Within a few hours I had my books. I also managed to persuade him to allow a small desk and a chair into the cell. It required me to be chained to the wall for a time as two of his awkward servants moved the new furniture in, but it was a small price to pay. When they moved out and the glittering spell returned I was able to sit down and do what I loved most: research.

For a while he observed me through the grill as I opened the 'Lore of Dheathain’. Picking up a fine wooden pen with a steel nib I began to read, starting from where I had first left off.

It was a section about a legend of a priestess, one who had a great love but could not be with for reasons that he himself was a eunuch, pledged to the god Valhalla. There was no other mention of that god in any literature as far as I knew, and I had never heard of him. Thus, this story had become something of an education to me - a man who thrived upon knowing all the tales.

Being in the hells for thousands of years had not allowed me to gather much worldly experience. But as I had been the bearer of a wide assortment souls from one side of the River of Death to the other, I had come to know many things. Conversation was something I had never lacked skill in. Thus, I had learnt about the world and the wars and countries and development of the races. I had come to know cities from architects, gods from priests, battles from generals and dragons from magizoologists. And in all those years I had done nothing but want to learn.

And now I taught. I poured over the story of the priestess and the eunuch, taking down notes of every mention of Valhalla I could. He seemed to be involved with some form of afterlife, or was the afterlife itself. Warriors who died in battle and/or violence got to it automatically, others had to earn their way. What was intriguing, though, were the references to certain deaths, that the eunuch kept quoting: “Baron Kss’Vet himself, who passed by the great light falling from the sky”. I knew from having seen part of the Great Calamity myself that there had been a series of meteors falling from the sky, that had burnt up in the atmosphere, and thus looked bright.

A sigh of satisfaction fled my mouth as I leant back, scrawling the 'fukatmaki’ into my notes.

“What is it?”

Swinging my head around I spied him there, in the window. Pausing, I slid a ribbon to mark the place in my book before I replied.

“You are still there?”

“Clearly,” he had his arms folded across his chest from what I could see, and he leant against the doorway. “Now, what is it?”

Crossing my own arms I turned to him, twisting around in the chair. I moved a leg, swinging it up and over the back so that I was straddling the back rest and could lean upon it. A smile played upon my lips.

“Futakmaki,” I said, simply.

Immediately he frowned. “What, or who, or why, is a fu-futaku-fuk- what?”

“Futakmaki,” I replied. “You could say it means 'fire from above’ or 'heat from the heavens’ or 'rock falling’. It could mean many things according to what language you claim as the source.”

“But what is it, Char?”

“A comet,” I finally admitted. “Or several. Not sure.”

He blinked, confused for a moment. “You mean there's a … comet coming?”

“A comet came. What do you remember from the the Great Calamity?”

He frowned. “Fire. Falling like rain. A river of ash. A great wave that drowned the village I ruled.”

I nodded, “as do I. Especially the ash and fire. So a comet crashing into the earth makes entire sense.”

“Wait,” he spun to face me, his face taking up the entire space in the grill, brows furrowed deeply. “Are you saying that you believe another comet is coming?”

“Something like that,” I nodded. “Possibly worse.”

He paused, and looked away. “I will ask astronomers. Good,” he straightened. “Continue your … studies. I will have someone bring down food.”

“Glad you aren't allowing me to starve to death,” I replied, dryly.

“No, you are currently too valuable to have you in pain,” he shook his head, eyes looking elsewhere. “Or be dying. To wait the six hours for you to come back to life,” he curled his lip in distaste. “Carry on,” and he waved a hand at me before leaning away. I watched as he drew away from the door and disappeared from sight, striding down the corridor.

The sound of his footsteps rang in my ears for hours.