“Dear Flamebearer Retvik…”
Retvik examined the one letter that had arrived on his bedside table, next to his small glass of grape juice and the plastic tub of jellied meat and gravy. He hadn’t expected any visitors or letters or anything. He was trapped inside a hidden, private facility that only about 20 Rethavok knew about, excluding the staff that worked there. Retvik also had broken his left arm yet again, so him leaving was out of the question.
The letter though was very strange. It wasn’t printed on paper. It didn’t seem to be printed at all. The message was burnt onto what felt like a piece of metal, but was clearly too light to be metal at all. And it had been sealed not in an envelope but a sheet of silk. Slightly sticky silk.
Finished with the inspection of the letter, Retvik decided to actually read the letter’s contents.
“Dear Flamebearer Retvik,
“Due to your Theitonic Typing and your considerable collection of skills and talents, you have been selected and nominated to join the ranks of the Thantir. If you accept this nomination, please proceed to Deathen Base PH-1, where you will be greeted by our Thantir Genars and initiated to the Thantir Ranks.
“If you do not wish to join us, please keep hold of this letter, in case you change your mind in the future. By retaining this letter, you may request to join our ranks at any time.
“Thank you for your cooperation and support. You have earned this.
“Many kind regards,
“Decay Lord Vikalos”
Retvik blinked to himself, then reread the letter. Then he read it again. And again. None of it made sense.
“Of course it doesn’t make sense. Can you give me that letter, please?”
Normally, Retvik would have been surprised about the sudden disturbance of his silence. But when he looked up and saw the snarling, gem-speckled face of a very pretty dragon sitting at the foot of his bed, Retvik couldn’t help but smile.
“What is this, Whenvern?”
The Time Drake grunted. “You don’t need to know.”
“I want to know.”
“Fine. It is a time-futurized achronic Pragma. Either a potential-mellontic object or a dys-makria mellontic object. I’m not sure.”
Retvik blinked again, more confused than ever. “What?”
“It’s an object from the future. Either from a potential future that can’t actually happen now because of the appearance of this object, or an object from such a vastly distant future that either got sent to the wrong recipient or… or well, perhaps got sent to the correct person at the wrong time.”
Retvik’s confusion clearly wasn’t going away. The Whenvern tutted, then took the letter from Retvik’s non-broken hand, inspecting it for himself. After a few more grunts and tuts, Kairos handed the letter back.
“I… I do not get it.”
“Understandable…” the Whenvern frowned. “I think it is addressed to you. Just a future you. And that frankly is pretty bad because you are a mortal with a long yet desperately finite lifespan. And this Pragma is from a time I cannot precisely predict but is far, far away from the realms of you naturally being alive to receive it.”
Retvik shook his head, doing his best to try and understand. But he clearly didn’t understand and the Whenvern could tell.
“Will I be a deity one day?”
“From the looks of this letter? Potentially. But…” The Whenvern sighed loudly. “I am sorry to bother you. I have things I need to work on. When I have answers, I will get back to you, okay?”
Retvik nodded. “That would be nice, large hallucination.”
Kairos paused. “Pardon?”
“I am on a large number of painkillers and sedatives right now.”
“Hm. Makes sense. Well, I am not really here anyway.”
Retvik closed his eyes, leaning back. “Oh? I suppose of course not. You are a large dragon. You would not fit in here anyway…”
“Yes, of course…” The Whenvern frowned one last time. “Go to sleep, Retvik. You need your rest.”
“Thank you…” Retvik muttered as he began to drift off, forgetting about both the letter and the large dragon at the foot of his bed.