In The Hall of The Law

The sky lit up with the faint twinkle of stars, accompanied by the splatters of blues and purples blending into the black canvas. Below them were a freshly reunited father and daughter, hand-in-hand, while they walked down the gravel path leading to the cathedral. The two of them sported a similar smile, with the other being slightly widerThe man had let his staff rest against the podium in the common room, so that he could use the hand that usually holds it to calmly lead his daughter through the doors and into the labyrinth of embellished halls. At night, the lights in the building were dimmed down, fluorescent lamps acting as artificial torches and adding to the serenity of their little voyage.

They passed by a hall, decorated with pillars and marble statues depicting people of bygone days. The girl seemed more interested in them rather than the item of actual importance that her father was going to show her, yet the latter didn't mind. He patiently waited, an amused look on his face whilst he watched her closely inspect even the most minuscule of details. Not long after, they had arrived upon a pair of tall doors— almost like gates, by the end of the hall. She would revel in the sight of the doors, its intricate carvings and sturdiness, never mind everything behind them. But a few pats on her back was enough to get her moving again, when the creaking of old mahogany boards entered her ears.

"Have you heard stories about the Pillars, Cynthia?" The man inquired with a raise of his eyebrow, letting go of the handles.

She gave the question a little bit of thought, before she answered earnestly; "I couldn't care less about sacks of flesh that think they're all high and mighty," said the girl, the very same smile brightening at seemingly nothing. "I hope you're not bringing me here to meet them… You know how one of their 'children' turned out, do you?"

The man stifled a chuckle.

"Yes, and no. Well… They're not here physically, but they sure are in the same room as us," he exclaimed. The dirt on his soles stained the previously untainted roll of carpet that went from the middle to the end of the room, where another pillar stood, and a cube structure floated above it.

Before he could explain the purpose of their trip, she interrupted. "You brought me here to make me look at a holographic cube," she seemed rather disappointed— she couldn't believe that her own father, who she hadn't seen in five years, returned to their house in the dead of the night just to take her cube sightseeing. "Are you being serious right now?"

The man's hands raised up in a defensive manner. "That is not just a cube, my dear," he retorted, carefully lifting the cube into the air with his crystallized hand. A glint of its golden glow reflected in his pupil, a contrast to the girl's disinterested ones. "Just like how humans have a heart, we have a core," he spoke. "And so does Hyperborea."

He then put the cube back onto its rightful place. "You remember what Hyperborea is, right?"

The girl impatiently scratched her arm. "I just got out a week ago," she murmured. The thought of her father not being there on the most important moment of a rover's life was taunting her— but considering the situation they were in right now, it wouldn't make sense for her to bring that up. She was just glad that she was finally important enough that he came back to look for her.

"Oh— oh, of course," the man struggled with his words, then brought his hand up to the girl's head to comb his fingers through her hair. "I'm very proud of you, Cynthia," he let out a sigh. Even though his face was obscured by the shadow of his hood and his hair, he still hoped that she could see the prideful smile that he had. "I always believed that you had that in you."

The girl's somber expression twisted into that of a mixture of irritation and sadness, then she, as respectfully as she could, took his hand off her. "Don't act like you know everything about me," her eyes twitched in annoyance. "Can we please just get this over with, Dad?"

Stunned, the man couldn't speak for a good moment.

"You haven't changed a bit," he murmured.