When Amon pushed open the half-closed door, a rich aroma of butter and seafood washed over him.
Rigerif sat beneath the lamp, tackling an enormous Australian lobster on her plate, the silver fork making soft clinks against the shell.
Hearing his footsteps, she did not even look up as she asked indistinctly, "Why did changing clothes take so long? I'm almost done eating."
Amon glanced over the table littered with cups and plates and answered casually, "I stopped by the washroom."
Rigerif sighed contentedly and picked up a napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth. Wind and snow wailed outside the cabin, yet a subtle silence suddenly fell within. She raised her eyes, her silver-gray pupils seeming to contain the Stars.
"You remind me of someone—you're very much like him," she suddenly said.
"Who?"
"Herzog."
Amon's brow lifted slightly, and a faint smile touched his lips. "You knew him?"
"No. My great-grandmother told me about him—a complete madman, and a pervert too." Rigerif paused, keenly catching the subtle change in Amon's expression. "—You really do know him."
Amon did not answer. He merely walked to the window and looked out over the pitch-black sea. Snow struck the porthole, blooming into shattered ice flowers.
"I'm not calling you a pervert," Rigerif added, her voice lowering. "It's just a feeling—you two have a certain similarity in the way you do things."
"How so?"
"Herzog was once a member of the Far North as well. But he was an anomaly. He believed the shortcut to finding Hyperborea was not somewhere far away, but inside our bodies. He said that as long as dormant divine blood could be awakened, everyone could become a god, and the ground beneath their feet would become the Kingdom of God."
Rigerif slowed down, as though weighing every