"Sit tight, Lord Konrad Curze."
"You don't need to call me lord."
Curze answered with a frown. He was anxious, yet he still maintained his composure, his right wrist bent inward as a persistent chill slowly seeped from his skin.
"It is proper etiquette," Akurduana replied, clad in purple-and-gold armor.
One hand rested on the Storm Eagle's controls. Beyond the cockpit window lay a completely black planet, with only a handful of faint lights blossoming across its surface.
Konrad Curze did not answer Akurduana. He sat with bent knees in the first passenger seat behind the cockpit, the double-fastened safety harness resting securely around his waist.
He was silent, unwilling to say anything more.
Anxiety had seized his heart, forcing him into silence and stripping away every other emotion, leaving only itself behind.
As he breathed slowly, even his thoughts seemed to freeze.
Konrad Curze could not help tightening his grip on his blade.
"...Lord Konrad Curze."
After a period of silence, Akurduana spoke again. His voice was gentle, but it did not sound weak.
Curze raised his head and looked over. From his angle, he could take in every detail at a glance. This had been deliberate; he wanted to force himself away from that anxiety by distracting himself.
He noticed that Akurduana wore an ancient warrior's braid—intricate plaits along the sides, with long hair flowing down behind him.
And then?
Konrad Curze pressed his lips together, realizing that he had failed.
"What is it, Akurduana?" he asked.
"Nothing, my lord. I merely felt that something seemed to be weighing on your mind."
Curze almost laughed. "Is it that obvious?"
"No, no."
The Storm Eagle dove, entering Nostramo's orbit. Turbulence and gravity struck at once, and Curze was certain that without his safety harness, he could never have remained