In an Ancient Chest

Latvia returned to her home in a rage.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the Coralendian countryside outside her window, reminding Latvia of how much valuable time she had wasted on Estonia. The moment Latvia suggested going out to rescue Lithuania, Estonia flew into a passion. It was ridiculous, she had said. Probably the most retarded idea Latvia could come up with. Two girls, absolutely untrained in the arts of combat and war, going out into the unknown to rescue a capable and competent pilot of the Foggistani Helo-Fleet—it was absurd. Lithuania could take care of herself—Latvia and Estonia would only encumber Lithuania’s mission.

Now Latvia was back home, without Estonia’s support, and losing valuable time. Frustrated, she knocked a glass of water off her dresser—regretting the act as soon as the glass hit the floor and shattered. She cursed, looked outside, then turned from the window and clutched at her hair. Estonia couldn’t see what Latvia could see. She couldn’t feel—couldn’t know what Latvia had known. Something had happened to Lithuania, and whatever it was, it had caused her to start using…

Latvia looked at the blackened door knob of the door to the black room, and sighed. Things would have been simpler had she never entered that room—had she never discovered what she discovered, and done what she did. She still didn’t understand how everything fit in with her family’s mission… Why the hell she was even bound to her family’s mission anymore…

Ever since her parents’ mysterious disappearance, Latvia had begun to doubt all the lessons they had instilled in her. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania—they were crucial to the development of the Foggistani mission on Coralende—at least that’s what their parents had told them. But all Latvia knew of her “Foggistani mission” was that the Starr family line had settled in Coralende over two hundred years ago, long before any Foggistani spaceship had revealed itself to the Coralendians. Their mission had been to instill goodwill among the people—not to enter the planet as human aliens, but to blend in as Coralendians and slowly work from within. It was an ambassadorial endeavor, one that clandestinely placed members of the Starr line in strategic positions of power throughout the planet, in preparation for the Foggistani arrival.

The mission worked, somewhat. Governments, the media, activist groups—all had been infiltrated by the Starrs, and all had started promoting more explorative intergalactic policies. Movies about space invasions, which were normally enormous hits at virtual reality theatres, fell into a mysterious decline. In their place rose films about space exploration, space colonization—films about the wonders of interacting with the long lost humans they had all originally come from—about reaching the farthest ends of the galaxy, and even the universe. Politicians who favored interplanetary colonization began garnering impressive support. More and more children wanted to grow up and become space explorers. The scientific community aspired more and more to interact with nearby, human-populated planets—some even longed to find the lost humans from space, those from whom all Coralendian inhabitants had descended, and who presumably were in possession of some of the most sophisticated technology known to man.

One hundred years into their mission, it seemed the Starrs were succeeding. The planet appeared prepped for the arrival of Foggistan, and if all went as planned, the people of Coralende would regard Foggistan with excitement, reverence, maybe even awe. Ever since the Great Digital Fire, the catastrophic virus that devoured all of Coralende's historical records, the people of Coralende had been longing for some clarity as to their past—some recuperation of their history, and an understanding of how all the people of Coralende were connected. If Foggistan could use its own records to rebuild Coralende's history, then the Coralendian people would be forever in their debt. Coralende's actual reception of Foggistan, however, turned out to be just slightly different than expected.

“Damn it,” said Latvia, opening the door into the black room. She looked up the dark staircase, trying to decide whether or not to use the crystal orb so she could find Lithuania on her own, then remembered she had accidentally smashed the orb against the wall. Still, the black room had chests and crates full of occult implements. A new orb was bound to be lying around somewhere.

Latvia walked up the creaking old stairs and into the black room. Against the far wall and underneath the room’s single circular window were the bits of glass from her shattered orb. She started looking for a new orb in the crate nearest her. Books, books, and more books. Nothing but a bunch of ancient family photo albums, diaries, classic novels... The next crate just had more of the same. All interesting stuff she had yet to explore, but not what she needed right now. Then she looked inside a dark wooden chest. It was filled with small cardboard boxes, shoeboxes, jewelry boxes—she opened them one by one, unwrapped tissue paper from various trinkets and seemingly magical objects, found jewels, medals, amulets, a rabbit’s foot—again, all interesting stuff, possibly even family heirlooms, but nothing she actually—

And then her eye was caught. A tiny, rectangular red box in the corner of the chest. There was something familiar, curious, rather quaint about it… It was obviously too small to contain a crystal orb, but Latvia pulled it out and opened it up anyways. More tissue paper surrounded a small, slender object. It looked like another piece of jewelry. Carefully, Latvia unwrapped it. It was a silver necklace, very thin and frail looking, lying on a bed of cotton. It was remarkably clear and bright, as if just polished, and as she picked it up, it slithered in Latvia’s hand almost liquid-like.

With a peculiar sense of foreboding, Latvia slowly extracted the necklace from its box. Half of it was still concealed under its bed of cotton. And then, as Latvia drew the entire thing out for full view, the necklace’s pendant was revealed.

“Oh my God!” Latvia gasped, letting the necklace and its box drop to the ground. She clasped her hands over her mouth, her stare locked on the pendant. The glittering silver—the size and lightness—the shape—It was unmistakable. Even the best of replicas couldn’t capture the allure, the mystery, the sublime beauty of the real thing! There was no doubt about it!

In a tiny red box, at the bottom of a chest, hidden away in a mysterious room that had only recently been discovered, lied a family heirloom Latvia could only have dreamed of finding; a quilaire.