Metrics Of Ragnarok

Promising Signs

The sun didn't drop below the horizon, even though it was afraid of what lay beyond the Vidirian forest, so it hid itself behind dark clouds, and in typical magician fashion, disappeared.

And unfortunately so. Its rays were the only thing that kept some semblance of warmth alive, and without it, hypothermia and frostbite ruled the hours until its next appearance.

Atlas walked to the ridge and aimed. For a few seconds, he actually convinced himself that he was scouting for the MacMillan, but the truth slipped through the wall of discipline.

The MacMillan wasn't going to arrive, not today, not tomorrow, and apart from that behemoth, there was no immediate threat worth keeping him awake all night– no! That was a lie; even butterflies could kill nowadays.

But he remained awake. The MacMillan had not arrived because they kept watch until it did; if he decided to sleep and not do what was to be done, he could change the forthcoming events and get them all slaughtered.

Besides, the Xhosa members were definitely watching, and if he slept, it would strip all respect they had for him.

So he had to watch, in the moonless night... whatever a moon was.

He needed to take his stimulants now, but he couldn't because he hadn't eaten.

"What is taking her so long?"

"Ohh, nothing. I just wanted to see if you actually do get hungry."

Atlas had expected this, so she couldn't jump scare him. "I do, just, sometimes I don't live long enough to experience the feeling often."

She smiled sweetly and dropped the food tray down in front of him.

The first thing that caught Atlas' eye was the rising wisps. "Did you actually find firewood? Or are you just capitalising on the fact that I hoped you did to cast this illusion?"

"Neither," she said with giddiness. "I have better ways to make meals."

Atlas didn't ask anymore. The food looked too tantalising to be ignored a second longer, so he dug in.

Not like an animal though, no, like something worse. He gobbled up the rice cakes and light broth soup with quiet satisfaction...then grew grim again.

His face was just like that.

"Thanks, Hope."

"You're welcome, glad you still enjoy my cooking."

Atlas drank, but left a bit of water in the pouch after, then dropped one of the caffeine-content bags into it, allowing it to mix into the water, then he gulped it.

Over the years, he had grown numb to the effects of this "poison", but still forced himself to believe it was working.

Then he took the anti-frost pills and was ready for the blizzard.

The winds had picked up, and he was beginning to grow afraid that his hut wouldn't stand it.

"... goodnight."

***

Atlas was almost completely covered in the still-raining snow by the time the incandescent magician– the sun– decided to reveal itself.

He had successfully crunched through his pills and caffeine content, and also successfully proved to the sceptical Xhosa members that he was worthy of being a lieutenant.

He had not needed to fire a single bullet all night, because the distance had remained clear as he knew it would.

He stretched his muscles out from below the soil, and whistled to beckon for a shift switch with someone else.

Moments later he heard the muffled steps of an Xhosa member coming down the slope before the ridge. Then he unearthed himself from his fake grave, and passed the rifle he had once used to kill a few of them to the man who came.

Of course, they would never know his crimes.

"Good morning, lieutenant."

"Yeah, morning. When the other guys get here, tell them to start immediately; I'm going to sleep."

Atlas got into his hut and onto his bed, not bothering about the morning routines, and falling asleep as soon as he could.

***

"YOU THINK YOU CAN THREATEN THE NATURAL ORDER...I BEG TO DIFFER, CHILD.

I AM THE END OF DAYS, THE BEGINNING OF WINTER."

***

Atlas jerked awake, soaked in sweat despite the sinister chill.

His skin was pale, and his breath rasped, his mind tinging from extreme pain.

Hope sat on the chair opposite him, like she always did, to watch over him as he slept.

"What dream dares disturb your slumber so jarringly?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the sweater she was knitting.

"A message."

"Then go back to sleep; it was just a message," she said, not caring to inquire further. "That demon will try to break you, hope he doesn't."

Atlas struggled to stir his pumping chest. He could barely remember what he had seen, whether it was spectacle or static. But he wouldn't forget one thing:

How small he was in comparison to that deity.

"...what time is it?"

"The sun is almost at its peak, so about eleven hours after midnight."

"Are the Xhosa still working?"

"Yes. Achilles even sent some kingdom guards to assist them."

Atlas stood up. "I need to go see their progress. But first..."

Atlas reached into his drawer and took out his LOG book, then scribbled down what had happened yesterday.

Nothing much really, just how bad Achilles' condition had become, the bad state of the kingdom– and castle–, his plan this time, how delicious Hope's cooking was– of course he wouldn't want her to know that– and obviously, his dream.

Every single word, the way it had been said.

Then he freshened up at the back of his hut, after sternly warning Hope not to even think of peeping on him, and walked over to the ridge.

The work was good.

Below, parts of the ridge had been caved out and suspended on imbalanced rods that bit into the ice sheet.

At its bottom, the rod was switched from a simple iron pole to assemblies of small circular gears attached. Polished ropes were passed through them, connected to a hook some distance away, far enough not to be under the ridge.

Artificial congestion was being created as the kingdom guards broke the ice in certain places and piled up snow in others.

It would make the sniper elites have an easier time hitting the MacMillan when it was in range, but it would also prevent the melee fighters from effectively flipping and sliding around the place.

Some locations were marked with Ox blood, indicating that there were some trip mines under. Tomorrow it would be cleaned, or later today, but this was for the meantime, so everyone would get it into memory.

Thin and sharp wires were lined across other places, pulled taut to be like razor blades.

In the corner, some Xhosa members were sparring, although half-heartedly.

Atlas smiled. This was promising.

Well, all but one...