Once more, written for DarkNo, because I'm getting angsty with all my stress and she inspires me (I do hope I'll be worshipped after that)

baelheit-centric stuff, full of angst, of course (it's BAELHEIT), ending at the appearance of Tarazed. Many spoilers of course, as usual. Do not read until you've beaten baelheit, unless you don't care about spoilers (though you might not understand said spoilers if you haven't XD )

Written at 2 am, so have mercy on me please.

WARNINGS: er, serious angst? There's nothing bad in there really.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own BKO. Nor Baelheit. Nor his daughter, sadly.

Gold

One more hour. One more night.

It had been like this for the last fifteen years. Before, his work had been a pleasure, even when he was being pressured for results, even when what he had to do was crazy. When he put on his glasses and sit in front of his desk and his doubt and resentment evaporated, leaving only curiosity, and a faint, calm exhilaration.

Now when he worked there was only urgency. Exhilaration was still there, sometimes, when he was getting closer to his goal, but the pleasure was gone. It was only growing tension, and the promise of release, a combination he found too close to something sexual for comfort.

One thing hadn't changed, though. There was bitterness when he was outside. Hate. Regrets. But when he sat down and got to work, it all evaporated. It wasn't the pleasure he had before, but there was still this thrill, this pull on his heart and nerves, that cut him from the outside world, its failures and its pains.

He knew he had to hurry. The world was changing around him. Olgan was getting old, and the failure of fifteen years ago was nearly forgotten, his plans were becoming more reckless by the day, and he never knew when the necessity to eliminate him might come. He knew Shannath was probably plotting behind his back -and could he blame him? The man had issues of his own-, but he didn't care. As long as his plans came to be, then his work would finally have a meaning. So he pushed on another hour.

Milliarde was growing, too. From small, fragile girl she was turning into a young woman, strong and slightly arrogant, full of life and curiosity. Soon she would turn away from him, he knew, like all youngsters did once they thought they could fly with their own wings, but he knew better. Those wings of hers, so fragile and delicate -he had never had the courage to tear out something so beautiful, despite his convictions-, they could not carry her far in the dark world around her. He would bring a new world, though, and in this world she wouldn't even need them any more, she could soar up with strong, trustworthy winglets. So he pushed on for another day.

He was running out of time, he knew.

Olgan was dead, Milly was leaving him for the maladeiter boy, and his latest information had revealed that Shannath was finally playing his own cards. But there were so few details left - a few after lings to capture, a slight change in the suspension system's design, the right order to magna mix the material he needed for the finishing touches -, it was all within his reach, at last, if only he could find the last missing pieces, and glue together the formidable puzzle he had been crafting.

So he pushed on for another month, until there was a golden sphere in the middle of his world, machina-wrought and grand, and as shining as the sun.

Thanks for reading and please review.