Eidolon

Himmelsalen

The mountain view restaurant north of Oslo was a marvel of architectural audacity, a transparent glass box perched like an eagle’s nest on a freestanding pillar of rough rock.

Their entourage of sleek cars parked and they crossed a slender, gracefully arched translucent bridge that seemed to float over the dizzying drop to the fjord below. Stepping inside was like walking into the sky itself; the floor, walls, and ceiling were all of a polarized glass that softened the glare, painting the world outside in the perpetual, warm gold of a late noon sun. The surrounding mountains and the deep blue ribbon of the fjord were a breathtaking panorama.

In contrast, the furnishings inside the restaurant’s dining room were rustic nostalgia; worn chairs and tables of heavy, carved wood reminiscent of interior from traditional mountain cabins under lamps of wrought iron and frosted glass, and the dinnerware was all in thick pottery. It was another decoration specialising in the fusion of history and hyper-modernity, but where Ankerhus was a fortress, this place was a crystalline sanctuary suspended in the purity of nature.

Rei couldn’t contain a genuine gasp of awe. “This is… beyond amazing,” she breathed, turning to Bjorn, her professional composure momentarily forgotten in the face of such beauty, “Thank you for inviting us. It’s breathtaking.” Beside her, Hisako allowed a faint, condescending smirk. To her, such an open display of emotion was childish, a lack of professional decorum.

But her smirk froze and then shattered as she saw Bjorn’s reaction. His face lit up with pure delight. It didn’t offend him, he was thrilled. Having succeeded in impressing Rei, her genuine enthusiasm was the highest compliment. “Seeing it through your eyes makes it even more special,” he said, his voice warm.

Hisako’s gaze then darted to Takumi. He stood a few paces back, his own appreciation for the venue visibly warring with a far stronger emotion. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched subtly at his sides, watching Bjorn bask in Rei’s gratitude. Just beneath his controlled surface was a palpable displeasure. The effort it took for him to remain silent, was written in the tense line of his shoulders.

Reveling in his hierarchical advantage, Bjorn positioned himself at the head of the table and guided Rei to the seat beside him on his left, placing Kazuo Kuroda on his right. Takumi was left to sit on the other side of his father-in-law, effectively blocked from Rei. Beside Rei, facing Takumi, was Hisako. As the first course was served, a delicate composition of foraged herbs and cured reindeer, the conversation began.

While Bjorn launched into a tale about the architect who designed the restaurant, his attention entirely directed at Rei, Kazuo leaned towards Takumi. “The execution of the Helix Apex deal was in the end… adequate,” he stated, not looking at Takumi but addressing him in a low whisper, “Though one wonders if a more seasoned negotiator could have secured terms without conceding to a physical presence within our walls. Your particular brand of… blunt force approach has its limitations.” Takumi’s knuckles whitened around his fork, but he swallowed the words. To defend himself would be to acknowledge the insult.

Bjorn gestured expansively at the glass walls, his voice rich with the pleasure of sharing a secret. “The architect, Gustav Thorne, is an old family friend. A true visionary, and a stubborn one. When he first proposed this,” he gestured around the restaurant, “a freestanding, all-glass structure on this pillar of rock, we thought he was mad. The wind shear in this valley can be ferocious.” 

Bjorn leaned closer to Rei, as if confiding in her alone, “The bridge you crossed? That’s his true masterpiece. Did you notice the outer shells moving? They’re designed to sway, to absorb and dance with the wind. It’s a dynamic exoskeleton. The inner walkway you actually stepped on is suspended within that moving frame, isolated by a series of gyroscopic dampeners. It remains perfectly steady, no matter how the mountain gusts howl. You could have a storm raging around you and feel only the faintest tremor underfoot.” 

Rei listened, her gaze drifting from Bjorn’s animated face to the breathtaking vista. From their table, she watched the outer shells of the bridge make their slow, graceful arcs against the deep green of the pines and the sheer grey rock. It was a mesmerizing ballet of engineering and nature. “It’s incredible, like the wind’s been given form,” she murmured, almost to herself, before turning to Bjorn, eyes alight with wonder, “And this glass house… it doesn’t feel tropical like a greenhouse. How does it manage the heat?” 

Bjorn’s smile widened, delighted by her technical curiosity. “A clever combination,” he explained, his tone that of a proud teacher, “The glass is a nano-laminate, dozens of layers bonded at the molecular level. It has the clarity of fine crystal but the tensile strength of certain alloys. As for the heat, the entire structure is passively temperature-regulated. A network of capillary tubes within the glass panels circulates a coolant derived from the fjord water far below. In winter, it runs warm; in summer, it runs cool. The restaurant is named Himmelsalen, The Sky Hall, for a reason. You are quite literally dining in a perfectly tempered bubble floating midair.” 

Beside Rei, watching the silently observant Kazuo, Hisako seethed. She watched Rei’s open posture with her long legs crossed, the elegant line of her thigh drawing Bjorn’s eye as she shifted to better see the view. Rei’s modest questions about glass and cooling systems seemed, to Hisako, like a crude parody of intellectual engagement, a hostess’s trick to feign interest while blatantly showcasing her physique. That cheap girl just nods and stares out the window like a tourist, monopolizing Mr. Jorgensen’s attention with her vacant awe, Hisako thought, her nails biting into her palm under the table. It was an insult to the sophistication of the setting and the importance of the men present. 

Hisako glanced hopefully at Kazuo, seeking a flicker of shared disapproval. But the patriarch was not looking at her. He had finished his quiet, withering remarks to Takumi and was now listening intently to Bjorn’s explanation, his dark eyes occasionally flicking to Rei with that new, appraising interest. He wasn’t annoyed, he was determining her value. 

Hisako’s gaze then snapped to Takumi. His expression was a study in controlled tension. The insult from Kazuo had tightened his frame, and now, watching Bjorn hold court for Rei, his aura darkened further. It was a banked discontent that seemed to lower the temperature around him despite the restaurant’s perfect climate control. He said nothing, merely took a slow sip of water, his grey eyes fixed on Bjorn’s face with a focus that was almost physical.