‘Set it down there, would you?’

At my signal, the handler lowers the mechanical arm toward the platform, while Rossum guides the tangle of cables and chains securing the relic into position. For days on end, workers have taken turns extracting the strange machine from the ice it was entombed in, using kelonic jackhammers—or, at times, simple mallets and chisels.

Now, seeing it up close, I realize just how disconcerting its appearance really is—a blend of archaic aesthetics and baroque machinery. As we suspected, it’s clearly of human origin, a marvel of engineering no one had expected to uncover—not even in the Athanor.

All around us, the ice cracks in the narrow gorge. I keep an eye on the ledges above, silently hoping no overhangs will collapse on top of us. Crossing the Cobalt Gorge was already more eventful than I would’ve liked, with massive chunks breaking off into the water and nearly capsizing our vessel.

‘Easy now. Nice and easy. All right—down!’

With a resounding clang, the device lands on the raised platform. As I climb up to the work area, my steps echoing on the steel stairs, Rossum is already at work. He checks that all the components are laid out properly so we can work without getting in each other’s way.

I left my mechanical spider below, trading its comfort for my articulated “crutches.” They let me walk, step by painful step, but the ache they cause hasn’t faded with time. I grit my teeth as a jolt runs from the base of my spine up to my neck. And that’s without counting the constant tingling that causes spasms in my legs.

Even so, I try to keep a polite smile for those around me. And I’m far from being alone—the Masters spared no expense on manpower or equipment for this dig. Studying this machine has become a top priority for the Axiom, to determine not only its origin, but—more importantly—how it works. One thing’s already clear: its design is far removed from anything our Faction typically produces. A new people? Another civilization? No—don’t jump to conclusions.

I lean over the inert frame, brushing away the beads of condensation forming on the metal. It’s already been thoroughly examined to collect any significant particles—pollen, oils, dust—or, on the contrary, to check for pathogens or contaminants. Last we heard, nothing hazardous, aside from some yellowish residue in a few channels—its nature still unknown.

But that’s not my primary concern. The substance is in the hands of the chemists now—they’ll do a far better job than I ever could. No, I’m here to study its strange mechanics. To do that, I’ll have to take it apart, piece by piece. All while answering one central mystery: What’s its power source?

‘So, what do you think?’, comes a voice nearby.

I look up and adjust my glasses. Through the railing, I see Sierra ascending the ramp toward me. On her way, she gives Rossum a friendly thump between the shoulder blades. He turns his head lazily, just as Oddball begins circling him with a series of agitated beeps. The Alterer’s blades clack against the floor grates. She carefully avoids the cracks and gaps, moving with the grace of a dancer.

‘I’m just getting started’, I admit truthfully.

She comes to stand beside me, arms crossed over her chest.

‘Believe me, you’re in for a ride’, she adds.

I frown at her, puzzled, then wince as a dull ache runs up my spine.

‘You hurting? Want me to check your dorsal stimulator?’

I shake my head.

‘No worries. I’ve learned to live with this level of pain.’

She eyes me for a moment, then nods.

‘Your call.’

I turn my attention back to the machine, studying it more closely. The dark metal of its casing reminds me of rare minerals found in volcanic craters. Its surface is etched with grooves—deep, rounded channels like a maze...

Using one of my Grafts, I lift an articulated appendage and blink in surprise.

‘You noticed too?’

Sierra perches on a crate nearby. I run a hand through my stubble and rub my jaw, equal parts intrigued and confused.

‘There aren’t any visible screws or bolts…’

She nods.

‘We think they used Alteration to fuse the parts together—make them one seamless whole.’

I continue examining it, then offer my take.

‘I don’t think so.’

She turns toward me, raising an eyebrow.

‘You’ve got another theory?’

‘I’m not sure, but look at these marks.’

She leans in to inspect the area I’m pointing to. Deep in one of the grooves, a crescent-shaped gap is clearly visible—like a poorly executed weld.

‘It’s as if the screw, once placed, fused with the rest. There’s this slight bulge…’

‘Like a cutting?’

‘Like a tissue graft, yeah. As if the metal has some organic quality to it…’

Sierra places a hand on the machine, thoughtful.

‘That could explain a lot. We scanned the relic—couldn’t open it—and found no traces of any circuitry. No electric or kelonic network…’

‘So it’s powered by something else. But no combustion chamber, no obvious fuel tank.’

‘The grooves all lead to one point—some kind of basin.’

She points it out, and I nod.

‘Then maybe those striations are meant to hold a liquid…’

‘What if…’, she says, trailing off as we reach the same thought.

‘Yes—what if the yellow residue is the fuel?’

‘Which would mean it doesn’t flow inside the machine, but on its surface, through those channels.’

Her excitement is contagious, and I find myself smiling. Or at least grimacing. I turn to the nearest engineer.

‘As soon as we get the analysis results back on the substance, I want to be the first to know. Understood?’

The technician gives me a brief nod and jots it down in his notebook. Sierra suddenly turns to me, still pondering.

‘If we manage to get this thing running…’

Her eyes drift to the ice wall behind me, where half a dozen excavators work non-stop. I turn to follow her gaze, watching the workers chipping and melting the thick ice sheet, block by block, inch by inch… bathed in the harsh glare of the floodlights aimed at what they’re trying to free…

‘Then we can tackle the real behemoth…’

Encased in ice, its dark silhouette looms—massive, towering. Even motionless, it seems to stare back at me, and a shiver runs down my spine. We don’t yet know what it is. An Automaton, like the ones Sierra designed? A Golem? Or something in between? Is it sentient? Will it be hostile?

The questions swirl in my mind, but I shove them aside. I need to focus on the task at hand. With a thought, I activate my second dorsal Graft, and the circular saw attached to it whirs to life, filling the air with a shrill buzz. I lower my protective goggles over my eyes and offer a pair to Sierra, who puts them on.

The saw moves toward the metallic surface, sending up a spray of sparks. All right, time to see what this machine is made of.

I pat my belly, so full, and suppress a burp. Instead, I let out a long sigh and get up from the bench where I’d sprawled to scarf down my snack. Around me, the other Axiom workers are wolfing down what’s in their bowls while it’s still hot, or heading over to the buffet to ask for seconds. Not sure there's much left, but hey, doesn’t hurt to check...

Marmo, on his end, is still gnawing on his half-frozen bone. I scratch his head, and he growls softly, clearly annoyed I interrupted his little project. Alright, alright, I get the message—he can always come find me when he’s done chewing cartilage. I leave him to it; I know how cranky he gets when he doesn’t have—literally—something to sink his teeth into.

I step out of the makeshift mess hall and roll my shoulders a bit, nodding at a few coworkers heading into their shift. Time for a pit stop anyway. So I stroll off whistling, hands in my pockets, toward the temporary barracks.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sierra and Treyst working with their respective teams on that relic we pulled from the ice. I chuckle. Truth be told, compared to those two kids, I’m the real relic.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But with the cold seeping into every joint, I can definitely feel my fifties creeping up fast.

I get to the temporary restrooms and spot rows of empty kelonic tanks and cylinders in the offloading zone. Disappointingly empty, of course. We’d hoped to find a rich mineral vein at the mountaintop, but all we got was a giant dead tree. Big letdown. Luckily, we did find two workable veins lower down. And once the Tumult clears, we’ll be able to mine at our leisure. I say "we," but really, my next destination’s gonna be something else—unless the Exalts pull off a last-minute leave extension, which, let’s be honest, is pretty unlikely...

Still whistling, I zip up after finishing my business. Then seal my suit all the way to keep the cold from sneaking in where it’s not welcome. I grab a handful of snow to wash up and dry my hands for a while in front of a kelonic heater—don’t want to end up with popsicles for fingers.

I check the time to see how much I’ve got left before the next round. Over forty-five minutes? That’s plenty of time to get in a bit of sitar practice. Just gotta find a quiet spot where I won’t be bothered, a little corner where I can pour out my homesickness without an audience.

I push open the dorm door and sigh with relief when I see it’s empty. I stomp the snow off my boots at the entrance and walk toward my cot, passing rows of beds in varying degrees of order. I crack my neck and settle down on the mattress, slipping the case off my instrument.

We’d reclaimed Caer Oorun. We crossed the Tumult and made it here, to the Storhvit. Along the way, I’d picked up all sorts of trinkets. They’re still here, spread around my sleeping bag—little mementos from my trek through the Terra Incognita.

There’s a vial of sound-reactive sand that fizzes and dances when you play music or speak nearby; a sack full of wool I’d gathered from a river made of fibers and hair. There’s more odd stuff too: a jar of moss that oozes soap, a pebble that boomerangs back no matter how far you throw it (learned that one the hard way), a grapefruit-cider-tasting fruit that regenerates if left in the light long enough—pretty handy to always have a snack on hand.

That was the fun part of the journey. I also saw trees with blinking eyes on their leaves, tracking my every move; a beast with a mouth that split open like mandibles and rows of spinning teeth like harvesters. I’d rather not relive the spore parasite incident—those things latch onto anything and keep growing unless a Rati medic cuts them out...

Brrr. Just thinking about it gives me chills.

Still, despite all that, the Terra Incognita has these wild, dreamlike—or nightmarish—vistas. Shafts of iridescent light shooting straight from the ground into the sky. Pools of shadow where rodents—and worse, snakes—hide. Balloon-leafed trees that wheeze pollen when they deflate. And then, there were those manta rays soaring overhead. Pretty sure they were Leviathans, though from that distance, who knows?

I plug in my sitar, and it crackles to life in the Kelon battery’s light. My left hand glides along the strings. My right plucks out a few resonant notes. The scales echo softly in the empty dorm. Once my fingers are warmed up, I dive in. Naturally, the first thing that comes to me is Prakash Ruggeveen’s RWV 416—The Lament. My hands dance, bending the strings, striking them as the melody spirals out. And just like that, ghostly figures take shape around me. Kavuri and Navin playing with Marmo. Chatur and Sunder bickering over tea. Every note pulls at my heart.

When the piece ends, my eyes are misty, and silence wraps itself around me again as the spirits fade. A single clap snaps me out of it.

I hadn’t seen her, but there’s a woman watching me from one of the bunk beds, a smile on her face. She hops down from the top bunk as I gently return my sitar to its case, and walks over. Even inside the dorm, she’s still wearing her beanie and scarf. Her cream-colored hair is long and tousled. Looks like I woke her up from a nap.

‘I didn’t know you were a musician’, she says as she approaches.

I eye her, a bit puzzled, and she finally offers her hand.

‘Sorry, I should introduce myself. Vera Velasquia.’

I nod and shake her hand. I notice her fingers are stained with ink. Ah—Vera. The journalist from the Arkaster Echo. I’d heard she’d joined the Rediscovery Endeavor to write about it, but this was the first time I’d actually seen her here.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m—’

‘Subhash Kadis. Axiom Maker, member of the third Exalt of the Faction’, she cuts in. ‘I know who you are, of course.’

I know I shouldn’t be flattered, but hey, can’t help it.

‘Sorry, I thought I was alone.’

She shakes her head.

‘No worries. It was time I got up anyway.’

She yawns, though she tries to play it cool.

‘Feel like having a coffee? I was just about to make one…’

I raise an eyebrow.

‘You have coffee?’

She grins—probably because my reaction was a little too eager.

‘It’s my personal stash. I even have my own percolator. I can’t function without coffee’, she confides, like it’s some big secret.

I watch her pull out her whole setup and lay it out on her nightstand: a kelonic coffee grinder, a bag of beans, a portable percolator...

‘That was quite a show’, she says, watching the coffee brew.

‘Oh, you mean my memories?’

I scratch my head, a bit sheepish she saw all that.

‘How does it work? Natural Alteration?’

‘I installed a module in my sitar that works kind of like a Construct. Each note acts like a Khyalo symbol, and when you combine them…’

‘You’ve tied specific memories to specific melodies. Clever.’

I just nod. Not much more to add, really. Except maybe...

‘You can call me ‘Bash’ if you want. Never been big on formalities.’

‘Bash, then. Works for me.”

‘That’s what most people call me. Or, well, the ones I hang out with. So yeah, you can call me Bash.’

I know I’m rambling, and it annoys me.

‘I’d love to interview you sometime, if you’re up for it. Just a casual talk, get to know you. I’m working on a series of profiles.’

She gestures with her hand like she’s framing a headline.

“The Faces of Rediscovery”.

I scratch my head again.

‘I know you’ll be deployed again soon. So I get that your schedule’s tight. But it’s also a way to get a message back to your family. I’ll personally make sure they get a copy of the paper…’

I frown.

‘You seem to know more than I do…’

She sighs, maybe realizing she said too much.

‘All I know is, Admiral Singh moved the Ouroboros further upstream. To keep it clear of the Tumult currents, sure—but I also heard it’s been assigned another task: investigating a topographic anomaly.’

‘What kind?’

‘A circular structure, like an eye. Might contain human ruins. Between that and the relic you dug up the other day, it’s not crazy to think there could be other survivors nearby.’

I can’t help but be a bit wary.

‘You sure about that?’

She sighs again, and behind her, the coffee finally finishes brewing.

‘My source was confident, at least.’

She’s watching me carefully, maybe hoping to gauge how much I know. Her look is a little too spotless to be truly innocent, but her big eyes have that magnetic quality—like they’re used to pull things out of people. Not that it matters. I don’t know more than she does anyway.

She seems to realize I’m not hiding anything, or maybe she’s just decided to ease off. She gets up, grabs both mugs, and hands me one. I watch the steam curl from the dark liquid and take in the smell with a content sigh.

She drags a crate over and sits down across from me, wearing a sly, almost conspiratorial smile.

‘Let’s forget all that and start fresh. So... who exactly are you, Subhash Kadis?’