wrong with it,” Ravalor finally mumbled more to himself, crossing his arms as he crunched through his thoughts, or more precisely, the years-old left memories he had from the Hermit. “I would carefully doubt it was anything Zenozarax did though he sure is thrilled about it. These ancient weapons surpass even our understanding of magic. The Hammer is also bound to you, it chose you — usually it would only lose its glow once you die. Till it chooses a new owner worthy of carrying it.”

“Yeah — I’m not dead though.”

“I can hear that.” Ravalor sighed. All these years, he had feared they wouldn’t find Aeven alive, wondered what he would have been supposed to do if the prince had fallen into the Zenozarax’ hands. Now he was finally here and the fact that he was alive added more variables than it solved. Yes, Aeven’s death would have been worse and devastating, nevertheless, him being alive with the Hammer having lost its power complicated matters. From here, he didn’t have absolute answers.

If there is such a thing as the Hammer forgetting you I don’t see a reason why it wouldn’t accept you again afterwards.” Ravalor tapped his thumbnail against his teeth. “Unless you are not you anymore. But I don’t think that’s the case either. I was able to find you with your previous markers. The you that arrived here is still the same that went into the wormhole.

Aeven squinted at him. “You are making an educated guess, aren’t you.”

Ravalor stopped the tapping and lifted his head, gazing back at Aeven.

“I draw conclusions based on the facts and my observations.”

“Comforting.” Aeven dismissively waved his hand. “Okay, for all that we know, the Hammer might have forgotten me or wormhole magic undid me and yet, it didn’t. So far, so good. What else could it be?”

“Hm.” Ravalor closed his eyes and tried to clear the images in his head. He had been on his own for too long, what had been left from the others had paled as his own thoughts and experiences had begun to fill the voids the disconnect had caused. Only slowly the distant memories of things the Hermit had read ages ago took form. How the first wizards on earth had finally found the location of the Hammer. How they made sure it was kept secure till it would choose its owner. Centuries of searching and research, and now he remembered barely any of it.

Because it hadn’t been him, the Warrior. It had been the Hermit and thus, these memories had never been in his active consciousness. Usually, accessing them in full detail as if he had been there was a matter of seconds. But here, he was on his own, the memories distant, compressed and archived deep within him, and impossibly harder to find in the first place with no reference where to even start looking.

“It has to be because of the dimensional rift,” he slowly said. “The Hammer is unique. There is only this one, it is meant to be universal. Changing universes shouldn’t affect it like this — but this wasn’t a normal jump and this isn’t a natural universe. Nothing here should be and yet, it is.” Ravalor opened his eyes again, glowing for just a moment longer from the search before they faded back to black as he focused on Aeven. “When you went through the rift, what happened? What do you remember?”

Aeven exhaled heavily, raising his brows. “I— hm. It was overwhelming.” He tilted his head, his eyes half rolling up, as if that helped to find the right memories among his thoughts. “I mean, it wasn’t even that long, I think, but it felt like an eternity. Like the last minutes at the end of a long journey that suddenly seem to stretch endlessly in front of you.

And there was something… else in there. Something massive pressing onto my soul? Growing in power. I knew Zenozarax was there too, but it wasn’t him. He felt — angry, chaotic — that other thing, that was something different, but no less like someone I could sense.” Aeven spoke slowly. His eyes almost disappeared under his deep frown, the muscles of his face were distorted as he clearly struggled to wrap this unique experience — that he more felt than experienced with his senses — into words that made sense.

Ravalor pressed his lips together to a thin line, grinding his jaws, while he tried to put the pieces together. So, Aeven sensed that Zenozarax had been through the wormhole, too. That didn’t surprise him. Given the time dilation, chances were good that everything that went into the wormhole no matter the moment it exited, was present in it at the same time till the very moment it would collapse. But that was just theoretical.

He shook his head, almost growling in the back of his throat. He clearly made a mistake when he created a portal through the wormhole as a shortcut. He should have travelled it like Aeven did. Not only might they have arrived closer in time — he would also have experienced what Aeven did, providing him with valuable firsthand knowledge that would have helped him to shed more light into this.

“If the presence you felt, whatever it was, indeed grew in power while you went through the wormhole, it might have been syphoning off your Hammer’s powers.”

Might. The pieces of wild speculation were suddenly falling into place too perfectly as to be coincidental. The explosion of the Northman’s heart with the power of a neutron star had created the rift — and now the Hammer Izarax, also powered by a neutron star, was drained. Could the Northman have been the first in the rift, surviving his own death by its time bending pull? Had it been his presence Aeven had sensed, coming again into being fueled by the Hammers power? Aeven didn’t mention an evil presence but the Northman wasn’t above anger. And his existence had come to a violent end, after all. If it even was something he could have actively affected in the first place. The idea was crazy but were there truly crazy ideas when the possibilities were endless?

Aeven, quite unaware of Ravalor’s rambling thoughts, shrugged. Really, the explanation was as good as any to him. “So, it’s drained, fine. The important question is, can we charge it again?”

The tired resignation had disappeared from Aeven’s face. Grim pragmatism had taken its place. Now it was Ravalor who blinked at him with a blank expression.

“I’d think so.”

“Great.”

A moment of silence.

“How?”

Yes. How. Ravalor looked at the Hammer in front of him. Well, actually, the how was quite simple, in theory. The hammer was powered by a star, said power was gone, so they needed another. The problem didn’t lay in the method but in the circumstances.

He pulled the small data tablet back from his pocket and pinged DI01 to come to them asap.

“We have to get the Hammer into space. Charging it with the power of a star again.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong but from all I’ve seen out there — that might be a problem?”

“It is. Even without the utter destruction, this earth was several developmental stages away from reaching the level of space travel we require. We have currently the only ship that could even attempt such a trip, but— He fell silent.

“Hold on!” Aeven slammed his hands on the table and propped himself up, leaning forward. “You have a space ship?”

“Kind of.” Technically, yes but also, technically, not quite. What he had started had been a glorified display of an impressive hull with not much to show for itself inside. He had taken half of Obermoor apart these last years to right this wrong — and even today, the ship still had its shortcomings.

Someone knocked at the door. DI01 entered when asked to come in. The chief engineer looked as relaxed as always.

“Commander?”

“Dion, can we get the ship up into space any time soon?”

DI01 flinched as a direct response to the question, an answer everyone in the room understood without words. No.

Ravalor acknowledged his part in the engineer’s sudden and very visible discomfort — he had ensured DI01 multiple times that space-faring wasn’t their main priority. It was meant to be a precaution, so they wouldn’t have been caught off-guard if Zenozarax decided to expand his chaos outside the bounds of this world. “Do what you can to the best of your abilities. Consider this our independent research program, there is no immediate deadline,” had been the directive.

“We’ve come a long way since we started, Commander, but I don’t recommend pushing her past our atmosphere yet. Really. Engine and power-wise we’d be good to go, but the pressure converter is still not quite eh — see, the problem is that we can only test theoretically, and right now, those theoretical tests say that we’re good underwater, we’re even good to up to almost 40 kilometers, but in space, the thing’s gonna pop.”

“That’s one reassuring image,” Ravalor remarked dryly, putting his hands on the table he pushed himself off his chair. “Taking the ship right now is a terrible idea anyway as it would draw too much attention. But if we get it working it might be an option. Dion, I’ll be taking a look at this problem myself and Aeven, let me do some research and get back to you on this later.” It wasn’t certain if they had even one shot at this and he would not risk this half of a chance by rushing things, not after all this meticulous planning.

“Sure. I’ll be — right here I guess.”

“Aeven, you’re free to explore the base to your liking.”

“Maybe I’ll do that.”

*

Ravalor neither saw nor heard him but he knew Aeven would approach him even before Aeven himself decided to go to the library. Right now, as his eyes glowed with a turquoise tint to it, one hand laying on a console screen, his fingers covered up to his elbow in a web of bright lines and ancient runes, he was aware of everything happening in the building. It was only in his subconsciousness, though, as his focus was on something else. He was sifting through the massive amounts of data, rushing past his eyes — all of it was irritatingly useless. He knew it had to be here — there was a memory of it, but he just couldn’t find it.

“Hey, can I help you with something? I’ve got nothing to do here, so—

Aeven’s voice was cheerful, downright bubbly but Ravalor didn’t even turn to look at him.

“I doubt that.”

He didn’t intend to be blunt or hurtful. But if he had paid attention to Aeven he maybe would have noticed the disheartened expression on the young prince’s face. It simply didn’t occur to him — of course, there was nothing Aeven could help him with, none of the data or even texts here would make any sense to him, and that was all what his statement meant.

Only his subconscious registered Aeven strolling through the library, wide-eyed taking in its wondrous appearance — or lamentable state. Ravalor had early found out that nothing not created on earth had made it to this shadow version of the original universe. That had not only explained why he hadn’t encountered any other wizard, but also why everything they had ever brought from Mezchinhar or outside this universe was simply not here.

That plus the lack of connection to Mezchinhar had been the greatest challenge to overcome in his search for information.

“You are searching something specific, aren’t you?”

“I do.” Ravalor’s brows twitched only ever so slightly into a frown, but not due to the distraction. There was no distraction. “I remember a device, built a long time ago, a prototype of sorts,” he said, not stopping in his search. “It would allow you to go to space. So far, this earth has been a carbon copy of yours — and as it was once built on your earth there’s a high chance it exists here, too.”

“What are we talking about? A one-man ship?”

“More like a flight-enabled space suite.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Aeven snorted in surprise and disbelief.

“Certainly not.” Ravalor didn’t notice the switch of tone in Aeven’s voice, from bored and mildly curious to excitement.

“Awesome.”

“The way the Northman flies was also based on its design,” he mumbled.

“Ah. Hm.”

First that gained Ravalor’s attention, his eyes lost their glow in an instant and he looked up, for the first time now really at Aeven. The last day had been kind to the young prince, the signs of battle almost worn off, and he looked healthy and overall just like Ravalor remembered him — from the memory of the Hermit, that was.

“What?” Aeven asked, startled by the unexpected attention.

And Ravalor realised, with unshakable certainty that no matter what, he had to hold back further information right now and avoid mentioning earth and the Northman altogether.

He may wasn’t human, but he knew them well enough to know that Aeven wasn’t as fine as he presented himself. That he couldn’t be fine and just lied to himself. This carfree act was just that — an act of how he wanted to be and feel. Because only a little bit over a week ago, the man in front of him witnessed the total destruction of his home planet, the death of his entire family and most of his friends. Apparently, Aeven had decided to ignore this fact or let it change him.

Even though it was maybe not in the prince’s best interest Ravalor knew he better played along if he wanted him up and able to finish the job he was here to do. Even though Aeven would sooner or later reap the consequences. But that wasn’t his concern.

“You know what, maybe you can help. See those cabinets over there? Get that stack of journals and go through them. You won’t be able to read them, but that should make it easier. Look for sketches — blueprints, any of that sort.”

Aeven’s face lit up. “Roger that, Commander!”

“You don’t have to call me that.”

“Why not? Everyone else does.” Aeven shrugged with a grin, again, so unnaturally carefree. “And I think it’s funny.”

Ravalor sighed internally. There was much he found funny about the pretend title he held now. “And why is that?”

“I don’t know. This whole thing, just seems like the last place one should find you in. With all these people around, you in the middle of everything, the uniform. It’s just so unlike the Hermit I came to know.”

“I’m— he halted, fighting the urge to correct Aeven and make clear that he was not the Hermit, but reconsidered. Some call me Ravalor the Warrior. Maybe that will do better.” Ravalor turned back to the console, his fingers tingling as he let the energy and knowledge flow through them again. This was a conversation for another day.

“Definitely suits the uniform better. Shame, though, the robe was cool. You know, like a wizard.”

Ravalor only barely shook his head to himself. Maybe, if he kept quiet from here, Aeven would remember that he came to help and had just been given a task to keep himself busy.

And it worked. For twenty minutes, Aeven bent over the ancient journals in silence, flipping page after page with a growing frown. Ravalor finished the search through the oldest dataset and came up with nothing. Commenting on it wouldn’t change the outcome, so he joined Aeven in the manual search without saying a word. If only he could find out who designed the damn thing in the first place, that would give him a starting point.

He had found tons of data relating to the projects following up to the prototype — from blueprints to materials to locations, a lto of that he had found within his own memories of the one then called the Engineer who had adjusted these plans to his own needs when working on the Northmans design. But all that was useless because he couldn’t do anything with it. He needed the thing built and ready to go right now.

Ravalor took a handful of books and sat down at the table. Despite all the time he invested in his search, all he could try was to make an educated guess where this prototype could be. The follow-up work, that which had been conducted on earth, had been done near Brema. That region, however, was currently hell on earth and swarmed with demons. He’d be a fool to risk the safety and life of Aeven on a guess.

“We’re in the past, right?” Aeven suddenly asked, ripping Ravalor out of his own thoughts.

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen someone.” Aeven lay his hands onto the book, raising halfway from the bend over position he had been stuck in for the last peaceful 20 minutes. “When I arrived here. I think I saw Ser Pelagius in Kivinan. You know, the legendary Knight of Amuthon.” Aeven shifted on his chair uncomfortably. Something bothered him about his discovery.

“He’s not the same man anymore,” Ravalor said, imagining quite well what Aeven had seen, the senseless slaughter and unimaginable cruelty. He had heard of it, too.

“What happened to him?” Clearly relieved that Ravalor knew what he was talking about, Aeven almost whispered.

Ravalor pushed the book in front of him away. “It’s something I planned to talk to you about later. But I guess now is as good a time as any.” He stared at Aeven, waiting for the first cracks in the prince’s optimistic facade.

“Ser Pelagius, in this universe, used to be a good man, too. But he was cursed. At some point, he was stabbed with the Knife Izvi. It’s an artifact, magical in nature just like your Hammer, and just as powerful. Ser Pelagius is now a slave to Zenozarax’ every whim. What you have seen him do — it isn’t who he was, but it is who he is now, and will always be.”

“There is no way to remove the curse?”

“Maybe there is, but none that I know. My research had other priorities.” The most important one sitting in front of him but he felt enough of the Hermit’s memories to know that Aeven should never learn about this. He wouldn’t forgive himself for being considered a priority over someone he himself considered a hero.

Aeven was quiet for a moment, then he asked grimly, “And Zenozarax still has that knife?”

“Yes.” Ravalor nodded “That’s why, when this works, if we manage to get your Hammer charged, if we make it to Treva, and if you get the chance to kill him — You need to be extremely careful. Whatever you do, do not get stabbed by anything resembling a knife, or blade, or — just don’t get stabbed, period.”

“So many ifs. And yeah, getting stabbed would seem like a bad idea.” The nonchalant tone of someone acknowledging a potential danger but being certain it couldn’t happen to them. The most dangerous confidence. Or maybe wishful ignorance.

“Please take this seriously, Aeven. If that knife as much as gives you a paper cut, who you are would be gone. The body would be alive but you would be dead. He wasn’t, though, really sure about the extent to which the knife’s curse worked, whether it thirsted for blood or it needed to cut its victim’s thread of life. There was a lot more to learn. But if it made Aeven act more cautiously, a paper-cut it was. The person you are now will be gone forever. You will massacre and slaughter innocent people just like Pelagius does, and like him, you’d do it with a smile.”

Aeven turned sombre. “I understand.” A short moment of silence followed in which both men stared at each other. It was hard to say what was going on behind the prince’s eyes from watching him but thanks to the Hermit’s experiences with him, Ravalor could guess the pain Aeven was going through. Ser Pelagius was a legendary hero in the history of Treva, a legend that was very alive in this reality. Instead of an epic, inspiring encounter, Aeven witnessed the fall of a hero. Not by choice but by a power even the most heroic souls couldn’t withstand. All that it took was the knife. Yet, sadness and anger wasn’t all he could see in Aeven’s eyes. Fear. If all heroism and bravery could be undone so easily in Ser Pelagius...

“I’m taking this very seriously, Commander.” There was no teasing in the title this time. “Just let me get to it first. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea of going to space with nothing more than a magical space suite prototype. You might look at me like I don’t have a clue what I’m talking about but I do know what a prototype is. That is, a glorified proof of concept that may sometimes work as intended and if it doesn’t, it’s expected.”

“Aeven, I don’t think you’re stupid. He said diplomatically, and it was true. The Hermit hadn’t had a too bad opinion of the young prince, in his words describing him as obnoxious but surprisingly capable despite his idealism, which seemed a fair assessment as far as he could judge. I know it’s risky, but it is the only option we have, and I promise you it will work. Shooting you up into space to never come back may seem tempting, but it would be woefully against my own best interest here.”

Aeven couldn’t help himself and chuckle looking back down to the book. “Well, at least that confirmed it. Definitely the Hermit still.” He flipped through a few more pages.

Ravalor looked at him for a moment longer. There was no need to correct him again. He wasn’t wrong per se but he wasn’t correct either. But there was no hurt in leaving the — all too common — misconception as it was. In his heart, Aeven probably understood the truth anyway. Maybe he chose to ignore it, for now, as he needed to believe the Hermit was still with him, an anchor to his destroyed old life. A last person left on his side.

“Hey.” Aeven looked back up, shoving the book over to him and tapped on the open page. “What about this?”

Ravalor looked at the old scribblings and his heart made a figurative jump of actual joy — which felt tragically novel.

From that look on your face, the words you’re looking for are ’hell yeah’. Please say them. For me. A hopeful grin stretched across Aeven’s face.

Ravalor took the journal, making a point of ignoring Aeven’s request by not acknowledging it in the slightest. He quickly glanced at the book’s cover before focusing on the page Aeven had found. Demitalek, of course… he muttered.

That’s the wizard who made it?

It would seem so,” Ravalor humoured his question. “Obviously. I should have considered that. Ravalor stood up and returned with quick steps back to the console. His fingers connected once more with it while his eyes skimmed over the pages of the journal.

“What’s it saying?” Aeven’s chair creaked over the floor as he stood up, glancing at the book as if he could make sense of a language unknown to him now that it was flipped on its head from his perspective.

“Aeven, I’m like four lines in.” Ravalor could easily have scolded him but given the circumstances, Aeven’s impatient interest was encouraging. “This data transfer rate is extremely slow.”

“You mean… reading?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes you’re just weird, you know that?”

Yes. Ravalor further ignored the remark, focusing on the information in front of him.

“What are you doing there?” Aeven nodded to Ravalor’s hand that still was laying on the glowing screen of the console, reacting softly to the glow of the runes on the wizard’s hands.

With an exasperated sigh, Ravalor looked up. “Aeven, please.”

“What?” Aeven shrugged innocently, not sounding guilty in the least. “If I didn’t ask you wouldn’t tell me anything!”

“Because it’s probably not important for you to know.”

“Come on.” Aeven bent over the screen until its light gave his face an otherworldly glow.

“I’m getting the information about Demitalek’s whereabouts at the time.” Ravalor sighed and pushed himself between Aeven and the screen before Aeven touched anything. “Where he worked and what he worked on in those places. I’ll cross-reference them with what he wrote in this journal. Hopefully, that will give us directions to the location of the prototype. Or at least a clue.”

Aeven nodded and to Ravalor’s surprise — stayed quiet. Apparently, giving the prince what he wanted was the fastest way to get Ravalor what he wanted while he was working — silence.

The joy from this realisation faltered the moment he found another shred of information. Finally, enough pieces fell into place to reveal everything about the location he needed to know.

“That bad?” Aeven mumbled, the fascination with which he watched Ravalor’s face unbroken.

“Wittenmoor.” Ravalor put the Journal down and raised his hand from the console. “Stendal.” And by lords, he was glad he had not prematurely gone with that educated guess and sent Aeven to Brema. Sending Aeven into the frozen and hostile wasteland of Stendal felt marginally less dangerous than the burning demon infested hell in the west.

“Oh. That kind of bad.” Aeven rolled his shoulders. “Well, actually, it could have been worse. I think I’d rather go south than north these days.”

“True. You won’t be able to go near Brema without drawing attention, so I’d suggest you go first south, and pass through between Linden and the Keutersberg. The way will be harder, but safer overall for you.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“I shouldn’t. Zenozarax probably knows of your arrival — but he still doesn’t know about mine, for all that we know. His ignorance is our greatest advantage. He must have heard from his creations that your Hammer stopped working — and this might make him believe he is safe. On your own, how could you ever find a way to recharge it, right? To him, you’re a powerless human, a prince without a realm, followers, or allies. Let him think that. The longer he underestimates you the better. The moment anyone outside these walls learns of my presence, everything will fall apart and he will hunt us down with as much force as he can muster. Him remaining in the dark about me buys us time we desperately need.”

Aeven nodded. “So I’ll be going alone.”

“Yes.” Ravalor couldn’t even send any of his soldiers with him. The nature of his army, no matter how small, would give them away just the same. Even worse, paint a direct crosshair on their back. He didn’t tell anyone but Obermoor wasn’t as secret a location as the people under his command assumed it to be. It was a place created by wizards — and Zenozarax had once walked these halls, when he was still welcome. Should the chaos wizard hear rumours of what was happening inside — that something was happening, he might be inclined to find a way to force entry. Though, he wouldn’t even have to, a simple siege would sooner or later leave him the last man standing trapped in a glorified cage of light. Immortal to witness all hope die around him, the helplessness and desperation growing and changing nothing — maybe, this dark twisted and merciless version of Zenozarax he had come to witness in the last years would enjoy that more than breaking down the gate and killing everyone within a few hours.

“Alright. I’ll get ready and leave as soon as possible.”

“Aeven.”

The young prince looked at him, an unhealthy finality in his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t even say it, but he did so anyway. “Everything depends on you. Please, by the lords, be careful. Do not take unnecessary risks. If you fail, we are all going to die here.”

“I know.”

“Return here victorious and we will end Zenozarax’ evil reign once and for all.”

The finality was replaced by a less unsettling determination as Aeven nodded again.

“Go and speak with Nathaniel, he will outfit you. It’s getting colder out there. And see me when you’re ready. I will have something for you that should help you on this quest and give you the details of what you’ll have to do. Chances are your advance won’t go unnoticed. We will have to be ready to strike the moment you return.”

6 Kivinan

10.10.2020

From below the black sea, the magnificent vessel rose, facing the forces Izvi in a last final battle

The general excitement over Aeven’s arrival slowly changed into tension over the following days. Hope had been elevated but now that he was there, the reality of avoiding failure at all cost in order to succeed set in. The pressure weighed down on everyone in the base.

Despite the worries and nervous smiles, everyone was soon ready. Engineering worked without a pause on the submarine to fix every last issue that arose whenever the previous one was fixed to their satisfaction.

Ravalor would have preferred to keep any hiccups concealed from the rest of his men, for their moral’s sake. But with a force this small and everyone knowing one another since they were born, so to speak, it was impossible. Good or bad, the moment anything happened the entire base knew about it.

Eventually, the last of the preparations finished. Engineering went through their plans over and over again, compared the readings with the data on their list, double-checked bolts, latches, and wires for an extra day. There was no room for failure and once they were done, everyone was ready on a moment’s notice.

Now they waited, once more for Aeven’s return.

Ravalor stood outside the hangar bay, eyes resting on the TSS Northforce.

Unsurprisingly, the soldiers had demanded to give the ship a proper name.

Ravalor had come to, despite any better judgment, feel some sort of attachment to the vessel as well as an unexpected pride in calling it his own, now that it was ready after years of hard work. While he didn’t see anything wrong with its former designation of MTCS-TS02 he didn’t have a deep connection to it either. So, the consensus had, also unsurprisingly, decided on the name Northforce.

And that was good. It united his people further. It wasn’t only the name of the ship that had been the centre of their lives since it began — they were the Northforce.

He smiled grimly to himself. Maybe that certain god found it pleasing, too.

The engine of the TSS Northforce hummed, idling and ready to rise. They all were.

And his heart was heavy.

Once more he was so close to bringing an end to the Chaos Wizard. Once more ready to finally end his existence, or try to. It was an indisputable fact that it had to happen, that there was no other way out of this conflict, but then why did he still feel this sorrowful?

Assumed dead before, when Zenozarax had risen, Ravalor had taken this obligation on by his own free will. Nobody had forced him to endure the pain of being the one to end the life of the wizard who once called him his most trusted friend. He had done so because he had known it should be him. Because somehow he knew that he could have prevented all of it. Just as he had known that there had been something terribly dangerous deep beneath Treva. Just because he didn’t know how, just because he didn’t remember, didn’t make it less true.

With a sigh, he looked up into the dark brooding clouds. Letting his thoughts fester in the unhealthy grief just a moment longer.

A bright light appeared in the sky, a blazing star shooting down to earth. Almost like in trance Ravalor’s eyes had darted up, staring at it as it fell. The only light in a starless burning sky, the black clouds for a moment glowing with its unnatural bright blue light.

And it came right at them.

“Aeven— he gasped. He swirled around and ran towards the next best access panel. He slammed his hand against it. At contact, his eyes instantly lit up. The whole base reacted, throwing warning after warning at him. With a sizzling shower of light the protective dome around Obermoor vanished, the vegetation ached and moaned painfully under the structures appearing out of nowhere, pulled from the next dimension, and only moments later that shooting star dropped like a bombshell into the heart of the base. The concrete broke, which was unsurprising as Aeven did not stick any propper landing, but violently crashed, rolling a few times over the broken ground, the Hammer Izarax flung aside and almost beheaded Ravalor before it crashed into the panel which exploded in front of him.

Ravalor felt that some burns and scratches had occurred and the faint chill of the fact that he could have died right there, but that wasn’t important. He was back on his feet immediately and hurried towards the smouldering pile of what was hopefully still Aeven. And alive.

“Aeven?” He dropped to his knees beside the unmoving body, the suit was rampaged and sparks sizzled from its joints. The first time he tried to remove the helmet he pulled his hands back immediately as its heat burned the tips of his fingers and his body reacted quicker than his consciousness, the second time he ignored the burning sensation.

“Aeven, can you hear me?” he yelled and held his hand against the prince’s forehead.

Ravalor dropped his hand and regained parts of his composure. The young man was still very much alive and relief calmed him down when Aeven’s eyelids fluttered. His eyes began to focus on the face over him as he slowly regained his consciousness. His face lit up when he recognized Ravalor and he grinned weakly.

“Had some problems with the breaks,” he croaked, groaning as he tried to move, but despite ending his journey on an ungraceful and painful note, he was strangely happy.

“Obviously. Did it work?” Ravalor looked up, trying to see where the Hammer had landed.

“Yeah. She now glows like prom night.” Aeven groaned again “Just get me out of this thing, for— Aeven’s voice trailed off into mumbling curses while he tried to dislodge himself from the half-broken suit. Ravalor just mindlessly patted the suit’s chests while he looked up. The commotion had the whole base up its feet. NA10 came running towards him, others came cautiously closer, everyone ready to get their gear and man the ship should the command now finally come.

“Orders, commander?” his first officer asked, tense.

Ravalor stood up, taking a deep breath, raising his voice so all would hear him.

“It is time!” The soldiers stood to attention, “Every one of you knows what they have to do, do it right, and we will end this nightmare Zenozarax has put onto this world once and for all.

Tonight the Northforce rises! We fight for the people of Earth! And the power of North!

“North!”

And like a well-oiled machine, the soldiers saluted and dispersed, knowing their part.

“That was great.” Aeven groaned, raising his hand halfway for an imaginary thumbs up if only the fingers of the suit would still react as they should. “Can you help me now?”

“Dion!” Ravalor called the engineer who was about to enter the ship and instead jogged over to him.

“Commander?”

“Get that Hammer and follow us. I need you to get him out of this thing.” Ravalor pointed over to the still smouldering access panel.

“Aye, Commander.”

While DI01 hastened to retrieve the hammer, Ravalor pulled Aeven up. The suit was surprisingly lightweight, but still, with almost no control over it he was quite heavy. “Are you feeling alright? Could anything be broken or dislocated?” he finally asked. The last thing he needed were severe spine injuries that were held together by the suit, and Aeven falling apart once they removed it. Aeven chuckled.

“You asked me that after giving the command to strike?”

“I assumed you would have told me we have a problem otherwise,” Ravalor replied stiffly. That and we just blew our cover. We have to move now.

“Gotcha, but yeah, I’m good. Let’s never talk about that landing though, okay?” The grin across Aeven’s face gave away that his pride wasn’t too bothered by it.

“It was quite shameful.”

“Can we agree on literally impressive? I think we have to talk about the concept of bolstering morals here, Commander.”

DI01 caught up to them and together they made their way to the engineering bay of the ship.

Do you think there is any chance you can get me one of these that actually works propperly? When all this is over? Aeven asked, blissfully ignoring the awkwardness as they heaved the metal mass through the doors of engineering.

Ravalor just barely rolled his eyes. Of course, Your Highness.

Oh get out of here, don’t your highness me. I mean it. You don’t have to gift it to me obviously. I would buy one.

Buy? Ravalor shook his head not even sure where to start on this one, the mere idea of wizards selling their tools and magic too absurd to wrap his head around. So he didn’t. You know what, Aeven? If we pull this off, I’ll get you whatever you want. Until then, focus on the goal. Alright?

Copy that, Commander!

*

“Eagle One, you’re good to go. Remember, keep your distance and stay above the clouds till we arrive. I don’t want you spotted before we arrive. Eagle two, set launch window for T-4 hours.“

“Copy that.”

“Northforce, status check, thrusters ready for 10% burn.”

The automated voice of the ship gave its status report. NA10 raised his voice over it, “Thrusters ready.”

Ravalor looked over to Aeven. He stood calmly next to him, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He had cleaned up quite nicely from his ungraceful fall from the heavens. Most of the bruises from the night of his arrival had faded. Rest had done wonders to his worn body and working on the big plan had occupied his mind and given him enough hope to soften the bitterness. He’d never be the same from before the destruction of his home planet but this was as good as it got and it showed in his confident pose. Certainly it didn’t genuinely mirror how Aeven felt inside but it was honest enough to convince the crew and, at least partially, the prince himself.

Aeven nodded. This was it. They were ready.

“Bring us up.”

NA10 acknowledged his command — only a faint nervousness in his voice as he was to manoeuvre the ship for the first time beyond simulations.

At first, the only proof of motion was the aching and cracking of the harness the ship rested on. Noise that suddenly stopped when it was relieved of its weight.

The thrusters heated up. Seconds later, they scorched the ground beneath the ship.

Another moment of bated breath and then — the TSS Northforce rose to the sky.

“PC ready, dive in 10 minutes.” Ravalor sat down at the command panel.

Busy voices chattered around him, throwing numbers and confirmations back and forth to make sure everything was in order. A few lights blinked that had stayed dark during the final tests but everyone agreed it was nothing critical. DI01 and his team would get to the bottom of this and fix it before their arrival.

On the massive display, the dark world below them flew past, then the raging shoreline appeared before them. The room fell silent with focused attention as the dive alarm sounded. Beneath the scorched sky, the black waves rolled over the shoreline as they came closer and closer and with once they embraced them.

The pressure shifted around them ever so slightly.

Then the Northforce had disappeared in the dark of the sea — on the direct approach to Treva.

Ravalor leaned back. “Five hours.”

Aeven nodded again.

Five hours till it would be decided if they all would die — or stand victorious against all odds.

*

“Aeven, wait.” Ravalor held the young prince back who was eager to enter the eagle that would bring him straight into the fight once they broke through the surface. The forced sense of carefreeness had completely disappeared. Now the serious and downright grim determination in Aeven’s face was making him look older than he was. Maybe even showing a bit of the man he would become, the king he could be.

“Come here, turn around for a moment would you.”

Aeven looked at him puzzled, then at the almost gun-shaped device in the commander’s hand, but he did as he was told and turned around. “Should I even bother to ask?”

“Just trust me here, alright?” Ravalor held the cloak laying around Aeven’s neck down, and placed the device straight onto his spine, right between the first and second vertebrae. A harsh hiss came from the device followed only a fraction of a second later by a loud curse from Aeven who flinched away from him.

“By North! What the hell?” With his hand pressed onto his neck, he frowned at Ravalor.

“Just a precaution.”

“Precaution for what? That I’ll ever be able to move my neck again?” He stiffly tried to move his neck, fighting against the sudden pain preventing him from doing so.

“It won’t last. You won’t feel anything in a few minutes,” Ravalor assured him and ignored how Aeven cursed him under his breath. “And Aeven.”

“What?”

“Do not forget about the Knife.”

“The— Aeven looked at him but then he did remember. “That knife. Of course not.”

Of course not, said the man who just had forgotten about it. Ravalor felt the unhealthy tension in the back of his mind squeeze just a bit harder. He had always disliked prophecies. Illusions of grand plans the chaos of creation had maybe written out for the universe. But right now, he felt it tingling in the back of his brain, something, coming from somewhere, a certainty that something was about to happen. He scoffed at that thought, of course, something was about to happen. Something was always happening. That had been his purpose since he arrived on this copy of a planet — to make something happen.

But that wasn’t what he meant. He just couldn’t put it into words. Others were maybe able to conjure some meaning out of these vague sensations but he wasn’t as prolific at making stuff up on the spot.

“Aeven, if you’re stabbed by it—

“Yes I know, I remember. Believe me, slaughtering people, not on my to-do list for the foreseeable future. I’m going to be fine. Flattering though that you’re so worried.”

“I promised to bring you back home. I intend to keep that promise.” A promise he had made to himself.

Aeven’s joking smile faltered, to be slowly replaced by a downright gloomy one. “So that’s why. I was already wondering.”

Just try not to die.

*

Thunder filled the air as through pitch-black clouds the eagles of Amuthon broke, too many and too quick. With each passing second the advantage of the element of surprise was dispersing till they would be overrun if they didn’t manage to do what they had come here for.

“Eagle One sustained heavy casualties, AA down. Eagle Two approaching.”

The entire TSS Northforce shook as missile after missile bombarded her shields. They held. For now.

“Royal Eagle ready for launch.”

“Understood.” With quick fingers hammered command after command into the console. “Ladar ready.”

The moment he confirmed the command. The entire Northforce seemed to be engulfed in the light of a massive explosion, the wave of light shooting outwards from the ship. The light blinded two of the enemy fighters long enough that they crashed into each other in a fiery explosion. Ravalor kept his hand pressed against the console, his eyes glowing as everything the light touched he saw, evermore extending, in a quick rush, mile after mile.

“Eyes on target! Royal Eagle, GO!”

The ship vibrated under more fire crashing against their shields. Ravalor’s attention turned back east. Zenozarax was moving the fight west, but he had found in his scan the one thing he needed to focus on more so than the chaos wizard. Aeven was on his way to deal with him, now Ravalor had to better their odds.

“Royal Eagle underway, Commander!”

*

Aeven saw the battle in the sky behind him and the chaos on the ground. To his horror, there were still people there. Even in the darkness, what had looked like abandoned villages were in the erratic light of the battle above filled with shadows trying to run for dear life.

“All Eagles — maximum power to EMP compensators.” Aeven heard Ravalor’s command over the comms. The confirmation from his pilot, too. Dragon fire is a go in five seconds. Ravalor’s voice was calm and cold. Then those five seconds passed and the world behind Aeven exploded into a blinding light. Without the protective layers on the cockpit, he might as well be blind now. A massive shock went through the eagle, but the pilot held her stable in the sky.

The massive fireball hung in the air, a behemoth of total destruction, fire raining down onto the earth, for a drawn-out moment brightly illuminated by nuclear fire. In its glow, there was nothing left on the surface below. And above, besides a few distant fighters and the Northforce there was nothing left in the sky either.

His breath staggered. The absolute destruction behind him pulled up memories of earth, his earth, in his mind. His heart stumbling in a quick hectic run.

Terror stuck in the back of his brain as he was barely able to blink. He didn’t even quite understand what Ravalor had just done. Yes, he had cleared the sky — but how many people had been down there? He leaned back, pressing his head against the headrest. Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden?

“Contact in 20 seconds, Sir.” The pilot’s voice sounded distant from the other end of the intercom.

“Copy that,” Aeven heard himself say. Behind him, the TSS Northforce turned towards Treva.

*

 

The corrupted form of Treva’s wondrous skyline lay straight ahead, illuminated only by an ominous red shine. Thunder snapped through the clouds, sizzling through the shields of the Northforce whenever it hit them.

Aeven, now is a bad time to stay quiet. Talk to me, Ravalor said, the coms crackling with the electricity in the air. He heard Aeven exhausted breathing.

I’m alright. That was an obvious lie even the crackling of the intercom couldn’t hide. But I don’t think I can do it.

You have to.

He’s too powerful. I can’t even get close.

A grunt of pain followed the desperate frustration in his voice. This was concerning. Aeven must have been taking some bad hits already.

Just hold on for a moment longer, Aeven. As soon as I’m done here I’ll be with you! A promise he intended to keep no matter what the universe hurled against their shields. He only hoped it wouldn’t be too late. Ravalor’s thoughts were rushing, taken by the true horror of the situation revealed to him. He didn’t know if he had underestimated Zenozarax or overestimated Aeven. Whatever was the truth, fact was, Zenozarax was merely toying with Aeven.

He feared that might happen — just like a cat playing with its prey until it got bored and killed it. Absurd as it sounded, however, the megalomaniacal overconfidence and Zenozarax’ newly acquired and twisted taste in entertainment was the one thing that bought them a little bit more time. He had heard Zenozarax speak, heard about what he was doing here, what his plan was.

Not once during his time here the mystical stellar alignment looming over them had been on his mind, and now he feared he had made the biggest mistake of his entire life. The darkened sun, the inane structures erected around Treva — it all suddenly made sense — all in preparation for Zenozarax’ ultimate rise to power.

If he didn’t hurry, if watching Aeven fail against him lost its appeal to Zenozarax and he decided to kill him, none of them would survive to tell the tale.

Ravalor could only hope that in a horrid idea of cruelty, Zenozarax wanted Aeven to take witness to his rise. Keeping the one man who was prophesied by the circle he despised so much to end him at his feet, helpless and broken, and forced to watch the suffering his failure caused. Maybe he felt it to be a long deserved justice. Zenozarax’ power would grow unmeasurable — a concept out of wild theories, never proven, but the smallest chance of it actually working, suddenly one of the greatest threats Ravalor had ever faced.

An absurd sense of destiny overcame Ravalor. As with prophecies, he had never truly believed in destiny, but in this very moment, when they had arrived mere moments before the chaos wizard rose to unlimited power, he barely managed to convince himself that it had been by accident or luck.

Suddenly, the world displayed on the screen of the Northforce turned bright as day.

The clouds glowing with the light of a massive thunderstrike.

The thunder that followed was deafening and vibrated through their bones.

By the—

Ravalor heard Aeven gasp.

Aeven? What’s going on?

Holy sh- Northman! How—

Northman? Ravalor pressed his teeth tightly together as he felt a whole slew of curses about to slip his lips.

A low crack in the com.

Hey guys, need some help?

Northman, thank god.

Ravalor stuck so closely to the intercom, if the laws of physics had allowed it, he’d have been sucked through it and jumped out of the other end to see with his own eyes what was going on. Not that he needed it. That voice. That cockiness from overbrimming confidence. There was no mistake. It was him.

Indeed. You liked the landing? Better than yours wasn’t it?

What— how do you—

Ravalor listened to Aeven and Northman talking and still, his jaws were clenched tightly.

Ravalor old man, you alright?

Just keep him safe, he snapped and turned back to the command console. He had a lot to say to this man, but this wasn’t the time to air his irritation.

Alright, Zenozarax—

The Northman’s booming voice trailed off in his ears as he diverted his attention to the task at hand.

The dark spire towered in front of them, quickly coming closer. With a deep frown, Ravalor kept his eyes on it even though he was barely looking at it, the energy flowing through his fingers tingling.

“Commander?!”

“Brace for impact!” The alarm sounded, the spire filled the entire screen, coming closer and closer. With an impact even the best dampening fields wouldn’t be able to absorb, the TSS Northforce crashed into the side of the dark spire. In the blaring red alarm soldiers got back on their feet, the Northforce was halfway buried in the side of the tower.

“Strike team. Meet me at airlock one.” Ravalor tore away from the panel and turned around, the soldiers acknowledged his command via coms. He could have sworn he felt the interference in the air that was grating on his nerves. The cursed disruption-field generator was close. Once it was down, he could be making a real difference again.

*

The generator wired before him. More than half of his men were dead. The corridors swarming with mindlessly corrupted soldiers and more and more demons crawled up the stairs and climbed the towers outside.

“Ravalor!”

He stopped in his move as he heard the Northman over the coms. Two soldiers placed the last of the charges while they held the door.

“Zenozarax is dead, but Aeven has been stabbed with that damn Knife,” the Northman announced, his voice was too calm to fit the words, but vibrating with the intense frustration of a man who had just lost a round in his favourite game.

Ravalor however was too busy to indulge in frustrations.

Next to him a soldier was crushed by a demon flinging themself at them with no regard for self-preservation, his chest was smashed in before the demon was turned to atoms by a magical blast from Ravalor’s hands.

He had a few seconds before his next attack. A cold shudder ran down his spine and suffocated the words in his throat. He allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the sickening feeling in his stomach and was almost shot — a blasting hot sensation missed his head by inches. If he had known what to say, he wouldn’t have been able to. In a bitter twist of fate, this inability, the short moment of inaction, saved his life from being killed.

“Charges ready!”

“Ravalor, I’m pretty sure Aeven is about to jump into this chasm. If you have any good ideas, it would be a great moment to answer.” Northman’s still calm voice was distant. Ravalor’s brain was buzzing by the proximity to that damn generator.

“THEN set them off already!” Ravalor shouted against the commotion, still not answering the Northman.

“Commander— the soldier started but fell silent. They were too close — the explosion would rip them apart. But they were trapped here, there was no way out of this room. “It’s been an honour to serve under your—

Ravalor turned around before the soldier had a chance to finish his sentiment. He fired an exploding blast of light towards the set charges.

The force of the explosion almost forced the tower to its knees.

Windows shattered and walls crumbled down, crashing to the ground as the entire room went up in an electrical fire, embracing and killing all it touched, from the spire to the bottom floor, demons were turned to ash, and so were the loyal soldiers that had followed the Warrior to the end.

The Northforce, barely shielded from the blast, ached, her lights and thrusters flickered rapidly, stones broke off from her forced entryway, and slowly she slipped backwards.

The initial blast faded away and all that was left in the generator room was a raging fire and the last glimmers of a bright sparkling light, vanishing into nothing just moments later.

With a terrible groan, the TSS Northforce tilted backwards, ripping the tower apart further as its centre of mass pulled her down. Hundreds of metres below the massive boulders of the walls were turned to dust as they hit the ground.

Chaos on the command deck, shouting, trying to hold on for dear life, as through a blinding light of a portal, filled with fire, Ravalor was thrown onto the command deck, stumbling, a haunted look on his face.

The moment the disruption field had gone down it had hit Ravalor like a hammer as he was at once no longer cut off from the others. Almost it had cost him his own life.

Everything around him just happened and his body seemed to react on its own. He stumbled onto the command deck of the Northforce. The light flashed into his vision, errors, alarms, —

“Commander, I can’t get her straight!” NA10’s voice had lost any calm as he was just taken by terror as he failed to save them. None of the simulation could have prepared him for this. The ship made its final tilt and at once they were pulled from their feet — the submarine in freefall.

There was a war going on inside Ravalor’s head and he had just entered it, utterly unprepared for it. By the lords it had been mere minutes, his mind could barely comprehend the sensation of having witnessed the destruction of earth almost five years ago and the same time just a few minutes ago as his own memories crashed violently into those of his other parts.

He dragged himself to a panel, slammed his hand against it, the Northforce’s system fused with his granting him absolut control over it. All the while he felt like watching himself, disconnected from himself, floating, lost in chaos.

The ship fought him as he pushed her to her limits. Thrusters fired with inhuman precision and maximum power, the sudden resulting gravitational forces threatened to rip the Northforce into two, the metal around them screeching, soldiers being thrown back onto the floor — the Northforce ached, the metal screamed as it came closer to be torn apart. So was his mind. — but then finally the ship stopped.

Merely ten metres above the ground now set ablaze by the scorching magical fire of the thrusters.

“Everyone back to their stations!” Ravalor shouted over the commotion on deck, holding on to the backrest of a chair to stay on his feet. The Soldiers were barely able to react as quickly as him.

The conflict inside of him was ripping him apart. The Wizard was pleading to the Stargazer. The void left by the Scholar was deafening. The Engineer called out to the Warrior, answering his call for help while witnessing the still ongoing fight where earth had been. The Stargazer was in pain. So he was as well. He should be there now, but he couldn’t, he needed to do this, he needed to do this now. It had to be done.

— Stop telling yourself that, you keep doing that, but it’s not, it’s not alright just because it had to be done, stop it!

“We’re about to make a dimensional jump! Strap in and hold on.” His tense voice hid the panic inside his chest with assertive calmness. He had no time.

 

“Jump in 3— 2— The soldiers hurried to hold onto anything in reach.

 

The energy tingle up his arms as the Northforce got ready to jump, he counted down, to many images in his head, to many voices, to many impressions, and then—

 

“Ravalor?”

There was Aeven voice over the com.

 

Exhausted.

Beaten. Dying.

 

— We’re no better, you are not, look at what you’ve done!

 

 “1—“

 

— Shut up!

 

He might as well have shouted it so clear it rang in his head, and there was suddenly shocked silence.

 

And with a spark of colourful light embracing the TSS Northforce, she disappeared.

7 Rodenborg

17.10.2020

But in the epic final struggle with the dark sorcerer, the valiant hero Aeven VonTreva realised he had been impaled by the Knife Izvi.

“Ravalor? Are you there?”

Northman pulled Aeven up. Aeven, clenching the intercom, didn’t pay attention to him. “Ravalor, come on, answer— He called one more time, two times… more intense with every attempt.

By the third, Northman gently pulled him away. “Aeven. You’re bleeding, let me get you someplace safe.”

“No!” Aeven pulled himself free. He took a wide step back, frantically gesturing at himself. “Do you know what this means?! I’m going to turn evil!”

He gritted his teeth. That was what that meant. He had no good argument against that.

“Yeah.”

“I have to die now.” Aeven spoke with the finality of a man who accepted his fate but regret lingered in his voice. “It’s the only thing I can do to stop it.” The Northman didn’t question the prince’s resolve. It sparked a sense of kinship between them — they would do what they had to do if there weren’t any other options left. This, however, he was willing to question.

“There has to be something else we can do.” He was surprised how weak his words sounded to his own ears.

“Tell me if you come up with anything.” A disturbingly grim determination came over his face as he stared down towards the horrid fiery chasm that had torn through the land from Rodenborg to Treva. And the Northman knew very well what end the young prince had chosen for himself. It was grim, but he was almost glad Aeven wasn’t asking him to end his life for him. He would do it, in lack of other options, in a distant past he would have owed his family at least that. But it wouldn’t feel too good.

Aeven was dying one way or the other if he didn’t get help soon. Yet, should he try to stop him, Aeven would try to fight him anyways.

And maybe Aeven was right, maybe this was the only option. He sure didn’t know. And the one person who could know was not answering them.

The Northman looked back over the battlefield, trying to spot the TSS Northforce, but if she was still here, she was swallowed by the raging flames of nuclear destruction.

Aeven had dragged himself further up the mountainside by the time Northman turned back to him. He held his Hammer in his left hand as if his life depended on it, the other hand pressed against his wound.

Without haste, the Northman ripped some of the dirty fabric from his hip wrap and picked up the knife Izvi. He wrapped it carefully and switched it with his own dagger, securing it safely in the scabbard. He had no idea what it would do should he accidentally cut himself with it, there were a few variables that would surely differentiate himself from the effect on a mere mortal human — however, he considered this a terrible time to find out.

With firm steps, he followed. Aeven was painfully slow in his advance. Firmly, Northman took the wounded man by his side, propping him up, and helped him walk. Aeven was terrified, the Hammer trembled in his hand.

“North—

“If this is what you think you have to do, let’s get this over with before you decide to try to beat me to pulp.”

“You’d stand no chance once I turn evil.” Aeven coughed with a weak smile.

“Of course not.” He indulged Aeven’s attempt at calming his fear. “Hey, what would be your evil name?”

Aeven seemed to ponder over that for a moment. “The Prince of Evil”

“Come now!” He chuckled and pretended to give Aeven a push. “That’s a bit too flat, try again.”

They reached the old dwarven archways leading to the undying furnaces powered by the molten stone from below. The heat was quite noticeable here.

“Terror Prince of Treva,” Aeven said and coughed again.

“Oh, I like that one.” The Northman smiled weakly while they made their way through the mined hallway. The gleaming of lava came from before them.

They reached the main furnace chamber now torn wide open above them. The long shaft to the fiery depth opened up like a burning well before them. No amount of joking could make what came next any less terrifying for the cursed prince.

Northman saw Aeven swallow hard. Saw the terror in the young face, but also an admirable determination.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I am. I have to do this. It’s the only way, it has to be done,” the prince repeated like a mantra, then his face was filled with pain. “Can you reach Ravalor? Have you seen what happened to him?”

“No. I’m sorry.” The Northman shook his head, regretting that he couldn’t offer a more comforting truth. The grief in the young man’s face was heartbreaking. It was a testament to his character to feel this pain for a man he didn’t even really know that well. But maybe it wasn’t only his personal feeling, but the same realisation he had, that Ravalor was the only one who would know if there even was an alternative to what Aeven was about to do. And if not, he’d at least have had a chance to say goodbye.

“Okay. This is it. This is the end,” Aeven whispered to himself more so than to the Hootman as he pushed himself away from him, turning towards the fire.

“Aeven.”

As the young man looked at him there was no hope left in his eyes.

The Northman held his arms out.

And a dangerous wet gleam appeared in Aeven’s eyes as he let the Northman give him one last hearty hug.

“You fought well, kid.”

“You, too. Thank you, Northman. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

The Northman let go of him.

Aeven was silent for a moment, looking down to his left where he still held his trusted hammer.

Make sure it comes in good hands, he said, about to give it to the Northman, and yet he hesitated. Northman noticed with mild concern that the wound was no longer bleeding, and Aeven’s body language expressed considerably less pain than just a moment ago. His hand no longer pressed against the wound. Under different circumstances, this would be good, a delightful miracle, but in this case, it was concerning. Was the curse of the blade actually healing his wounds?

I will.

First, Aeven was there as soon as Northman spoke. He stopped hesitating and finally handed the Hammer Izarax to him.

And then, with newfound resolve, Aeven turned to the abyss. At the bottom, the inferno awaited him.

The Northman watched the last Prince of Treva walk towards his doom. Victorious and still beaten. The wound of the Knife which had so drastically altered his fate. After the last battle the Northman would fight at his side, at his family’s side.

And he could shake the feeling that this was wrong in more ways than he managed to consider.

The moment Aeven fell was so unspectacular, it was almost comical. One moment he was still in front of him — the next he was gone. No dramatic slow-motion, no mournful violins, no last heartbreaking, soulful glances.

He disappeared into the fiery abyss. He hadn’t even hesitated.

It was impossible for him to hear anything over the raging flames. If the young prince screamed in the end or if the scorching air destroyed his lungs before he had the chance. In an act of cruelty by his brain however, he imagined hearing it anyways.

The Northman turned around and left the chamber. He was surprised how heavy his heart was. He had seen so many people die over the centuries. Had almost forgotten about the VonTrevas over the millennia. But this one felt bigger than all those before. He remembered that now. Remembering a life and friendships a long, long time ago. And just as he had been reminded of it, it was all taken away again. Ravalor disappeared. Aeven dead. Taken for granted, forgotten, and gone.

Outside, he reached the ledge overlooking the valley and sat down, putting his axe on the ground, and placed the Hammer next to it. Its glow died with Aeven. It was dull and lifeless, just an oversized tool, all its magical power lost.

He let the scenery wash over him, his mind slowly sinking in his thoughts. A nuclear wasteland in the distance, flames reaching higher than the tallest trees that might have stood there before. There was nothing left but utter destruction that had vaporised every sign of life — just as wizards do.

Again, he was alone.

“But hey,” he mumbled as he lifted one hand. “Victory.” A sizzling lighting strike concentrated in his empty hand and left a hissing, ice cold flask of schnaps in his grasp.

 “Oh look, it’s a miracle.” Or maybe just a fancy party trick. He opened up the flask and emptied it almost halfway in one go. He took his time with the rest. Before him the sky turned even darker, lighting snapped across the heavy clouds before it started to rain. The rain didn’t reach him, but it became so strong that it did cover the plains. The fiery ground cracked and hissed. The thick smell of coal and burned life reached him in a fine dirty mist of evaporated rain. Nature had already started its healing routine.

He would have all the time in the world to ponder over what to do next. Maybe he really should get back on that whole doing-some-godly-things thing after all. Answering some prayers. Helping people. That kind of thing.

Sounded boring, though.

As he stared into the dark storm he did not notice that the Hammer Izarax, which light had vanished, suddenly regained its glow. A soft turquoise shine started to flow like liquid through the ancient rune.

He almost choked on his schnaps as out of thin air, right beside him, a bright strip of light appeared and exploded into sharp geometric shapes. Their number quickly increased until it formed a stable sphere of dancing light.

Lo’ and behold, Ravalor dragged himself through the portal with slow, heavy steps.

“There you are.” Northman cleared his throat. “Should have known you to be harder to kill than that.” He mustered the wizard as he made the two steps towards him. Northman opened his arms and grinned. “Just don’t tell me it’s on us to repopulate this planet.”

Ravalor didn’t even raise an eyebrow to acknowledge his joke. He looked extremely tense but also exhausted and worn out. Someone should mention to him that they had won. Technically. At a price.

“Northman.”

“Aeven is dead,” he said after taking another sip from his flask. He considered offering it to Ravalor to ease the pain by getting properly drunk. But this was Ravalor. Not Aeven.

“I know.”

“He tried to reach you before he died,” he said gently. It was a simple fact he wanted to state as such but neutral observations had a tendency to cause guilt like any proper accusation.

“Yes. I know,” Ravalor just repeated, a tired strain in his voice giving away that he, too, wasn’t indifferent to the fact.

“And you didn’t answer? Damn, that’s cold.” Still no attempt at guilting Ravalor but the Northman had to admit to himself that he was surprised.

“There were things I had to take care of.”

“I can only imagine.” He wasn’t one to quickly judge but — well that was a lie now, wasn’t it? But as he met Ravalor’s eyes he realised that he wasn’t the only one.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Ravalor stared over the damp plain. It’d take days, if not weeks, for the rain to extinguish the fires but already, steam was rising and covered the fields like a bandaid made of mist.

“Oh bugger off, you’re pissed at me. I just saved the day.”

“With impeccable timing, yes. A grand entrance at the last minute. Almost as if you were very aware of what was happening.”

“Well, I was. Rooting for you the whole time.” Northman took another sip from his beer. The flask came dangerously close to being empty.

“I could have used your help… a lot earlier.” Ravalor wasn’t angry, he only sounded disappointed which was worse. Northman had the faint hope that Ravalor would shout at him in proper, air-cleaning anger if he weren’t exhausted.

“I was busy.” The Northman shrugged without looking at him.

“Were you?”

Both stayed quiet for a while, in the distance, the rain and thunder filled the air. The Northman sighed. There was a little nagging idea that yes, maybe he could have done something earlier, that even a few hours would have made a difference and, maybe, Aeven wouldn’t have had to die. He hadn’t thought about these things. He had forgotten about Consequences quite a while ago. This was the kind of thought he didn’t like to dwell on.

Aloud, he said, “The time flux slowed down. You’ve been here for not even five years. But I had been the first in it, I’ve been here for… by North, I don’t know if it’s been two or three thousand years. Might as well four.”

The Northman looked back to Ravalor, who said nothing. His brows rose in quiet understanding.

“Yeah.” Northman took a deep breath. He emptied the flask and stashed it away in his belt pocket. “Truth to be told, when you guys showed up, you were not much more to me than a distant memory. I didn’t think much of it, I didn’t really care. But if you must know, Aeven dying right there, in front of my eyes, scared and brave at the same time — it didn’t feel good. Are you happy now? That’s what you wanted to hear?”

Ravalor’s face showed nothing more than exhaustion now. Thoughtfully his fingers touched the handle of the hammer. Then he said,

“Aeven is with me.”

The Northman blinked surprised. “He’s what now?”

“I’ll explain it to you — If you want to come with us. Ravalor’s eyes rose from the Hammer, meeting his. Factually calm, no sign of joking. We will be away for a while. Should you decide to stay, however, I’d ask you to direct a few parting words to the soldiers. Your appearance has them quite restless. It’s not every day you see the god you dedicated your whole life to.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that, right?” This. This sounded more like the kind of adventure he gladly signed up to. The Northman stood up, brushed the dirt from his clothing with one hand and picked up his own war axe with the other.

As he turned to his axe, he noticed the Hammer’s glow, confirming, if he had needed any proof, that what Ravalor said had to be true. But he hadn’t questioned it to begin with. How did you pull that one off?

Ravalor shook his head slightly. Maybe he would have answered if he didn’t look like he was about to drop unconscious any moment. The Northman decided to keep an eye on him. If Ravalor fainted, he’d rather catch him in time before he toppled into the chasm next.

“That reminds me,” he muttered and pulled the Knife Izvi from the scabbard on his hip, offering it to Ravalor. “Think you should have it?”

For a moment their eyes lingered on the Knife, glowing with the cold magical light and sparkling with icy crystals evaporating from the gem on its grip. The visual disdain in Ravalor’s face as he took the Knife from the Northman was at least reassuring.

Ravalor had turned halfway to leave through the still opened Portal, then he looked back to him. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah. Sure.” The Norrthmann picked up the Hammer with his free hand. “After you.”