Erilaz and Andvari sprinted across the streets, ignoring the fading thunders and ankle-deep puddles. They lost their way a few times and had to turn back, but the thought of returning to the shed didn’t even cross their minds. Raindrops shrunk with every passing minute, but their clothes were already heavy and soaking wet, while water streamed down their sticky hair.


    As only they crossed the airfield and reached the ship, its hatch opened. Hefri stood inside, panting and staring at them with disquiet. Blood soaked her flannel shirt and trousers, smeared red stains covering her face. The colour drained from her face, leaving her pale and exposing a raw unrest that she rarely showed to the world.


    “Hefri?” asked Erilaz, his eyes widened in disbelief and his fist pressed to his chest. “Are you ok?”


    She shook her head. “No. No, things gone very wrong…”


    “Are you hurt?” added Andvari.


    Hefri denied again, leaning from the ship and peeking outside. As she backed away, she lowered her voice to a nervous whisper. “Someone attacked us. They killed him. They killed the guy who was helping us!”


    Erilaz’s heart raced with fear and his stomach churned with anxiety at the very thought of Hefri being in danger. On top of that, the information about the botanist’s death clutched his chest. Unease and concern consumed his mind and muscles, while every worst-case scenario played out in his head like a never-ending nightmare.


    “No way,” he said, jumping into the ship, and Andvari followed him.


    The view he encountered froze him for a moment. Together with Andvari, he halted and looked around, struggling to imagine the course of events. Three bodies, two Celestians and a Nelphian, lied in the corridor near the cockpit. A puddle of red and blue blood spread from the back seats to the main entrance. Hefri’s steps marked the corridor, and thick, red spurts streamed down the walls.


    Andvari rested his trembling hand on his forehead. “What the fuck happened here!? It looks like a… a slaughterhouse!”


    Erilaz wanted to approach the botanist and check his pulse, but the hole in the Celestian’s neck clearly indicated that he had no chance to survive. Sadness and sorrow descended upon his mind like a dense morning mist. It clouded all his other thoughts for a moment, leaving him wondering about the botanist’s wife and two daughters.


    “I think… we have to clean this up,” he said.


    “Right.” Hefri sighed and drooped her head. “I needed to take a breath. They attacked me, and this guy saved me.”


    “Really?” Andvari glanced at her with sorrow and awe. “Then he is a Helvettian hero…”


    Hefri pursed her lips and nodded. “He deserves a better burial than we can offer him now.”


    “Wait,” said Erilaz. “We didn’t even ask him for his name.”


    As Hefri and Andvari realised this detail, they glanced at each other with shame.


    Even though Erilaz knew this man for just a few days, a profound sense of loss stung his heart. A random Helvettian sacrificed his own life to save a Vardir Commander, and most importantly, an Erilaz’s friend. He couldn''t imagine losing Hefri.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The botanist’s deed evoked so much respect and admiration in Erilaz that his eyes and nose smarted. Without the Celestian’s help, Hefri could have been the only victim here, lying on the floor in the puddle of her own blood. He struggled not to wonder what else the assailants could have done do her, but this possibility teased him with the cruel visions of all plausible violence.


    “Then… what are we going to write on his gravestone?” asked Andvari.


    Hefri sighed and propped her chin, her gaze blank and impassive. After a moment of reflection, she stuttered out, “something along these lines: a husband, father, botanist and… a hero.”


    “Sounds… right,” said Andvari and turned on his heel. “I have to start cleaning this up. I can’t watch this.”


    Hefri and Erilaz nodded and headed to the maintenance room, too.


    As Ivendir''s LiqWatch beeped, he had his heart in his throat. This very noise made him flinch, and he nearly knocked a lamp from his bedside table. Even though it was just early evening, he lied curled up in his bed, staring at the opposite wall for the last two hours.


    He already received three messages about strikes in the capital city today, where the Helvettians revolted against the Moryans. His heart ached whenever he witnessed how the Helvettians tried to defend their place to live, yet he couldn''t do anything to help them. Otherwise, the Moryans threatened him to carry out terrorist attacks on innocent civilians.


    Fear clutched Ivendir’s stomach, his eyes open wide. Panting like an embattled animal, he reached for his LiqWatch.


    “Yes, Commander Arnorsson?” he said, holding the LiqWatch in his trembling hand.


    “Your Highness,” sighed Bjarni Arnorsson. “It doesn’t look good. People are outraged, and the Moryans came up with another fuck… I mean, another insane plan.”


    Ivendir''s face paled. “What happened?”


    “They want to demolish King Brymir’s statue on the Hjarn continent.” Arnorsson sighed again, this time with wrath and disdain. “They say… it doesn’t match their vision of a place to live, or something like that.”


    Panting noiselessly and clenching his fists, Ivendir bored his sight into the picture in his room. An intricate wooden frame bordered a rectangular painting of Brymir and him from many years back, and an amethyst shard from Brymir’s helmet decorated its top.


    Once again, Ivendir felt his cousin staring at him from the painting. Freezing shiver ran down his spine as he sensed the imaginary Brymir’s wrath. Unease lingered in the background of his consciousness, anxiety seeping into every corner of his mind. His every shallow, rapid breath stung his chest, while drops of chilly sweat emerged on his forehead. He tried to shake off the feeling of being watched, but it bored into his brain and gripped his heart with a cold clutch.


    Sorry, Brymir. I wanted to open us up to the world, but the world is so hostile to us…


    “Your Highness, are you still on the line?” asked Arnorsson.


    Ivendir blinked and propped his forehead. “Yes. I was planning my further actions. I’ll take care of it tomorrow morning.”


    “Sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t think tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”


    The king shook his head, struggling to focus on his response. “I understand. I’ll do it tonight then.”


    “Sure, Your Highness. Copy that,” responded Arnorsson and hung up.


    Ivendir grunted affirmatively to himself, struggling to calm his breath down. He narrowed his eyebrows, pursing his lips. The amount of hate he felt towards the Moryans devoured his heart and mind. A burning ache filled his chest like a fierce flame scorching his insides. His every muscle felt strained with disdain. Every thought of the Moryans triggered a surge of anger, resentment, and bitterness that clouded his common sense.


    Even though they helped him become the king, he regretted getting into business with them. Such an irresponsible act brought suffering over him and his people, and he couldn''t help but loathe himself. So many of his naive visions of a bright future collapsed like a woodworm-infested tree. Opening up to the world only had let the pest in.


    The weight of guilt and responsibility for the pain he caused to Helvettians tore his self-respect apart bit by bit. A profound sorrow and shame for his actions or inactions led him deeper and deeper into the pit of helplessness. The realization that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t choose the right solution consumed his every thought. After all, there was no right solution. The choice he had was to resist and bring the Moryans’ wrath upon his kingdom, or bury his head in the sand and let his people suffer.


    Ivendir decided to choose the second option, at least until he figures out how to outfox his oppressors.