They turned into a narrower street. Clumps of mushrooms grew here and there at the edges of the road. Clouds in the sky grew darker with every passing moment, and muffled thunders growled in the distance. The smell of damp mycelium intensified, making Andvari wrinkle his nose. Unlike him, Erilaz enjoyed it, since it reminded him of his childhood and his favourite mushroom soup. Andvari hated it, and whenever it was on the menu, he preferred to eat sandwiches he collected the day before.


    When tiny drops of drizzle began to churn the puddles slightly, Andvari spoke up, “shouldn’t we go back? Or at least hide somewhere?”


    Erilaz glanced at the sky and nodded. “Right. Unless they begin to throw some worse items at us…”


    A tinplate shed sat at the dead end of the street. Boxes, barrels, and a few parts of some machine stood under it, forming a pile of junk. Rain pounded louder and louder at the roof, while another thunder roared closer to the town.


    Andvari pointed at the door under the shed, which led to the two-storey building. “Let’s knock here and take a break.”


    Erilaz sped up, flicking his long, damp hair. “Well, maybe… we have little choice, anyway.”


    As only they got under the shed, a lightning illuminated the nearby buildings. Cascades of raindrops lashed down the sky, swooshing like a tiny spaceship’s engines. Wrinkles tore the surface of muddy water in the puddles and the streets became empty for good. Feeble light beamed only from a few widows as a last reminder it wasn’t a ghost town yet.


    Andvari swung his head and tousled his long, ginger dreadlocks, while Erilaz squeezed water from his hair. Their already too small clothes soaked, sticking to their skin and exposing their large, yet bruised and scratched muscles.


    Waterproof bandages on Andvari’s hand remained dry, but his wounds began to itch. He scratched them carefully with the very tips of his fingers and turned to Erilaz.


    “Are we going to knock?”


    Erilaz tilted his head. “Why not? Now we look miserable enough, I guess.”


    “Right.” Andvari approached the door. “I’m going to knock, and you’re going to talk with that person.”


    “Well… I can do it,” muttered Erilaz and joined Andvari at the door.


    Andvari took a deep breath and raised his fist. He glanced knowingly at Erilaz, and his friend nodded. Andvari knocked three times and took a step back.


    They both breathed as quietly as possible, awaiting the resident’s reaction, but there were no signs of life coming from the building. Erilaz leant closer and narrowed his eyes. His ear nearly touched the door, but he couldn’t hear anything among the swooshing of rain. He knocked too and crossed his arms.


    When no one responded again, Erilaz shrugged and looked at his friend. “I guess it’s empty.”


    “And now, we’re supposed to spend a few hours here, among this terrible smell of mushrooms, right?”


    “Well, you’re free to...”


    Erilaz didn’t finish when the door swung open, nearly hitting his face. He only stepped back as the three individuals marched out of the building.


    “What the hell are you doing here!?” growled a young Kehrian. His cornflower-blue skin indicated that he couldn’t be older than sixteen or seventeen.


    Two Ifrits behind him reached for their weapons, baring their teeth.


    The rush of adrenaline surged through Erilaz’s veins like a wildfire, igniting his fighting zeal with an electrifying intensity. His every nerve tingled with anticipation. Heart pounded in his chest, and the pupils widened in his icy-blue eyes. Despite losing his king, his homeworld and his power armour, the warrior’s instincts remained rooted deep within him.


    Taking a slow breath to calm down and avoid provocation, Erilaz glanced at Andvari. “Sorry, but we just…”


    The Kehrian unlocked his gun at aimed at Erilaz. “Who are you? I don’t remember anyone in this place dressing so ridiculously.”


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    Andvari slowly hid the metal rod behind his back and spoke up, “we need help because our ship…”


    “So you have a ship, right?” The Kehrian turned to Andvari. “A big one? Or something smaller?” He raised the corner of his lips. “If it’s valuable enough, we may let you get out alive.”


    The last sentence hit Andvari to the very core. A surge of deepest fear flooded his veins, paralysing him for a moment. His heart raced uncontrollably, pounding against his chest like a wild animal trying to break free. The world around him seemed to blur, and the sough of rain bored through his ears to his very brain.


    “Hefri!”


    As only Erilaz glanced at him again, Andvari blinked knowingly.


    He swung the metal rod and pounded at the Kehrian’s hands. The boy screamed in pain and dropped his gun, and the momentum pushed him to his knees. The taller Ifrit just unlocked his gun when Erilaz sent a bullet into his head. The other reptile leapt towards the pile of junk, avoiding another shot. As only he dropped to the ground and aimed at Erilaz, the Celestian fired two times. Both bullets pierced the Ifrit’s skull, sloshing his blood and chunks of flesh at the rubbish behind him. His lifeless body slumped on a metal box with a dull thud.


    “Oh shit, no bullets!” yelled Erilaz, while Andvari jumped to pick up the Kehrian’s gun from under a tiny coffee table.


    At that moment, the boy rolled on the ground and jumped to his feet. He drew a sabre and turned it on. Pale plasma illuminated his surroundings, shining even brighter than a nearby lightning. Smell of ozone broke through the scent of mycelium, while warm air embraced everyone involved.


    He lunged at Andvari. Erilaz jumped after him. The Kehrian swung his sabre, aiming at kneeling Andvari, but Erilaz grabbed his hand.


    The Kehrian kicked and tussled, when Erilaz stuttered out, “knock him out!”


    Andvari stood up. Investing all his strength into this one move, he swiped the metal rod and smashed the Kehrian’s head. The impact barged the boy into the pile of junk. His head pounded at the coffee table, and his body slumped to the floor.


    Erilaz and Andvari stared at him for a while, panting and watching how a puddle of blood spills under his head. As their heartbeats slowed down and adrenaline subsided in their veins, they glanced at each other.


    “Is he dead?” asked Erilaz.


    Andvari approached the Kehrian and touched his neck. Then he looked and Erilaz again and shook his head. “I don’t feel his pulse.”


    Erilaz pursed his lips, and then spoke up, “well. We... We didn’t start it.”


    “Right.” Andvari wiped the metal rod at a sheet of foil, which covered a bunch of barrels. “I would honestly recommend getting out of here.”


    Erilaz looked over his shoulder at the hefty streams of water. “Let’s go,” he added and trotted into the rain.


    The day Ivendir feared the most had come. Standing on the largest airfield on Helvetto, he stared at the ground to avoid the abominable view above him. The aching in his heart bored through his whole chest, his breath quiet, yet shallow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t disguise the abysmal sorrow in his eyes or the trembling of his fingers. Warm wind blew against the tall, olive blades of grass and feral wheat, but his skin felt only piercing cold.


    Here, on the Helvetto’s equator, flat prairies stretched to the very horizon. Clumps of flowers unveiled their buds, awaiting rains and warmer weather. The only objects taller than dwarf trees were control towers, small houses and ultra-fast train stations.


    Ivendir managed to give a few speeches to Helvettians before, convincing them that this emergency situation is temporary, but every public appearance built up his self-hatred. He couldn’t look in the mirror without disgust. Since his obsession with traitors led him to the loss of all his Vardir Commanders, no one could protect his world and his people. Apart from that, he began to understand that the worst traitor now was no one else but him. The world he loved so much became a nest for his enemies, and he couldn’t do anything about that.


    Bjarni Arnorsson, the Commander of Metropolitan Militia, couldn''t stand this view too. Clad in grey suit and dark-blue armoured vest with an aquamarine image of an eagle in the nest, he struggled to keep a confident posture. Despite this, dim circles under his cobalt-blue eyes revealed his exhaustion after days and nights of world-wide riots. Since he didn’t even have time to take care of his hair, a short bristle covered his head, while brown roots marked his sloppy, purple mohawk.


    The moryan carriers and ferries descended to the airfield one by one, tainting the serene prairie with masses of scratched metal in random, dingy colours. Then their hatches opened with a clatter and rasp. Lines of Moryans began to leave their ships, and whenever the vehicle emptied, it soared to the sky to make a place for the next one. Whole families strolled across the airfield, carrying their giant luggage as if they wanted to move to Helvetto for good. None of them even greeted the king. When the endless queue of Moryans was dividing into smaller groups like a river on its delta, the ultra-fast trains picked them up and speeded away.


    Just like a disease in the veins, thought Arnorsson, struggling to hide the pure spite in his eyes.


    The visions of the last extreme riot haunted him again. A misunderstanding made the factory workers and the militia fight each other, which ended up with a one-sided havoc. Arnorsson struggled to kill as few people as possible, but these six casualties and twenty wounded Celestians nearly shattered all he believed in. He wanted to protect his people instead of hurting them.


    Despite his noble ideas, Arnorsson knew he won’t escape violence. The recent riots were just a tip of the iceberg, and the more Moryans will settle in his world, the more violence he will need.


    All his hate and inner outrage directed towards one person. He glanced at Ivendir, pursing his lips and clenching his fists to contain his rage.


    The false king. The real traitor.


    To calm himself down, he bored his sight into the concrete beneath him.


    I can only hope that you’re alive, Vardir…