Much to Lauren's annoyance, the trip to the secluded address had decided to be taken in Venice's old station wagon rather than her own truck. The eleven-hour drive had been split between the three, with each of them driving for about four hours before swapping somewhere on the side of the road.

By the time they were almost at their destination, the car smelled like nothing but fried chicken and potato chips. Napkins were scattered all over the floor to the point where it almost looked like an abstract art piece.

The third row of the car held Lauren and Iain's backpacks, but Venice's travelling suitcase took up most of the room. It'd taken much longer than expected to get them all permission to leave, but by then, they were just thankful to be able to in the first place.

"There's nothing out here," Venice complained.

According to their GPS, they were only a few minutes from their destination, and Venice was beginning to think they'd been sent on a wild goose chase by that kooky old man. Iain, on the other hand, still had hope.

"That Avaren guy sounds really mysterious, and if what her grandfather said was true, then he's just gotta live out in the middle of nowhere."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lauren said, not taking her eyes off the road.

The end of the path that was just barely able to be called a road was in sight, and for the first time in about two hours, there was a sign of life other than the occasional yipping of coyotes and hawks flying overhead.

"Is that a gate?" Lauren asked.

Venice squinted to get a better look, but Iain just laughed.

"Dunno, can't see through your head!"

"Oh, cut it out!"

Lauren pulled the car up to the end of the snowy dirt road and put on the parking brake. The ground was slippery, coated in a thick layer of ice which cracked as they drove on top of it. Venice looked even paler than usual after the near hour of barely staying on the road.

Something about the place was rather eerie, with the foggy skies obscuring the setting sun. A lake's waves could be heard crashing against a distant shore, and the horrid creaking of ice sheets was felt in their chests every time. Loons cried their mournful songs, and a couple crows fluttered off as the doors of the station wagon shut.

"Wonder what's behind that," Iain mumbled, squinting through the giant gate.

The faint sound of a horse-drawn carriage making its way towards them came to their attention. The three held their collective breaths as they awaited its arrival.

Two pure black horses pulled a matching Victorian carriage along the path. The inside was empty, but a man sat in the front with the reins, top hat decorated with a red pheasant's feather.

The man stopped the horses, who bowed their heads in obedience.

"What has brought you to this estate?" he asked in a heavy Scottish accent, tipping his hat.

Lauren stepped up to the gate, holding the folded and wrinkled note from back during the funeral. The man snatched it from her, clearing his throat before reading it over.

"It's the address, young lady."

"I know, Arken Eternas sent us, sir," Lauren said hastily.

The man thought for a moment.

"Very well," the man replied, motioning to the carriage with a gloved hand. The gates slid open without any touch, and as they climbed in, Venice could have sworn she saw an orange glow from beneath his gloved hands.

"Sir, our bags," Venice said nervously.

"Someone will fetch them."

She nodded to herself and sat back in the seat. The three of them exchanged confused glances. It was as if they'd been thrown back in time.

As the carriage approached the end of the forest path, the shape of a stone manor house came into view from the thinning fog. It was mostly symmetrical, with a wrap-around porch along the entire front of the house. The slate-gray paint of the wooden siding was visibly peeling, though the white on some of the upper levels was protected from neatly designed half-timbering.

Round towers sprung up from the sides, with balconies on the highest stories overlooking the poorly-kept gardens. Ancient ivy crawled up one of the seven brick chimneys. In the very center of the house were double doors painted black with a window covered by a curtain of the same color. The whole place looked like a horror film.

The carriage stopped, and once again the doors swung open to let them out. The man tipped his hat again and bade them goodbye before he continued on his way to a barn across from the main manor.

Lauren made her way to the front of the group, which was silently agreed upon by the others. She had a confidence the others lacked and a way with people much calmer than Venice ever could be.

The porch stairs creaked loudly as they walked towards the doors. It seemed as if the wood had never been replaced. Beautifully crafted white chairs sat along the porch, their matching white tables placed in the middle of each group. Their glass tops were nearly opaque with age and accumulating dust.

Taking a deep breath, Lauren grabbed onto one of the pitch black knockers. She was barely able to bring it down before both doors opened at once.

Nobody stood in the entry.

Lauren stepped forwards. A man appeared wearing a suit and white gloves behind one of the open doors.

"Hello young sirs and madam," he said with a cheery smile.

Lauren grabbed onto her short hair and gave the man a death glare.

"Er- young sir and madams," he corrected guiltily, "I heard of your arrival. Please, do come in."

The man bowed respectfully as the three newcomers entered the manor. Without another word, he led them into the hall to their right. At the end, he turned a small corner to an even smaller entryway. Iain held his breath.

As before, the doors opened themselves into a room not unlike the church they dreaded so much. Pure blue fires burned on white pedestals which matched the pillars holding up the ceiling. The grayish orange walls looked to be coated in ash from the nearby flames. Directly in the back was a single throne of black metal, on which a cloaked figure slouched against it. He held a glass of wine drunkenly in one hand and let the other dangle to the side.

"Lord Avaren, you have visitors."

"Send them off."

"Sir, they were sent by Arken Eternas."

Immediately, the figure changed his stature, pushing the hood off his head and straightening his back. He waved the man who led them out of the room, but made sure the three visitors stayed. Though he wore similar clothes, his hands were not covered by those white gloves.

Lord Avaren's fiery red hair fell in front of his face. He looked overgrown, as if he hadn't taken much care of himself in far too long. He had a bit of a darker complexion, much like Hazel's mother. In a single swift motion, he pushed his arms forward. They glowed with a bright orange aura, and as he pulled his arms back, the doors slammed shut.

"I've been waiting for that old grouch for three years," he rambled, "and the bastard wouldn't visit himself!"

He acted more like the three friends did; not paying much attention to his words or how he held himself. Lord Avaren raised the glass to his lips and took a careful sip.

"Sir-"

"Call me Avaren. Or Lazarus. Honestly, I don't care what you call me, just don't be so- so fancy. I hate it."

Avaren pushed his flaming fringe behind his ear and smiled.

"Now, tell me. Why did he send you?"

Iain stepped up, bowing to the man on the throne before he could think. Avaren laughed it off and rolled his eyes. As he looked down upon them, Venice was the first to notice that they were the same eerily bright green as Hazel's and her grandfather's.

"His granddaughter, Hazel, died. Well, sort of. He thinks she's still alive, and he said that she might have 'gotten lost,' whatever that means."

Avaren's eyes widened.

"She wasn't supposed to leave until October," he said to himself.

"Arken said we needed to get to you as soon as possible."

The man let out a deep frustrated sigh.

"I should have never left The Algol Files," Avaren said, standing up and brushing off his suit, "well, let's get going."

Seeing the bewildered looks of the three teens in front of him made him pause.

"A supercomputer which helps keep track of all the humans on this planet," he clarified, letting his arms glow as he ran his fingers along the base of the throne.

"I see," Lauren said, pretending to understand.

The man hung his head.

"It's my fault she's gone so early. I wasn't watching over the files and must have missed an outsider coming to Earth."

"What do you mean, an outsider?" Iain asked.

"I mean someone that's not from this world. Someone who's not from this universe, even, like me," he said, showing his glowing arm, "and our good friend Miss Hazel."

As he stepped back and let the orange aura sink back into his skin, a trapdoor beneath his throne appeared out of the floor. He looked pleased with himself and opened it, giving the others an excited grin.

"Now, let's go find ourselves a Hazel, shall we?"

~~~

As they reached the bottom of the ladder concealed by the trapdoor, the four of them found themselves in a glossy black elevator like the throne from which they just descended. Avaren quickly pressed the lowest button, and the elevator began to move.

"The Algol Files are run by a server deep below this manor. Trust me, you'll know it when you see it," he said.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. They could see the large silver rings on most of his fingers, each set with a different gemstone. Venice looked at her own hand yearningly.

The elevator stopped with a small jerk. The doors slid open and revealed an incredible sight.

Rows upon rows of black glass boxes stretched for what had to be miles, each with twinkling colored lights and handles to access their insides. There were thousands of these boxes, which, as they looked closer, realized were computers and network devices.

"How can we find anything here?" Venice complained.

"You're looking in the wrong place," Iain corrected. He was very much at home with all the devices surrounding him.

"That's right, kid," Avaren said, giving him a thumbs-up, "just follow me. I've got an office down here that I usually man, but I haven't been down here in a month... my notifications must be in the thousands."

They stepped into a glass room overlooking the server. It was raised up a story to give a view not unlike a city skyline, which was truly awe-inspiring. Avaren didn't look outside at all; he'd been there long enough to know what every single part of the server did by memory.

He sat down in a comfortable looking office chair and powered on the comp[uter, leaving the others to stand awkwardly beside him. An animated head popped up on the screen as he logged on, its lifeless eyes staring directly at him.

"Welcome, L.J. Avaren," the female voice spoke.

The head disappeared from the screen, instead opening up a tab made of tens of thousands of tiny rectangles connected by animated fibers. Avaren clicked into the search bar and set what felt like a hundred different filters before turning around in his chair.

"Alberta, was it? Saw it on the metal... thingy on your ship," Avaren said, mostly to himself.

"Car, you mean?"

"Yeah, that thing. Anyways. Hazel Eternas..."

The three friends glanced at each other once more.

"Her name is Hazel Von Brandt."

The man rolled his eyes.

"Maybe to you, but the system, and Arken, never lies."

He clicked onto a file with the name Hazel Annalise Eternas and rolled back to let them see the picture.

"That's her last Facebook post! That's creepy," Venice said, stepping back.

"Well, it's her, isn't it?"

The others nodded solemnly. Avaren scrolled through Hazel's file, clicking on a section labeled Updates.

Location: unknown

Lumen HyperNova cruiser detected at time of disappearance.

"It looks like we're going to need a better ship," Avaren muttered, throwing his head in his hands, "which means seeing my father."

Iain, Lauren, and Venice stood close together, holding each other tightly. Their trip had suddenly become longer than any of them could ever anticipate.