"What do you mean Salirsth doesn't have desserts!" Fritzi howls with laughter as she tries to chug another glass of fresh milk. Wagner begins his reply with a rumbling chuckle, his mustache a pasty white color courtesy of his own glass.
I stare helplessly at the two of them, apple-marinated noodles hanging from my mouth. Truth be told, Wagner never made dessert. Then again, if he made it, I wouldn't want to eat any.
Soon enough, they're talking about how they both must seem so old and how the world keeps getting worse and what happened to this famous person and so on. I can't remember any other time where Wagner seemed so relaxed. Whenever we eat at home, he comes off as terribly awkward; like he feels he needs to strike up small-talk but doesn't know where to begin. He's definitely interested in how Fritzi is the sole guardian of this place, and she's interested in talking to someone who doesn't measure clouds for a living.
Looking around, I realize that this is probably my first time visiting someone in their home. On base, my friends all work there, if I can count the mechanics and librarians. Besides them, I know Angela, but she has her home life pretty well separated from anything else. Even if I'm not actually involved in the conversation, it's nice to live as a semi-normal person, for once.
My thoughts are interrupted by Fritzi punching me in the shoulder. "When I was your age, Raika, I dreamed about moving to Hilvara." She says. "But I wound up falling in love in these mountains, so I settled for visiting now and then."
"Really? What's so charming about rocks...?"
"Not the rocks, idiot." She punches me again, harder this time. "My husband serves at Big Ursa; it's not far from here." With no further prompting, she launched into the story of how they met while I exchanged an uneasy glance with Wagner.
I awake the next morning when Fritzi steps squarely in my ribs. Growling, I latch onto her leg and wrestle her to the floor.
"Truce!" She cries. "That was the doorbell; Tyler's back from nerd camp!"
"Tyler?" I ask groggily, surrendering her appendage.
"My son." She replies. "He's about your age." She adds with a wink before dashing off to the door. None of the locks were in use, so she ripped it open with ease.
Outside stands a Hilvaran soldier dressed in a messenger's uniform. On both sides and slightly behind him stand two more soldiers, similarly dressed. In his hand, the lead soldier holds a yellow medallion, which he hands to Fritzi silently. With his other hand, he slams a fist into his heart as a salute and his companions follow suit.
Fritzi stares at the medal, speechless. She has both arms half raised as if to take it, but her hands are shaking so much she can't quite grab onto it.
"Mrs. Fritzi Bernstein." The lead soldier starts. "We regret to inform you that your husband has given his life in defense of our countries." He pauses, looking for any sign that his words are reaching her. Finally, he continues. "He died with honor, and he will not be forgotten."