Consul Cincinnatus of Antearis was waiting for Huik's call inside a decrepit ranger cabin at the foot of the mountains everyone called the Mountains of Madness.
Cincinnatus was known for his firm yet amiable character, his sharp intellect, and his remarkable skill as both military strategist and diplomat—qualities respected even by his enemies. Yet he was an unusual specimen among statesmen. His personal ambitions lay not in power, but in scholarship and science. He loved geology and exploration; he could vanish for years, roaming distant planets and moons in search of rare minerals, returning to court only when duty demanded it.
That night, however, he had been pulled from his research on a remote moon and summoned urgently to the fortress of Tibonia, the capital of the Principality of Carpathos.
The consul wore a rough red beard several months old, his unkempt hair spilling from beneath an explorer's helmet. One of his eyes was bionic—its flesh counterpart long lost to a spear in one of the wars against some fierce tribe whose name he no longer remembered.
He had called upon his old secretary for help—a golem to whom he had granted freedom years ago, and whom he now regarded as both confidant and friend.
Cincinnatus stood by the window, gazing down the dark valley. Below, the lights of a shuttle shimmered faintly where soldiers waited for him.
At last, his communicator blinked. It was Huik, confirming he had crossed through.
The consul grabbed his coat, stepped out of the cabin, and made his way down the slope. He boarded the shuttle, ordered the pilot to take off, and adjusted his device to locate Huik's signal.
The vortex flared with a bluish light. Moments later, Huik shot out of it and hit the ground with a thud.
For a moment he lay still, catching his breath. Then the golem pushed himself up and glanced around. He was in near darkness—inside a tunnel.
He turned toward the draft of air and followed it, certain that was the way out. Eventually, he emerged into the open.
There, looming above him, rose the crumbling walls of an ancient fortress. Below stretched a narrow ravine.
Huik pulled out his communicator and sent a transmission. "At the foot of an old castle," he said.
Cincinnatus' voice answered through static.
"The castle of Anoreva. We're on our way."
Huik ended the call and looked for shelter from the freezing mountain wind. He found a hollow between two broken walls, crouched inside, and pulled his coat tight around him.
The air howled through the rocks, lulling him in rhythm. His eyes closed, and sleep soon claimed him.
Dreams came—unwanted, heavy. Visions of his past: a transport ship packed with golems, the fields where he had labored as a slave, the day he was sold in a crowded market.
Then the dream twisted. He was back in the woods near Devil's Gate, moving through the brush. Between the trees, a shadow. Two glowing red eyes.
"Who are you? I can see you," Huik said.
"You don't know who I am," came a voice from the bushes.
"Come out," the golem demanded.
The figure stepped forward—a pale specter of a teenage boy, naked, throat torn, entrails spilling.
Huik jolted awake, gasping—only to find Cincinnatus kneeling beside him, smiling kindly.
"Easy, easy," said the consul, steadying him. "It's alright now."
"Forgive me," Huik said, still shaken. "I must've dozed off…"
"Welcome home, my old friend," said his former master.
Huik managed a smile and pushed himself upright.
"We were worried. When we arrived and didn't see you anywhere, I sent men to search the ruins. Considering these hills are part of the werewolf forests, they feared the worst… and honestly, so did I."
"Your Excellency," Huik began, bowing slightly. "Forgive me. I was so exhausted, I must have closed my eyes for a moment and—"
"None of that 'Excellency' nonsense," Cincinnatus interrupted with a grin. "You're a free man. Call me Cincinnatus. I'm grateful you came. I imagine Agarthi wasn't too happy about it."
"No, Excell— I mean, Cincinnatus. But she understood you needed me here."
"Good. They're expecting us," said the consul, striding down toward the valley.
"What's happened?" Huik asked, following.
"Honestly, I've been kept in the dark," said Cincinnatus, shrugging. "I suppose they'll explain when we arrive—but I have a bad feeling about it."
They descended toward the landing site where soldiers waited. Both climbed aboard the shuttle, and soon it rose into the night sky.
After nearly an hour's flight, faint beacons appeared ahead—tiny sparks that grew brighter until the massive silhouette of the Fortress of Tibonia emerged from the dark.
Cincinnatus never failed to be impressed. No matter how many years passed, its sheer scale always struck him.
The fortress guarded the gateway to the Aral Sea, source of the coveted red pitch, a mineral found nowhere else in the solar system. Built atop a roaring waterfall, it occupied the only pass through the jagged mountains that encircled the inland sea.
Its colossal cannons always faced the valley below, vigilant and unmoving. At its base sprawled the city of Tibonia, home to workers, merchants, engineers, and the factories and docks that shipped red gold across Midgard—and even to the world beyond the sun, Utgard.
The port was a maze of warehouses, vessels, and smelters that fed the empire's hunger for extraction.
Cincinnatus watched the twinkling lights of the sleeping city beneath the towering fortress—a guardian watching over its children. Yet the refineries below never slept. The golems worked without rest, dredging red pitch from the Aral mines to feed the demands of both worlds.
The shuttle began its descent toward one of the towers. Warning lights flickered from the walls.
"Shuttle A-4534, identify yourself," came a voice over the comm.
"Shuttle A-4534, carrying the Consul aboard," the pilot replied, sending the clearance code.
The tower cannons swiveled toward them—protocol—before tracking the craft as it touched down on Tower Four.
A platoon of guards marched forward and formed two lines along the metal causeway leading to the main structure. The hatch hissed open, releasing a wave of cold air.
At the end of the walkway stood a golem in dark blue satin livery, red breeches fastened at the calves. He was the personal secretary to the Grand Counselor of the principality.
Cincinnatus and Huik crossed the bridge beneath the severe gazes of black-uniformed guards—the emblem of the Palatinate gleaming on their sleeves, elven rifles gripped at the ready.
The secretary bowed deeply. "Welcome to Tibonia."
Cincinnatus smirked. "Alright, what's the gossip this time?"
The secretary straightened, ignoring the jab. "The Grand Counselor awaits you in his office," he said simply.
Cincinnatus exchanged a look with Huik.
"Let's see what all the fuss is about," he muttered.
Together, they followed the secretary down the corridor, the guards' footsteps echoing behind them.