Bjorn, Arne, and Mikkel walked in silence, their faces marked with exhaustion, but there was something else in their expressions now. A quiet peace. The darkness they had faced, the suffocating fear of being trapped within Altera, was finally behind them. What lay ahead was still uncertain, but in this moment, they felt a triumph unlike anything they had known in years. The ghosts of the past, the horrors of the ruins—they had left them behind in the ancient belly of the ship.
They had survived.
Three days had passed since they had last seen the sun. Three days of suffocating darkness, of ancient corridors filled with death and secrets. And now, as they neared the exit, the faint glow of sunlight crept in through the cracks in the hull. It was a prize, a trophy waiting for them—the first light they had seen in so long, and it felt like a reward for their perseverance.
When the sunlight finally hit their faces, it was like stepping into a dream. Warmth spread across their skin, and for a brief, blissful moment, they forgot about the cold, about the hunger, about everything that had weighed them down. They stood there, basking in the light, breathing in the crisp mountain air, savoring their first taste of freedom in days.
Mikkel closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth settle into his bones, before turning to Arne and Bjorn. He didn't need to say anything. The relief was written in the soft lines of his face, the tension that had once marked his every movement now gone.
Arne spoke first, lighter than it had been in days. "Mikkel, you should tell the others we've returned," glancing at Bjorn, who remained lost in thought. "Tell them to meet us by the fireplace."
Mikkel nodded silently, a faint smile on his lips, and without another word, he disappeared behind the corner of Altera, his steps quickening as he left to deliver the news.
As Mikkel's figure faded from sight, Arne turned to Bjorn, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So," Arne said "have you found a way?"
Bjorn's eyes were distant, still processing everything they had seen. "I hope I have," he said, his voice steady, though uncertainty lingered beneath the surface.
Arne chuckled softly, the sound of it breaking through the stillness like the first sign of spring after a long, harsh winter. "We'll see," he said, before collapsing to the ground with a deep, tired exhale. He lay on the soft and cold snow, staring up at the sky, his arms spread wide as if embracing the world that had once felt so far away. "This is where our journey begins," he added, his voice quiet but filled with hope.
Bjorn smiled faintly and sat beside him, leaning back against the wreckage of Altera. The peace they felt in this moment was fragile, fleeting, but they savored it nonetheless. For a few minutes, they allowed themselves to rest, to simply exist in the calm before the next storm. The sunlight warmed their faces, and for the first time in years, the future didn't feel so bleak.
Time passed, though neither of them was sure how long. They didn't speak, and they didn't need to. The silence between them was comfortable, a quiet understanding shared between men who had faced death and walked away from it.
"Bjorn! Arne!" Mikkel called from the distance, his voice filled with excitement. "Everyone's waiting for you inside."
The two men exchanged a glance, the calm of the moment slipping away as reality returned. With a groan, Arne pulled himself to his feet, his body aching from the long journey. He gave Bjorn a mockingly annoyed look. "Time to face the music," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Bjorn grinned as they made their way toward the fireplace. "You know Elin's going to give you an earful."
Arne rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face. "Yeah, I know. And I'll have to listen to it for hours, I'm sure. But... I guess I deserve it."
As they approached the fireplace, they could hear the soft hum of conversation, the sounds of life that had once felt so distant. When they turned the corner, they were greeted by the sight of their village—familiar faces, children playing, people working to keep the fires alive. And in the center of it all, the crackling firepit, surrounded by the people they had fought so hard to protect.
The moment the families saw Bjorn and Arne, a wave of relief and joy spread through the crowd. Their wives, Elin and Anna, rushed forward, their faces flushed with anger and worry. They had been waiting for them for three days, with no word, no sign of where they had gone. It was a mixture of happiness and frustration—happiness that they were alive, but anger that they had disappeared without saying anything.
Anna crossed her arms, a fierce scowl on her face. "Where in the world have you been?!" she demanded, her eyes flashing with a mix of fear and anger.
Elin wasn't far behind, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "You think you can just vanish without telling anyone, that is selfish of you two."
Arne raised his hands defensively, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "We're back, aren't we? Isn't that what matters?" He glanced at Bjorn, who gave him a knowing smirk.
Anna's glare softened, but only slightly. "You know how dangerous it is out there."
Arne sighed dramatically, his face a picture of mock annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll have plenty of time to yell at us later."
Elin gave Arne a light swat on the arm, but her eyes softened, relief breaking through her frustration. "You'd better believe it."
Despite the scolding, the mood around the fire was light, and the warmth of their return was felt by everyone. People came up to greet them, hugging them, and patting them on the back.
As the warm greetings faded, and the joyful murmurs around the fireplace quieted, Bjorn stepped forward. He cleared his throat, his expression suddenly more serious, the weight of what he had to say pressing down on him like a stone. The flickering firelight danced across his face, but there was a shadow in his eyes—something he couldn't shake, something that had followed him out of Altera's dark halls.
"Everyone, please sit down," Bjorn said, his voice steady but strained.
The villagers gathered around, taking their places by the fire. Their faces, once filled with relief and happiness, slowly grew more somber as they sensed the shift in the air. Children huddled close to their parents, and the crackling of the fire was the only sound that filled the tense silence.
Bjorn took a deep breath and began. "I need to tell you about what we found down there. About why we went into Altera in the first place."
He paused, his eyes scanning the familiar faces of the people he had known for so long—his family, his friends, the ones who depended on him for answers. And yet, in that moment, he realized that the truth—the full, ugly truth—was something he couldn't share. Not now. Not yet.
"We went to explore the deeper parts of Altera, parts that no one had seen before," he continued, carefully choosing his words. "Lars… Lars led the way."
His voice faltered slightly as he mentioned Lars's name. The memory of the old man, his lifeless body, and the horrors they had uncovered in that cursed room weighed heavily on him. But he kept going, altering the story just enough to protect them from the darkest parts.
"We found ruins," Bjorn said, his voice growing steadier. "Remnants of an old civilization. It was like nothing we had ever seen before. The world outside is vast, much larger than we imagined."
The villagers listened intently, their faces filled with wonder and curiosity. But then, as if sensing the missing piece in Bjorn's story, Helene, Arvids wife, interrupted.
"Bjorn," she said, her voice soft but firm, "where is Lars?" Helene was Larses aprentece, she was voried for her techer.
The question hung in the air, heavy and unavoidable. Everyone knew the answer, but hearing it out loud made it real. Bjorn swallowed hard, feeling the pressure building inside him. His heart pounded, and for a moment, he considered lying—telling them that Lars was still down there, working on something. But the truth was a weight he could no longer bear.
"I'm sorry, everyone," Bjorn said, his voice cracking slightly. "Lars is... he's gone."
Silence fell over the village like a thick blanket. The crackling of the fire seemed distant now, drowned out by the wave of grief that swept over them. Lars was more than just an elder—he was their guide, their protector. He had raised many of them, watched over them like a father. His death was a loss too great to put into words.
arvid, the village's secod oldest member, lowered his head, his weathered face softening as a single tear slipped down his cheek. The children, who had grown up hearing Lars's stories and wisdom, began to sob quietly, clutching their parents as the reality of his death set in.
It was chaos. The grief rippled through the crowd, breaking down the wall of strength they had tried so hard to build. Lars had been their rock, and now that rock had crumbled. The village felt lost, adrift in a sea of sorrow.
But then, before the chaos could grow any louder, Mikkel stomped his foot hard against the ground. The sharp sound echoed through the air, jolting everyone out of their grief. All eyes turned to him, stunned by the sudden, authoritative gesture.
Mikkel stood tall, his face a mix of sadness and strength. His voice, when he spoke, was filled with a powerful resolve. "He died wishing you would carry on," Mikkel said, his tone commanding, his words cutting through the sadness like a knife. "He gave his life for the people he loved, just as I believe every single one of you would if it came to that."
The villagers stared at him, their tears still fresh on their cheeks, but their attention now fully locked on Mikkel.
"Stand proud," Mikkel continued, his voice growing louder, filled with fire and passion. "You had the privilege of knowing such a great man, and I had the privilege of calling that man not just a friend but a brother. Live in honor of that. Carry his legacy forward, as he would have wanted. He was not the first nor will he be the last to go into the abyss that is called death. Those were his final wishes. Understood?!"
The intensity of Mikkel's words struck deep, shaking them to their core. For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. Then, all at once, as if driven by a collective force, the villagers straightened their backs, wiped their tears, and shouted in unison:
"Understood!"
The sound was powerful, reverberating through the village, filling the air with a renewed sense of purpose. Mikkel's words had shaken them out of their sorrow, redirecting their grief into something more—something that Lars would have wanted.
Mikkel gave a sharp nod, satisfied with the response. "That's what I like to hear," he said, his tone softening just slightly. "We are all human. We all have emotions, and those emotions are important. But putting those emotions above what really matters... that's the last thing we need right now. Right now the most important is to survive, and keep surviving, until survival isn't a question anymore."
His gaze swept over the group, his eyes lingering on each of their faces. "So please, listen to what Bjorn has to say. His words are just as important as Lars's legacy."
The crowd, still shaken but now more composed, turned their attention back to Bjorn. The grief was still there, but it was tempered now by the strength Mikkel had reminded them of. Lars was gone, but his legacy lived on in every one of them. They couldn't afford to fall apart now—not when they were so close to a new beginning.
Bjorn took a deep breath, feeling grateful for the moment. Mikkel's intervention. The burden of leadership had never felt heavier, but with the village united once more, he knew they could face what was to come. His heart still ached for Lars, and the weight of the secrets he carried threatened to crush him. But for now, at least, the village stood strong. And that, in itself, was a victory.
"Lars got stuck," Bjorn began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "He was caught in some cables. The tunnels were tight, too tight for a man of his age. We fought to free him. We tried everything." He paused, the memory of that dark moment flashing before his eyes. "But the ship... it swallowed him whole. It was like the walls themselves were closing in on him."
The villagers listened, their faces growing more sorrowful with each word.
Bjorn took a breath and continued, "We struggled to pull him free, but the lack of oxygen... it got to his lungs. He was already weak, and down there, in the dark... he couldn't breathe. The old man suffocated."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Helene clenched her fists, her eyes brimming with tears. "Alone, in the darkness," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Slowly, painfully. That's not what he deserved."
"I agree with you, Helene," Bjorn said softly, meeting her gaze. "But there's nothing we can do now. He's gone. The best we can do is honor his memory by continuing forward. So please, listen to what I have to say."
Beside him, Arne stood silent, his eyes downcast, his entire being radiating a quiet, internal torment. He was eating himself alive inside—because it wasn't the ship or the cables that had truly killed Lars. It was him. He had been the one to attack Lars, the one who had taken the first, brutal step toward the old man's death. And now, he was forced to watch as Bjorn twisted the story to protect him.
Bjorn pressed on, carefully crafting the narrative. "After Lars... we didn't know what to do. We were lost. The engine room was empty. We thought we would have to return to you all empty-handed—no answers, no food, and with the loss of Lars weighing on us."
He hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly toward Arne, who remained still, his face a mask of quiet agony.
"But then, as we were about to turn back, we met Mikkel. He pushed us forward, urged us to keep going. And so we did. That's when we found the Bridge room and the navigation system."
As Bjorn continued, more questions began to stir in the minds of the villagers. Why had they gone down into the ship in the first place? Was there any food to be found? What were the strange symbols they had mentioned? Could anyone retrieve Lars's body? The confusion was clear on their faces, and soon the questions began to tumble out, one after the other.
"What about food? Hadn't you caught that creature a few days ago? We don't need more than that," someone asked, their voice tinged with worry. "Did you find anything?"
"Those ruins you mentioned—what were they like?"
"Can we go back for Lars? Retrieve his body?"
Mikkel stepped forward, his usual calm demeanor intact, though Bjorn could see the strain in his eyes. Mikkel, Arne, and Bjorn did their best to answer each question, though some answers were vague and others unsatisfactory. They spoke of how Altera was filled with strange symbols and remnants of a forgotten civilization. Of how the ship was dangerous, and how they had barely made it out alive. The promise of something larger—a way to survive, to escape—was real, but distant.
But it was Anna, Bjorn's wife, who finally broke the cycle of questioning with a sharp, pointed inquiry. Her tone was calm, but her eyes were fierce, cutting through the uncertainty with a directness that caught everyone off guard.
"What's in this for us?" Anna asked, her voice clear and unwavering. "What benefit do we have from all of this?"
Her question cut through the conversation like a blade. Anna was no fool—her mind was sharp, far sharper than Bjorn's. She had always been one to ask the right questions, to think several steps ahead. While Bjorn was strong, a natural leader among the hunters, Anna was the one who saw the broader picture. She was creative, intelligent, and had a thirst for knowledge that had often been suppressed by the village's elders and hunters. Though she was a woman, her skills with mechanical tools were unmatched, and by the age of fifteen, she could take apart and reassemble most of the machines in their makeshift village. Her question, cutting through the noise, was no surprise to anyone who knew her.
Mikkel shifted slightly, sensing the weight of her words. "Anna..."
"What benefit?" Anna repeated, her gaze never wavering from Mikkel. "You've told us about all this stuff you found, what's in it for us? For our survival?"
Bjorn looked at her, pride mixed with frustration. She was right to ask the question. It was a question he hadn't fully answered in his own mind. He knew what he had seen, what they had found—but what could it mean for their people? What could it change for the families who were barely surviving in this broken world?
Mikkel took a deep breath and met Anna's gaze. "We found a map," he said quietly. "A map that shows the location of something greater than we've ever known. There's a place—Bristol Capital—a city where humans still live, in harmony. It's not just about survival, Anna. It's about finding a new future."
The fire crackled softly in the silence that followed. Anna's expression softened slightly, but the sharpness in her eyes remained. She was not easily swayed, not without proof. Bjorn knew this about her—she wanted answers, real answers, and she would push until she had them.
"And if you're wrong?" she asked, her voice low but firm. "What if there is no Bristol? What if we go out there and find nothing?"