Ch 2 - A Cold Departure

Solhavn, Minnesota, looked exactly the same the day Tucker-James left as it had his entire life—gray skies, the smell of woodsmoke, and patches of old snow that never fully melted even in April. The Lutheran church bell rang in the distance, as it always did at 7:00 a.m., and somewhere a neighbor’s truck coughed to life in a puff of white exhaust. It felt wrong, somehow, that the world didn’t pause for his departure.

At the curb outside their modest two-story home, Pastor Elbert stood next to the family’s rust-red van, arms folded like a sentry. Tucker-James shifted his duffel bag nervously from one shoulder to the other. His mother gave him a packed lunch and a careful hug that ended too quickly.

“You remember what I said,” Elbert muttered, eyes narrowed. “You’re going to find a good, traditional woman over there. None of that feminist rot like we’ve got here. They still raise their girls right in Norway.”

Tucker swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“And if one of those blonde girls so much as touches you without your say-so—”

“I’ll pray,” Tucker cut in quickly. “And call you. And maybe fast.”

His father nodded, satisfied.

A horn honked. It was Josh’s ancient Saturn pulling up beside them, the passenger window stuck halfway down as always. Josh leaned over from the driver’s seat, grinning.

“Ready to join the Empire, Lord Strickland?” he called out.

Michael sat in the back, holding a thermos and a small notebook. He looked like he hadn't slept.

Tucker blinked. “You guys came to see me off?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Michael said with a half-smile. “Your dad told me you were going to some kind of fascist Nordic purity camp. I had to confirm it wasn't a prank.”

Josh elbowed him. “Dude. Respect the journey.” Then to Tucker, “Seriously, though. If their girls look anything like that propaganda vid, you’re gonna need some backup Psalms. I bookmarked Song of Solomon for you.”

Tucker blushed instantly. “It’s not like that.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

They talked for a few more minutes—awkward but heartfelt. Josh gave him a USB stick with “important music and memes,” and Michael offered him a small leather notebook with a blank first page. “For when you don’t know how to process things,” he said. “Which I suspect will be… often.”

Then it was time. A final round of handshakes, a quick hug from Josh that was more slap than squeeze, and a solemn nod from Michael.

By noon, Tucker was on a cramped regional flight to Chicago. Then came the overnight haul to Reykjavík, where the plane descended into a whitewashed landscape of lava rock and snow. The airport was clean, silent, and weirdly futuristic. Security staff wore matching gray uniforms and spoke perfect English with not-quite-human politeness.

Signs pointed toward something called the "Imperial Tower Transit Platform." It was separate from the normal gates. There were no advertisements. No windows.

Tucker-James followed the signs with a sinking feeling. Every step further from Solhavn felt like peeling off another layer of himself. His palms were sweaty. His thoughts jumbled. He clutched Michael’s notebook like a lifeline.

And then he saw it—the Tower.

It loomed over the frozen coastline like a relic from a lost war. Built of rough black steel and clad in bolted armor plates, the structure rose in brutal tiers. Weld seams traced its surface like scars. External pipes hissed steam into the cold air, and tanks mounted along its spine rumbled faintly, as if feeding some unseen furnace deep inside. Orange safety lights blinked in rhythmic patterns along gangways and docking spires, casting a hellish glow through the fog.

It was less a building and more a militarized growth—part factory, part keep, part oil rig.

At its summit, suspended by thick black cables from a cantilevered docking platform, floated the airship: LZ-42 Noctilucent. The massive hull hovered with unnatural stillness, its armored belly lit by dull yellow floodlights and occasional bursts of vapor. It looked less like a vessel and more like a siege weapon.

Tucker stood there, breath caught.

This was it. The Rubicon.

He took one trembling step forward, toward the boarding bridge.

He didn’t know it yet, but this would be the last moment in his life when he still felt like he understood how the world worked.