1

The heavy shower had ended. It still took some time before anyone dared to sigh in relief or even blink, but the titans were too slow to pursue the motor caravan on foot, and this solitary gang appeared to have been all of them. After some quarter of an hour of uneventful ride up the fjord, the travelers dared to speak again, laugh, and congratulate themselves for their narrow escape.

“Our forefathers neglected to mention anything about titans,” Gronan uttered, surveying the view ahead.

“If only that were the only thing that’s changed in a thousand years,” Waramoti told Faalan, who continued to scrape warg blood off his jacket.

“At least you got something worth putting in a song, Mr Bard!” Gronan overheard him and commented. “Hope you kept your eyes open!”

“As if anyone would buy that one,” Marcus remarked, gripping the snowmobile controls, and shook his head. It had been way too much excitement for his old heart.

“What about our good professor? Still in one piece?” Gronan turned to inquire Acquiescas, who sat buried in the front corner of the sleigh near him. Still hiding under his large satchel, covered in his thick clothes, the scholar from Cotlann looked only like a miserable pile of rags.

“…Are we alive?” Acquiescas’s faint voice carried from under the satchel, and he peeked over the edge of it.

“Yes,” Gronan assured him. “We are.”

Facing forward, the Dharvic leader looked at the mountain rising ahead of them and added in a voice several degrees harder, and twice as resolute, “And we won’t die. Not until we get what we came for.”

Gronan took out from his pocket the copy of the old map and held it up between his hands. Only one millennium had not yet carved off the straight, protruding corner of the mountain, reminiscent of a ship’s bow, which was also depicted on the parchment in unmistakable likeness.

They were getting close.

The third day of the expedition proceeded partly cloudy but otherwise gentle.

There was still little more to look at but snow and stone, but the mountains themselves conveyed a comforting sense of familiarity through their dignified, universal presence. The varied shapes and details of their perpendicular slopes offered more food to the travelers’ eyes than the plain white ice fields from the days before. Would any gaze ever tire of those titanic pillars of nature, the true weight and scale of which mere photographs could never justly capture? Izumi had seen no mountains before, save for the certain lonesome Fuji, and was particularly captivated by the view.

The mountains of the Kashyk region weren’t quite comparable to the Himalayas in stature, only a bit shy of five kilometers at their tallest, but their territory extended far and wide. No other civilization than the mythical Precursors were known to have lived in this barren, extreme realm. Even they had only been able to flourish in a very small part of it, by drilling deep under the mountains with their obscure technology, to live off the hidden heat and wealth of the earth.

“This is Genostro’s land,” Yubilea said, her little figure appearing to float before Izumi’s eyes. “Or was. I lived here too, long ago. When I was still but an ember under the house of Ivrea.”

“Friends of yours?” Izumi asked, her face hidden by the muffler.

She expected to get flamed for being an ignorant savage again, but this once, the former Divine Lord exhibited uncharacteristic patience, with perhaps a hint of loneliness, as she gazed at those steady fangs of the earth.

“Genostro was the God of Stone,” Yubilea explained. “The partner of Ivrea, the God of Fire. The maker of Gwanlyn, my friend. It was here that I first met Gwanlyn, before the dawn of time. Before anyone had yet thought to make humans, before the first tree was planted. When there was only land and sea, and endless darkness veiled them. Of course, this place was different then. I was different. But Gwanlyn—she was ever the same.”

“I see.”

“Ivrea created many followers, but she didn’t have as much love or attention for all of them. Among my brothers and sisters, I was...an irregular. I was made to embody an idea that didn’t even exist at the time. Nobody could tell what I was. They wouldn’t say it aloud, but no doubt they thought I was a mistake, a whim, meant only to fade away. I spent the first thousands of years of my existence alone, deep underground, not thinking about anything, knowing nothing, barely conscious. But eventually, I found my way to the surface, somewhere here in the place of these mountains, and the first one I met was Gwanlyn, the Lord of Marble. She taught me many things and we became friends. Or, so I thought.”

“You were pretty tight, weren’t you?” Izumi asked. “Even in the Empire, you were still together, after all that time.”

Yubilea shook her tiny head.

“We were separated, eons ago, and I didn’t see her again until after the Covenant was made. Us being reunited in the human empire was only by a coincidence. But I was glad. I now knew what I was, what I was meant to do. I had a purpose. I was not a mistake, but a Divine Lord! I had my own Fragment, Authority! But Gwanlyn—nothing about her had changed. She treated me the same as all those eons ago. Was it strange of me? To seek recognition? To be so angry and frustrated for not being viewed as special? I shouldn’t have known to wish for anything other than the fulfillment of my role. Maybe I was a mistake, after all? A broken play of thought.”

Izumi followed the fiery spirit’s unusual timidity, her surprise veiled by the ski goggles. Not that she could truly hide anything from a being that lived within her soul. That’s why, she soon gave up on the effort and decided to put her thoughts in plain words.

“You’re overthinking it,” she said.

“Huh?” Yubilea turned around with a questioning look.

“Gwan-chan didn’t treat you any different because she failed to recognize your growth, but because she saw your potential from the start. Isn’t that right? You were always special to her. Isn’t that why she got close to you, even when no one else would?”

“...You think so?”

“Ah. I’m envious, really. You had a good friend.”

Yubilea looked down, and the redness about her appeared to momentarily intensify. Without another word, she disappeared in a puff of smoke and embers, as if to hide her face.

2

The company followed along the narrowing stream of ice, which began a gentle but gradually steepening ascent, higher and higher up the side of the peculiarly shaped mountain, the name of which history had lost. Deeming the region now safe, they took a break an hour or so before noon, to have combined breakfast and lunch, and reorganize their hastily packed belongings.

At the same time, they also gave a closer look at the wounded.

Elvir’s leg had suffered some nasty-looking injuries in the frostwargs’ teeth, but it turned out less serious than it could have been. The bone was still intact and no major arteries, muscles, or tendons had been torn. The men had hastily disinfected and bandaged the leg during the ride, and the bleeding had all but ceased by now. Besides the Dharves’ tried and true ointments, herbal medicines, and runes, Helmich’s purported affinity with healing magic was, in fact, not only empty boasting to woo women. Comparing him to an emiri arcanist would have been like putting a tone-deaf choir student next to Mozart, but he was nevertheless able to speed up regeneration to close the wounds. After the leg was freshly bandaged again, Elvir could stand and walk on his own with only mild discomfort.

Faalan had also suffered some bites, nicks, and scratches—he should have—but when the medics insisted to have a closer look, they failed to find anything but faint red marks left on his pale skin. Even those were fast fading, and there was no room left anymore to question the story of his origins.

The journey resumed in bright sunlight, and after a couple of hours more the formerly smooth road of frosted ice turned uneven, with sudden bumps and sharp turns. It grew so narrow that they could only navigate it in a loose line. The crew followed the uphill channel as high as they could, which was further than most of them dared to believe. The snowmobiles crawled up the rough slope with fearsome vigor, even over clear rock in the absence of snow, and before their capability, it was the path itself that ended first.

Tall cliffs stood up to oppose the explorers, with no obvious way around them, and they had no choice but to stop here. The spot had been a waterfall once, judging by the looks of it, but the stream had frozen ages ago, and its bare, outward slanted walls were too tall and smooth to be climbed.

Unlike how it had first seemed, it was not a dead end, however.

Into the north side cliff face had been pierced a clear, artificial passage.

A ravine at least ninety feet tall and barely six wide cut through the otherwise solid mountain. As if its unnatural, geometrical directness weren’t already telling, there were rising stairs taking through it, and the mouth of the passage was framed with square reliefs and ancient imagery of indisputable artistic talent.

Gronan hopped off the sleigh before the snowmobile had even stopped yet, approaching that opening.

“This is it,” he mouthed, gazing at the reliefs. “The gate to Eylia.”

“Unbelievable,” Acquiescas shared his awe, wading through the knee-high snow to examine the carvings closer. “Look at the size of it…! The precision! The craftsmanship! I don’t believe it!”

Rummaging through his supplies, the scholar took out a notebook and began to sketch a picture of what he was seeing. Thinking it was a sound idea, Waramoti decided to do the same, although his own notebook was quite a bit smaller.

“Yeah. It’s a cliff, really big,” Tidaal commented as he jumped down from the sleigh, and not even Acquiescas could mistake his tone as genuinely impressed. “Never seen one of those before.”

It went without saying that the historical significance of the find was entirely wasted on the majority of the crew. Then again, developing appreciation for lost cultures was not part of their contract.

“Well, for something not CGI, it’s a little cool, I suppose,” Izumi thought.

Instead of the old reliefs, the stairs had a more favorable effect on the travelers. Wind had kept the passage largely clean of snow, granting a lengthy ascent to unknown heights.

“No way are we riding the snowmobiles through here,” Marcus concluded, examining the opening. “We’re going to have to leave them.”

A few scouts were sent ahead. They returned in half an hour, saying that the path continued on for a good while longer, and featured no major obstacles. Since the map suggested the lost city to be already close at hand, the expedition resolved to keep going on foot while daylight still lasted.

The sleighs were emptied of luggage and disconnected, the snowmobiles parked side by side under the cliff. They were covered with tough sheets, and bound to the ice with ropes and stakes, to await the crew’s return. Picking up their backpacks and other belongings, the expedition was then ready to resume the march. Happy to move their own legs again, after sitting still in the chilly sleighs for two days straight, they departed with positive excitement, forming a loose line to fit through the narrow passage.

The stairway eventually delivered them into a tall cavern within the mountain, a likely water-carved channel. But water was not the only actor to have left its mark here. Similar to the ravine before, wondrous openings had been pierced through the rock using unknown methods, creating a network of convenient passages through the otherwise inaccessible elements. Through these artificial cavities carried paved walkways and tidy stairs, which the adventurers obediently followed, and not even the less educated among them could avoid being awed by the skill of the ancient builders.

Likely all of the explorers had seen their share of remarkable feats of architecture before, modern or ancient, in Utenvik if nowhere else. They had seen what humans and the other races were capable of, given enough time, tools, and proper materials. But here, someone had made nature itself their house, shaping it to suit their need with such apparent ease and elegance, that it seemed straight up supernatural.

Here and there were wide windows cut into the mountainside, both horizontal and vertical, to provide the walkers with a breathtaking panorama of the icy ranges outside. At one point, they crossed a needle-straight bridge, which seamlessly joined the two sides of a bottomless chasm, its walls straight and polished, showcasing a borderline god-like ability to both erase and create at will.

The learned among the crew couldn’t hope to contain their excitement over the sight of it all, making notes and sketches as they walked, while the others maintained a respectful silence, trying to imagine what manner of a people had inhabited these heights. Though they had been told that the Precursors were long gone, more than a few had begun to wonder if this really was the case. What if some manner of a great misunderstanding—perhaps deliberately induced—had occurred? What if the ancient masters were still there, and had not forgotten the desertion of their slaves?

If so, what would they think of the visitors now?

And what should the visitors do, if no warm welcome was forthcoming?

There was more than five hundred miles of snow and dangerous creatures between the travelers and the nearest inhabited human dwelling. Even if forced, their retreat was not going to be a swift one. Taking comfort in the grip of their swords, axes, hammers, and crossbows, the expedition members traversed the dreamy halls of azure-glowing ice and cut stone.

“What do you suppose they looked like?” Waramoti asked Izumi as they marched on. “The Precursors, I mean? Were they like us? Or more like the elves? Or like something altogether different and outside the expected?”

“I...don’t know...” Izumi answered, breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, noticing her difficulties.

“Geez! Had I known I’d one day be going mountaineering in full gear, I would’ve thought twice about turning NEET later in life…” she replied with effort.

“Oh, do I feel sorry for you,” the bard replied without much serious worry. “I do doubt that healthy exercise like this will be the death of you. On the contrary.”

“What about you then?” the woman asked him in annoyance. “You’re not the world’s strongest warrior anymore. You’re carrying the same load as me, so why do you still look like you don’t have a worry in the world?”

“Are you kidding me?” the bard responded. “I’ve never had as little weight on me in all my life. It’s like I’m a gentle feather, dancing in the wind…”

“Aah, why do I always get the short end of the stick! This is not fair!” Izumi wailed. “Maybe I should use a rune or two to make things easier…”

“No, don’t use magic for such frivolous things!” Waramoti told her. Then, lowering his voice, he drew closer and added, “I should remind you, our friends aren’t too fond of foreign spells. Bad experiences, remember? So I’d appreciate it if you kept the witchcraft to the minimum. We’ve managed to make a joke of who you are up until now, but cleave mountains in two again, and they’re going to start asking real questions.”

“Yes, yes,” she sighed. “I’ll be careful. You know me, caution’s my middle name.”

“Yes, I know you. Well enough to tell that the word clearly doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“I understood that reference!”

“You’re so annoying!”

The explorers’ cautious hike went on for a couple of hours, with only sparse breaks along the way. Their path coursed up and down along the mountain’s sides, although on the inside. Fortunately, the passage was well shielded from the winds and snow, and easy to navigate, with no landfalls along the way. The walkers encountered no Precursor watchmen, no vengeful ghosts, no deadly traps, nor dangerous wildlife. Weller claimed to have seen a snow leopard up on a higher platform, but he was alone with his uncanny sighting and likely imagining things.

Then, on the northern side of the unnamed mountain, the tunnel suddenly ended and they stepped out into open air again.

Pair by pair, the expedition assembled as a miscellaneous crowd onto a wide, artificial platform, or a terrace, covered with brown stone, and stopped without a separate signal.

Snow gently fell, one unhurried, scattered flake at a time. There was no wind. In the daylight shifting through the tattered cloud curtains, they could easily behold the breathtaking vista in full detail, and it certainly took no small moment to process.

A wide flight of stairs led down to an arrow-straight channel, an inward-slanted depression between the neighboring mountains, sixty feet wide and lined with blocks of slate. The channel was about a mile in length, with an ornate, shrine-like building directly at the center. Another, similar lane cut across there, producing a strict cruciform base, and close around these two major avenues stood dozens upon dozens of ancient buildings. Onion-shaped domes of terracotta, walls of smooth, white stone, and multi-layered terraces with elegant balustrades. Ghastly temples with ornate pillars, towering apartment complexes, and wide plazas where frozen fountains stood between snowy marble benches.

Nothing moved on the streets.

The window holes were dark and empty.

Snow had flooded the streets and backyards, sometimes high enough to veil the buildings in bridal white, untouched by the footprints of any living thing. Steel-made fire pits stuck up from the white blanketing on the street corners, blackened and cold.

Any dreams of a royal reception could now be cast aside. Clearly enough, no one had been here for a very long time.

No one uttered a word, spellbound by the view that spread before them. The story was all true. This was where the Dharves had come from, freed from ancient slavery a millennium back. This was where the story of their kingdom had begun, in the hands of their now gone masters.

Gronan Arkentahl’s low voice broke the mesmerized silence.

“Welcome to the city of Eylia.”

3

A cursory examination showed that the city was just as deserted as it had looked. No obvious answers could be found to explain what had ended the doubtless prosperous nation and driven off the inhabitants, yet gone they were and unlikely to return.

A camp was set up at the base of the central shrine, this time with an intent for permanence. The Shrine was but a tulip-like structure raised on four voluminous pillars, between them a spacious hall open in all cardinal directions. The expedition leaders claimed this sheltered hall as their headquarters, and the remaining supplies were carried there over the course of the evening.

Patrols scoured the city ruins until dark, looking for anything potentially hazardous or even vaguely threatening, but came across nothing worthy of note, not even the tracks of a solitary fox. Though it felt almost too good to be true, the expedition appeared now safe and free to carry out their historical research at their leisure. Recognizing this, they decided to leave further exploration for the coming day and spent the remainder of the evening setting up their camp and making proper excavation plans based on what was outward visible.

Not even the coming of the dark hampered the explorers’ high spirits. At sundown, Marcus called the crew together, as per their nightly habit, to share the leaders’ plans.

“Come morning,” he announced with a wide smile, “we shall all split up into merry little groups of three or four, and comb through the city from top to bottom. The professor has expressed that he would be most delighted over any findings that could help us identify the Precursors and teach us about their life, such as pottery, sculptures, records, scriptures, tablets, blah, blah, blah. But I already know you lot can’t tell the difference between an epistle and a back scratcher. So leave the pots and puzzles to our four-eyed friend and the Innsland weasels, and focus on the things that you can actually recognize. And, in case you don’t know yet what gold, silver, or such like materials look like, I’m sure our monetarist clansmen will be happy to enlighten you until your ears fall off. Just remember! All intact ears this way, please. As earlier agreed, any and all findings of worth will go first to Ames and Selver, to be appraised and cataloged. You will get your contractual share, and probably something extra, in due time. But put things in your pockets that don’t belong in there, and I’ll show you how to climb down a mountain using only a hemp necktie, free of charge. Are we all clear on this?”

Marcus gave everyone a scrutinizing gaze with one eye squeezed tightly shut, the other one large and rounded, and it looked so ridiculous and comical, in spite of his grim message, that everyone could only laugh.

“Tidaal, are we clear?” he asked the red-bearded mercenary.

“Why you asking me?” Tidaal retorted. “I ain’t no bandit, brother!”

“No, but you look like one,” Marcus told him. “Ah yes, almost forgot this. I don’t think it’s necessary to mention this to you glorious bastards, but in the event that any one of you begins to feel unbearable homesickness, I recommend that you leave the snowmobiles well be. The ignition keys are taken and stored in a safe, undisclosed place, that not even I know. They shall not be touched until Gronan declares our mission in Eylia completed. If you really, really have to go, regardless, then by all means, you are welcome to do so, using your own two feet. The trip only took about four months of our ancestors, I’ve heard, with women, children, and elderly along, surely you’re not any slower than that. But don’t come asking for any shares or due fees afterwards. If you quit, then you quit, it means the contract’s terminated, and you don’t get paid.”

Nobody bothered to comment. Leaving meant not only crossing five hundred arctic miles without supplies or shelter, but also having to deal with the titans, frostwargs, and any other menaces along the way.

Obviously, it was never an option.

For better or worse, they were all in this together, ‘til the end.

“But that’s quite enough bureaucracy for one night. I shan’t keep you longer,” Marcus concluded his speech. “Sleep well, friends! Gronan’s very happy with your performance so far, and so am I. Keep it up and we can all go home filthy rich, with a fun trip to tell your great-grandchildren about. Who knows, maybe the professor will write a book and they’ll teach about us at that school of his. Though I hope not! Wouldn’t want any milkdrinker out there to take Elvir for a role model. Okay, that’s all. Two people on watch, as usual. I have the schedule here, check it out before you go to bed—”

“—Oh, you’re wrapping up? Nice timing!” At that moment, Aft, the engineer, stepped up from behind Marcus. “Mind if I take it from here? Before I forget again?”

Marcus nodded in agreement, and Aft took his place before the crowd of mercenaries. In his hand, he held what looked like a coin purse of leather, characteristically bulging. It wasn’t their salary, however.

“Look here!” the young engineer requested, smiling with enthusiasm. “I meant to give these to you before we left Utenvik, but then somebody went and ended the briefing ahead of schedule, and I couldn’t. So I’m handing them out now.”

Aft stuck his hand into the purse and pulled out what looked like a small pebble, blue-gray, and polished round.

“These are—communicators, believe it or not!” the young man explained, holding up the stone. “They are imbued with a very intricate enchantment, which allows for the transmission of sound between other stones of identical make, even over a distance. You put it in your ear, and tap it lightly twice when you want to say something, and whatever you say will then be transmitted to all the other stones within the range. The enchantment fades on its own after a while, so you’ll have to tap again to keep talking. Handy, isn’t it? This allows our teams to communicate in the field in real time, wherever they are, and you can report your findings without having to come back all the time. Isn’t that wonderful? We call them ‘linkstones’. Since...they’re stones and they link people. If you have better suggestions, I’m all ears. And yes, everyone gets one! What are you waiting for? Come and get yours! Marcus, I have one for you here. And don’t lose them! I only have a few spares.”

The magitechnical explanation flew well over the audience’s heads, and Aft was forced to repeat it multiple times with a live demonstration.

Among everyone present, Izumi was likely the fastest to grasp the point of the device.

“What do you know! This is something!” she cheerfully exclaimed, examining the linkstone closer, while taking a seat at the campfire. “First we get snowmobiles and now wireless radio! It’s one giant leap towards developing a functional smartphone! Yahoo!”

Surprisingly, though the device was stone, it wasn’t cold at all, but felt almost warm to hold. Although, calling it a device was a bit off, seeing as there was no particular physical mechanism to it.

“It’s an enchanted pebble,” Waramoti said, sitting next to her, less impressed. “Why would I want to hear what everybody else is saying? It’s a distraction. And it’s stupid. And I’m not going to put a rock in my ear.”

Izumi wasn’t listening, busy imagining the possibilities opened by this breakthrough innovation.

“First sound, then image. Bam, we have TVs. Then video games. Then paradise.”

“What hideous games?” Faalan asked, joining the two at the campsite. At Izumi’s insistence, all three had reserved spots from the same tent again.

“Do yourself a favor and don’t listen to anything she says!” the bard advised him. “The lady comes from far away, and habitually relapses to the foreign lingo of her homeland. Whenever this happens, it’s better to just ignore her altogether.”

“Is that so?” Faalan replied, tilting his head in confusion.

“You will understand,” Waramoti assured, lightly playing his lute. “But, if you wish to know more about our past adventures, I’ll be happy to tell you. It starts with a nightly duel in a desolate southern town. There we came across the legendary hunter of monsters, Airen the Swift—”

“—Not this story again!” Izumi interrupted him with a scowl.

“That reminds me,” Faalan spoke. “The spell you used before, it’s a rune from the Amarnan canon, is it not? How come you know it? Have you met emiri arcanists on your travels?”

“Uh, let’s not talk about that here either,” Izumi replied. “And definitely not around the eavesdropping buttons. Who’s to say they can only be activated on one end?”

Waramoti dug out the linkstone from his pocket, examining it with alarm, while Faalan did the same. “I didn’t think of that. You don’t suppose Gronan would…?”

“Well, where I’m from, gadgets like these are everywhere,” Izumi explained. “And bad guys accessing your mic to dig up dirt on you happens every day. They call it ‘targeted advertising’.”

Faalan put his stone on the ground between his boots and placed his emptied water cup upside down over it.

“Covering the stone with metal should serve to block any transmissions.”

“Right, since iron interferes with magical phenomena,” Waramoti nodded, doing the same with his own device.

Under their expectant gazes, Izumi hurried to look for her mug and cover her own linkstone as well.

After she was done, Faalan spoke again,

“Now that we have the chance, we should make plans of our own,” he quietly said, crossing his fingers and leaning on his knees.

“The mercenaries may be fooled with speeches of gold, and the professor with dreams of the past,” Waramoti said. “But that’s not what Gronan is looking for. After the trip, I’m sure of it. Toys like these only make it that much more apparent.”

“He wants the Precursors’ mind control weapon,” Faalan said. “He will want to know who finds it and when, and will not suffer anyone to hide it from him. Hence the item catalog and the linkstones.”

“Makes sense that he’d be cautious,” Izumi commented. “If someone else found it first, they might as well use it against him. Worse yet if it’s an outsider like us.”

“Precisely,” Faalan nodded. “Which is why he won’t hint of his true intentions with a word to anyone, not even to his own clansmen. I am fairly certain only Marcus knows of the expedition’s true goal.”

“No one else?” Waramoti asked, raising his brows. “He’s sure playing a dangerous game then.”

“Indeed. But so are we,” the half-elf replied. “We must find the device and secure it before he can. Destroy it, if possible. Even if it costs us our lives, we cannot allow that weapon to reach back to Dharva and be used against the Empire.”

“But, don’t you find this a little strange?” Izumi interjected.

“What?” Waramoti asked, as she wouldn’t immediately go on. “Or rather, what’s not?”

“If the Precursors had such a powerful tool, which could let them enslave so many people, then how come they didn’t conquer the whole world while they were at it? They just kept here, in the mountains, far away from the other lands? Why’s that?”

“...Perhaps they planned to?” the bard suggested with a shrug, after a moment of thought. “Maybe the weapon was still unfinished and what they did to the Dharves was simply a test run? And then something went wrong in the middle of their war preparations, which stopped them for good.”

“Such as?” Faalan asked.

“I wouldn’t know. Maybe their new weapon backfired on them?”

“That’s pretty odd too,” Izumi said, her expression darkening. “Why did the Precursors disappear? It was a mind control weapon that they created, not nukes, right? If they really did vanish, just like that, then why did the Dharves leave here, instead of taking the city for their own? They were given a prosperous kingdom, and all its supposed wealth and technology, yet they wanted none of it? Why didn’t they at least bring the hypno gun with them? They had to have known it existed, since they came back for it now. Or maybe they wanted to, but couldn’t. Maybe they didn’t leave by choice, but because something forced them to, and it happened in a hurry. So what was it?”

Neither of the other two could answer her.

The men merely stared into the flames before their feet, wearing grim faces.

“Heavens!” The bard suddenly shuddered. “Listening to you talk like that, I’m starting to feel like something’s about to jump at me from the shadows—AAAAHH!”

“—Here you are, my friends!”

At that moment, Acquiescas jumped up behind Waramoti with a cry, slamming the poor man’s back and giving him a scare. Izumi was startled as well, more by the bard’s loud cry than actual shock. Only Faalan showed no reaction, not being quite as absorbed in the conversation, and having heard the professor’s approach.

“By all that is holy,” Waramoti sighed, feeling his heart, “it was this close that I didn’t crash my lute into your skull, old man!”

“Hahaha!” Acquiescas laughed loudly, not seeing that the threat had been quite real. “Well? How did you enjoy your first day in Eylia! Here we are, where no man has set foot in a thousand long years!” Then, adding on a more serious note, he said, “And to thank you for bringing me here, I’ve come to fulfill my earlier promise.”

The professor raised a number of small glasses in his hand, as well as a bottle of his advertised brandy. He then proceeded to distribute the glasses and filled them, the shakiness of his hand and the lively color of his face implying that he had already had a few samples over the course of the evening.

Tears gathered in the corners of the old man’s reddened eyes, as he raised his own glass, closely hugging the bottle under the other arm, and declared,

“To science! To progress! To history.”

“Cheers!” Waramoti raised his glass with a cheerful smirk.

“Kanpai!” Izumi added, happy to get a drink.

“Congratulations once more, professor,” Faalan also said.

And all four downed their shots at the same time.

“So far as I’m considered,” Acquiescas told them. “This expedition is already a resounding success story. Anything that comes after this point is merely a glorious bonus. My dream, the dreams of so many other scholars over so many generations, have all been made true. Eylia is real. Proven, beyond any sliver of a doubt. Not a myth anymore! The Precursors—Thank you. My friends.”

The scholar fell silent, the corners of his lips twitching, and everyone nodded at his emotional words.

“Now,” he soon revived in a firmer tone, and gathered back the glasses. “I believe everyone else deserves a share of this stuff too. Bloody fantastic brandy! Good night.”

With that, the scholar left stumbling towards the nearest tent.

“Right,” Waramoti said, picking up his mug and the linkstone from under it. “Fortune favors the bold and may the best man win. That’s all I can say at this juncture.”

“I may not be a man,” Izumi replied, “and fortune never favored me much, but I will still win in the end. Since I’m the protagonist.”

“I shall be counting on your success, while doing my utmost to aid it,” Faalan added, standing up and putting his communicator back into his pocket. “And I sure would not mind coming across some gold while about it.”

“Faalan?” Waramoti looked at him with surprise. “Since when did a dignified hero like you have such earthly desires? Or was that your idea of a joke?”

“Not at all, I meant every word,” the man replied. And then he flashed a faint smirk, the first of its kind.

“I have a family to feed, after all.”