Otrho walked slowly through the stone gallery of the Command Base.
His eyes — aged by lives he no longer lived — moved across the old corridors with the calm of someone who had never rushed.
Kael watched in silence.
He knew Otrho never appeared without reason.
— It's been a while, — Kael said, breaking the quiet. — A long while.
— I've been away, yes, but never disconnected.
Kael didn't reply. They were in the entertainment hall, where the League's eternal flame burned in an ancient niche. It was the only place in the base where the light flickered.
Otrho sat down.
Looked at the glass of wine Kael had served.
Appreciated it — but didn't drink yet.
— You once asked me who I was… before the League.
Kael nodded, slowly.
— I was a husband. A father. A blacksmith.
We lived in a small village, in Normandy.
Iron didn't bring me riches, but it gave me purpose.
I died of a fever that consumed my body, but not my memory.
He paused. Met Kael's gaze.
— I woke up in the Valley of the Forgotten.
While others wandered in delirium, I observed.
I listened to the souls. I noticed patterns.
The League noticed me. And gave me a higher purpose: to find the Stone.
— And you did, — Kael said.
— After centuries — yes. And I wasn't wrong.
---
They talked more.
About cigarettes, rare coins, and the banknotes from planet Vintrus that Kael had brought back on his last jump.
Otrho accepted some of those items — liquor, tobacco, a small box of matches bearing the crest of an Earth that had never known oceans.
But just as he was about to leave, he hesitated.
— Before I go... there's something you should know.
Kael waited.
— Immortals.
— Lately, more and more have been showing up at the Northern Marker.
Kael frowned.
— That unusual?
— Very.
Some come without knowing why. Others… are dreaming.
Called, somehow. As if something in time is stirring.
Kael looked at him for a long moment, serious.
— You want me to investigate?
— Not yet.
But… stay aware.
Otrho stood.
The firelight danced in his ancient eyes.
— When immortals begin to move, the League tends to pretend it doesn't notice.
But you and I… we know that's when the real work begins.
Then he left.
Seven days of walking back to his home, where the Northern Marker awaited.
And perhaps… something more.