Volgastan

It was early morning when the train left the station carrying the visiting king. He watched as the ocean-side town of Rexhepi disappeared. The clouds moved away and the light of the sun illuminated the rolling hills of Volgastan. Small towns of twelve to twenty wood brick buildings dotted between the small copses. There were quaint farmhouses with their barns and vertical windmills. It reminded him of a cross between his home city and pictures of paradise.   Sadly the king's sight seeing was interrupted as the train pulled into the grand station in the capital city of Centola. He looked at his watch, and could not believe that it was already night. He stood up and walked out of the train car onto the platform. He was greeted by a contingent of soldiers in their slate grey uniforms with red trim, all standing nicely with one hand holding their rifles and the other saluting.   A well dressed officer brimming with medals across his chest greeted the king. 'General Bojaxhiu,' the king said as he shook the general's hand. 'My lord,' the general greeted. The king could tell that there was a sense of urgency in the general's voice. 'We have only a week or so to prevent a cataclysm.' 'How?' the king asked, he know what was a stake and the sudden appearance of the phantoms was a harbinger to the old legens of the Kukudh's return. 'That's what we need to discuss,' the general said and motioned for the king to follow him to his car.   It would be a very long night.