“That’s crazy.” Nephthys pressed his hands against his hips and looked at Geißel. “Tell her that’s crazy.”

“We…We shouldn’t use the airship.” Altera clenched her arm and raised her head. “We’ll die.”

She couldn’t look away.

The sun was still rising, and whatever rays it sent, grey clouds had obscured. The wind blew through her hair. Without her jacket, she would be freezing in this autumn breeze.

It was like in the vision.

“I…I can’t explain it, but this dream felt real.”

Quin crossed her arms. “Dreams are strange in the Mana Realm. Just like in the tower, they can mingle with reality – past, present, or future.”

“What did you exactly dream about?” Geißel lit up a cigarette and took a puff. He looked at her with concentrated eyes.

She had seen that look on him before: When she had told her family that Farmer Fergusson was planning to kill her. The problem wasn’t that they hadn’t believed her. They wished she would be lying.

“You believe her?” Nephthys raised his voice.

Geißel growled, and Nephthys shut his mouth.

“We boarded Nephthys’ Nitocris, and then, a…a dragon attacked us…and we died.”

“A dragon attacked us? A fucking dragon. You didn’t hit your head, did ya?” Nephthys looked at Altera as if she had proclaimed that vaccination injected Mana particles into the brain that caused children to be attracted to pedophiles.

“I don’t understand,” Jareth said. “What is this ‘dragon’?”

“Have you been living under a rock?” Ragna raised her eyebrow. “Or do you have amnesia?”

Altera glanced at Jareth’s mask.

Who was this guy? Even in Auster, people knew about the seven dragons.

When the Trutner siblings had slain Niddhog, seven creatures sprung out of its carcass. Each represented an evil of humanity they had inherited from Niddhog. Thus, they continued their predecessor’s mission to destroy the world and lay waste to the planet and all of humanity. While most historians doubted this origin story or Niddhog's had existence, the seven dragons used to terrorize Aes. Corrupting any human they had laid their eyes on, they had brought forth misery and earned the moniker of mankind's evil.

But throughout history, heroes had triumphed over these beasts. Legends and their offspring, the sceadas, were all that remained of them. The last dragon died 1100 years ago at the hands of the Kaiser before the start of the Great War. And thanks to their portrayal in pop culture, dragons gained a reputation as ‘cool’, ‘badass’, or ‘awesome’.

“That a dragon still exists...I can’t wrap my head around it.” Ragna put her hand on Altera’s shoulder, disrupting her train of thoughts. “But I trust you. We would've been dead three times over without you or your gut feeling.”

“You have a knack for this stuff.” Eric put his hand on her shoulder as well. “Besides, we saw way weirder stuff than some undead dragon ass.”

“Guys…” Altera blushed, and together, the three stared at Geißel.

They wouldn’t waver, and with their trust, she would continue. She could rely on them because they were friends.

Geißel took another puff. “Well, it looks like you’ve made your decision. I don’t like you going to Avalon, but I think you're right about this one.”

“What?” Nephthys puffed his cheeks. “That wasn’t an argument.”

“Relax.” Geißel chuckled. “Since when are you the rational one? You wanted to go with them to Avalon, didn’t you?”

“Tha…” Tears built on the corner of Nephthys’ eyes. He turned around, showing them his back.

“Anyway,” said Quin. “Since we can’t smuggle you to the city, that means you have to find another way inside.”

“Oh, crap.” Ragna gulped. “I totally forgot about that.”

“I won’t sugarcoat it.” Out of her purse, Quin took out her phone. “That will be difficult. Your best bet would be Heorot.”

“Heorot?” Ragna asked.

“One can’t enter Avalon without a permit. Getting one the legitimate way is nigh impossible, but there are other ways. In Heorot, the black market and gambling run supreme. If it exists, you can win it there. But with something as highly sought-after such as permits to Avalon, winning them might take weeks and gambling away your lives.”

“You know that we’re still going, right?” Ragna smirked.

Eric and Altera nodded.

֎

Back in his residence, Geißel was sitting on his couch. He was smoking a cigarette and had glued his eyes to the phone on the table. The news was running in the background, but his ears didn’t register the background noises. With his left hand, he tapped against the table, and the ashtray jumped a millimeter.

Dammit. What took Mukhtar so long?

“Looking at the phone won’t shorten their route. Even with Nephthys’ Kaa, they won’t arrive in Heorot immediately.” Quin walked out of the kitchen. In her hand, she held a plate with stir-fried dishes. She sat down next to him, put the food down on the table, and with a pair of chopsticks, she put a piece of tofu into her mouth.

Quin smiled. “Chanpuru is quite a fascinating dish. Combining vegetables and other ingredients from all parts of the country and beyond to create a holistic dish that’s greater than its parts, isn’t that the epitome of beauty? To mix various cultures or aspects of cultures to create something new and potentially even unique reminds me of the days when we wished to call Utgard Pan-Asia. The system shouldn’t be viewed as a collection of parts, but as a whole.”

Geißel rolled with his eyes. “That's just chop-suey.”

Quin shrugged, picking up mushrooms with her chopsticks, and Geißel’s eyes focused on the wooden cutlery.

By far, the most popular food in Utgard was rice. But even after all these years of being Utgard’s Chieftain, Geißel had yet to figure out how amongst all the potential options – in a rice-loving country such as Utgard – the chopstick had proven to be the most superior eating tool.

Geißel took a puff from his cigarette. He exhaled the smoke and flicked the ash off the butt. “Altera shouldn’t be anywhere near the city of sin. With all the gambling going around, she would ruin herself once she has another episode.”

“You worry too much. Altera has her friends.”

Geißel sighed. “You know that this makes me only more worried. I only gave her that netherwolf puppy in the first place because I know she would see killing herself as abandoning it.”

“I’m not one to condemn suicide especially, to repay shame. But I think Altera's friends have proven themselves as adequate to deal with her tendencies.

“Fuck. Ragna Griffin was supposed to lose the first level.” With his hand, he combed through his hair. “The condition for her victory was to give up. She was supposed to realize that sometimes, you just can’t win. But no. You changed that.”

“Her having to give up was simply your interpretation of the correct answer. I saw it as a test of her indomitable will, and the tower agreed, otherwise it would have never accepted her victory.”

Geißel took another puff. “And it will only lead her to her childish ruin, and worst of it, she’ll drag Altera with her.”

“I would recommend not to speak ill about your future sister-in-law.”

Geißel froze. His chin dropped, and the cigarette fell out of his mouth into the ashtray. He remained dead for seconds. Seconds passed until the color of the living returned to his face, and his lips spat out the roughest voice years of smoking had gifted Geißel. “Don’t even joke about this. Altera would never…”

Quin grinned. “I always wondered if nicotine could get to the brain and destroy its cells. But you should put more trust in them.”

“It’s not that. I know more than anyone how talented my sister is, and her companions are capable as well. But we both know the mess they had gotten themselves into is bigger than them. Even the tower got interested. That's the kind of shit that even heroes won’t survive. Finding Drake Griffin?” Geißel chuckled. “That won’t be the end of their fights. No, the clusterfucks will only begin. And it’ll drag us all into it.”

Quin’s grin vanished. “Are you this worried about Altera’s dream? I don’t think it’ll come true.”

Geißel shook his head. “You don’t get it. If it comes true, it would be bad. My parents and I would be devastated, but we would one day move on. If the dream doesn’t come true, then…” Geißel twisted his lips to a sad smile. His shoulders dropped, and he stared at the table. “When I was a child, my parents always said Altera was made for greatness. It honestly annoyed the Hel out of me, but when I became Chieftain, they told me those words weren’t just empty phrases.”

Geißel straightened his body and looked at his wife. "Do you remember why I wanted to move out of the castle?"

"You never wanted to grow commonplace playing ruler in your little sandcastle. Rather, it served as a reminder to always strive for more." Quin crossed her legs. “So, it’s time to fulfill our marriage vows, I guess.”

Geißel looked out of the future at the city he was ruling over. “That’s still a few years in the future. But I wonder. The next time I see Altera, will she call me “Sovereign Lord” again?”

He grabbed his phone and stood up.

“Are you going to call…?”

Geißel nodded. “I’m gonna have a serious word with Drake Griffin.”