Chapter Text
The dawn of a new Cycle. The climax of an age of revolution, induced by the newfound knowledge of processing a golden liquid that has been heralded throughout the ages.
Void Fluid.
The era, which had been dubbed the Void Fluid Revolution by their esteemed historians, was, however, not the solution her people sought after. Sure, it aided in their development, made the ungraspable tangible.
Facets of Fate, Scattered Fable lowered her masked face, the golden relic of their roots weighing heavily on her shoulders, the narrow shutters of the orbed eyes partially obscuring her vision. But her vision for her people was clear and unhindered.
Her gaze wandered over the breathtaking outer walls of the massive construct she was standing on, the damp air of the still inactive work of miracles causing her scaled skin to glimmer in the morning sun. Fate was waiting for the arrival of an old friend, one of the leading minds behind the factor, that could end the unfortunate era for good.
Her friend was late. Fate disliked waiting. But waiting for such a bright mind always turned out to be worth it in the end.
Graceful hands grabbed the edge of the outside balcony, stationed countless kilometres above the surface, and her gaze, full of future-oriented wonder, wandered far and wide. So far above the clouds, not much was left to be seen from the ruthless soil far below. Only a few points of interest pierced through the cloud layer like small islands among an endless lake of white.
Only a couple of Major Cycles ago, the sharp mountain to Fate’s north was the only island above the cloud level. But the Spire of Space was forced to share its monopoly over this realm with three new competitors, all funded by various Houses, including hers, and rendered possible by the ingenious minds of the House of Strings.
Fate’s gaze hardened, and a sigh rumbled through her heavy mask.
There are now three to challenge the self-destructive nature of us Ancients. Three have been made possible by the very revolution that turned out to be a blessing and a curse alike.
The Void Fluid was too powerful, way too much for us to handle. And yet we mastered the golden desire that was calling to us, our ancestors and their ancestors alike. Many generations wondered what you were; few managed to understand where you were coming from.
Temples have been erected to worship the voices of the void, cultures have risen and met their downfall, able to process the mysticism, but unable to reap the raw power of you - Void Fluid.
You have made this possible. Caused a division between my people. Traditionalists viewed a holy calling in our new discoveries and started to see the Void Fluid as what it was for them. The universal solvent for our cyclic suffering. Bound to the Cycle that causes us to persist—the Void Fluid was the solution. Or so they thought. But dipping one’s claws into the solution had gruesome consequences. Consequences, which spawned more voices, many small groups with their personal theory on how to utilise what was living below us for as long as we can think.
Groups with conflicting visions. Those who needed direct access to the golden liquid. Religious collectives, that were ready to raise their spears, blades and later guns and rifles to get what they desired most.
But among the bloody chaos, the most esteemed Houses continued to stay rational and developed. They researched and eventually they found it.
Void-Fluid-based technology. Over the past century, we developed from traditionalist thinking to the progressive practice of today. It was a rapid development, way too fast for most of us. Robotics, holograms, and the wonders of today were the magic of the past. And the most important development of it all was-
„Lost in thoughts, old friend? Admiring the work of the House of Strings, made possible by the generous funding of the House of Forgiveness, among others?“
The tinier individual looked up to Fate, her masked face barely peering over the edge of the balcony. Through the semi-transparent orbs, Fate could make out the glowing eyes of her friend, a vision as sharp as it was when she started the project, which was now residing under their very feet.
Fate’s gaze wandered down and along the tattooed shoulders of her friend, noticing the youthful, healthy gleam of the finely scaled skin she last saw in a way more spent variant. Fate chuckled and outstretched her hand, palm raised to the sky, offering her hand to her friend to grab.
An offer the smaller Ancient took gleefully.
„I see you stood true to our promise. It has been a long time since I last saw your fingers that full and healthy. Gone is the bone-like structure, away from the sorrows of the past. Two friends, both having shed the age like a spent hull to look into the future with a renowned body and a fresh vision.”
Fate snickered and tensed her hand around the skilful fingers of her best friend, pulling her just a tiny bit closer.
„A promise to be fulfilled on Promise, looking over the edge into a Bloodless future. The past is the past, my esteemed Countless Ripples, One Boulder, venerated mind of the House of Strings, lead developer of those that will pull us back on our course.
Mastermind of the Iterators. The youth, that was long gone from your bones, suits you well—it suits us well.“
„Indeed, it does, Fate. But I must respectfully mention that I am merely one of the Five Strings. I couldn’t have envisioned this alone. The pedestal is not for me to take by myself.
A pedestal, which is much rather intended for the Iterators we are about to bring to life.”
Ripples followed Fate’s eyes and gazed at the cloud layer. She pointed at the new islands peering out of the white nothing, the metal monoliths reflecting the shine of the morning sun hundredfold like beacons of hope… or announcers of the end.
„It took a long time, and we went through many prototypes, but at long last, the first three are standing tall and proud, waiting for their fateful activation. I am expected to be there for the procession of Looks to the Moon. Everyone thinks a wrinkly old engineer will be there to hold the ceremony. But we are here, all by ourselves, back in the youthful frames nobody expects us to commandeer. To activate a different Iterator and that ever so slightly ahead of schedule.”
„Are you scared, Countless Ripples, One Boulder?”
It was a question which could not have been simpler to ask, but the effect it had on her rejuvenated friend was greater than Fate could ever have expected. The Ancient began to shiver uncontrollably, partially due to the chill air of their elevated position, but for the most part due to her genuine question.
The House of Strings was scared to the very core. After all, it was their only chance to bring forth the new age they dreamed of. A new age in which Fate’s House of Forgiveness was very eager to be a founding participant.
Ripples chuckled nervously and avoided Fate’s field of vision, her small feet shuffling, claws causing tiny scrapes in the living-metal floor. Scrapes, which immediately started to heal as intended.
“How could I not be, my friend?
We are banking on the feeling of hurt we inflicted on the Five-hundred-and-ninety-second High Convocation of the True Anointed Citadel. Casting their holy ground into perpetual shadow through the construction of Looks to the Moon caused the civic unrest to rise. There have already been numerous attempts at sabotage on the facility grounds of Looks to the Moon—less so on Obsidian Tower’s building site, fortunately… or unfortunately, much rather.
We expected that the construction of an Iterator with the main intent of founding a city far above the holy, yet life-threateningly cold surface, would stir up more of a wave of insult. Our people look forward to Tower’s activation, to the utter surprise of my House.
At least one positive development in the ocean of uncertainties.”
She playfully tapped her foot on the floor, brushing the living metal with a cautious sweep of her velvety footpads. It was a nearly affectionate gesture.
“We have been blessed with the intended and unintended diversion. There have been no major cases of sabotage regarding the pivotal Iterator below our feet.
It would have been fatal if the Houses, blinded by the volatile possibilities of the Void Fluid, had tried their new weaponry on this Iterator, our last and utterly nuclear hope.
Bloodless Promise cannot protect himself—yet.”
The silent sigh from the taller Ancient remained unnoticed. Facets of Fate, Scattered Fable knew her old friend for long enough by now to endure Ripple’s tendencies to state the obvious. If it helped her to focus, she could endure the nervous rambling. But she was right.
Fate’s eyes behind her elusive mask hardened up, her focus now peering past the clouds directly into the potential gain for her people… or their final downfall. This Cycle could only end one way or another, and it agitated the high-ranking member of the House of Forgiveness down to their very core.
My vision can only come to fruition if Bloodless Promise manages to function as intended. It feels strange to put my faith into a man-made god-like being, but if my words perfectly carry the message, the next Era is about to begin. A new age, starting with a singular, but deeply crucial step.
The end of all the bloody conflicts that are drowning us out.
“Looks to the Moon’s ceremony is set to begin in less than the tenth of the Cycle. Our window of action is slim. We must renounce our secrecy and project the gleaming, radiating light that is the pinnacle of String ingenuity to all our few remaining fo- people. Our promise of a bloodless future shall begin right now, at this very instance.
Are you with me, old friend?”
“To activate the fruits of my team’s efforts? I wouldn’t want to miss that for anything in the world—not to mention you stand in the vicinity of the only member of the Five who can initiate the activation sequence by herself. Handy, isn’t it?”
“Hand… Is it the glove? Am I correct with that assumption? I was wondering why you didn’t rejuvenate your busted arm alongside your remaining body.
Just what kind of history does that safety hazard of a prosthetic has to you, Ripples?”
But Fate received only a cheeky shrug as an answer to that question. The prosthetic lower arm of the engineer was her own little secret for a few Major Cycles already. Fate initially assumed that her friend lost her arm in one of the bloody conflicts on the surface and was forced to resort to a prosthetic, given the ethical questions of voluntarily turning back one’s own life-clock, but it didn’t seem like that anymore, now that they both delayed their next Reincarnation by a couple of decades or more.
“No answer? That just proves my suspicion, Ripples. That begs the question if the other four esteemed founders are aware of it.”
“They asked me to dispose of Project HA5, and I followed their request. End of questioning. We should hurry, Fate. If I can trust my inner clock, and I ALWAYS can rely on it, Inquiries of Repute, Progress Inbound should be occupied with the ceremonial preparations for Looks to the Moon’s activation sequence right now.
In fact…”
Ripples reached down to her belt and unbuckled a palm-sized orb from it. The Chat Device flashed up, activated through the touch of its owner, and projected a series of green screens into the air. The engineer began to type, presumably with the project partner she previously mentioned.
Fate usually was way too reserved to peer into the chats of others, but in this case, she couldn’t help herself and unassumingly readjusted her long neck to get a better view of the screen.
Direct Message – Chat System 1.0 – 1010.000
Countless Ripples, One Boulder || Inquiries of Repute, Progress Inbound
CROB: We are currently at which stage of the Activation Ritual Ceremony again?
IoRPI: RIPPLES!?
IoRPI: Where in the name of Progress are you!? You should have accepted our proposal for a care assistant. Stubborn—are you lost, old ha- our most esteemed Senior?
IoRPI: We need you here to lead the initiating speech to predate the Activation Sequence. You can still make it to Moon’s puppet chamber in two tenths of the Cycle, can’t you?
CROB: Two tenths. Thank you, Repute. I will be there.
“(…) But not in the way you expect me to be, Repute. Was I really that old to be called a hag? I imagined myself to still be quite spunky for my formerly advanced age. The youth of today- oh wait, I am now part of it again as well. Aaanyway.”
The short Ancient looked up from her Chat Orb and nodded to Fate. She correctly assumed that a wide grin was now hidden behind the crested mask.
“Facets of Fate, Scattered Fable, First in Waiting of the House of Forgiveness?
The activation of Bloodless Promise has been rescheduled to three twenties of the Cycle from now. At that time, my absence will have caused enough confusion to sneak in a new First. I hope you have practised our planned speech.”
“Who do you think I am? Of course I have. Right behind you, Ripples.”
Cycle 1010.000. It was a promising Cycle for a programming prodigy like Delicate Outright of a Voided Shell. A lovely binary letter, as perfect as the final whimsical adjustments to the maybe most important date of his hopefully long-lasting career.
Shell brushed down his ceremonial robe, a new iteration of the traditional garment the highest of the House of Strings tended to wear. A design modernised to account for the futuristic duties of the Five Strings, the creators of the Loom of Gods, the formula made reality—a divine seeker to find answers to the biggest questions—an Iterator!
Far above him, in the quadratic heart of the mechanical goddess, resided a lifeless figurine. Blue was the bio-metallic skin, dark grey the hinges and joints and silvery the watchful antennas. Her symbol was of a simplistic form, complex in its wholeness. A shining red planetoid decorated the forehead of the puppet, accentuated with big and dark eyes to see through the fog of questions.
The lifeless puppet, suspended through a massive silver arm and connected to the Superstructure by an array of red and blue cables, bundled together to what they called an Umbilical, had been dressed in a bright orange robe. Compared to Shell’s robe, the Iterator was criminally underdressed, but he intended to offer her more of a choice once she would be able to respond… if she would wake up in the first place.
Looks to the Moon looked magnificently—a marvel of ingenuity and the conclusive miracle five sacred prototypes have led to. Their shared pride—a chance for the Ancients.
Shell walked over to his fidgety coworker, who was frantically typing on her Chat Orb. He had a good suspicion, considering the absence of one of them, who the recipient of the heated arguments could have been.
“Head Engineer Inquiries of Repute, Progress Inbound. Am I correct in the assumption that your agitated state has been caused by Countless Ripples? Causing waves in the plans as if one dropped a huge boulder in the lake that is our thinly weaved timetable?”
“Spare me the humour, Shelly. Our Senior took the wrong turn. Lost in the Superstructure of our own design. She of all should know each corridor and each segment, instrument and gadget instinctively. How could Ripples get lost?
The Benefactors of Project Looks to the Moon are waiting for their cue to send representatives to the Core. They expect a traditional ritual to honour our roots.
Ripples is the oldest of us; she has the expertise to please those whom we insulted through our placement actions. The House of Strings expects us to smooth the waves and prepare the future. Now, where in the name of the Void is our senile paragon!?”
Shell placed a reassuring hand on Repute’s shoulder, clawed fingers cautiously kneading the stress from the limb holding the Chat Orb. He couldn’t help but chuckle softly, a sound which resonated strongly in his mostly hollow beak-like mask.
“I trust her. She won’t disappoint us—not on one such ‘P’ day.
I will return to my mission of setting up the upcoming broadcast to the world. Here’s hoping that Project Moon will be able to connect to Project Tower’s request for link-up before the Iterator’s awakening. Leave that to me, Rep, focus on the ceremony—focus on fulfilling our Benefactors’ wishes.
This Cycle will be a memorable one.”