"Coren," Ivor complained, glaring at the hexagonal runes etched on the walls before them. "We've been had, bamboozled, completely led astray."

"Are you really blaming the directions for getting us lost here?"

Ivor threw up his hands. "Well, if people would just make them a bit more clearer, this wouldn't be such a problem now, would it?"

It had been approximately three weeks since the Sartan from the High Realms moved in with their brethren on Drevlin. The days of preparation had been eerily similar to mensch's own move, Coren had thought, with many wistfully looking back on their tall spires, or lingering outside to feel the warmth of Solarus on their skin. The Low Realms was as different from their home as night was to day. Instead of graceful buildings of coralite, there were interconnecting tunnels, their walls inscribed with the runes, their light bathing the pathways in soft blue. Instead of clear skies, they were greeted to constant storm clouds, the rain pounding down on the great machine's metal arms. And though the mensch here were just as worshipful and obedient as the humans and elves had been, the dwarves seemed to devote much of their time to the machine's many parts, enchanted with the shifting gears and the hissing steam. Their attention to their Sartan overseers was more of an afterthought at most.

The new inhabitants very first hurdle was in navigating the tunnels, numerous as they were. The Sartan of Drevlin were rather fond of their underground home, enough to create new branching pathways; but each tunnel led its traveler the quickest way, a no-nonsense form of architecture that helped them on to their destination. Even so, it took a week at most for many of the recently transported people to find their way. This, unfortunately, did not include Ivor.

"I don't really know how else they could make it any clearer," Coren told his friend, peering up at the runes. "I mean, they say where they go right here. See, this one says the left tunnel leads into the Heart-"

"I don't know what that is," Ivor pouted.

Coren sighed. "Well, this is why you should've paid attention during the council meeting…"

"You could've paid attention just now too." Ivor flicked a glance to the book Coren held open in his hands. "I'm constantly amazed that you don't walk yourself into a wall while you're reading."

Ivor really liked not taking any of the blame, but Coren wouldn't play into it this time. "You did tell me you could lead us back fine."

Ivor placed a hand against his chest in mock-horror. "And here I thought you knew me."

They had only one really simple task- to find their way to the control room. Lya had shown both of them around the smooth tunnels plenty of times, even transcribing what certain epithets meant (The Womb was where the dwarves were, the Heart the main Sartan living area, etc). It was really very simple, for the Sartan were clear on how they wanted to layout their tunnels within the Heart and the Brain so that anyone could learn rather quickly.

Almost anyone.

Coren tried a suggestion. "We could teleport back outside and start over."

"No," Ivor stated, folding his arms. "I won't be bested."

"By…architecture."

"Please, Coren. It's the principle of the matter."

"Then maybe I should lead."

"Go right ahead," the older boy said magnanimously, fully expecting his friend to have just as much ill-luck as he did.

It, of course, got immensely easier with Coren paying attention now, his eyes on their surroundings, and a large leather-bound book tucked under his arm. They had even come across other Sartan in their passing, making the correct formal greetings to each in turn. Most of them were as young as they, (with half the boys possessing Coren's common name), as many of the older Sartan were predisposed to other tasks, even taking some of their children's previous duties. It was actually a relief to Coren, because it got… easier to forget some of the past unsettling events from before.

He kept a sharp eye on the runes until they had finally come upon the very designated control room. They might have arrived sooner, but Ivor had refused to ask the other Sartan for directions. The elder boy pouted once they reached the door at the end of the hall, the sigla above it declaring where it led to. "Well, I was already leading us here anyway…"

"I know," Coren answered in appeasement. The door was wide, enough to fit three people side by side, and was shaped like a hexagon. In the center were more runes, arranged in a circle, an empty space in the center. He stretched out a hand, looking at the interconnecting lines before them, like chains to a lock. It looked like a complex spell, but the embellished characters were etched in the wall for appearances at most, another precaution should any non-Sartan beings ever make it this far. But all Coren had to do was trace a sigil inside the circle, mimicking the hand movements Lya had shown him when she had drawn the design in the air only a couple of days ago.

The sigil seemed to catch fire, flaring brightly, setting the other runes surrounding it to life. The door opened inward, letting the two finally have a peek inside.

Lya was on the floor, cross-legged, a mess of metal parts strewed about the floor. Her white robe was stained from grease and oil, her long sleeves pulled up near her shoulders to allow her more room. She raised her head at the sound of the door opening, her face half hidden in her hood. "I was beginning to think you boys got lost."

Before Coren could even answer, Ivor stepped forward. "Lost? Such little faith in us, but I will accept your inevitable apologies and gratitude for leading the love of your life through such underground perils."

Coren narrowed his eyes, while Lya laughed. "You have both of those, of course," she said.

The control room was a large area, circular in its shape. The walls around them were embedded with strange contraptions in the shape of human eyes. Each pupil showcased a different area of Drevlin. Dwarves whisked by in the images, showing some pushing iron carts up rails, and others monitoring the moving pumps and cogs, sometimes pulling a lever at a certain moment. Some of the eyes showed images of white-robed Sartan passing along, inscribing runes onto a new part of the growing machine, but they were few, much of the monitoring kept on the mensch.

Coren had already seen the room from Lya's words and descriptions. He was not surprised by the strange eyes, though perhaps a little unsettled. Ivor himself was sucked in, going to one eye in particular where some young dwarves were racing each other in the heavy carts, gliding down the rails in heart-stopping speed. "That looks fun," he said wistfully.

Coren was barely listening to him though. In the center of the room, near Lya, was the automaton the Sartan of Drevlin had been working on. It was constructed like a person, with two legs and two arms, complete with a head decorated with jeweled eyes, a nose, a mouth, and even eyebrows, all of it fashioned from brass. But it was obvious, even to someone not so mechanically inclined as he, that the construct was unfinished.

Half of its chest was missing, an empty hole where the stomach should have been. One of its arms was only half-complete, ending at its elbow. There was runes drawn on its body, connected to each other, instructions for the automaton for basic movement, but even this was only partly done. Some of the sigla even looked erased, as if the person who had done it changed their mind in the midst of writing.

"It's taken us longer than we thought," Lya told him, getting to her feet. "I suppose it's not as easy as making dolls, is it?"

Coren recalled the small replica she had shown him once before, a tiny automaton that had sprung to life at her command. He smiled at her. "I suppose so. It looks, um…" He stared at the creation, about a foot taller than he was, imagining it stomping around the floor. He could not even say why he was unnerved by it, but he was all the same.

"It's not exactly…pretty." The girl shrugged, unconsciously wiping away some of the grease from her hands onto her robe. "Someone tried though, with its eyes." She pointed at the twin jewels embedded in the automaton's head. "I don't think it worked all too well."

Coren could definitely agree. The jewels reflected the images from the strange eyes around them, glinted at odd moments. It was uncanny. "Maybe it would be better without a face?"

"Ah, but then it would always look incomplete, even when it's ready. At least, that's what the others say," Lya said in a tone indicating that she didn't wholeheartedly agree. "Oh, it's going to have a voice too."

Coren blinked. He hadn't actually expected that detail. Although, considering that this automaton would help with aligning the isles of Arianus once the final phase was reached, (if it could, but he pushed that thought aside)he supposed the Sartan would like it to speak.

"We could probably model its voice after someone we know too, with the right spells and all." She sidled up to him, grinning. "Maybe you would like to volunteer?"

He stuttered then, suddenly self-conscious. "I- uh- I don't- t-think-"

Her laugh was a salve to his temporary embarrassment. "If it makes you feel better, we could use Ivor's voice instead."

"I heard my name! Am I being praised?" Ivor turned around, finally drawn away from the images. "If so, I hope you have my list of great accomplishments at hand."

Coren stared at his friend, fighting an urge to laugh aloud. "We seem to have misplaced it."

"Actually, now that I have both of your attention," the girl turned to the half-completed automaton, taking a deep breath, "I wanted to test something out."

"Does it have to do with those mine carts? Because those looked really neat-"

"No, Ivor."

Coren stared at the construct, at the ill-completed runes on its body. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

Lya held her hands out, sliding one foot forward. "I thought it would be good to have you watch over me." And he knew she was speaking about him specifically, especially when he heard an unspoken thought, an invisible thread extended from her mind. This may not be altogether allowed…

"I'll just say in advance that whatever you're going to do is great and astounding," Ivor said as his eyes strayed back to the images of the dwarves behind him. His attention span was really quite terrible, especially when it came to mensch to serve as his distractions.

Coren watched silently as Lya moved her body in a slow and intricate dance, her hands tracing softly gilded runes in the air. White robes swished around her legs, like the wings of a bird. Her voice traveled in high notes, a soothing soprano that was always pleasant to his ears. But the magic was different this time than usual, at least for her. She would always sing her spells in quick fashion, enunciating the runes fast enough for them to appear. But now she took her time, drawing out the shapes, the very essence of it, forming it into a living thing.

The little doll replica she had brought to life just three cycles ago for him had plodded around on the floor, as awkward as a newborn. It had bumped into other objects, continually tried to walk forward as there had been no walls blocking its path. But that little doll had had no eyes to speak of, no mouth to voice its confusion, and no intelligence to even comprehend its existence. And this automaton here, even taller than he was, with its jeweled eyes and its brass mouth, had been created for the sole purpose of helping fix a broken world.

The runes on its chest brightened, connecting to the other parts of its body, like pathways of oil catching fire. The thing shuddered, an arm beginning to extend, the joint at its elbow bending. A dead thing being given life, and Coren couldn't help but think, as his hand tightened on his book, that it was a bit ironic that the Sartan could do such creations, and yet were unable to even keep their own from fading away, to even birth anymore sons or daughters…

There was another shudder. The automaton stopped moving, the runes snuffing out all the sudden, their engraved characters as dark as the brass surface they were on. Its hand inexplicably fell off the wrist joint, clattering to the floor in a mess of gears and screws.

Lya's voice stopped in mid-song. She stared at the broken hand as if one of the ancient Patryns had just sprouted up from the ground right then and there. "Oops."

Ivor, at this time, was already turned back to the roving eyes and their pictures, having done so during Lya's spell. At the sound, he waved his right hand behind him carelessly. "Yeah, don't worry. That was really amazing, Lya, wow."

Coren was bit too distracted by the sight to wonder if Ivor's words were sarcasm or not. "I…guess it wasn't supposed to do that."

Lya knelt to the floor, trying to gather back all the parts. Her hood had slid off her head slightly, allowing him to see her green eyes. He watched how the irises flickered, counting off each scrap. "Elian isn't going to be happy about this."

He knelt down beside her, unable to do much but shift his hands. He was afraid of breaking something else. "Was it ready for this?"

"Well, no," Lya admitted, blushing a little. "To be honest, I haven't seen the spell actually performed yet. Arya was the one who wrote out the mechanics to it, so all I knew of it was the notes she made." A part that looked like it had been the palm was in her hands. "I just wanted to see how it would work. But that's what I get for being impatient."

Coren took one of her hands in his own, large engulfing the small. Her fingers were still covered in slick grease. There were even a few cuts along them, from handling the sharp gears and wires, from working thick chains and cogs, from dismantling the smallest of screws and casings. She was always more hands on than most, even for a Sartan of Drevlin.

"I'm sure if anyone could fix this quick enough, it'd be you. And you could always try again when it's more…finished."

Her kiss wasn't unexpected (Ivor was still turned away). It was grateful and shy and loving all at once. "Will you watch me the next time?"

Coren nodded. "Why would I say no?"

Lya gestured to the thick book beside him on the floor. "Aren't you worried about your book getting dirty?"

He blinked, noting his hands were also a bit stained with grease. "It's just a book." And he meant it then. Because no matter how many times he re-read the poems, or even that poem with its strange images of narrow, empty streets and yellow fog, of tea and singing mermaids, it didn't make him feel any better at all. Not like Lya's smile did. Not even like Ivor's stupid jokes. What could words from a long dead world even do for him? He had been looking through it in his walk, and could find no answer.

"Besides, doesn't matter if it gets a little dirty. No one else is going to read it." The book had been another gift from the head librarian, giving it to him after seeing his past interest in it, even binding the cover a little tighter for him. No one else had ever taken the book out from it's hiding place, so why not just let him have it? He had been grateful to her for it, really, it was just that…

I'd rather make much better use of my time. He held her hand tighter.

Lya blushed even more, hearing the unspoken thought. "I don't suppose I could ask you to keep this," she gestured toward the broken hand "a secret for me-"

"What's this about secrets?" Ivor didn't even just turn around. He rushed over to the young couple, kneeling down with them. "I am the best at keeping them, you know." He then looked to the floor for the first time. "What happened here?"

"Nothing to do with mensch, sorry." Lya grinned, already beginning to hum a melody to fix the hand. It was whole again before the last note faded in the air.

It was of course, just then, that Ivor would finally have questions about the automaton. She answered him well enough, always pleased to talk about her people's work, all the while fitting the hand right back. One of Ivor's questions was why the builders didn't construct it in the form of a woman instead. Coren rolled his eyes.

The three demigods soon left the room, Ivor insisting he would lead the way. Coren and Lya humored him with silent nods, their hands clasped together. No one was expecting them back home for a couple of hours. They had time to be lost for a little while.

The door shut behind them, the runes darkening once they were out of sight.

Coren was certain the storms had gotten more violent the past couple of days.

It had now been three cycles since the move. He started to like coziness of the tunnels, the zealous, blunt nature of the dwarves, and even the rain. When Lya and he would venture outside of the tunnels, out of the Heart of their home, just past the shade of the great machine's body, they would stand and watch the sky broil with darkness and thunder, a sight that he had never been treated to before back on Shegra. There were no stars to look at, and the Lords of Night were so very far away, but the shower was pleasant and even the clashing of the thunder was often quite soothing to listen to.

Yet now the wind had grown so strong that even the stocky dwarves, controlling the many dig-claws of the machine, venturing outside to gather the tough coralite, began to fear the weather. A crack of lightning stuck one of the arms with so much force that it had nearly snapped the metal in half, instantly melting away the tough brass, completely ignoring the electricity rods for such an occurrence. They had gone to the Sartan for help, for surely gods could appease the maelstrom, could they not?

Coren had been one of the young ones selected to control the weather, about twenty in all. The rolling clouds were intimidating, and the thunder now hurt his ears. Still, with his brethren, he sang along the low melodies, tracing his runes in the air to connect with the others. Shapes appeared under their feet, sigla coming to life over the pockmarked coralite, bursting into fire. The magic spread toward the sky, strands of light extending from dozens of hands. All the while, the Sartan hummed their command to the winds, telling them to lessen, for the rains to ease. If the mensch had been watching, they would have been awed by the sight, but their gods had told them to remain underground with the machine for their safety.

And then the magic sparked, flickered, died. The ferocity of the storm overwhelmed the music, drowning out their words. The lightning struck again, toward the gods of Arianus, nearly hitting one of the lone Sartan at the edge of their line. There was a shriek, more in shock than in pain. Coren saw a white robed singed, but thankfully not the flesh. By then, the song had stopped completely, leaving only the sound of hard and constant rain assaulting their bodies.

The storm continued throughout the night, finally abating with the dawn, (although it was certainly hard to tell when it was actually day or night in the Low Realms). The dwarves assumed, of course, that they had the Sartan to thank for it. And none of the demigods dared reject the praise.

Maybe it was luck that the dwarves hadn't been around to witness, Coren had thought the following day. Or perhaps the elders had suspected that such a possibility could've happened. He didn't particularly like the latter thought, hoping he was wrong.

He would have been content in staying inside the Sartan's section of Drevlin for the rest of the cycle (at least the tunnels were safe and weren't liable to collapse out of spite), but then he had come across Ivor on his way toward his dwelling. And Ivor was in a frenzied mood.

"Coren! You have to help me!"

"Wha-" He barely got the word out before the other grabbed his arm, dragging him down a diverging pathway, the one that led up the center of the dwarves home. Coren looked back, seeing his very door that would've led to a wide-spaced room and a soft bed, dwindle away.

"Ivor! What's going on?"

"No time for chatter, dear friend! Time is of the essence!"

It was then Coren noted the young man had a satchel around his back, bulging with unknown items. "What are you planning?"

"An adventure!" Ivor shouted triumphantly. Then he stopped, squinted his eyes at the walls, looking at one of the rune descriptions. "Um, wait, I could've swore the way out was over here…"

Coren held in an exasperated sigh. "You could just teleport there." He hoped that Ivor would notice the word 'you.'

"I know, but if I'm going to dwell around mensch, I must start thinking like one!" He looked at their surroundings again, deep in thought. "And, um, all humans have a good sense of direction. And- wait, maybe that's birds I'm thinking of."

Coren blinked, slowly realizing the meaning of Ivor's ramble. "Dwelling around mensch? Wh… Are you leaving?!"

"Exactly! We're gonna have a grand time, I can promise you that!"

"I'm leaving?!"

"It will be a perfect romantic trip for you and Lya!"

Coren was starting to feel a little dizzy. "I don't think-"

"Oh, it was this way." Ivor grabbed his arm again. Still in a bit of shock, Coren didn't protest much, and soon found himself before one of the stairs that led the way to the upper levels, the Womb of Drevlin.

The passageway was one of the more well-known among the Sartan. Leading to a vast audience chamber of a building known as the Factory, it was here that the demigods would gather the mensch on those rare occasions, gracing them with their presence and their words. Rare it was for Coren could only remember one such gathering had been done, and it had been a brief gathering at that. The great machine was always working, and was always very loud that even the loudest Sartan had trouble talking over it. That and the dwarves, although entranced by them, would eventually be drawn back to the moving metal parts and their many levers and pulleys, sometimes wondering aloud when they could go back to work. Coren had noticed that when he would sometimes perform a feat of magic for them, as simple as lighting a dark place, or tracing the hexagonal runes in the air, the dwarves would politely applause and nod their heads. They certainly got much more wide-eyed when Lya had fashioned for one dwarf child a little mechanical device, bearing moving pictures within its den.

Ivor looked up the stairwell, his brow furrowed in thought. "How do you open-"

"You can't," Coren answered, starting to gather back his wits. "You can only open from the outside, remember?"

"Oh." Ivor blinked. "I guess we should've just teleported then."

"That's what I just-!" But Ivor ignored him, grabbing his hand, and sang the words to the spell.

Both of the young Sartan appeared before a large brass statue, carved in their likeness. It covered the entrance to the stairs on a dais, holding out its hand in what seemed like a benevolent gesture. No one was in the vicinity, for the hour was quite late, although the sounds of the machine, hushed back down in the tunnels, was still as loud as ever here. Once the runes faded, Coren recovered fully from his shock and did his best to speak in as firm a tone as he could muster.

"Ivor, tell me. Are you really leaving for the Mid Realms?" For there were no humans on Drevlin, and none back in the High Realms, which left only one place.

The older man shouldered his pack into a more comfortable position. "I know what you're thinking, Coren. But I actually thought about this for many weeks. And well, I decided that now was as good a time as any. Don't worry though! I've done the research, gathered all the necessary items- it should only last a couple days at most."

"And I'm coming with you?"

Ivor smiled. "That's what friends are for!"

Coren had a sneaking suspicion that his friend had planned their little run-in as well. He must've figured that a dreary Coren would be more susceptible to following Ivor's ways. But the storm was still fresh in his mind, and the thought of being outside was suddenly a little frightening.

"Why would Lya agree to this?"

"Well, she hasn't- yet!" Ivor quickly amended. "She'll come along if you will, no doubt."

"I really don't-"

"Look, I even made a list!" A piece of parchment suddenly appeared in his hand, riddled with Ivor's iconic messy handwriting. "First, we'll go over to the Volkaran Isles- that's where most of the humans are living right now. It's actually quite amazing how fast they've been able to create towns and cities in such a short amount of time. Some of their wizards have even started taming the dragons that live there. Then we can go over to the elves in Aristagon, and their own advancement is even more astounding. Did you know they even started naming an Emperor-"

The images Ivor was painting were all dazzling and conflicting Coren's brain. He closed his eyes to them, letting the headache pass. He interrupted the other before he went on a mensch spiel.

"Ivor, Brother, I can see how much you want to go. And though I would rather you stay, I know nothing I say can stop you. But I cannot join you."

At the statement, Ivor looked crestfallen. The images immediately vanished. "But-!" He waved the parchment again. "The list! I promise we won't do anything too extreme. We'll only ride on one dragon, how about that?"

Coren shook his head. "Ivor, you know I can't. Besides, I can't just… be so casual among them like you are." He didn't have to look inside the other's satchel to know what he had; an assortment of mensch clothing, something no other Sartan would ever wear. He had done it before back in the High Realms, looking like one of the humans and integrating into their society with so little effort that Coren often wondered if his friend had been born in the wrong race. Although his hair, white with the tips colored brown, usually gave away his heritage. Perhaps this time he'd be wise enough to wear a hat.

Ivor sighed, disappointed. "I was really looking forward to going with you and Lya. I might not even go now!"

"You will," Coren said knowingly.

At that, Ivor blinked. Then he gave a chuckle. "I suppose I'm just that predictable."

"Well, I would've thought you liked it here among the dwarves as well." He could still remember the day Ivor had stumbled into him, going on and on in praise of the fine dwarven ale he had just drunk and how it had been the best thing ever.

"I do, honestly. Just that, um…" Ivor smiled, unashamed. "Dwarf girls aren't really my type."

He really did have a lot of troubling vices. But that was Ivor.

"I was hoping that we could at least go meet a couple of friends of mine. I was going to give one of them this." He plucked out a small, dark stone from a hidden pocket, round and smooth. It's surface was inscribed with a single rune, a basic character that held no spell within, done mostly from children just learning the magic. He could've guessed just which child had made this stone. "He seems to be actually quite interested in magic so I thought he would like this.

His casualness with the mensch was really astounding; he made easy friends with dozens of them, gaining many a girl's heart in the process. As long as Coren could remember, he had always been like that. He could also remember the elders complaining of his behavior, of his complete lack of respect for their customs, for the necessary distance the Sartan had to maintain between them and the mensch. They were their protectors, their counselors- not their acquaintances. Any other Sartan would have made Ivor stay, would have refused to even allow him this little request, and would have told the elders right away to deal with this problematic young man.

Coren smiled easily. "Yes, I'll go meet them."

The upper levels of Drevlin were much more vast, with streets paved in metal, and tall, smooth buildings to the side, crafted by the Sartan to house the dwarves. The walls were made of tough coralite, dotted with caverns where some additional homes were made, with wooden planks fashioned into doors and tough glass for windows. Though many were asleep, there were still others walking about, still working the machine in the small hours. Coren did feel a little self-conscious, for they were no other tall, white-robed Sartan walking the street besides Ivor. But many barely gave him a passing glance, giving him the idea that they must have seen a certain Sartan around here plenty of times for it to be normal.

Ivor's friends were young dwarf lads, their faces already beginning to cover in the thick grey and orange beards of their fathers. They were outside a large metal building, rolling in what looked like to be casks of their famous ale. Many clapped Ivor on the back in greeting, (which was mostly the back of the leg because of the height difference) speaking in their loud language that Ivor mimicked well. Coren was polite with them, even helping one of them lift a particular heavy cask with his magic. This earned him a rigorous handshake and a free round of ale the next time he visited. Ivor promised that he would, winking at Coren.

"Here, for you, Dunmar," Ivor said as he handed the stone over to the dwarf.

Dunmar, a bit shorter than the other dwarves, studied the little artifact, looking at the sigil in wonder. "You have all my thanks, Evan," he said, using Ivor's public name. "I will make sure to keep this with me for safety." He then turned to Coren, giving a short bow to the taller Sartan. "And I would like to thank your friend for coming to see us…" He trailed off, waiting.

Coren realized he was asking for a name. He never had a need to use a public name before. Back in the High Realms, the mensch were so dazzled by the Sartan that they had never dared to ask for such a thing. But the dwarves were different, more friendly but straight to the point. So he said the first thing that came to mind. "Alfred. My name is Alfred."

"Ah yes, thank you, good lord, Alfred."

When the dwarves all finally went inside, Ivor shouldered his pack once more, turning to Coren. "I guess this is where we separate."

Coren nodded. "Just… be careful." A demigod among mensch could certainly take care of himself well enough, but there had never been a Sartan that dwelled so far away from their brethren. In a way, Ivor was making history here, one that he knew must remain hidden.

Ivor suddenly jerked his head up. "Oh! I almost forgot. I have something for you too."

"For me?"

Ivor reached for his satchel, pulling out a thick leather-bound book, unpacking a few wrinkled shirts in the process.

Coren looked at the cover, recognizing the traced sigla on it. "That's…"

"You left it in the control room that one time," Ivor explained, then grinned. "It was lying on the floor, and I was going to give it right back to you, but you and Lya were too busy being romantic with each other."

At that, Coren blushed. He really thought he had put that book away at home. It must have been a different volume. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

"I kept meaning to give it back to you, but it honestly kept slipping my mind." He held it out further. "Here. Before I forget again."

Coren took back the book of poems, the verses to them springing back to his head. "Thank you, Ivor."

The older Sartan gave a kind smile. "I'll see you again soon. Perhaps in a week or so."

"Do you know where exactly to go?"

"I was one of the mensch supervisors down there, remember?" With that, Ivor chanted the magic, tracing the runes of teleportation in the air. Blue light highlighted his being, his body beginning to fade. "Next time for sure though," he promised, pointing at his friend, before finally vanishing into the air.

Coren remained there alone in the empty street. He saw figures move across the makeshift windows of the dwarf people's homes, their rooms highlighted by the same electric lanterns used for their own tunnels, housing a small power of the storm's lightning. He thought about teleporting back to his room; it would've been a quick and easy thing to do. But, suddenly, he felt like he would rather walk instead.

He turned back down the street, grasping the book in both hands. For the last three cycles, he had stopped reading altogether, at least for leisure. Even tomes on history, on the world of Arianus, no longer held much interest for him. The closest thing he would read would be essays on certain spells, on their effects, on their origination, and their uses, and that was only for the research on magic which was his primary duty. He remembered how back in the High Realms, he would read a book before bed, the rune-language floating inside his head. Now he didn't even do that. He could even count on only one hand the number of times he had been to the library on Drevlin.

As he walked, he tentatively opened the book, immediately resting on the page of that strange poem, with its strange images and strange language. And with such a strange sadness that he could now feel.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile.

He must have been reading for a while, because when he finally lifted his head, one of the street lanterns having gone out just above him, he realized he was at a completely different place. There was the skeletons of the great machine hanging over him, their insides empty and salvaged for better use. He saw gears move in the distance, but not as much of them. There were benches arranged before him, standing amidst a road carved in the floor beneath his feet, inlaid with screws and cogs. He even saw small sculptures made of the scrap metal, one of them looking like a small housecat in mid-pounce, and another… well, he wasn't quite sure what it was, but he appreciated the artist's effort nonetheless.

The great machine here, though still prominent, was not as loud as before. It was probably the closest thing the dwarves had to a park, albeit one made of sharp metal. At first he saw no one and was about to leave, until he heard a familiar voice to his left.

He was not an eavesdropper, nor did he fulfill such an inane curiosity, considered a mensch failing. Still, he found himself walking toward the voice, which seemed to be behind one of the statues, a bit of a distance off. It was there he saw another Sartan, dressed in white robes cinched around their waist, kneeling on the ground as she spoke with the dwarf before her.

"Personally, I think I would like a girl-child myself."

The white curl of hair that sneaked out of her covered head was more than enough to let him know who it was. Before he even made a sound, Lya turned her head toward him, her green eyes glinting. The dwarf, a female he realized, dressed in a wide, loose-flowing skirt, followed her gaze.

"S- Sorry to interrupt," he said, realizing just how strange it must have seemed for a Sartan to have randomly appeared from the side. "I was just going home."

Lya's eyes flicked briefly to the book. Have you been distracted again? he thought he heard inside his head, pleasant and amused. He answered her with a shy shrug.

It looked like she wanted to say more, but instead turned back to the dwarven woman, around the same age as Ivor's friends, who had been standing beside her patiently. "This is Greta," she introduced to Coren. "She was just telling me some good news."

Greta had full red hair, tied in a braid that trailed down her back, though strands escaped the hold. She had an excitement to her eyes that Coren couldn't quite place until she spoke in her language. "I am with child." A hand went to her stomach, her smile very soft. "Anna here was guessing it might be a girl, but this one is a boy, I can tell!

Oh, but where are my manners? What is your name, Manager?" she said, using the title some of the more devoted dwarves said, remembering to give a bow.

It took a while for Coren to let the information sink in. It reminded him of something, but he wasn't entirely sure what. "Oh, well my congratulations to you, Greta. And… the name is Alfred."

"Pleasure to meet you, Alfred." Greta bowed once more. "I think my child will be doubly blessed now, having talked to two great Managers on the same day! Perhaps it was worth it to not sleep just yet."

"I still think you should," Lya told her softly. "For your child's sake."

Greta laughed lightly. "True. I should be going back anyway, or my husband will start tearing out his whiskers if he wakes to find me missing. He'd probably think I fell down a mining shaft." She said her farewells, bowing once again, then rushed off down the gear-encrusted road.

Lya finally stood up. "Alfred? I am sure I've heard that name before."

Coren rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. "It just came to me. I remember you saying you liked it before."

"I do," she admitted, moving toward him.

They walked out of the park then, him telling her about Ivor's latest scheme to visit the Mid-Realms, of trying to get Coren to join him, while she laughed at such ridiculousness. She in turn told him about Greta, whom she had only met once a few months ago.

"I came out here because I thought there might be some more parts here to bring back home." She raised her head to the skeletal arms of the machine, these ones still and quiet, unlike the rest of its body. "I ran into her. She said she was having trouble sleeping."

"I'm sure she'll have a healthy child," Coren said. And then that strange feeling returned, very familiar and a little saddening. He held onto her hand, thinking about the Sartan children that must be sleeping in their beds, not one of them younger than fifteen cycles. He remembered how when he was little, there had been crowds of others his age, enough to fill classrooms with them. He also remembered how one of the council members, a middle-aged woman, had looked like just a month before, her belly slightly widening with her third child. Then the month had passed, and her face had been so gray, her body back the way it was. She still only had two sons, now grown.

Lya tightened her fingers around his hand, sharing the images with him. "I think having a girl would be nice," she said. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

"As a promising generation, I can see much talent and skill in every face I see." The head councilor, an old man with thinning gray hair, his robes fringed with gold trimming, stood before the younger Sartan, all of them between eighteen and thirty cycles. "What I had proposed before, that this generation would take the sleep, was a suggestion done out of the best for our people. It pleases me to know that all of you have volunteered for this task. Our brethren from the other worlds will have more than enough help to establish the working order of Arianus and teach our children the ways of peace."

The man kept talking, much of it filled with even more praises for them, the rest heaved with disappointment at their world, at the mensch with their growing wars. It was no longer just between races. Even the humans had begun to bicker amongst themselves, separating themselves into clans and fighting over territory and water, the precious commodity now becoming harder and harder for the Sartan to send over to them. Their population had increased, more than anticipated, out of the demigods' hands. But in the end, his speech spoke of hope. Problems would be solved, and hearts would be eased. Once the other Sartan returned, once they heard their messages.

Once we stop dying? Coren had thought, careful to keep it hidden, even from those closest to him.

He stood next to Lya, her robe neat and straight, her hair arranged in a more proper fashion than usual. Ivor was also with him, his own robes the cleanest white, free of wrinkles. He had on a solemn face, showing his elders that he could be serious when the situation called for it.

They had a week to prepare for the sleep. Crystal beds had already been set up in a large chamber, though there were still runes to arrange, double-checking spells to make sure everything went according to plan. The work on the automaton was in double-time now, much of that left to older Sartan, as well as a book being written for the mensch for its use. That, the head councilor reassured, was a last minute resort, for there would always be a Sartan around to help maintain the great machine. These precautions were just that, for the smallest of possibilities.

Coren told himself that was just it, possibilities. And even though he knew that possibilities were everything, that a small shift could change everything around them, he trusted his superiors. He would not think about the angry human wizard, speaking harshly of his protectors. He would not think about the storm that had overrode their magic so very harshly. He would not think about the woman with her only two sons, just passed away a fortnight ago.

He would not.

"When you wake, many of us here will be gone. For even though we Sartan live long, the centuries take their toll. Arianus will rely on your strength and your courage. The mensch will rely on your wisdom, and our brethren will rely on your knowledge. I believe that each and every one of you can do this and more. Pool all of your of talent together, and wake to a future bright with promises. Your fathers and mothers, your grandfathers and grandmothers, will do all they can to make this world more bearable for you."

So that's how it was. Arianus was just bearable, a burden to shoulder. Coren was glad to be rid of it for now.

Though he could not hold Lya's hand now because of etiquette, he felt her all the same. He could feel her smile from beneath her hood, reassuring and warm. He could feel Ivor's confidence, his excitement for a new world to waken to, for new mensch to help and meet. As long as he had them, he could do anything. Even fix a broken world.

"To our brothers and sisters, thank you for choosing this path." The head councilor bowed before them in the old style, his hands folded in his voluminous sleeves.

Coren did not read the book of poems again, as he had planned to before, instead leaving it on his bedside table, with the pages marked. There were things to be done, spells to be structured, and dreams to be had. There would be enough time for reading when he woke.

These chapters will be updated pretty quickly just so you know! It's pretty much already written, so that's nice, right?

And hey, you know what's coming next!

Yep... :(