Attestation: Part One

[wd_archive]

Title: Attestation: Part One
Recipient: Daegaer
Author: wispykitty
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Crawford has foreseen the end of the world, and it is Ragnarok. (Schwarz & the Norse Gods!)
Warnings: Being that is about the end of the world, there is some death (though not as finite).

Feb 17th -

The sun is in the sky, fields of green grass stretch out before him. He looks up, smiling as he watches his herd of sheep graze. The air is warm, a light breeze tickles his cheek and sends his hair curling about his face. He glances down again and his fingers begin to pluck the cords of his harp, sending a cheery tune across the field. His heart feels full and light, he hasn't a care in the world.

But then his tune is interrupted. He feels as though his heart has stopped, and he stares, transfixed with horror, towards the woods that lay metres from him. It cannot be. There must be some mistake, it must be some other creature, and not the one foretold. He drops his harp, stumbles towards the edge of the forest, listens and searches to see with his own eyes.

And all the while that he searches the trees the rooster continues to crow.

He awoke with a start, sat up in bed and gasped for air, heart hammering in his chest. His fingers gripped the sheets as he struggled to calm himself down. Usually he did not feel emotion when waking from a vision. Perhaps then this had simply been a dream?

Still he made himself get up and cross the room, entering his office. He sat down, took up his pen, opened his notebook and began to write.

Feb 17th, 02:31 - Appeared to be much larger than a human, almost giant sized in comparison to the herd of sheep I was minding. I played a harp, sat on a mound of grass near woods. Became bothered at the sound of a rooster crowing. I felt as though - he stopped, thinking. How had he felt? Nervous didn't really cover it, not from what he remembered. Distressed? Bothered? Upset? There was only one way to describe how he'd woke up feeling. He resumed writing - it was the beginning of the end of the world.

Feb 18th -

All he can hear is the loud howling of what must be a wolf. He presses his hands to his ears, he falls to his knees, he hears the snap of bindings breaking. He sees before him a monstrous beast, bathed in blood and looking through two sets of eyes! It continues to howl and he cannot get the sound out of his head, and he cannot stand, because his heart is too heavy with fear and worry and nervous tension because though he does not know why he feels suddenly certain that -

He sat up suddenly in bed, gasped for air, heart hammering in his chest. His fingers gripped the sheets as he struggled to control his breathing, to slow down his heart rate. He does not feel emotions from his visions. Had he dreamed again?

He forced himself up and towards his office, sat down again in his chair and took up his pen. He began to write.

Feb 18th, 02:31 - I watched a large wolf-like beast break free from bindings and howl loudly. He was tethered in front of a cave. I felt as though it was the end of the world. He put down the pen, reading over his entry and then going back to yesterday and reading the similar one, noting the time. Neither entry made sense, and he did not feel as though either dream (or vision) had been of something he himself would experience.

He would keep this to himself for the time being.

Feb 19th -

He lays on his back, eyes on the sky, watching, in horror, as the figure of a wolf grows larger and larger, huge as it approaches the sun. He is plunged into darkness as the sun disappears, having been swallowed by the wolf. He manages to tear his gaze to the side, watching as the moon shines for only moments before being swallowed by a second wolf. Stars disappear, and nothing but darkness surrounds him. His heart beats so rapidly he fears it may explode. His stomach is so full of dread he worries it may burst open. He is alone.

He sat up suddenly in bed, gasped for air, heart hammering in his chest. As his fingers gripped his sheets he forced his head to turn towards his bedside table, his vision swimming before him. It took him a moment before he could force his eyes to make out the glowing red numbers.

02:31

He did not know what to do.

So he got out of bed and headed to his office once more. He would figure this out.

Feb 20th -

He watches, transfixed with horror, as the serpent emerges from the darkness, mouth open and fangs extended, hissing and spitting as it nears him. He thrusts his sword toward the beast, but it does no good. He is swallowed whole. The serpent slithers on.

He forced himself to remain on his back, refused to give in to such base emotions as fear. There was no serpent. He was not swallowed whole. The world is not ending.

Once his heart rate slowed he sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He looked at the clock.

02:31

He stood up and walked to his office. Once inside he sat down at his desk and picked up his pen. As he was about to write the front door to his office opened. Schuldig.

“I expected you to be asleep,” the German remained by the door, looking as guilty as his adopted name.

“I had a vision,” the American answered.

“Of course,” Schuldig crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the door frame. “Anything exciting?”

Crawford looked down at the paper and pondered if he ought to share what he'd seen with his partner. “Schuldig, why are you awake?”

The telepath shrugged. “Can't sleep.”

“Why?” Crawford was used to the German's occasional bouts of insomnia, but knew there were specific reasons behind them. He wanted to know which reason was the culprit this time around.

“Too noisy,” Schuldig ventured into the office fully, opting to sit in one of the arm chairs Crawford had arranged in front of his desk.

Crawford frowned. “What sort of noise?”

“What kind do you think?” It was the telepath's turn to frown, “don't lecture me, Crawford. I maintain my shields as best as I can, some days the world is simply unkind to those with my affliction,” the frown rose into a grin. “It's not that bad yet, I just can't sleep.”

“I can't have you awake all night, Schuldig. I need you alert and focused during the day.” His eyes flickering from the German to the paper in front of him; Crawford finally began jotting down the details of his vision-dream.

Schuldig was silent as Crawford continued to write, his eyes focused on the American. He could always worm his way into his mind, see if there was anything the precognitive was hiding from him. But he respected his partner too much for the time being. He would simply wait for an explanation.

Crawford did not write for long, and once finished he laid his pen down and looked back at Schuldig. “We will be on detail tomorrow night, so it is vital that you sleep tonight.”

Schuldig grinned again and stood up. A direct order to sleep meant only one thing. “Your bed or mine?”

Crawford did not answer. He did not have to.

Feb 21st -

Crawford sat at his desk in his office, eyes on the clock. Schuldig and Farfarello had not yet returned from their duty with Takatori. He could hear the typing of Nagi's computer through his open office door. His eyes strayed to the clock again.

02:30

If he'd been having a vision instead of just a dream, would one hit him now, while awake? And if not, did it then prove that what he'd been seeing were nothing but dreams? Figments of his over-active mind? Schuldig and Farfarello would not return for another half hour. Nagi would be kept busy until they returned.

He sat and waited, unable to concentrate on any of his other work. He watched the seconds tick by, the minute hand moving in slow motion, creeping ever closer to the 31st minute of the hour. And then it hit, and he felt nothing. There was no vision.

Feeling triumphant he picked up his pen and began to write, safe in the knowledge that his nonsensical dreams were simply that. Dreams. He finished his paragraph and sat back in his chair, listening to the clack of keys. He pushed his chair back and stood up, leaving his office in favour of the kitchen. He saw Nagi at the table but did not speak to him. The boy was busily working and Crawford would not chance interrupting him for an update. Nagi knew to report to him the moment he was able to spare his thoughts.

The American fixed himself a cup of coffee (decaf, at this hour) and returned to his office, glancing at the clock and taking in the time. Another fifteen minutes until the rest of his team returned. He sat his cup down on his desk and picked up his pen, glancing back down at his report. Just as he was about to resume writing his eyes strayed over the last paragraph he'd written. He read it in shock.

Feb 21st, 02:31 - I was a passenger on a ship made of the toenails of the dead. We sailed as an army, our future one of destruction and chaos. They know we are coming, and they know that our coming heralds the end of times. We are all going to die, some of us again. But we continue on. There is no other way.

He removed his glasses and dropped his head into his hands. How was this possible? How did he write a paragraph of a vision he did not even have? This had never happened to him before, and he had never heard of it happening to another precognitive. What did it mean?

“We're back,” Schuldig announced from just beyond the door, barely giving Crawford time to sit up straight. “It was a success, of course, want to hear details?” Schuldig walked into the room at precisely the time that the American realized he'd forgotten to put his glasses back on. Schuldig would notice.

“Only if you believe them to be important,” Crawford answered.

The German sat down opposite him and glanced at his face. “Weiss was there, as you foresaw. There was no trouble, though. They were simply gathering intel. Farfarello did make a kill, not entirely necessary but he was becoming extremely restless, so I thought it was within all of our best interests if I allowed him the bloodshed. A suitable cover is in place, and I will ensure nothing comes of it.”

Crawford nodded. “That is good.” Silence passed between the two. He knew Schuldig would ask, and he very well could not afford to ignore the question.

“Which leads us to you,” Schuldig finally spoke, breaching the subject Crawford was waiting for. “What happened while I was out? I can see the stress on your face, not to mention I could actually hear it when I got back. You can imagine my nerves on the elevator ride up to the apartment, I thought someone had died.” He grinned and sat back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Crawford was unsure how much to tell him. Perhaps it would be useful to have someone else knowledgeable of all the facts? He trusted Schuldig not to overreact. Perhaps he'd heard of something before while at school. “Close the door.”

Schuldig fixed him with an intrigued gaze, knowing at least that something serious was indeed happening. He did as requested, standing up and walking to the door, closing it over to shut out the sounds of Nagi and Farfarello in the kitchen. He returned to his chair and sat down.

Crawford began. “For the past three nights I have been having odd visions, ones in which I played a starring role, but not as myself. I was seeing through the eyes of others.”

“Instead of being a witness from above?” Schuldig sat forward, intrigued. Crawford did not often share his visions, but there had been enough times for the German to understand how they happened.

“Yes. I also awoke from them feeling fearful and anxious, and dreading the end of the world.”

Schuldig whistled and sat back in his chair. “Strange indeed. You don't typically feel anything after your visions, aside from the occasional migraine, right?”

“Correct. It's been so irregular that at first I was unsure if I had simply been dreaming.”

“But you don't dream ever, do you?”

Crawford shook his head. “I've never recalled a dream before, if I'd ever had one.”

“But you're sure they're visions?”

“Yes. I had one tonight, or at least I was supposed to.”

Schuldig fixed him with a look of curiosity. “What do you mean, you were supposed to? Did you or didn't you?”

Crawford picked up his notebook, handing it over the desk to the German. “Look at the entries hi-lighted in green.” He waited, remaining silent as Schuldig read them. After the last one he handed the notebook back. Crawford took it and returned it to its place on his desk. “The one from tonight, I wrote earlier. I have no memory of the vision, nor did I knowingly write it. I thought I'd been writing a paragraph of tonight's report, but upon re-reading it, found another vision instead.”

Schuldig sat in silence, his thoughts racing. What did this mean? “So, you wrote about a vision without having ever seen the vision, and you weren't aware of what you were writing as you wrote it?” Crawford nodded once, and Schuldig pondered the thought further. “I don't like it.”

“Have you heard of this happening before?” He waited in silence as Schuldig thought. It was not often that the telepath ever expressed concern. It was slightly discomforting to the American.

“Yes. There was a time at school when I happened upon one of the scientists from the labs. They'd been conducting experiments on your type, testing to see which variables would force visions out. They tried a variety of different things, from drugs to food to restricting movement, restricting speech, anything you can think of. They had some success, but there was one instance that baffled them. One of the students began having visions without realizing them. He would simply sit at his desk and write. He never remembered what he'd written. Even when Schultz, the head telepath as I'm sure you remember, searched through this one guy's head, he never saw any of the visions in there. It was almost as though something was simply using the guy to communicate through.” Schuldig paused and regarded Crawford with an intensely scrutinizing gaze.

Crawford frowned. “I don't recall ever hearing about that. What sort of thing was he having visions of?”

“The Elders. He was the one who foresaw the summoning of the demon.”

Crawford frowned. How had he never heard of this? Perhaps it had happened after he'd graduated? He had left the school a year before the German, after all. “When did this happen? Was I still at Rosenkreuz?”

Schuldig nodded. “You were. It was kept very quiet, though. When Schultz found out that I knew, he had the scientist killed. That's how I got that scar on my back, actually. I was too important to have killed, so instead he attempted to enforce his control over me.” Schuldig grinned, as it clearly had not worked.

Crawford nodded, still bothered. “So what came of him? Did they manage to figure out how he was receiving the visions?”

Schuldig shrugged. “No idea, as you'd imagine I wasn't quite able to get any further information with Schultz breathing down my neck. As for the precog? He resumed his training as usual and went on to graduate. I don't think they ever told him what had happened, though.”

“Really? And what makes you say that?”

Schuldig regarded him with a funny expression, one that annoyed the American because it meant that the German knew something that he didn't. In this case, it was something important. “Ask yourself.” He stood up and made for the door. “I'm tired, so tomorrow we'll start researching these visions of yours. Tonight I suggest you get some rest.” He paused at the door, looking back at Crawford and smirking.

“What do you mean, ask myself?” He had a feeling for what Schuldig meant, but had a hard time believing it.

Schuldig retained the smirk as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door. “It was you, having those visions. Don't you remember?” With that he winked at his partner before leaving the office.

Crawford sat in his chair, not bothering to drink his coffee. He would not sleep tonight.

Morning found Crawford still sitting at his desk, glasses on the table top, hands folded under his chin. He'd been embroiled in thoughts all night, contemplating what Schuldig had told him. If it were all true, then there was a portion of his education at Rosenkreuz that had been wiped from his mind, forgotten to him. This bothered him immensely, and the fact that Schuldig had kept it from him bothered him even more. He also contemplated the explanations for these unknown visions. He balked at Schuldig's explanation that it was a being of some sort choosing to use him as nothing more than a mere mouthpiece. Impossible. But what then was the explanation? It eluded him, and that concerned him. He was a man of explanations, of science and fact. He did not leave things to the unknown. He did not leave things to chance.

A knock on his door brought him back to the present and he looked up. Nagi, with breakfast. “Schuldig told me to fix you breakfast when I woke. He said you'd probably have been up all night. I see he was correct.” The plate of food floated over to the desk, as Nagi remained by the door.

Crawford was unsure whether he ought to be grateful or annoyed with the German. He glanced over the spread, nodding in appreciation. “Thank you, Nagi.” The youth remained by the door for a moment, as though there was something he wanted to say. Crawford glanced up at him, an inquisitive expression on his face. “Was there something else?”

Nagi regarded him quietly before speaking. “He told me you might require my aid in research this morning as well.”

Crawford frowned. He would have to speak to the German and remind him that though he was afforded the liberties of equality, he was not to express them quite so openly to the rest of the team. Still, that was a conversation to be held with Schuldig, and not one to contemplate in front of the Japanese youth. “I do. Come here.” He motioned for Nagi to approach his desk, and retrieved his notebook to lay in front of the boy. “I've been having strange visions lately, and the meaning behind them is unclear. I would like you to run a search and see if you can come up with anything.” He pointed out the entries Nagi was to consider, and was surprised when the telekinetic immediately answered.

“Did you never study mythology in school, in America?”

Crawford shook his head. “Clearly not, if these make some sort of sense to you.”

“The crowing of a rooster, the release of the wolf hound, the sun and moon being eaten from the sky, these are all signs of the coming of Ragnarok. Norse mythology,” he added, when Crawford did not appear to recognize the name. “Doom of the Gods.”

Finally comprehension dawned somewhat on the American's face. “Is it the end of the world, this Ragnarok?”

Nagi nodded. “Yes. The world will be destroyed, and many of the Gods killed. Would you like me to prepare some literature for you on it?”

He nodded. “Yes, Nagi. Have it ready for this evening.”

The Japanese youth nodded and departed from the office, closing the door behind him. Crawford sat in silence then, contemplating this new development as he ate his breakfast. He felt much more calm now that he could make sense of the visions themselves, knowing that they were not simply nonsense. He still did not understand why he was having them, but he could work that out later. For now he would simply finish his meal and then find some rest.

Feb 22nd -

02:31 in the morning found Crawford seated at his desk, pen in his hand and writing. He'd had another vision, but this one had been of the usual sort. He'd seen the four of them disembarking a plane in some Scandinavian country, though he was unsure of which country it had been. They'd left from the airport only to take a car further north, and soon left the car behind for dog sleds. His surroundings hadn't been much help, for all he'd seen was darkness, all he'd heard was the crunch of snow. He thought he'd smelled pine, but he wasn't convinced with any level of certainty.

He did remember looking up at the sky at one point, though, a bright and vivid display of colours drawing his attention. He assumed now that it had been the Aurora Borealis, but he would have to research that in order to be sure. He wasn't sure why they had been in the north, but he had felt as though they were going somewhere, and that it had to do with his other visions, this Ragnarok that Nagi had informed him of the day before.

Perhaps these Norse Gods were real? He'd never been one to believe in religion before, but as Schuldig had so correctly pointed out to him as they reviewed the information Nagi had given him, 'If Eszett can raise a demon, why then can we not contact ancient Gods?' They'd all laughed at the comment, but the more he thought about it, the more he began to contemplate its possibility.

He finished his documentation and laid his pen back down. He would research as much as possible into what he'd seen later today, and hopefully this time tomorrow would find him sitting here, documenting the remaining information.

Feb 28th -

Six days later and Crawford was making the final touches on their travel plans. As expected, each night had given him more details, more information. They were to go to Sweden and travel north into the region of Lapland, and there they would find a waterfall in the middle of nowhere. There would be a light rain, and then a rainbow would appear, starting (or ending, he wasn't quite sure) in the pool of water. They would jump into the waterfall and be transported to the realm of the Gods.

Currently he was the only one who bore no doubts towards this plan. The others would accompany him (because they had no choice in the matter) but he knew they would refuse to follow him into the water. He had a plan, though. He always had a plan.

Mar 2nd -

“So tell me, all knowing Oracle, in these visions of yours, did you happen to see anything about food?” Schuldig sat on the ground, huddled in his down parka, arms clasped around his knees.

“Perhaps we are meant to eat the reindeer?” Farfarello offered, eye on their animals.

“We are not to eat the reindeer,” Crawford said, his eyes surveying the scene in front of him. They'd found the waterfall (or at least he thought it looked like the one from his vision) and had been sitting before it for three hours. He was surprised it had taken the German this long to begin complaining.

I'm trying to remain supportive before the team, Schuldig shot Crawford an amused look, clearly still in high enough spirits despite his complaints. You're clearly out of your mind, but we can't afford to have the others think that you're cracking.

Crawford shot the telepath a glare, choosing to not respond to the comment. Whatever kept Schuldig happy. He looked up at the sky, not seeing a single cloud around anywhere. He frowned, wondering if he should have consulted a weather forecast before coming. He'd been certain though that the rain would come as soon as they'd arrived. Perhaps he'd have to start thinking about food soon.

We could send Farfarello out to hunt bear, Schuldig offered, even his telepathic voice laced with laughter.

That could be an option, but you do realize that you would have to go with him, Crawford answered, glancing back at Schuldig, wearing a smirk. The German frowned and appeared to give up on that idea.

I suppose it was never an option anyway, since we don't even have any means of making fire, Schuldig added. You really weren't very prepared for this, admit it.

Crawford frowned again, glancing back at the sky. I was just so certain everything would be happening sooner.

I thought you were a man of certainty? You're not supposed to leave things to chance.

Crawford did not answer.

Mar 3rd -

“I could try to make fire with sticks,” Nagi offered, for the third time.

“Aren't you supposed to use string with that method? We don't have any,” Schuldig finally answered, lying on his back and gazing up at the sky.

“I'm sure I could get them going fast enough that string won't be necessary.” Nagi sat cross-legged beside the telepath.

“I guess it's worth a try,” Schuldig flung his arm over his eyes, tired of seeing nothing but white and light blue.

“It's a shame you stopped smoking,” Nagi said as he sat still, staring at a tree a few metres away.

Schuldig grinned and rolled over on to his stomach. “Unfortunate Crawford got that vision of me in the hospital with lung cancer.”

Nagi glanced at his teammate in shock, though he did not deter his concentration from floating two sticks over. “You were going to get lung cancer? Are you sure you still won't get it?”

“Is that concern in your voice, Nagi?” Schuldig grinned into his arm.

“No.” The sticks fell before him and he picked them up, surveying them, though he had no idea if they were the type of sticks one used to wield fire.

“Honesty before compassion, I've taught you well.” Schuldig lifted his head off his arm, watching as the Japanese boy tried in vain to get a fire going.

Mar 4th -

“Crawford, have you foreseen anything happening to me after eating these berries?” Schuldig held up a small bunch of red berries for the American to see. All he received in reply was a glare. Throwing them over his shoulder he moved closer to his partner and spoke to him in hushed tones. “Are you sure we have the right place?”

Crawford stared around for a moment, glancing over to watch as Farfarello and Nagi attempted to keep the meager fire Nagi had been able to produce going. They were not close enough to hear the conversation. “I'm not sure anymore.” He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. Things were not going as planned. There had been no rainfall, and no sign of the celestial light show either.

“Have you been having any visions?” Schuldig questioned, his concern mounting. He'd been wary of this plan before it had even begun to form, but he'd said nothing of substance to dispute Crawford's decision. Perhaps that had been poor judgment on his part.

“No.” His visions had stopped occurring the moment he'd stepped foot here, and that was the only reason he had not yet contemplated moving. He was still convinced this was the spot.

Schuldig frowned and fixed him with a piercing gaze, uncomfortable with the situation. “I'll be honest with you, your actions are worrying me. You used to be the sort of person who would flee any scene that caused your powers to disappear. Now that's the excuse you're using to stay. Are you sure there isn't some sort of greater power at work here, maybe Eszett? Maybe they want to get rid of us?”

Crawford shook his head. “I've told you, I'm sure of this. It will happen, the gateway will open. If you don't trust my judgment, feel free to leave.”

There was silence for a few moments, as the gauntlet lay thrown in the snow between them. Schuldig did not choose to pick it up. “Even if I did want to leave, which I don't, you know I wouldn't.”

“But you could,” Crawford met his gaze finally, his face a stoic mask to hide the doubt in his heart. He was actually surprised that everyone was still here.

“Of course I could. I'd choose to stay, though, even if it meant death.” Schuldig broke the stare, glancing at the other two.

Crawford laughed, shaking his head. “How sweet your devotion is.”

Schuldig grinned and looked back at him. “Don't flatter yourself, I don't know how to hook the reindeer up to the sled, and I'm too proud to ask.” The American met his returned gaze and the two suddenly broke into peals of laughter, which caused their other teammates to stop fanning the flames of the fire and watch them.

Crawford removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, still smiling. Just as he was about to speak he felt a drop of water on his cheek. He looked up, and noticed that the sky was suddenly darker. His hand shot out, gripping the German's arm. “Schuldig.”

“Rain,” the telepath answered, his eyes also on the sky. They were silent for a moment, watching the drops continue to fall, as though fearing that the whole thing was just some hallucination. The rain continued to fall, and soon the fire was out and all four of them were watching as the drops hit the pool beneath the waterfall.

Standing by the edge of the pool, his hood pulled low over his head, Schuldig glanced at Crawford. “I hope you're right about all this. I really don't want to die out here.”

“We are not meant to die here, you and I. We have bigger feats to accomplish.” There was a strength and power to the American's voice that had been absent for the past day and a half. Schuldig watched him closely.

“What are you seeing?”

Crawford met the German's gaze, his lips turning up into a grin. “The future. Our future.”

“You're having visions again?” Schuldig asked excitedly, suddenly feeling his own strength return.

“The clearest visions I've ever had,” Crawford glanced back out at the water.

“What do you see? What are we going to do?”

“We are going to become Gods.”

Mar 5th -

02:31

The rain had not let up since it had begun the day before, and all four members of the team were thoroughly soaked now. They had taken refuge under the cover of trees, where Nagi had once again managed to create a small fire. It had been a miserable night thus far, hours spent shivering from the dampness. No one spoke a word of complaint, though.

Schuldig was sitting at the base of a tree, his thoughts stuck on Crawford's statement of future intent. We are going to become Gods. It was a wild statement, of course, and Schuldig hadn't been entirely certain at the moment if he'd been speaking seriously or not. He still had a hard time believing that there were ancient Gods to begin with. And even if they did exist, it was one thing to go against the Gods, and to plot and scheme to take them down, but how exactly were they supposed to become Gods themselves?

His thoughts were interrupted by Farfarello nudging his leg. “Schuldig? There's a rainbow.”

He stared up at the face of the Irishman briefly before rushing to his feet and standing at the edge of their dry spot, staring out at the pool, his eyes transfixed by the brightly shining rainbow emanating from within the depths of the pool. Instead of forming the typical arc across the sky, this one appeared to shoot up towards the heavens, it's long fingers reaching up into the midst of the suddenly twinkling Aurora Borealis. “No kidding, there really is a rainbow.”

“Was there any doubt?” Crawford appeared behind them, a smug look on his face.

“What do we do now?”

There was silence for a moment, before Crawford spoke. “Now we jump in, of course.” He strode out towards the pool, leaving the other three to watch him from under the trees. A minute passed before Schuldig spoke.

“And now we jump in.” Though he still thought it was a ridiculous idea that was likely to lead to their deaths, he left the cover of the trees and followed Crawford to stand beside the pool, knowing that the other two would follow.

“Are you actually serious?” Nagi quickly cut in, rushing out from under the trees and grabbing the German's arm. “You expect us to jump into frigid water after freezing for three days? I know Crawford has been affected by these visions, but have you gone mad too?”

Schuldig grinned, not surprised by Nagi's outburst. “Not mad. Just curious,” he winked at the Japanese youth before prying Nagi's fingers from his arm and following Crawford. Nagi stood rooted to the spot, shaking his head in disbelief. Farfarello stopped near him.

“If it makes you feel better, I share your concern.” The Irishman stood still, his eyes following the other two as they made their way to the water.

Nagi crossed his arms over his chest. “If you're the only other sane one in the group, then no, it does not make me feel better. Just because some beam of light is shooting down from the sky into a pool of water, it does not mean we should jump in. If anything I'm more inclined to stay away.”

Farfarello shrugged and left the telekinetic behind, walking towards the water. “Regardless of how stupid this seems, I will still follow Crawford. Perhaps we are meant to die, and will be fulfilling our destinies in death.”

“You're willing to kill yourself in order to test Crawford's crazy theory?” Nagi hurried to catch up to Farfarello, still not intending to jump into the water, but meaning to plead one final time with the others.

“Of course. If this is nothing but craziness, then at least my death shall make God the Deceiver weep like a maiden who has lost her lover.”

Nagi huffed in annoyance, “you're obviously still no saner than before.”

“Four deaths will make Him weep tears such that will flood the Heavens.”

“What do you mean, four deaths?!”

Farfarello glanced at Nagi, teeth bared in a vicious smile. “You cannot survive by yourself in these conditions, so you will follow us into the water. The sooner you accept your sacrifice, the quicker you will be at ease with your decision.”

Nagi glared at the Irishman, who smiled back at him. Nagi broke the stare-down off, pushing past Farfarello angrily and joining the other two by the water. “Just for the record, Crawford, I think this is suicide. Had I known that this was your plan, I never would have come.”

“Precisely why he didn't tell us about this part,” Schuldig grinned down at Nagi. “Isn't that right?”

Crawford nodded, eyes still on the water. “Correct. Have I ever led this team astray, Nagi?”

Clearly surprised at the direct question, Nagi frowned and hesitated before answering. “No, but you must admit that you've never suggested anything quite so farfetched.”

“You have a point. Regardless, as my subordinate you will follow my command.”

Nagi stood, rooted to the spot, his eyes on the lights. “If I refuse?”

Crawford turned his head, his eyes on the telekinetic. “You will not refuse.”

Nagi shook his head, “this is madness, and I should have spoken up before. If any of you jump into the water, I will pull you back out. I won't allow you to be subjected to this insanity.” He turned suddenly and took a step towards the trees. In a flash of movement Crawford rounded on him and delivered a sharp jab to the back of the boy's head, catching Nagi as his legs gave out and he fell.

“Did you just knock the kid out?” Schuldig stared in shock at Crawford, his eyes large as he watched the American pick Nagi up in his arms. “Was that really necessary?”

Crawford turned to face Schuldig, his face a mask of stone. “Yes. He was not going to come, and it is vital that he comes. Don't worry, though. He will wake once we have crossed.”

“Crossed what? Where are we going?” Schuldig's expression was still one of shock. The American's actions clearly shook him.

“To Asgard, the realm of the Gods.” Schuldig and Farfarello watched as Crawford approached the pool, his feet standing on the edge. “I will jump first, and the two of you will follow. If you do not follow and remain here, then you will meet your deaths.”

“Have you seen that?” Schuldig asked sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have seen everything.” That said, the German and the Irishman watched as the American jumped into the water, clutching the Japanese youth in his arms. To their utter shock, instead of sinking to the bottom of the pool, or being drawn into the base of the waterfall, Crawford and Nagi seemed to disappear, as though they were wisps of smoke blown by the wind.

“What do you think, Farfarello?” Schuldig glanced curiously to the side, his eyes on the Irishman.

Farfarello gazed with interest at the water, his eyes following the rainbow up to the stars. “Perhaps this is my destiny. Perhaps this is my path to take in order to reach He who has brought the world nothing but pain and sorrow. I will jump.” Without so much as a second glance back, the Irishman jumped into the water, leaving Schuldig to watch as he, like the two before him, seemed to disappear. The look on Farfarello's face as his body dissipated into specks was rapturous, and instead of calming the German, it unnerved him.

He looked around him at the darkness of the scene, a lump forming in his throat as he realized he was alone. When had they lost the sled dogs? He hadn't noticed their lack of presence. He looked back at the water, a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He realized that, for the first time in a very long time, he was afraid. Where would this road lead? Whom would he meet along the way?

He did not want to die.

But more than that, he realized, he did not want to be left alone. So he jumped into the water, and felt nothing.

Mar 6th -

Looking around, Schuldig realized that he must have been the first one to wake. He saw the three other members of his team still asleep, laid out on beds. He sat up and placed his feet on the floor, looking around the room. Where were they? The place seemed fairly ornate, kind of fancy. He looked out the window and saw nothing but lush green trees flanking the side of a mountain. This definitely was not Lapland.

He sat still, listening around him for voices. To his surprise he heard nothing. Was the owner of this place perhaps not around?

“I am indeed around, mortal.”

Schuldig looked over his shoulder, surprised and shocked at the sudden voice. More so, however, he was shocked that this person had heard him. He hadn't been projecting his thoughts, had he?

“How did you hear me, stranger?” He looked the man over, a little shocked at his appearance. Tall and strong, handsome and clad in ancient attire that did little to cover the body, he certainly looked the part of an ancient God.

The man smiled, as though he found the question amusing. “I hear everything, mortal. Now, if you wouldn't mind following me, I would very much like to speak with you.” He stood at the door, his eyes on Schuldig.

The German did not get up. “I really think you'd be better off speaking with that guy over there,” he pointed to Crawford, “he's the only one who really knows anything.”

The stranger smiled again. “No, mortal, it is you with who I wish to speak. Follow me.” With that he turned and began walking down the hall, and without really meaning to, Schuldig found himself suddenly racing out the door to catch up to him.

“Where are we?” He asked, falling into stride beside the god-like man. His eyes scanned the walls and showed him further bits of extravagance and elegance.

“You have just crossed the Bifrost Bridge, mortal. You are in Asgard, the realm of the Gods. Surely you knew where you were headed when you took this path?” His voice was warm and sounded a little like laughter, as though he were privy to some private joke.

“I knew, I just didn't believe.”

They rounded a corner and crossed through a wide doorway, and Schuldig found himself in a comfortable looking sitting room. There was a fire crackling and he instinctively made his way towards it, taking a seat on one of the plush chairs before it. He'd never sat in such a comfortable piece of furniture before in his life.

“What's your name?” He called out in question, his head turning to find out where the other man had gone.

“I am Heimdall, mortal, keeper of the bridge. You are in my mountain hall, where you shall remain until I decide what's to be done with you.” Heimdall had been standing before a large cabinet, withdrawing two glasses and a jug of some amber liquid which Schuldig hoped was something strong. He approached the telepath and sat opposite him. “A glass of mead, mortal?”

Schuldig nodded, accepting the offered glass. He sniffed it before taking a sip, surprised to find that it tasted better than anything he'd ever had before. “Are you a God, Heimdall?”

“Of course,” he replied, a smile on his lips as he took a sip of his own glass before sitting back in his chair. “What is your name, mortal?”

Schuldig watched him, intrigued. Was he dreaming, perhaps? Could this possibly be real? To his surprise Heimdall laughed.

“You are not dreaming. Have your lips not tasted my finest mead? Did you not rest your body upon the comfort of my guest bed? Are you not now sitting before the warmth of my fire? Why is it the way of the mortal to doubt such realities?”

Schuldig took a moment before answering. “How can you read my thoughts?”

Heimdall smiled again and took another sip. “I've told you, mortal, I hear everything.”

“But I'm not projecting my thoughts out to you, they're only in my head.” He regarded the God carefully, curious as to whether this being also possessed the power of telepathy.

“I hear everything. I hear blades of grass grow, I hear the sheep as it grows fur. I hear the snake as it sheds its skin, and so I hear you, as you ponder inside your head.”

“Are all Gods possessed with this ability?” Schuldig raised his glass, taking another sip of the drink.

“No, only myself. They have other powers.” Heimdall paused to take another sip, still regarding Schuldig. “And now, mortal, if you would not mind telling me your name?”

“Schuldig,” he answered, before taking another sip.

“I meant your real name,” Heimdall replied, fixing the German with a slightly scrutinizing stare.

Schuldig clutched at his glass more tightly, his body tensing. “If you know that is not my real name, then aren't you able to find my real name for yourself?”

Heimdall shook his head and smiled once more. “I only hear those thoughts you think, Schuldig. I can not hear the ones you do not think. Now, tell me your real name.”

Schuldig felt a lump forming in his throat, and he took a hasty sip of mead to try and clear it. He could not clear it, though, and ending up spitting the mouthful out at his feet, coughing in order to draw breath. All through his struggle the God sat in silence, watching him, waiting. When he was finally able to swallow again, Schuldig met those watchful eyes, and knew that he could not lie. “It's been so long since I've used my real name, that I don't even remember it.”

Heimdall nodded, his gaze never wavering. “Why did you take upon yourself this name?”

“Out of shame,” he replied, “out of guilt.” His hands began to shake so that he set his glass on the table for fear of spilling more.

“What did you do?”

Schuldig did not want to remember, and he did not want to answer. But he could not ignore. “I killed my parents,” he replied, and was surprised to find that after making the admission, his nerves dissolved. He glanced at the God and was surprised to find him grinning. “What did you do to me?”

Heimdall laughed, then, and took a lengthy sip of mead. “I did nothing. You are simply bound by your station, mortal, to always answer truthfully. The more you protest, the worse you will feel.”

Schuldig picked his glass back up and sat back, contemplating the revelation. He was surprised when Heimdall suddenly rose from his chair.

“Please remain seated, Schuldig. I have just heard that one of your teammates has woken.” He moved swiftly from the room and once he was gone Schuldig reached out.

Crawford? Are you awake?

I just woke up, where are you?

Down the hall. Listen, this guy coming to see you, he can hear our thoughts, so he's hearing this right now. Just wanted to let you know.

Thank you. Just like that Schuldig was once again surrounded by silence, as Crawford cut off their mental connection. He wondered briefly what the God would think of the warning, and answered the inevitable question by blaming it on a life time spent doubting the intentions of others and always striving to have the upper hand. He hoped Heimdall would not take offense to it.

Suddenly from down the hall Schuldig heard laughter, and wondered if the laughter was in relation to his worries of offending the God, or if Crawford had done something. He would have his answer soon, regardless. For now he simply took another sip of mead and closed his eyes, enjoying the comforts of the sitting room.

Not long passed before he heard footsteps in the hall and soon saw Crawford emerging into the room, followed by the God, who went to the cabinet and withdrew a third glass. Crawford sat down on Schuldig's other side.

“And to think, you doubted me,” Crawford spoke softly, turning his head to look at Schuldig. The German grinned back at him and shrugged.

“You should try the mead, Crawford,” was Schuldig's only reply.

“Yes indeed, mortal, my mead is renowned for being the best in all of Asgard,” Heimdall approached the American and handed him a full glass. “Drink and be comfortable while I ask a few questions.”

Crawford accepted the glass with a nod of thanks and sank back comfortably, entranced by the warmth of the fire the same way that Schuldig had been. He turned his head to look at the God. “I assume you are Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost Bridge?”

Heimdall nodded. “You are perhaps versed in our lore, mortal?” Crawford nodded, and Heimdall smiled. “What is your name?”

“Brad Crawford,” he answered, taking a sip of mead. It was indeed of a brilliant palate.

“Why does Schuldig refer to you as Crawford, and not Brad?” Heimdall sat regarding the humans, watching them curiously to gauge their interaction.

“That is the way we operate.”

“Is this the way of all mortals? You must forgive my curiosity, for I do not meet many of you,” Heimdall smiled.

“There is nothing to forgive, we are delighted to answer any questions. In our society deference is shown by utilizing the last name.” Crawford was measured in his response, giving not necessarily what the God asked, but what he thought the God was seeking in knowledge.

“I see. I noticed that you communicated through thought, earlier. I was not aware mortals possessed that ability,” Heimdall again regarded them curiously.

Crawford smiled. “Ah, but you see, we are not what you would call typical of our race. We are part of an elite group who possess skills and abilities far beyond the normal reach of the mortal mind.”

Heimdall placed his glass on the table and leaned forward. “What are these abilities you speak of?”

Crawford was silent a moment before answering. “Schuldig is the one who communicates through the mind. Not only able to hear thoughts, he is able to read the remainder of the mind as well, even those parts that attempt to lay hidden.”

At this Heimdall focused on the German. “Is this why you were surprised when I was not able to delve further into your mind earlier? Because you are able to?” Schuldig nodded, but did not say more. Now that Crawford was here, he was content to keep his mouth shut for the most part. “I see, that is interesting. Continue on, Brad Crawford.”

“The youngest of our group, Nagi Naoe, is able to move objects with the power of mind alone.”

“Is there any limit to his strength?” Heimdall asked, intrigued at the prospect. He had never heard of this particular power before.

“None that we have found, and he grows only stronger with age. The other of our group, Farfarello, does not necessarily have any specific ability, but he is unable to feel pain.”

“Unable to feel pain? Does he have any limits?”

“None that we have found. He will stand and fight until his body is so broken that death is the only cure, and even then he will not understand why he is unable to continue. I myself have seen him stand on broken legs with no complaint, no notice.”

Heimdall nodded, taking the information in. “I see, a warrior that will only break when Death himself comes to claim his body. Intriguing. And now, Brad Crawford, tell me about you.”

Crawford nodded, taking a sip of mead before continuing. “I am possessed of visions of the future. I see all that is to come.”

Heimdall sat up straight, sipping from his own glass as he quietly surveyed the American before speaking. “So you know then of what is to come?”

“I have seen the events that would lead to the destruction of all worlds, yes.” Further moments of silence stretched out as Heimdall contemplated the information. Finally he spoke.

“What is your purpose in coming here, then?”

It was Crawford's turn to allow silence to swell between them before answering. “I do not wish to see the end of my world, thus I have come to offer our aide to the Gods.”

Schuldig was surprised when Heimdall did not laugh. Instead the God appeared to ponder the offer, sitting back in his chair and watching the mead in his glass swirl as he shook it. Minutes passed, the only sound that of the fire crackling, and the American and the German sat side by side, waiting eagerly for the response of the God. Finally Heimdall answered the offer.

“I cannot allow you to continue on without ensuring you are worthy. Thus you must remain here, with me, for a period of time. I will set you tasks, and I will determine how well you accomplish them. Your results will determine if I allow you to continue on. Do you accept?”

Crawford did not wait. “I accept.”

“Then you will remain here as my guests. When you are finished your glasses, please see to the other members of your team. When they are awake, I bid you all join me for breakfast, you will find my dining room to be just a little further on down the hall. I will leave you now, and meet you then.” With that he finished his glass and left it on the table, before departing the room.

Crawford and Schuldig did not speak.

“It is impossible, I refuse to believe we are being housed by a God,” Farfarello sat on the edge of his bed, a strange feeling growing in his stomach. “There is only one God.”

This was a problem Crawford had not foreseen, and it was one he currently could not think of how to fix.

Schuldig, however, had anticipated it. We can't let him meet Heimdall, not like this. Let me go in there and mess around a bit, see if I can't shut that part of him off for the time being.

Crawford frowned. No. I can't risk that chance. It would be wise, though, if you spoke with him and stressed the importance of our situation.

“Are you speaking about me? What are you deciding?” The Irishman stood up, clearly agitated. He began to pace the length of the room, an action that caught all three other members of Schwarz off guard. It was highly uncharacteristic behaviour for him.

“Farfarello?” Schuldig approached him, immediately diving into the other man's mind.

“We are supposed to be in the Heavenly realm of our Father, so that I may go forth to meet him and deliver the world from his injustice once and for all. With my knives I will pierce his heart, shredding it into six billion strips, one for every soul on earth who has been affected by his treachery!” Farfarello withdrew his favored knife, shaking slightly now. “You speak of false Gods, Crawford! There is only one God, and I was selected as his executioner!”

Just as Farfarello made to lunge at the American, he was stopped suddenly in mid stride. Nagi forced him back to his bed, and did not release him from the telekinetic bonds he was chained with. His eyes were on Crawford, though, and the Japanese youth was not pleased. He did not speak, though, for there was no need.

“What are we going to do, Crawford? Clearly, he can't be allowed near any of the Gods.” Schuldig stood before the bed, his arms crossed while he looked down at the Irishman. Though Farfarello was still as a stone, it was obvious to anyone who looked at his face that he was trying to fight Nagi off.

Crawford did not answer right away, instead he studied Farfarello, contemplating his possibilities. There was no point in attempting to cover this up - no doubt Heimdall was hearing everything. Finally he spoke. “Farfarello, did you ever stop to think that perhaps your God is here? Maybe he has been lying all along about the existence of other Gods. Maybe they are more powerful than he is, and they gave him our world to rule to assuage his wounded pride.”

Farfarello took in Crawford's comments in silence, contemplating them before speaking. “That would not be below him. He has already proven he is capable of lies and deceit, now is the completion of the cycle! I must find him. Release me, Nagi!”

Crawford shook his head. “Not yet, Farfarello. I am certain you will find your God here, but you must not kill him right away.” The Irishman shot the American a murderous glare, but it did not deter him in his decision. “You will kill him eventually, but you must wait until I give you permission. It is vital that he remains living for just a little while longer.”

Farfarello did not answer, but Crawford knew he would comply.

Apr 4th -

The past weeks had flown by in a blur to Schuldig, who hated keeping track of time. He did not know the date, nor did he want to. Every day was the same day, the same actions, the same results. Though it sounded monotonous, the time still passed quickly and the days did not drag. They woke at dawn, breakfasted with Heimdall, worked around the palace, then ate lunch with the God. After the second meal of the day they were separated, and given individual tasks. Schuldig sat with the God for at least two hours a day, trolling through his memories, writing out his history. At first he had assumed the God was simply doing it in order to ensure he was telling the truth about his telepathy. But now, after weeks of writing, he assumed that perhaps the deity was looking to publish a memoir. He scowled at the thought - if he'd known he'd be coming here to work as an author, he'd have stayed home.

His job was still better than others, though. Heimdall had Nagi spend hours a day carving into the rock of the mountains, hollowing out caves and grinding stones all with his mind. Farfarello was subjected to beatings and poisonings and nearly severed limbs - all of which were healed during the night by some goddess who'd shown up on the second day. None of them spoke to her, they didn't even see her around the palace.

He wasn't sure what Crawford was doing, though, and he didn't bother going into either man's mind to find out. He assumed the American was plotting out how the end of the world would occur with Heimdall, and that would only be all too simple for the precognitive, since he'd forced out every vision he could muster before they'd come here.

It was the evening now, and Crawford was still busy with the God. He and Nagi had dined alone at supper (Farfarello never joined them until morning of the following day) and now Schuldig was sitting by the fireplace, drinking mead, as he did every night. It had taken him a while to get used to the idea of someone overhearing every thought he had, and over time he'd learned to simply sit and not think. His eyes stared blankly at the fire as he tried to clear his mind. The invasion into his privacy bothered him, had touched him in a way he'd not felt since Rosenkreuz. There was no way to block Heimdall out, no wall that would hold him back. He often wondered how Crawford coped with that same vulnerability.

“I wonder what they're discussing that's taking so long?” Nagi had entered the room, coming over to sit next to Schuldig by the fire.

“Who knows? Hopefully it's how and when we're getting back home,” Schuldig grinned at the boy, and took another sip of mead.

Nagi was silent for a moment, staring into the fire before speaking. “How does it feel, Schuldig? To have someone around who hears everything that you think?” Nagi glanced over at the telepath, his face a mask, but his eyes critical.

Schuldig had not expected the question. “Is this your way of asking me to apologize for invading your mind all the time?” He wouldn't let Nagi know that, however.

Nagi's lips curved in fractions, turning up ever so slightly. “It's rather unpleasant, isn't it?”

Schuldig shrugged, finishing off his mead and getting up to pour himself another glass. “It's strange.”

“It bothers you,” Nagi stated, sitting up to turn around and watch the German. “Don't deny it; I know.”

Schuldig laughed, filling up his glass and returning to his seat. “And what makes you say that? I thought you were a telekinetic, not an empath.”

Nagi smirked before looking back at the fire. “Because you stopped invading my head weeks ago.”

Schuldig looked back at the fire, and said nothing.

Apr 12th -

“I have reached a decision, my mortal friends.”

The four members of Schwarz each paused, forks in midair, eyes on the god. This moment was critical.

“I have had you here for a time, I have gotten to know each of you and have been a witness to your powers. You know that we are coming upon a tough time, war is inevitable and doom is forthcoming. It is of my opinion that we could make use of you. I will send you on to meet with Odin, and allow him to judge you as he sees fit.”

Four collective breaths were let out, and four hands returned four forks to the table. It was Crawford who spoke for them all. “When are we to continue on?”

“Tomorrow. I will send word ahead that Odin is to expect you.” Heimdall continued with his meal.

“You will not be accompanying us?”

The god shook his head, and silence settled over the dining table. Farfarello returned to his meal, his thoughts on finding the one God he'd been sent here to destroy. Nagi also resumed eating, though it was only out of politeness. He still hadn't warmed to Heimdall's choice of food, missing the comforts of Japanese cuisine. Schuldig had picked his fork back up, but was only playing with his food, pushing it around on his plate, concentrating on what he was doing so he wouldn't start thinking.

Crawford was thinking. His mind raced, though he was careful to keep certain thoughts under the surface, never allowing them up for air. He glanced across the table at the god. “Would it be appropriate if we were to make a sacrifice tonight?”

The other three members of his team all looked up suddenly, shocked by the question. Schuldig spoke. “What type of sacrifice?”

Crawford did not answer him, but kept his eyes on Heimdall. The god took his time in responding, chewing his veal thoroughly before swallowing. “Yes, I would actually expect it. You may construct a bonfire at the base of the mountain.”

Crawford nodded, pleased. “And might we use a bottle of your mead? I think it would only be fitting, as your drink is the best in any land.”

Heimdall smiled and nodded in agreement. “Of course, Brad Crawford, you may use my mead for sacrifice.”

Schuldig still had his eyes firmly on the American as he listened to the question and answer period, confused. They were going to sacrifice mead? He supposed that wasn't so bad, though he'd been hoping for something a little more exciting. He was, however, thankful that none of them were going to end up in the fire. Heimdall laughed, and Schuldig met his eyes.

“Were you worried that you would end up on the fire, Schuldig?” The god smiled and speared another portion of veal.

Schuldig smiled and shook his head. “No, I was worried for Farfarello, actually. Being that he can't feel pain, I thought he would make the perfect sacrificial lamb,” he glanced across the table at the Irishman, who'd stopped eating and was staring at him. Schuldig winked at him, hoping Farfarello wouldn't take it seriously.

“Don't worry, Schuldig, Odin will want to use all of you, or none of you at all. I believe it will be the former, however. You are all very powerful.”

Schuldig smiled at the god, before glancing at Crawford and meeting his gaze. Those eyes unnerved him, though he couldn't quite figure out why.

It was dark as they stood around the bonfire, awaiting instruction. Crawford was the one who knew about this sacrificial stuff, so the other three simply watched the fire grow, felt its radiant warmth spread over them. Nagi had noticed the days growing colder as of late, and had witnessed snowfalls occurring in the distance. He'd wondered if this was normal, or if it was the beginning of the three winters? He didn't ask, though, since it wasn't really that important, in the grand scheme of things.

He watched the fire dancing before his eyes, sparks leaping out into the air. He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on one flame, curious if he could make it do his bidding. It grew larger, extending higher than the others, flaring hotter. He could not separate it, though, into a new fire altogether. He supposed there had to be some end to his ability.

He glanced to his left, past Schuldig, his gaze settling on Crawford. The American was still silent, still had his head bowed, still clutched the bottle of mead. He wondered what was going to happen. Would he simply through the liquor on the fire and hope for the best? Would there be anything else?

He settled his gaze then on Schuldig, watching the German watch the fire. It had certainly been strange, not hearing the usually omnipresent voice of the telepath in his head. Schuldig had changed, somehow, had become more withdrawn. Nagi wondered what task Schuldig had been given to prompt such a change. Settling his own eyes back on the fire, Nagi resumed his task of trying to separate a flame from the base.

Crawford could feel flames licking at his face, heat searing his skin. Still he held the bottle of mead in his hands, his fingers pressing against the cool glass. He repeated old and ancient incantations in his head, called out to Gods he knew only by name, asking all for their favour, which he intended to return fully, of course.

It took some time, but eventually he finished off his list, and then pulled the cork from the bottle. He opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and focused on the fire before him. Without speaking a word aloud he began sprinkling the alcohol onto the fire, watching as flames burst forth with every drop as though attempting to reach him, sent from the Gods themselves to claim and mark his flesh. He danced around them, though, always seeing their path before they leapt out, always aware of their direction. He was so entranced in his sacrifice that he did not notice the other members of his team, did not pay them any attention.

He was lost in the fire, and lost in his own thoughts.

Part Two