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Copenhagen.
Local time, nine at night, eleven minutes past.
Chelney, standing inside the café, looked at the crowd before him.
These were all students from the National University, holding candles, bidding farewell to their Professor Jason Cain.
The café owner was busy at his counter, cursing under his breath, though Chelney wasn't sure if it was because the young people outside were diluting his business or because recent violent incidents had left his son grievously injured.
In any case, the rushed Northern tongue was somewhat hard for Chelney to fully understand.
Looking at the owner, probably not yet forty, he surely wouldn't know about those days seventy years prior.
For the young people, this bit of blood was certainly enough; some among them would shrink in fear, terrified the blood would splatter on their faces.
But for Chelney, who had witnessed that era, it still seemed too little.
