Brack stood on his balcony, eyes closed, face stoic, deep in thought.

Brack Na’Orin was the chief of Dreanar and by extension chief of the Draneer people. He was stout and muscular, his face rugged and scarred. He had long white hair tied back with a leather band. In the middle of his forehead were two large horns. The horns were thick and black and curved in an outward spiral that lasted for two rotations. The furthest tip of his horns a fingers width past his ears. The lower part of his face was covered with a large, white beard that was braided into two sections.

He wore a simple grey tunic and belt. Only a small gold pin in the shape of a triangle over his heart showed that he was a noble.

Brack was a Freygrundyr, one of the three genetic divisions of the Draneer people. The Freygrundyr could be characterised as being the more charming, socially adept class. They were usually short in stature and as strong as any burly man. They were most commonly tasked with being the diplomats and traders of Dreanar, the face of the country for any outsiders wanting to look in. They were naturally disposed to be leaders and mediators, which also made them very effective at working as foremen and working in other management positions. As a matter of course, like Brack, the majority of Draenary chiefs throughout history were Freygrundyr.

Brack lived in the upper levels of the mountain city Vigir. His room was located next to the very face of the mountain (aptly named mount Vigir), and so Brack had access to the privilege of a balcony. The balcony gave a view of the top portion of the surrounding mountain range. The ground was obscured by thick cloud.

There were other openings along the mountain face that Brack could see, they were mostly for industrial purposes. Most were air or steam vents, but some served to dispose of liquid waste. Brack was the only one allowed an outside balcony for purely personal use, the chief was expected to view his land from on high, the little of which he could see.

Brack took a deep breath of fresh air, beard flowing with the wind, and turned towards the direction of his room. He stepped through the narrow archway that was the entrance to his balcony and closed its stone door behind him, cutting off the sound of the howling wind.

Brack’s room was minimalistic and highly functional. His walls were simple grey stone, and his scant amount of furniture, though solid, was made of cheap wood and cloth. This was by choice. As chief, he could have had solid gold walls and precious gems adorning every surface. But Brack was not overly attached to material possessions. The greed that he had was used towards the enrichment of his people.

Brack stepped through his room, face towards the floor in deep concentration and tapped his fist on the wooden door to its connected guard quarters. The quarters housed Brack’s personal bodyguard, who were ready to follow him out at a moment’s notice.

The door opened and revealed the small room within, its contents consisted of a table and three chairs, one of which was stationed beside the wooden door, and a quaint fireplace. Two very large Draneer men were sitting at the table playing Groturn, a traditional gambling game, both had a tankard of ale in one hand and a pair of dice in the other. A third fellow, equally as large, was standing beside the open door, looking inquisitively at Brack. The fellow had a charming face full of bold red hair. His beard was long and full, ending in a single braid that reached to the centre of his wide chest. His head was as bald as an egg with horns as large as a man’s forearm protruding from above his eyes. The horns were a clear, ivory colour and followed a slight upward curve going straight from his forehead.

The man was wearing Efir steel armour over a light blue gambeson. Lacking the rarely worn formal blue cape, it was the signature uniform for the Draneer royal guard. A long, curved sword was sheathed at his waist.

The three Draneer-men were all Drugrundyr, the warriors and labourers of Draneer society. The Drugrundyr were the most common type of Draneer, making up around half of the Draneer population. They were usually only marginally intelligent, smart enough to take relatively complex orders. But there were always exceptions to this rule. Some of the best tacticians in Draneer history had been Drugrundyr.

Drugrundyr made formidable warriors, as they were naturally far stronger and larger than the average human. In battle, they were worth four times as much as a common human infantryman. An added militaristic bonus was the fact that all Draneer were born with a potentially deadly weapon, their horns.

“Yes chief?” the man said conversationally. The two other men at the table stopped their game looked towards Brack.

“Cob, with me. The rest of you can go.” Brack said pensively, his face appeared concerned.

“Aye chief” Cob doused the fire and fetched his helmet, holding it beneath his arm. He let the other men pass him before leaving the room, shutting the door gently behind him. “What’s wrong?” Cob asked, his face was as concerned as Bracks. “Can I help?” If anyone else had been so insistent, Brack would have snapped at them. But he had begun working with Cob well over fifty years ago, well before Brack began rising through Draenary politics. So he knew that there was only honest and sincere concern within Cob's words.

Brack looked his friend in the eyes and spoke in a murmur “I think you are the only one I trust enough to show. Follow me, I will explain when we get to …” Brack paused, trying to find the right words “… our destination.” Brack walked out of his sleeping quarters, Cob followed, confusion clear on his face.

Outside was a well ordered but disorienting system of corridors and rooms. At the higher levels of the city, planning had been thorough and efficient. The bird's eye view planning sheets that the architects had shown Brack before the floor expansion showed a system of equidistant gridded blocks separated with spacious walking corridors for the majority of the floor space. This almost hypnotising monotony ended with the ‘reception area’ near the weigh-lifts that allowed access to the floor. The blocks at this height contained mostly housing for researchers, and Brack of course. Brack’s living area took up an entire block of its own, much to his displeasure.

Brack and Cob walked along the corridors of reinforced grey stone, passing barely anyone. It was early in the morning and Draneer enjoyed sleep.

Their way was lit dimly by Efir globes attached to the walls every ten paces or so. After several minutes of silent walking, they arrived at the reception area. The area was an open, communal space that served as the main entrance and exit to the floor. Dark, gated, weight-lift entrances lined the wall for its entire length. There was an emergency stairwell that spanned the entire height of the mountain, but it was seldom used and so had been forgotten by most inhabitants of the mountain. After all, the vast elevator system that provided easy access to all levels averaged one failure (always relatively minor and easily fixed) every twenty years.

The weight-lifts were made possible with Efir, the miraculous blue dust that had made Dreanar one of the wealthiest countries in the known world over the past thirty years, and uncannily good engineering. They were controlled from the highest floor in Vigir, ordered by the lift mechanics to travel to requested floors. The control floor had moved higher and higher as Vigir had expanded throughout the past several decades.

The lifts themselves had to come in perfect flush with rectangular openings in the main rock wall of the lobby, which, in some method that Brack did not grasp, was performed perfectly every time by the lift mechanics. Next to each lift was a unique letter-number combination engraved onto the stone wall, signifying both the shaft and floor number. Beneath the engravings were square openings that gave access to a dense bunch of small steel cables. One cable was separated from the bunch and loosely attached to the inner wall with a cable fastener. This cable had to be pulled in order to alert the lift mechanics of your location. Each floor separated its own specific cable from the bunch, and each shaft had its own separate bunch going all the way down and up.

Taking this intricacy for granted, Brack pulled his cable and waited for the weight-lift. He avoided conversation with Cob.

The lift arrived and the pair entered. There was a lever inside the lift - which was large enough to comfortably fit ten large Drugrundyr men - which protruded from a semicircular brass sheet attached to the floor. The semicircle had small notches along its circumference, which indicated each floor. Brack pulled the lever to the second last notch and let go, letting the mechanics do the rest. The lift jolted upward powerfully and made its way gracefully towards the top, passing three floors.

Brack’s destination was arguably the most important floor in the whole of Vigir, the research and development hub of Dreanar (affectionately named Sigenhaven by residents). When the lift finally came to a forceful halt, Brack had to let his eyes adjust momentarily to the torrent of blue light that was a characteristic of the main research floor.

Brack stepped off of the lift, closely followed by a wearily alert Cob, and took a second to orient himself.

The 98th floor was already crowded with the third class of Draneer, Sigrundyr.

The floor was designed differently than the others, by special request. The floor was formatted as a vast, pillared room with specific areas allocated for separate testing stations. For example, near the lift wall and to the far left, was the animal testing area. The area was set out in a long rectangle, divided into different pens containing different animals. The pens contained animals ranging from tamed cattle to wild foxes. There were hundreds of other areas, all as complex and important as each other. Some were filled with tables containing intricate systems of tubing and beakers, others contained industrial ovens and furnaces. They spanned the considerable distance of the floor, the furthest being several hundred paces distant. Blue Efir globes spaced evenly on the ceiling provided ample light for the researchers to work.

The floor was built at the behest of the Sigrundyrs, the third class of Draneer, for them to research the blue Efir dust that had conquered the world over the past several decades.

The Sigrundyr were the mechanics, teachers, researchers, and scholars (not always exclusively) of Draneer society. They were usually frail and of slight stature, with horns that were thin and sharp. Sigrundyr were commonly capable of having a certain extreme practical intelligence, being able to communicate and comprehend on intellectual levels only the brightest prodigies of humanity could reach. This intelligence came with the caveat that their communication skills when speaking with a ‘layperson’ were below average if not extremely poor. That, added to their physical frailty, made them dependent on the other classes for protection and, in an abstract sense, acceptance.

All three classes of Draneer were, in many ways, dependent on each other. The Drugrundyr provided strength and security, the Freygrundyr provided positive foreign (and domestic) relations and trade skills, and the Sigrundyr had the ability to innovate and understand far beyond the abilities of any other class. This gave a synergy and unity to Draneer society that prevented any one class from taking control or seceding.

At the back of the floor, past the last row of work areas, was a line of simple rooms with a single clouded window and door each. Some were for experiments too dangerous to be in the open, but most were for the head of the research teams and other important members of the staff. One of these offices had a strong blue light pulsing out from its opaque glass window and the edges of its wooden door, as Brack knew there would be.

The pair made their way through the deliberately designed areas, careful not to interrupt any of the researchers, and came to a stop at the glowing room.

Brack knocked briefly at the door. A muffled shout came through, and after several silent moments, it was followed by the sound of a chair scraping against stone. Brack heard what he thought was a bar being lifted, and then the door was opened.

The blue light that shone through was overpowering, temporarily blinding Brack. He covered his eyes with his hands. “Nyal!” Brack shouted, stepping sideways hastily to avoid the light.

Brack’s eldest son stepped out of the room, mercifully closing the door behind him. “Whoops, sorry friends. Should have warned you.” Nyal said, grinning sheepishly. Nyal was tall and slender, wearing a white full-length button-up coat and silly looking protective glasses. He was a Sigrundyr, one of the smartest; and Brack tried his hardest to be proud of him.

Nyal’s hair was long and pale. It hung limply, parted from covering his face by his horns. His horns were thin and white, curving diagonally backwards from his forehead. His eyes were hidden by the tint of the glasses, but Brack knew them to be a piercing grey.

Cob leaned back against the stone wall beside the door and rubbed his eyes, brow furrowed in discomfort, and mumbled an unsavoury curse.

Brack recovered more quickly, rounding on Nyal. “Enough of this. Turn that accursed light off and let us in” Brack’s tone was calm and measured, his glare was anything but.

“Okay father,” Nyal took off his glasses, tucking them into one of his many coat pockets. He turned around, “and apologies Cob.” he put on his most winning smile and reached up to pat Cob on the shoulder.

“Agh!” Cob replied, swatting his hand away. “Just do as you’re Da says”

Nyal turned towards the door “Llewelyn!” he shouted, “Turn it off, we’re coming in.” Nyal placed his hand on the door’s handle and stared patiently at the window. When the light turned from a vibrant blue to faint white, he opened the door, beckoning for the pair to follow as he walked into the room.

Llewelyn was another Sigrundyr, and Nyal’s loyal assistant. He was sitting down on a small metal chair next to Nyal’s workspace. Llewelyn had short, orange hair and two small stubs that were sorry excuses for horns. Brack suspected that the small, pockmarked boy held untold feelings for his mentor. The sycophantic look that the boy gave Nyal when he entered the room did not abate his suspicion.

The room itself was cramped and stuffy. A flickering globe lamp on the low ceiling cast a piercing light on everything below, casting deep, elusive shadows. Beneath the window and on both sides of the room were shelves and cases filled with papers and equipment. How anyone could locate something from that mess was beyond Brack.

Against the wall opposite to the window was a large, steel workbench. On this workbench were several beakers filled with liquid both clear and coloured. Connected to them were elaborate systems of glass tubing, not dissimilar to those that were sitting outside.

As Brack approached the desk, following Nyal, Llewelyn stood up from his chair and shuffled to the back of the room meekly. As he went, he looked at Brack, apparently searching for something on his face. His eyes were eerily hidden by the protective glasses that he still wore.

When he seemingly did not find what he sought he turned his back and shuffled through some papers piled on a shelf. His left hand was heavily bandaged. Brack suppressed a frown. A strange boy.

Nyal pulled up another chair, next to Llewellyn’s, and sat down. He spoke while reaching into the tubing “Would I be correct in assuming this is why you came?” Nyal pulled a steaming beaker out of the crisscrossing forest of glass and set it down in front of him. The beaker held a bubbling blue liquid and was half empty. The liquid, even in the light, seemed to give off a fluorescent glow.

Brack nodded, eyes serious “You would be right. Have you made any progress since my last visit?”

Nyal took an exasperated sigh, “Alas, we have not. It is still as perplexing as the day that we discovered it.” Nyal turned to Cob, then to Brack questioningly “Have you filled him in?”

“I’m sure that it will explain itself better than I ever could.” Brack gestured impatiently at the ground “Now go, do you’re magic.” Nyal nodded and picked up a small metal tray from a corner of his desk. He stood, carrying the beaker, and set the tray on the ground in the middle of the room. There was little space, so Brack and Cob had to make room for the tray by leaning against the cluttered desks.

Nyal poured all of the liquid into the tray, barely avoiding an overspill. After that, he turned back around, discarded the beaker, and searched his workbench. He rummaged through several draws, not finding anything, and became exasperated. “Where is it?” Nyal’s face reddened and twisted into an aggressive sneer “DAMN!” he slammed his fist onto the table, knocking down a carefully balanced glass contraption for it to shatter on the floor “I had it right here!”

Llewellyn shuffled forward uncomfortably, hand outstretched. Nyal’s head snapped to him, hair flying into his face. “Idiot!” Nyal snatched a small, gnarled root out of his hand and turned his back to everyone. He took a few moments to compose himself, using both hands to organise his hair back to normality.

He turned back suddenly, smiling amiably “Now, for the main attraction.” He balled his hand into a fist, root still in it, and held it above the tray. He crushed the root, letting its pieces fall through his fingers and into the tray.

As sudden as Nyal’s outburst, a thin column of purple flame erupted out of the tray, coming just short of the ceiling. Everybody but Nyal jerked back involuntarily, awe plain on their purple lit faces. After several seconds, the roaring column split into two. The parallel columns both arched in opposite directions, slowly creating a symmetrical oval shape. As soon as the shape was complete, the space in between the arches became filled with a red mist, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Inside the mist, hissing could be heard, and the occasional red glowing spark flew out, fading before it hit the ground.

After roughly ten seconds the mist calmed and slowly dissipated. What it left behind was not the empty space in which it had materialised.

In that space was what appeared to be a glassless window showing a wide, circular dent in the earth. The ‘window’ appeared to be on the slope of the grassy crater, hindering the view of the surrounding area. Although, in the far distance, a large mountain range could be seen.

Brack knew the range to be Karow’tan or the Stone Wall.

The Stone Wall was a vast mountain range that separated the east and west sides of most of the continent. And judging by the position of the sun, Brack determined the ‘window’ to be viewing from somewhere on the western side.

The crater was empty except for a lone hare grazing on the wild grass. No sound could be heard, and apart from the mountain range, only a cloudless morning sky could be seen above the lip of the crater.

Cob stared in wonderment, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, like a young boy seeing a new chest of toys, just for him. Brack had already seen this exact sight once before, but he still stared at it as raptly as Cob. Although his mouth was shut.

No one spoke for some time. Nyal seemed more interested in studying the reactions of Brack and Cob than the miracle that had just occurred.

Brack broke the silence, “I came back here for a reason, ya know.” He was inspecting the scene intensely.

“I wouldn’t think you would need many reasons to see this again” Cob replied, still staring.

“Aye, if you have something to say, say it,” Nyal said, brow furrowed, still looking at Brack.

“Well, I was just thinking,” Brack crossed his arms and tilted his head “if this is where I think it is, there should surely be some trees - at least the tops of them - visible.” Brack rubbed his chin and frowned “Its just… strange that ya can’t see nothing else. This should be a heavily forested area, judging by the mountains in the distance and type of grass. There should be at lea-“

Nyal cut him off “Its probably just in the middle of a clearing or something, simple explanation” he seemed impatient.

“Well, we can easily know for sure.” Cob walked forwards, intending to go through to the other side.

“Stop!” Nyal barred Cob’s passage with his arm “Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” he put his arm back “Llewelyn, show them.” Llewelyn stepped forwards and raised his left hand. He calmly unwrapped the bandage that covered it, revealing a disturbing sight. The tops of his middle and index fingers were missing, his middle three digits were all of the same length. One of the scabs must have broken because as soon as the bandage was removed blood began to run down his hand. He hastily redid the bandage and stepped back.

“The gateway seems to destroy any organic material that passes through it,” Nyal said, ignoring Llewelyn. “You can toss in a stone just fine,” Nyal demonstrated, throwing a small pebble that he had in his coat “just not yourself” He grinned, rubbing his hands together. “So, any questions?”

Brack and Cob glanced at each other. “No. We’re done here.” Brack said, turning to the door. Nyal rushed to open it for him. They left without saying a word.

Once the door was closed behind them, they stopped. A few people were milling about the floor already. “Did you get what you came for chief? Cob asked gently.

Brack sighed and looked back towards the opaque window of Nyal’s office, “I don’t know.”