1976: The Borealis Expedition [Chapter 2]

Dr. Ilmar Guttorm’s reflection in the window was a ghostly, distorted figure, his sharp features softened by the frost clinging to the glass. His pale blue eyes, almost as cold as the landscape beyond, betrayed none of the unease that had settled among the crew. To them, he was the calm in the storm—the experienced glaciologist who had led expeditions into the most inhospitable corners of the earth. But Ilmar knew better. He felt the same gnawing apprehension as the others, though he buried it deep beneath layers of stoic professionalism.

Behind him, the hum of machinery provided a low, constant background noise, a reminder of the fragile line between life and death in this frozen wilderness. The crew moved with quiet efficiency, checking instruments, preparing the submersible for its descent, speaking only in hushed tones. There was no need for unnecessary conversation; each member of the team knew their role, and there was no room for error.

"Dr. Guttorm, we're approaching the drill site," came a voice from the control room, a subtle tremor underlying the calm words. It was Lieutenant Johan Rurik, the mission’s lead engineer, a man as steady as the earth beneath his feet—until now.

Ilmar turned away from the window, his expression unreadable. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he replied, his voice as measured as always. "Prepare for descent. I want all systems double-checked before we begin."

Rurik nodded and relayed the orders to the rest of the crew. There was a quiet urgency in his movements, a stark contrast to the deliberate calmness Ilmar projected. The Lieutenant had seen too many missions go awry to dismiss the foreboding that had settled in his gut since they’d first set course for Nordvaal. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to uncover something that should have remained hidden.

As the Borealis positioned itself over the designated drill site, the crew worked in near silence, their focus absolute. The ice drill, a massive, cumbersome piece of equipment, was lowered into position, its hydraulic arms extending like the pincers of some ancient beast. It began its descent into the ice, a slow, grinding process that sent vibrations reverberating through the submarine. The sound was unnerving, a deep, resonant groan that seemed to echo from the bowels of the earth.

Ilmar watched the readouts on the monitor with a practiced eye, his mind cataloging the data with detached precision. Yet, beneath that calm facade, his thoughts wandered to the stories—whispers, really—that had surrounded Nordvaal for centuries. Tales of lost expeditions, of strange lights beneath the ice, of ancient, forgotten things that slumbered in the depths. He had dismissed them as superstition, the kind of folklore that grew in the absence of understanding. But now, as the drill bored deeper into the ice, he couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth to the old legends.

"Dr. Guttorm," Rurik's voice broke into his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "We're approaching the lakebed. Estimated time to breach, five minutes."

Ilmar nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. This was it—the point of no return. He stepped away from the monitor and moved toward the central console, where the rest of the crew had gathered. Their faces were tense, their eyes fixed on the screens displaying the live feed from the drill’s sensors.

The drill broke through the final layer of ice with a jarring shudder, and the feed shifted as the camera attached to the drill descended into the dark waters of the subglacial lake. The image was grainy at first, distorted by the cold and the depths, but slowly, the outlines of the lakebed came into view.

For a moment, there was nothing but the endless expanse of black water and silt. But then, something caught Ilmar's eye—an unnatural shape, barely discernible against the dark background. He leaned in closer, his heart pounding despite himself. The shape resolved into a structure—massive, angular, metallic. It was unlike anything he had ever seen.

The control room fell into a stunned silence as the crew stared at the screen. The structure loomed in the murky depths, its surface covered in a thin layer of sediment, as though it had been resting undisturbed for millennia. It was too perfect, too deliberate, to be a natural formation.

"What in the world…" someone whispered, their voice barely audible over the hum of the machinery.

Ilmar felt a cold sweat break out along his spine. This was no ordinary discovery. This was something far beyond their understanding, something that should not have been there. He glanced at Rurik, who met his gaze with a look of dawning horror.

“Prepare to take samples,” Ilmar ordered, his voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside him. He noticed Rurik hesitate, his hand hovering over the controls. “Lieutenant, we need to document everything.”

Rurik nodded, his movements less certain now as he relayed the command to the crew. The hum of the submarine’s systems seemed to grow louder, more oppressive, as if the Borealis itself were reacting to the discovery.

Ilmar turned back to the screen, his mind racing. They had come to Nordvaal to explore the unknown, but this—this was something else entirely. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were standing on the edge of a precipice, about to uncover something that could change everything—or destroy them.

In the darkness of the lake, the structure seemed to pulse, as if it were alive, waiting for them to make the next move. The hum of the Borealis deepened, reverberating through the submarine, and for a moment, Ilmar thought he felt something shift beneath the ice—something vast, something waking.