Page 4 of The Viking in the Vault
I want to go home. I want it so badly it hurts.
“Okay,” I breathe.
Marcy smiles, and Lisette flashes me a peace sign before the twins come barreling through the frame, screaming something about wanting more arepas. The three of us burst into laughter, and for a few minutes, the ache in my chest feels a little lighter.
We talk for a while longer, catching up on family gossip and the latest antics of Marcy’s kids. But eventually, the call ends, and the screen goes dark. The quiet rushes back in, and I’m left alone with my thoughts.
I curl deeper into the blanket, staring at the fire as it flickers in the hearth. My sisters’ words play over and over in my head, but they don’t bring the comfort I think they were meant to. If anything, they only make the weight of the deadline—and the importance of my work—feel heavier.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s late, but not too late.
My gaze drifts to the satchel by the door, packed with everything I need for the archive.
I told myself I’d let it go, that I’d listen to Ren and focus on what’s safe. But sitting here, thinking about Santa Rosa and my family, I know I can’t just wait. I can’t risk failure—not when there’s so much on the line.
I pull the blanket tighter around me, steeling myself against the decision I already know I’ve made.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to the Eiskammer.
And this time, no one is going to stop me.
3
ELENA
Dr. Kallipso told me not to be late, so today, I’m going in early.
Extra early–before anyone can stop me from visiting the Llaekys Prime cores.
The Eiskammer is eerily silent in the early hours of the morning, the beep of my access card in the door almost jarring. I pull my coat tighter around me as I step into the vast, icy hall, the chill biting at my cheeks and making me shiver. I glance around, half-expecting Kallipso’s sharp voice to echo through the space, but I’m alone. No one else arrives this early–save for a maintenance droid clearing the floors of ice.
Good.
The weight of my satchel presses against my side as I cross the entry hall, the sound of my boots too loud. It’s still dark outside, but the northern lights glimmer through the vaulted crystalline ceiling, decorating the whole entry hall in otherworldly color. I force myself to focus on my breathing, each exhale fogging up the air in front of me.
I’ll be careful. I’ve done this a thousand times. You always have to be careful in the Eiskammer’s sublevels, and today is no different.
The lift is just ahead, ringed with white light. I step onboard and key in my destination, then it begins to hover through the layers of ice–down, down, down. It used to scare me, but now it’s all part of my day-to-day.
The further I descend, the colder it gets, the walls of the ice tunnels glittering with elaborate, spiraling patterns. A soft chime signals my arrival, and I step off of the lift a moment later into a narrow corridor lined with storage chambers.
The Llaekis Prime cores are in the lowest floor of the Eiskammer: the deepest part of an already cold and dark archive.
Here goes nothing.
My boots echo against the metal grates as I step into the hallway, but I stop in my tracks when I get a glimpse of the damage. The earthquake’s impact is immediately visible–several overhead lights flicker, casting uneven shadows across the walls, and a jagged crack runs along the far wall, the ice behind it shimmering faintly. Pipes overhead hiss with faint bursts of vapor, seals compromised.
I hesitate, my heart pounding. Maybe Dr. Kallisto wasn’t just making up excuses for me to focus on her research.
Maybe this isn’t safe.
But then I think of Marcy’s face on the holopad last night, the chaos of my family’s kitchen…and their unshakable faith in me. I think of Santa Rosa, the streets where I grew up, the beautiful beach where I spent countless summers with my sisters. Since I was a kid, I’ve taken care of them. My mom did her best, but after our father left, we were all we had.
I can’t let them down now.
I grit my teeth and move forward.
The air keeps getting colder, the damage becoming more pronounced with every step. The cores are unharmed–the most important material here, still safe–but all the lifesupport systems are compromised. Broken ceiling panels dangle precariously, and I have to duck beneath them, careful not to snag my scarf or satchel. Frost coats the walls, thick and uneven, and the ground beneath me feels less stable than it probably should, metal plates creaking softly under my weight.
