Narvik was staring out of the window in his cell. He found the view enchanting like nothing he could ever have imagined. When he had been brought to the sky city he had been hidden in a closed crate, the false messenger claiming he needed to be shielded for the trip. He had been talking extensively to the one called Jeanette, mostly about his beliefs. He still had a hard time accepting that they were not divine beings but she had shocked him with stories of their history.

She had talked about the wars they had waged between themselves, the number of killed people so astronomically high, that the scale was almost incomprehensible for him. He came from one of the larger cities on the continent back home, numbering almost 60.000 industrious Glorpil working hard to grow crops and make tools, build houses, and clear forests to make way for more fields. Life was simple but fulfilling.

He missed his home severely. He had never been separated from his people like this. Not even during the trials of adulthood was he alone like he was now. The prophet Jeanette could apparently sense this and had spent a great deal of time trying to pull his thoughts away from those thoughts. He was thankful but it was only temporary relief.

What he needed if he was to remain sane here, was freedom to move around, and interact with beings on a more regular basis. These prisons were not like back home, the guards didn't mock or beat you for fun. They talked to you respectfully and treated you like you would treat a younger sibling that was out of line. They always brought you meals, never demanding that you beg them for it or try to get your family to bribe them, to prevent them from giving you half rations.

They simply opened a sliding panel at the bottom of the cell and pushed in a tray of food. When he was done he simply pushed it out and they would come to collect it. He had speculated for the briefest of moments if people would abuse this to live for free, and then his brain had kicked in again. This was just the ideal way of running a prison, free of corruption and abuse of power.

He had tried to ask about the many wondrous things he saw around him. Light and heat without fire, furniture that had been so perfectly made, he could not find a single flaw in them except for wear and tear. He was a woodworker back home and could appreciate proper craftsmanship but this was beyond anything he had ever seen. Even the blades he had seen them carrying were different. There was no bronze being used anywhere he could see.

Instead, they were using a grey metal much harder and sturdier. He was curious as to what it was but every time he tried asking, his questions were dismissed or dodged, so he stopped asking.

He also knew his wish to be free and walk around conflicted with his wish to return home, according to the Eirik. And Narvik had no doubts that he meant it. He was a commander and a soldier. A leader, and a good one at that. His people respected his word and no one bad-mouthed him when he was not around. Some funny stories maybe, but nothing malicious. This, again, shocked him. Soldiers were ornery bastards by nature, untrusting of leaders, especially veteran soldiers, and yet he had only seen respect and loyalty from these people.

But the story of the false messenger contradicted this. They were hunting him because he betrayed them and broke their laws. The duality of the prophets was striking to him. He had experienced mercy and kindness from them, but at the same time, they hunted one of their own with murderous intent. Were they this double-sided in all matters? He wished to know but had been warned against seeking the knowledge.

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On the second day of his imprisonment, he heard music, something he would never have expected on a ship. sure, there might be someone who knew how to play an instrument, but never a full band as he could hear now. And such alien sounds. Alien but wonderful. The Glorpil species had a deeply evolved artistic culture with an emphasis on music. They loved music in all shapes and forms.

Their temporal lobe* was extremely well developed making them sensitive to off-key notes and singing. He was astounded to hear the almost perfect pitch in the song and sat in a minor trance as the music played, feeling a deep sense of well-being wash over him, as was the case with the Glorpil when exposed to good music. The song came to an end all too soon and A voice suddenly spoke.

"Alright listeners, that was Rodney Carrington with "As good as I once was", and next up we got Amon Amarth, singing "Put your back into the oar" followed by The O'Reilly's and the paddyhats with "Dogs on the leash". This is Terran Nordic radio group, and we will continue our nostalgia month from the 21st century right away!" Then, something extraordinary happened. Another song started playing, on different instruments with a different singer. No way they had 2 bands on hand on a ship and he called out for the guard... Prophet... Guardian!

The current guardian arrived and Narvik froze. This prophet was an absolute giant, even among his own kind. Towering higher than any he had seen so far, and bulging with so much muscle that Narvik thought his skin would rip apart. Yet, he had a kind look in his eyes and he looked down at Narvik with a puzzled look on his face since Narvik had been an exemplary prisoner so far.

"How can you have 2 bands on the ship?" Narvik asked bluntly. Social grace was not a strong suit of his species. They didn't believe in dancing around a subject.

"Band?" Said the guardian with growing confusion.

"I hear the music and the announcer, kindly do not think me deaf, guardian. How can you have 2 bands ready to play like that?"

A look of clarity showed on the guardian's face and he smiled."That is one of the things we do not talk about, Narvik. And call me Bjørn. That is my given name." The giant prophet said. with a toothy smile.

"oh" Narvik responded dejectedly.

"Hey, chin up guy. I have been thinking and I think I have an idea. Wait here." ' He walked away and Narvik could hear him talk in a low voice to someone else that moved away soon after. In a few minutes, the prophet returned and Bjørn came back to the cell with a deck of cards in his hands. Narvik had never seen playing cards before and looked bewildered.

"Let me teach you a game called solitaire. It is not the most interesting game, but you can play it alone. Next shift, I will join you and I can teach you some other card games if you want." Bjørn said with the same smile.

"Join me? how would you do that?" Narvik asked confused.

"I would unlock the cell, enter, and lock it again behind me. It's not like you have a chance in hell to overpower me." He chuckled as he flexed his muscles and Narvik had to agree. And something to do would be nice. Something to do with company present would be even nicer. And it was a prophet. If he was ever returned home, he would have stories to tell for a lifetime. His people would revere him. Not that he wanted it. He just wanted to share what he could that would help his people prosper.

Like all Glorpil, He was raised with the mindset that actions done for the good of the community as a whole were to be revered. His people enjoyed traveling to other parts of their world to learn the ways of Glorpil living under different conditions, and use said learned knowledge to improve upon their own knowledge. Always experimenting, always seeking knowledge.

"I would like that very much. Thank you." Narvik said to Bjørn who unlocked the cell and entered.

"Maybe this won't be so bad after all" Narvik thought to himself.