Vievel grabbed at the top shelf of the stone cabinet, gripping it as tightly as he could. Without a word or a sound he pulled himself up, ducking his head and positioning himself in the cramped space between the shelves. It was barely wide enough for him to crouch on, barely tall enough for him to fit. Even with his feet nestled beside his knapsack Vievel feared at any second he might kick loose one of the plastic flasks or boxes that sat next to him. He drew in as close to the back of the cabinet as he could, feeling the roughly pointed rock-face pressing up against him. If he didn’t move, perhaps he’d get away with hiding. His hands pressed up against both of inside walls he braced himself so that he didn’t accidentally lose his balance and tumble forward.

It’d be just my luck. He tried to force the doubt from his mind, to trust himself, but a degree of uncertainty lingered still. His breath was shallow and measured, he barely dared to breathe lest the motion offset his center of balance. Vievel leaned slightly toward his left, keeping a careful eye on his feet and his composure. He tilted his head toward the chamber threshold and listened out.

“Halycen Ellewin Ulmadr!” He had immediately recognised the voice, sparing no time before he clambered into the stone cabinet. Sera Odill Helminen, his father’s marshall and chief-in-command of the Ulmadr Advance. Vievel had met him a handful of times previously, but mostly he knew of him only by reputation. The whispers amongst the home ship were that he was a stern and joyless Aelfr who commanded a great deal of respect and loyalty amongst the enlisted Aælfir; much of which respect had been earned not through his titles or honorifics, but through Odill’s own proclivity to lead engagements against the Dwurkn where his rank should’ve prevented him from doing so.

“Sera Odill”. Halycen was speaking now, using the elder Aælfir’s title as a mark of respect. “Lovely cycle for a walk, isn’t it?” Vievel heard a soft snicker from behind the doorway, unsure if it had been a ranger or Halycen herself. Metal clinking, footsteps, quickly overshadowed the laughter; less than a second later Vievel heard Halycen yell out. “Hey-ow!”

“Drop the revolver,” Odill barked. Vievel heard something fall to the floor.

“Let me go!” Halycen cried again, her voice ringing out a second time. Her plea fell on deaf ears as Sera Odill spoke over her.

“Ranger Ardenfyrn, you will detain the lady Ulmadr. She is to be remanded back to the home ship and her father’s custody”. Sera Odill’s voice rang out over the corridor and into the chamber, a dominating sound which was not loud yet occupied Vievel’s attention fully and utterly.

“Yes Marshall,” spoke someone that Vievel didn’t recognise, someone he assumed to be the Ranger Ardenfyrn. The speaker was an Aelfi, perhaps not much older than Halycen, with an accent which stressed her speech and caused her words to jump to attention sharply. Though he had no idea of who she might be, he recognised the name of the house Ardenfyrn, the house of shields; it was customary for members of a minor house to make themselves known to members of the ruling house, his own house of Ulmadr, yet he could not place her voice. Each member of the House Ardenfyrn he had met had been a considerably older Aælfir than he or Halycen, especially the Aelfi, surely all old enough to be exempt from military service.

Vievel pondered the speaker, wondering if he’d misheard or simply forgotten her. Remembering all the houses and vassals on board the home ship was a tall task - he often felt like he was forever being forced to meet vassals trying to curry his father’s favour or those who would even seek his own. Perhaps he had simply forgotten a younger member of the house or overlooked someone otherwise unremarkable. It wasn’t as though the Advance went around publicising their membership, the group was considerably secretive. To be inducted was to forsake membership in all other military and public service roles, and to be invited in the first place was a rare honour. The full names of the Advance’s scout-rangers were somewhat guarded, and perhaps Sera Odill was the only individual to know each and every one.

Between the two alloy hinges that held the stone door to the cabinet ran a thin line, a gap between the door and the interior where light from the chamber threshold passed through. Vievel twisted on the spot, eager to see if he could make out the mystery speaker. He took great care with the placement of his feet, knowing that even the slightest misstep could result in an uncomfortable march to his father’s judgement, and knowing that he’d sooner fight another Dwurkn than face that. He lined himself up with the gap so he could look out at the chamber threshold beyond, noting that Halycen was still standing at the room’s arched doorway, where she’d been when Vievel had last seen her. Beside her, however, stood a second figure, and judging from the shadow just past the two, a third individual was standing beyond the threshold outside of Vievel’s sight.

Vievel’s eyes nonetheless were immediately drawn to the second figure. A muscular-looking Aelfr, with a thick neck and facial features, as well a masculine jaw which tapered to an almost-point; Vievel recognised him immediately as Sera Odill. Though he had met the Aelfr only a few times previously, the marshall had made an impression on him. Odill’s eyes were shadowed by heavy drooping eyelids which gave them a sunken quality, sitting above a broad nose and mouth, the latter of which was drawn into an almost semi-permanent scowl. Despite his dramatic facial features, it was his fully-bald head, a rarity amongst the Aælfir, that stood out most dramatically. The rest of the marshall’s body was dwarfed by his armour, an almost full-body suit which gave him a tremendously bulky appearance.

Odill’s armour was considerably unlike the same needle-thin metillion hauberk that Halycen and Vievel both wore, instead consisting of a much thicker and cumbersome black polymer suit which reflected little light. The suit itself was comprised of multiple joined parts: a long breastplate, a set of greaves, boots and stretched-out vambraces which covered his arms. The suit of armour left his hands and head uncovered, seemingly lacking a set of gauntlets and a helmet; but light from the corridor in front of Odill caught a sequence of slender metal clasps around both the end of the vambraces and the suit’s upper collar, revealing that it had once featured such attachments, but for whatever reason they had been removed. A flashlight was fixed to the suit’s shoulder plate, with several other large plates affixed over the vulnerable spots of Odill’s body: around the collar, waist and upper chest. The plating was much like the typical power-assisted armour of the Ulmadr war company, but despite the resemblance, Vievel could see no mechanised components nor support present underneath it. Odill seemed to bear the weight of the dark armour suit himself, yet he showed no strain for doing so. On his back hung a towering fibre-weave backpack with eight distinct compartments, the backpack itself perhaps standing taller than Vievel himself, whilst in his hands, Odill gripped a red-and-black striped semi-automatic bolt-rifle. The bolt-rifle was modified with a magnetic acceleration chamber around the barrel, and a mounted glass scope near the end of the stock. At the sight of the latter Vievel almost let slip a gasp, catching his breath and stifling it just in time. The glass inside the scope attachment was worth the annual wages of ten soldiers.

Drawing his gaze away from the marshall, Vievel was unable to discern the third figure. They stood to the left of Halycen, who was still held firmly by Sera Odill, only a stride away from her. Only the third figure’s shadow revealed their position, stretching out in a cascade over the stone floor, at least one shadow for each of the flashlights focused on the trio.

Ranger Ardenfyrn? Vievel wondered. Already perched precariously on the lower shelf Vievel dared not move further forward, doubting that he’d be able to make out anything more than he already could. The third figure’s fractured shadow was androgynous, with full shoulders but feminine hips, and provided no clue to the bearer’s identity. The shadow wavered, its owner stepping forward slightly, and an arm partially moved into Vievel’s view. The arm was covered in a metillion composite, unlike Odill’s full suit of armour, a slender silvery glove that stretched from fingertip to a flared cuff at the elbow, with a navy-blue tunic visible just past the edge of the elbow. On its forearm sat a series of tightly-fitted bangles, each a different hue of bronze flowing from the darkest, closest to the elbow, to the lightest where the bangles were closest to the wrist. The arm reached out to Halycen, fingers outstretched before Sera Odill’s voice brought it to a stop.

“A moment”. He pulled Halycen away from the arm and toward him.

“Ow, hey-” Halycen protested. “Quit-”

“Who else is with you?”

Vievel froze, awaiting Halycen’s answer. From his vantage point in the cabinet, he could make out Halycen’s hesitation. He watched as her eyes wandered, glancing into the chamber. Even debating Sera Odill’s question she didn’t dare to look directly at Vievel, though he had no doubt Halycen knew where he was hidden; she looked everywhere but Vievel’s open cabinet. He regretted teasing Halycen, regretted invoking the human word to get a rise out of her. Perhaps she was still annoyed at him over that, perhaps she would give him up. A weight settled on his chest as he wondered if she’d reveal his hiding spot. Halycen’s father would go easier on her than his would on him.

“No, I’m alone,” Halycen said, at last, showing no pain in her voice though she was still being gripped tightly by the marshall. The weight on Vievel’s chest relieved itself but as he felt a soreness he realised he’d been holding his breath as he waited.

“You came alone?” Odill asked, staring distrustingly at Halycen. He glanced into the chamber, his own shoulder-mounted flashlight casting a beam across the room. Vievel didn’t dare look through the gap in the cabinet, for a moment sure that Sera Odill was about to turn and look directly at him. Halycen shook her head.

“Who would I bring?” she said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Ria? Eaden? They’re both too young”. Vievel rolled his eyes. Ria was only a few months his junior, basically the same age, and Eaden, even though he was the youngest, was just three years younger than Vievel. Halycen was the oldest of the home ship children, but the difference between her and Eaden was five years at most, not the gulf she liked to envision.

“What about Vievel?” Odill inquired. Vievel felt his hand tighten at the mention of his name, his knuckles pressing against the stone cabinet wall whilst his fingers dug uncomfortably into his palm. He backed away completely from the thin line between the cabinet door and the wall, pressing himself back as far as he can go. He didn’t believe that Odill could see him, but he didn’t care to chance it.

“I asked him, but he was too scared,” Halycen said, responding almost immediately. She shrugged her shoulders.

She had that remark ready, Vievel thought bitterly. A chuckle rustled through the scout-rangers and Vievel felt a burning redness in his cheeks. As he listened to his cousin defame him, and as he overheard the laughter it elicited, some part of him felt willed to step out of the cabinet, to prove he wasn’t as frightened as everyone kept making him out to be. To the disappointment of that part of him, he found his feet unwilling to oblige the desire.

Don’t be stupid, he thought. Better to be thought a coward than a fool. The declaration did little to quell the shame that burned a silent pit in his stomach.

“Sera Odill”. Another voice Vievel didn’t recognise, separate to ranger Ardenfyrn’s. It waited for Odill to grunt in approval before it continued speaking. “Should we investigate and salvage this chamber?”

Amalthea's ire! Vievel cursed. They’re going to search the room! Should he climb down and reveal himself? After Halycen swore she was alone? Forgetting his fear Vievel leant forward, glancing back through the crack in the door. Halycen was staring at the floor, her hair fallen over part of her face, and the colour drained from the other half that Vievel could see. Sera Odill flicked an eye into the room and Vievel held his breath, praying to the moons that he hadn’t rattled his bag or anything else on the shelf with him.

“No, the Patriarch’s company will be returning within the hour, and we should do the same,” Odill spoke. “We shall attach our company to theirs at the agreed upon position and then await orders on the operation”. Vievel heard a series of muted footsteps as the group started arranging itself. He swallowed, feeling a pain in his throat. If he wasn’t home before the Advance or the war company, it wouldn’t matter that he hadn’t been found. His absence would be noted. Vievel let himself fall onto the tips of his feet, steadying himself by pressing his hands against both sides of the cabinet. He looked through the crack one last time, catching Halycen’s eye as he did. She smiled apologetically and then vanished around the threshold corner.