Chapter 14

The elevator doors parted silently, revealing the familiar expanse of the command chamber. Crystal displays flickered with data as operators worked at their stations, their movements practiced and efficient. At the far end of the room, a high-backed executive chair faced away from him, its occupant hidden behind layers of holographic displays that shimmered in the air like gossamer curtains.

Chris cleared his throat, his voice feeling rough and uncertain. "Chris, here to see—" The words caught in his throat as the chair rotated slowly, revealing Drake Raven's familiar face, complete with the same subtle smile Chris remembered from what felt like mere weeks ago. Not a single line marked the passage of fifty years, not one gray hair threaded through his dark locks.

"Welcome back to Elyndaar City," Drake said warmly, his voice carrying the same authoritative tone Chris remembered. The commander's desk before him was a marvel of Elyndrian technology, its surface seeming to shift and ripple with information while maintaining perfect solidity.

"But... how?" Chris gestured helplessly at Drake's unchanged appearance, his mind struggling to reconcile the passage of half a century with the man before him. "It's been fifty years! You look exactly the same."

Drake's laugh echoed through the chamber, genuine and warm, drawing brief glances from the operators at their stations. "Ah, yes. I sometimes forget you're not from here." He stood, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the city. 

"Time works differently here than on Earth. The people of Solaris don't age like the people of your world, 50 years for us is more like 50 months. It's still a good chunk of time, but we simply do not age the same." He turned back to Chris, spreading his hands. "The nanomachines the Builders released eons ago changed everything here, including how we age. We're practically teenagers by Solarian standards."

"I was starting to wonder if you'd return," Drake continued, his expression growing more serious as he settled back into his chair. The holographic displays around him shifted, responding to his presence. "Krauser showed up recently, so I thought you and Violet might not be far behind." He paused, his eyes scanning the empty space beside Chris. "Though I don't see her with you..."

The story spilled out of Chris like a dam breaking – their journey through the void, the endless branches of the Flow, the confrontation at God's Altar, Violet's possession by Bahumura. With each detail, Drake's expression darkened, the ambient light in the chamber seeming to dim in response to the growing tension.

"This... complicates things," Drake said finally, running a hand through his hair. The displays around him flickered with new information. "We just finished dealing with the Awakened crisis. Queen Yasmine's armies attacked every major city in the world." He stood again, pacing before the window as the city gleamed below. "We followed Dakon and Valmir into the World Below, faced something called the First One – Shaogog. Dakon sacrificed himself to destroy it."

Chris listened in growing amazement as Drake described their escape to Zetha Prime through an ancient Builder Gateway, each revelation making his head throb more intensely. The crystal windows behind Drake showed the sprawling city below, where life continued as normal, citizens unaware of the darkness that had just been unleashed back into their world.

"Valmir was too damaged to return," Drake continued, his fingers dancing across the shifting surface of his desk. "Krauser and Garr stayed behind with him on Zetha Prime. Odessa, Zidala, Gremlock, and Timothy made it back, but—"

Sudden pain lanced through Chris's skull like a white-hot needle, dropping him to his knees on the polished floor. The world spun violently as blood trickled from his nose. Drake was at his side instantly, his boots clicking against the crystal surface as he rushed to help.

"Obel'jon," Chris managed through gritted teeth, the taste of copper strong in his mouth. "He did something to my mind..."

Drake's eyes widened, recognition flashing across his features. "The Gift? He gave you The Gift?" He helped Chris to a nearby chair, its surface automatically adjusting to provide optimal support. "Only one other person has ever received that – Krauser Killener. You're in interesting company."

"Some gift," Chris muttered, wiping fresh blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "Feels more like a curse."

"The Watchers," Drake explained, returning to his terminal to type a rapid sequence of commands, "are Obel'jon's chosen agents throughout the Nomaverse. The knowledge he implanted will settle with time, according to what Krauser told me. You'll start knowing things you never learned, understanding concepts you've never studied."

The air hummed as a security drone suddenly materialized nearby, its crystalline sensors focusing on Chris with precise intensity. "CITATION: Unauthorized portal access, violation code 7249. Fine: 500 gold pieces. Incident date: Year 102." The drone's mechanical voice carried an almost smug quality.

Drake burst out laughing, the sound breaking the tension in the room. "The Wingnut incident? After fifty years?" He waved his hand through a holographic interface, dismissing the drone. "I'll clear that from your record. Consider it an apology."

"An apology?" Chris managed, his head still throbbing.

"I should have helped you both back then," Drake said softly, his usual confidence giving way to something more vulnerable. "Instead of sending you to cool your heels at the Sunfire Tavern. Maybe things would have turned out differently."

"What's done is done," Chris replied, though the words felt hollow even to him. "We all made choices that day."

Drake nodded, returning to his terminal. "Still, let me make at least a small amends. I'm clearing that fine from your record, and..." his fingers danced across the holographic interface, "adding a little something to compensate you for the confusion. Consider it fifty years of interest."

Chris started to protest, but Drake held up a hand. "Please. It's the least I can do." He rose from his chair, extending his hand. "Get some rest. That head of yours needs time to adjust to Obel'jon's gift. We'll talk more once I've contacted the others."

The handshake was firm, grounding Chris in the reality of the moment. As he turned to leave, Drake called after him. "And Chris? We'll find her. Whatever it takes."

The elevator ride down felt longer than the ascent, the crystal cabin humming softly as it descended through the tower's levels. AIDA chimed with an unexpected notification – his account had been credited with 50,000 gold, a fortune that made his previous earnings of 6,000 from his single completed quest seem paltry in comparison. All because of a fifty-year-old fine involving a tricked mechanoid. The irony wasn't lost on him.

The elevator doors opened to the ground floor, and Chris stepped out into the familiar yet subtly changed corridors of the tower's main lobby. His head still pounded with the weight of Obel'jon's "gift," each throb a reminder of the knowledge locked away in his mind, tantalizingly out of reach. The mechanical sentries stood at attention, their designs more elegant and advanced than he remembered, but their function unchanged – eternal guardians of Elyndaar's heart.

The streets outside felt like walking through a dream – familiar enough to navigate, but filled with small differences that kept him off-balance. Spires still reached toward the sky, but their surfaces now displayed flowing patterns of light that hadn't existed fifty years ago. Citizens went about their business, many faces surprisingly familiar despite the passage of time, their ages barely touched by the decades that had passed.

His feet carried him automatically toward the Sunfire Tavern, though his thoughts remained with Violet. The weight of her absence felt physical, a constant ache that competed with his headache for attention. Every corner they'd turned together, every shop they'd visited, every moment shared – now tainted by the knowledge that she was out there somewhere, her body puppet to one of the most powerful and malevolent beings in existence.

The ambient sounds of the city washed over him – merchants calling their wares, the hum of energy conduits, the distant chime of a clock tower marking the hour. He wondered if Gremlock still worked his forge, the rhythmic clanging of his four arms shaping metal into works of art. The thought of the Gorgon brought a slight smile to his face, remembering how he'd helped them circumvent Vincent's authority, even if it had led them down this tragic path.

The Sunfire Tavern's familiar sign came into view, its fiery letters shifting through various hues just as he remembered. The last time he'd stood here, Violet had been by his side, both of them frustrated at being sidelined while the Dark Avatar wreaked havoc across the realms. Now that frustration seemed almost quaint compared to the magnitude of their current situation.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of spiced ale and hearth smoke washing over him. The tavern had changed little – the same warm lighting, the same comfortable booths, the same mix of citizens and travelers seeking refuge from their daily concerns. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend the last fifty years hadn't happened, that Violet might walk through the door at any moment, rolling her eyes at some new absurdity she'd encountered.

But the blood still trickling from his nose and the knowledge burning in his skull wouldn't let him maintain that illusion. Time had passed, whether he'd experienced it or not, and somewhere out there, Violet needed him. He just had to figure out how to help her – assuming there was anything left of her to save after possibly years of possession by an ancient evil. Violet had left God's Altar before him, escaping through the gateway to a forest he didn't recognize.

The towering bartender looked up as Chris approached, no recognition in his eyes. Just another patron seeking solace in a drink. Chris settled onto a stool, ordering whatever was on tap, hoping it might dull either the physical or emotional pain coursing through him. Preferably both.

***

The worn leather of the barstool creaked as Chris settled onto it, the familiar comfort of the Sunfire Tavern wrapping around him like a warm blanket. The bartender approached – a mountain of a man with pale blue skin that seemed to shimmer under the tavern's crystal lights.

"Welcome to the Sunfire. I am Arngrim," the bartender introduced himself, his accent remarkably similar to Arnold Schwarzenegger's. His massive frame dwarfed the space behind the bar, yet he moved with the practiced grace of someone who knew every bottle's placement by heart.

"Chris," he replied, intrigued by the unusual appearance of the Ardanian. "Can't say I've met many blue-skinned bartenders before."

Arngrim laughed, the sound both friendly and powerful. "We Ardanians are rare this far from the Frozen Region. Most of my people still serve in Queen Vishera's army." His expression grew distant for a moment. "I did too, once. Until I faced the Elyndrians in battle during the Nezal crisis. Gremlock and Sylvix showed me there was another path."

The Ardanian's massive hands moved with surprising delicacy as he drew a perfect pint of ale. "Now I serve drinks instead of queens. Much better job, if you ask me." He set the drink before Chris with a flourish.

The first sip was revelation. The ale was cool and crisp, with subtle notes of spices Chris couldn't identify. More importantly, the persistent throb in his head – Obel'jon's "gift" – began to fade for the first time since he'd returned to Solaris.

"Another?" Arngrim asked, noting Chris's empty glass. At Chris's nod, he quickly produced a fresh pint. "Not much of a drinker, eh? I can tell by how you hold the glass."

"Usually more of a tea person," Chris admitted, but the pleasant warmth spreading through him was undeniably welcome. Crystal screens mounted above the bar displayed news feeds – reports of reconstruction efforts, celebrations of peace now that the Awakened conflict had ended.

"You look troubled," Arngrim observed, wiping down the bar with mechanical precision. "A woman, perhaps?"

Chris nodded, the alcohol loosening his tongue. "Violet. She's... gone. Sort of. It's complicated."

The Ardanian's massive hand landed gently on Chris's shoulder, the gesture somehow both powerful and comforting. "I understand loss. Left my entire family behind when I joined the Elyndrians. Haven't seen them in decades." He gestured to a worn photograph behind the bar showing a group of blue-skinned children. "They're all grown now, with children of their own. My village in the Frozen Region probably doesn't even remember me."

"Why not visit?" Chris suggested, the ale making everything seem simpler. "The Black Empire's gone, right? No one would hurt them now."

Arngrim sighed, the sound carrying the weight of years. "After so long? They probably hate me for abandoning them. Sometimes it's easier to live with the memory of love than the reality of rejection."

The news feeds continued their cheerful reports as Chris nursed his drinks, the companionable silence between him and Arngrim occasionally broken by casual conversation. Finally, the day's events – and the ale – began to catch up with him.

"Think I'll turn in," Chris announced, standing carefully. "Thanks for the drinks, and the company."

"Any time, friend," Arngrim replied, already wiping down Chris's spot at the bar. "The inn stairs are through that door. Watch the third step – it creaks."

The stairs did indeed creak as Chris made his way up to the inn proper. His room was small but comfortable, the bed practically calling his name. As he collapsed onto it, fully clothed, the world spun pleasantly. His last thought before sleep claimed him was of Violet, but for the first time since losing her, the pain felt slightly duller.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, sleep offered the promise of temporary peace. The ale had done its work well, and Chris drifted off into dreamless slumber, the sounds of the tavern below creating a comforting lullaby.