I've had a few days' worth of rest, compiling my notes and calculating how much time I'll reasonably spend catching these stars. It's not going to be quick, even if I employ all the tricks in my arsenal. Best I get comfortable, then. No more complaining how unnerving this place is. The Deep Deck is my home for the foreseeable future.
In that vein, I've resolved to focus myself on the facts as and when I uncover them. It's time I approach this as the scholar I am rather than the doe-eyed devotee I become around Lord Seht. I owe it to him and my family's name to conduct myself with honour and integrity.
Aem'uvus was more than a master to me; more, even, than a god. He was almost…a friend. I'll find out what happened; even if just so someone else knows.
Star Fourteen: (Aem'uvus)
Days, perhaps, had passed since he had escaped to the classroom, and still Aem'uvus did not feel entirely safe from the horrors beneath his feet. He had welded the lift shut with his fire magic, thrown shelves upon shelves over it, but every creak, every noise reignited a flame of terror in his heart. It froze his limbs until he could not move, and he could not sleep for fear of what lingered in the shadows.
If he found Heem-Tei, he was certain he would be safe.
The door was sealed, scorched in places, and Aem'uvus was turned from it, kneeling amongst the wreckage of his classroom. Before him Seht's specialised factotum lay, its facial plating removed, while in silence the child tinkered with the bare circuits and wiring, his brow furrowed, his mouth a hard, straight line on his face. If his mind wandered, he would hear the growling of his stomach and realise he had not eaten since well before his escape. Instead, he barely registered Vennu's aimless puttering, shunting random alchemical ingredients from its path as it went.
After a while, Aem'uvus rested his hands on his knees and eased down on to his haunches. His hardened eyes inspected his work, and – haphazard though it was – he saw some small hope in it. Each gear had been set into alternative positions, each small connection snipped and rebound with the sap of fabricated husks, and the materials he had torn out laid in a useless heap at his side. It would not be looked upon as a great masterpiece. It was hideous, perhaps only stable enough for a single use. But it was a chance.
"We have to make this count," he said, half to Vennu, half to himself, as he rose to his feet. His hands tightened into fists, and there was a trembling in his heart. "Once we find Heem-Tei, we'll find out what happened to Father. He'll know. He has to."
Even as the words left his mouth, Aem'uvus could feel that queer, malignant pulse far below.
This is unexpected. I'd assumed that the list would contain only stars originating from Lord Seht or Aem'uvus, but this next one…it's from Armialin. He's a hero from Tamriel – even we've heard about him – a vestige of Coldharbour who fought Molag Bal himself and freed his soul. Did he come to the Clockwork City? I don't remember…
I was sick, wasn't I? I was sick for a while; nearly six months. The factotum medica couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. Strange, I…I hardly remember it. It's like a fever dream, catching glimpses…
Whenever I try and focus on the memory, it's like this wave of dread comes over me. My heart stutters and my throat closes. I'm suffocating, but I don't know why.
Why can't I remember any of this? Why isn't it written down? Half a year of my life, just, gone? Poof? And I've never realised it? Mother only mentioned the factotums couldn't fix me, that it was a miracle I survived. I just…I've never tried to really think back on it. Always looking ahead, focusing on the next project, the next promotion. There was no reason to ever consider the past.
What happened to me?
Star Fifteen: (Armialin)
It was odd, very odd indeed, to walk into a world of machines and sorcery and find under its surface the same seeds of corruption that plagued all mortalkind.
Armialin had not expected quite the spectacle when he first entered the Clockwork City – not the shadow rent from Divayth, nor the awesome might of the Fortress, the metal bastion nestled in artificial rock, rising like a pointed finger thrust into the eyes of gods – but within, when he met the apostles, he found terrain more familiar to him. A spectrum of deceit, jealousy, and pettiness that reminded him of distant shores. Perhaps those mortal follies were the only things that could truly grow in Sotha Sil's creation.
"It's different here," said Divayth when the pair entered the Nave. Armialin had not taken much care to analyse it when he met his citizenship sponsor, but now, with his employer, he noticed the aides' hunched shoulders, the near-deafening silence that weighed in the air, broken only with the clank and crackle of factotums. "Not that you would know, I suppose. The Basilica – it's normally a hive of activity. Lectures, experiments, the endless fawning students; all very trite, but that's life in the Fortress. Now? There's something very wrong here."
"If Sotha Sil's acting strangely, others must have noticed," Armialin pointed out.
"My thoughts exactly," the wizard replied, "but as the most powerful mage in the Clockwork City, I find it difficult to have proper conversations with common folk. They grow silent at my approach, then whisper as I leave. An appropriate, but sadly uninformative display of deference. Thus, we'll need to leverage your hard-earned citizenship to make any progress here."
Divayth scanned the hall with his inquisitive eye, and his companion thought for a moment all aides shied from it, as if too nervous to be caught in his path.
"Yes, I'll leave you to it, then," he soon said, "and while you do that, I'll keep Sotha Sil occupied. We don't want the security forces to catch wind of what we're up to until we have concrete evidence that something's wrong here."
Armialin nodded. But as he stepped forward and the wizard made to abscond, a sweeping factotum nearby jolted upright, its mechanical fingers tightening around the broom until its handle bent between them. It was such a sudden movement that it caught both of their attentions, and the High Elf's foot came down in an uncertain step as he peered at it.
"Hello—hello? Is this working? Heem-Tei, are you there?"
The voice was filled with crackles and scratches, but it did not belong to the factotum. No; it was smaller, younger, and when he heard it Divayth's eyebrows knitted together, drawing closer with a look that bordered confusion and fascination.
"Heem-Tei, I don't know if you can hear me, but—" there was a pause, a rustling of clothes, "—but something's wrong. In the Cogitum. With Father. There's shadows and monsters and…I'm scared. I don't know what's happening. Please, come and get me. I'm in the classroom. I'm in the—!"
Then the voice faltered, and the factotum resumed its work with its bent-handle broomstick, as if nothing had occurred at all. But in the wizard's crimson eyes Armialin saw a realisation, and he shook his head in half-admonishment.
"Of course!" he murmured, almost to himself. "Aem'uvus. In all the excitement, I hadn't even thought about him. This could complicate matters."
"What? Hold on, who's Aem'uvus?" asked the adventurer. Divayth glanced at him over his shoulder, as if he had just remembered he was not alone.
"Sotha Aem'uvus, I suppose, is the correct address," he replied, rolling his shoulders and shaking his head. "It's a complicated topic, but for now, all you need to know is that he's Sil's son."
"Sotha Sil has a son? I've never heard that."
"Nor have many others," the wizard told him. "He's just one of the many secrets Sil keeps in the Cogitum Centralis. That he's not under his father's feet is enough cause for concern, but that message…" Pressing his fist to his chin, Divayth looked down at his feet for one moment, his brow arched in deep thought. Then he looked sharply at his companion, and the resolve in his face told Armialin that the pair had much to do. "We have to reconsider our approach. We need to speak with Aem'uvus – which means we need to find this classroom."
"There are hundreds of classrooms around the Fortress," the adventurer pointed out. "If we're going to find the boy, we're going to need to find this 'Heem-Tei' he was trying to speak to first."
The Dark Elf swept the room once more, urging the aides closer to their tables, his shoulders straightening as he took in a slow, deep inhale of breath. Then he moved towards the door, and nodded for Armialin to follow him.
"I know him. Well, no, that implies he's impressive enough to pique my interests. I know of him," he said. "He's an engineer – the best of the Apostles, by all accounts. He'll likely be in the Archivox, if not one of the libraries. Come along."
And with that, Divayth departed the Nave, leaving to scramble after him an adventurer that felt rather like a dull child. The door slid closed on their receding images, and once more, the Basilica was plunged into a dim silence, broken only by the click and clack of machines.
