Ceus checked his watch. It was two minutes to midnight, and they’d be here any moment.

He rarely had visitors into his office, for it was levitating thirty thousand feet in the air. But it was probably for the best anyway, as this place wasn’t exactly the most welcoming.

It was lit only by a single candle on his otherwise bare desk, giving off the dimmest of dim lights. The stuffed bats and birds that cluttered his shelves made the atmosphere only spookier. If it hadn’t been for the ceiling—an exact replica of the daytime sky—it would’ve taken the happiness out of even the jolliest man on Earth.

One minute to the hour. Ceus looked up towards the bronze door of his office. It remained shut but then again, what was he expecting? It was still only one minute to midnight, and he knew they were always exactly on time: not a minute early, not a minute late.

Gently, he fingered the large crystal orb he had on his desk. He stared into it as though hoping to see something new amongst the smoke inside. But he wasn’t that naïve. It had been stating the same thing now for thousands of years, nothing ever changing. As much as he wished it were wrong, everything that orb had ever told him had proven true. And he knew the moment was coming.

Ceus’ watch beeped. It was midnight and sure enough, they were there. There was a thundering knock on the heavy metal door, and Ceus rose out of his throne to go and answer it. He must have been at least eight feet tall and was an incredibly intimidating figure. His breastplate made his chest seem even larger than it truly was, his crooked nose sitting conspicuously above his brown, bushy beard. However, his most prominent feature was his hands. They were the size of dinner plates and he’d no doubt be able to pick up a fully grown man with one hand and no trouble. It worked to his advantage of course, as when he opened the door, his hands were the only pair in existence large enough to turn the knob. That, combined with its elevation, was the office’s entire security and he’d never had a break-in before.

As he pulled the door open slowly, the two men who greeted him could scarcely have looked more different. The one on the right was barely four feet tall and had the exact appearance of a garden gnome with his red cone-shaped hat, long white pointed beard, and knee-high wellingtons. The other man, however, looked about six feet tall. He was dark of face and his hair was short and perfectly groomed, in perfect harmony with his pin-striped suit and tie.

‘Good evening, Solo,’ Ceus said to the gnome in his extraordinarily deep voice. ‘To you, Mr Iglehart, also. Please do enter.’

The man called Solo and the one called Mr Iglehart followed Ceus to his desk. They all walked in complete contrast to each other: Solo tiptoed like he was up to mischief; Iglehart strolled with a nonchalant swagger, while Ceus seemed to march around, aware of the kingly presence being the Guardian of the Sky gave him.

‘Please, gentlemen, do sit down,’ Ceus invited, gesturing towards the two chairs opposite his desk. The guests obliged, and Iglehart sat comfortably with his legs crossed while Solo shuffled on his seat nervously. After a few seconds, he decided to kneel on the chair, seemingly to at least come close to the height of the adjacent man, or perhaps to hide the fact that his feet didn’t reach the floor.

‘You two are probably wondering why I decided to summon you here at such an hour,’ Ceus began. ‘The reason is, I have some important news to tell you. I have already informed Marfin, but the nature of his condition rendered it impractical for him to attend tonight. I’m afraid this is some worrying business. I have reason to believe that what we feared has now happened.’

Iglehart stared at Ceus blankly as Solo shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, the corner of his mouth twitching as he spoke. ‘Y-you m-mean,’ he said in his squeaky voice, as if not saying it would stop it being true, ‘that the-the Veil…’

‘Has been torn, yes,’ Ceus said, bowing his head solemnly. ‘The prophecy has always said it would happen. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. However, if its predictions continue to be correct, we need to be prepared.’

‘That’s what we’re going on?’ Iglehart asked incredulously. ‘A prophecy? I mean, surely you must know, predicting the future, prognostication isn’t the most exact science.’

‘I am well aware of the pitfalls of prognostication, Hal, having studied it for thousands of years,’ Ceus asserted. ‘However, this prophecy has proven reliable thus far.’

‘I’m sorry, but surely we can’t rely exclusively on one prophecy,’ Iglehart countered. ‘If it was created thousands of years ago, it can’t have predicted everything.’

‘Well, of course not. It doesn’t mention an incompetent governor, for starters,’ Ceus said bitterly, making Iglehart look suddenly less comfortable.

‘I’ve won the last three elections. I think we’ll let the people decide on my competence,’ Iglehart said through gritted teeth once he’d regained his composure.

‘By lying to the people,’ Solo snapped, ‘telling them the disappearance of Naidos was some master plan of yours. You had nothing to do with it at all. It was a pure stroke of luck that Alaric was born when you happened to be Governor.’

‘We digress, gentlemen,’ Ceus said with a raised voice before Iglehart could open his mouth to retort. ‘After the death of Rei, I was appointed to be in charge of the Guardians for the time being—’

‘Yes, appointed by yourself,’ Iglehart snarled.

‘SILENCE!’ Ceus thundered, hammering his fists down on the table so hard, the entire room seemed to tremor. Solo almost fell off his seat and Iglehart froze, his face expressionless with shock.

‘We, the other Guardians, approved this measure,’ Solo said, his lips thin under his white beard.

‘Thank you, Solo,’ Ceus sighed before turning to Iglehart. ‘Nothing, I repeat, nothing, gives you the right to speak to a Guardian like that, Hal, even if you are the Governor of Harramore. Do you hear me?’

Iglehart shuddered and nodded, Solo smirking boyishly.

‘Now,’ Ceus went on, ‘I needed to brief you on the matter. If the Veil is indeed torn, then that poses great threats not only to Harramore but to the Ordinaries as well. Already, reports of ghost sightings in the Main World have skyrocketed.’

‘F-forgive me f-for interrupting,’ Iglehart hesitated, ‘but are Ordinaries not always reporting ghost sightings?’

‘Yes, they are,’ Ceus said. ‘There’s rarely any truth to them, but these ones seem too similar for it to be a coincidence. Always the same thing—fuzzy apparitions of deceased loved ones, voices in their heads. There’s something to these reports. I wish it weren’t true, but I had been expecting it. After that incident with Alaric and Rei at the Land of the Dead, I suspected the moment had come. And unfortunately, once there is a tear in something like this, it only gets bigger. Ideally, therefore, the best thing to do would be to fix it as soon as possible.’

There were a few moments of silence in the room as Solo and Iglehart took this in. Iglehart remained focused on Ceus as if expecting him to say more, while Solo stared down at the floor. He’d realised the truth.

‘But we can’t fix it,’ Solo said weakly. ‘No living Guardian can; not even Rei would’ve been able to. The one we need has been missing forever…lost,’ he said.

‘Indeed,’ Ceus sighed. ‘So, that means our only option is to prepare for the worst. Now, Solo, I need you to keep an eye on Alaric…from a distance. Keep him out of trouble; his safety is of the utmost importance. Hal, I cannot intervene with your governing of Harramore, but I suggest you increase security, especially around Oakwood. Be ready for another war. Is that understood?’

Solo nodded, Iglehart maintaining a neutral expression as if musing on what Ceus had told him. ‘I’ll consider the necessary measures in the morning,’ he said.

Ceus stared into Iglehart’s eyes. He knew perfectly well what Iglehart was thinking. He could just do nothing and pretend there was no problem. But what he’d learnt from fourteen years of working with him was that any efforts to persuade him otherwise would be futile.

‘Very well, then,’ Ceus said, at last, breaking the tension in the room. ‘Solo, I trust you to do a good job and Hal, please consider these measures carefully. Your reputation in history is at stake.’

And from Iglehart’s expression, it was evident that something about those last words had stuck with him. And it was a good job Ceus didn’t realise how. For if he had, he may have wished he’d never said them.