Lyall woke to a finger poking his cheek. Cylon leapt back dramatically the instant his eyes opened, but instead of anger Lyall stilled as a flood of familiarity surged from his heart to settle around his upper chest like a scarf. He dispersed it by sitting and swinging his feet to the floor. 

“You are either a morning person or impatient, and I have second thoughts about this job if you are the latter,” Lyall warned calmly, rubbing the back of his head to fluff his auburn waves squished flat overnight. 

“How does ‘eager’ work instead?” Cylon spread his hands out in an arc before his face. Rainbow sparkles glitzed his bold grin. They were real. 

“You can use magic then?” Lyall dug into his bag for his day clothes. 

“Inconsequential magic best suited for parlor tricks. I’m working on something that’ll present an illusory blur of my form to avoid attacks, but that’s a ways off.” 

“One tends to interact with numerous spellcasters in this line of work. Perhaps you’ll find a partner to assist you.” 

“I was partnering with this wizard, but, eh,” Cylon shrugged, “it wasn’t meant to be.” 

“Your fault or theirs?” 

“Ouch. That cuts deep,” Cylon pouted, twirling a strand of his pale blond hair around his finger. “You haven’t even drawn your sword yet.” 

“You wanted someone well-rounded, didn’t you?” Lyall smirked. 

“I apologize for underestimating you. I’ll treat you to breakfast to make up for it.” 

“Wasn’t breakfast included in the fee we—” 

“Come on down when you’re ready!” Cylon, already out of the room, called. 

Lyall dressed, freshened up, and went downstairs to enjoy his ‘free’ breakfast of buttered toast, scrambled eggs, a spoonful of greens, and a roasted apricot sprinkled with cinnamon. His full stomach made it difficult to convince his feet out of his chair, but the hearty meal gave Lyall energy enough for the hour-and-a-half walk north. The hills were smooth and lacked risk, and several scattered homesteads greeted them with waves. All buildings and signs of civilization eventually fell away though. So did his and Cylon’s short bursts of trivial conversation, especially when the damp and grassy terrain grew gravelly and dry. 

“Is that—?” Lyall gasped. Dust climbed into the air from the kick of his heels charging him to the top of the hill before them. Cylon trailed without issue. 

“It’s true, here we are! The golem factory!” Cylon flourished at the sprawling structure nestled in the dip between rolls. “The Engineering Guild put markers alerting any who come by that it’s theirs. This is a rather remote location, but there’s the chance some opportunists might have made their way inside. I don’t expect much trouble though. The factory is recently out of the Ripples with the Guild obviously eager to not spread the word.” 

“It’s...” 

“Hmn?” 

“I can see them.” 

“See what?” 

Lyall didn’t answer. His eyes, whose only special feature were their different hues, now stared without blinking at the ethereal dome encapsulating the air above the factory. Hanging from invisible anchor, the mist-touched distortions fluttered like gossamer curtains in a kind breeze. Goosebumps shot down Lyall’s arms, yet his mind fuzzed into a peaceful trance. Cylon shook his shoulder. 

“What’s made you loopy?” 

“Hoyt will love to hear this,” Lyall spoke with distant amusement before shaking his head and returning his focus to the present moment. “I can see the creation lines.” 

“I don’t see anything. Is this common for you?” 

“No. This is the first time I’ve ever seen them, so I believed that I couldn’t.” 

“Strange. Maybe the reason is that the appearance of the factory caused such a big upset to leave enough of a ‘wound’ for you to be able to see the Ripples,” Cylon theorized. He shuddered. “It’s unsettling as it is to know all the eras that’ve come before ended up in life-changing, world-altering conclusions with so much of their physical impacts left to pop in and out of existence between the very folds of reality. All but guarantees this era is going to end up the same way. I wouldn’t like to see a daily reminder of Astralis’s eternal fluctuations.” 

“Well, you don’t, so no need to worry. Let’s get going,” Lyall began his descent towards the factory. 

“Just don’t go disappearing on me!” 

“The creation lines are in the air. Unless I suddenly gain the ability to fly, I’m not going anywhere,” Lyall reassured with a soft chuckle. 

They swiftly approached the factory. Remnants of a forgotten road crunched underneath their feet, and the air hung stiffly with sharp bursts of iron and rust. Sallow bricks once golden crafted the stretching line of the first floor’s perimeter, tall windows of frosted pane interspersed in perfect intervals. Cylon mirrored Lyall’s thoughts with the suggestion to scout the outside first. They found four standard cargo doors but also a gargantuan one putting them on edge from the need of such a size. Aside from the occasional broken brick on the ground and the fading footprints from those of the Engineering Guild, nothing stood out. That left the pair looping to the beginning where Cylon slowly pushed open the main doors. 

“The scouts got as far as this reception area. They found arcane lines on the floor signaling power still flows through the factory, so that’s when they bailed and sought help,” Cylon whispered. 

A once-cozy waiting area sadly beckoned. A long desk of worn wood would have sat numerous receptionists, and care had been given to make different heights available for the various visiting races. Couches and chairs honoring that same principle groaned under layers of dust. Yellowed, fragile pamphlets seemingly advertised the factory, but it was a thousand-year-old language neither Lyall nor Cylon understood. The factory played into its theming well with gears and pipes glossed into the walls as part of the decoration. Lines in the floor creating congruent boxes between tiles indeed pulsed with softly glowing light like arcane blood, and the lines joined into two sets passing underneath the thresholds of the doors at each end of the desk leading further into the building. 

“I can sense a thrum,” Lyall halted and listened. 

“Same. Alright,” Cylon put his hands on his hips. “From seeing what they could through the windows, the scouts are confident that one big hallway runs around the building. Smaller rooms line the outer edge while they believe the main work floor takes up the center. My recommendation for our first step is to go through the outer rooms one by one before dealing with the work floor. What do you think though?” 

“I think...” Lyall moved behind the desk, “that we should search these drawers to see if there’s a map or any helpful information.” 

“Oh. Yes, that’s far smarter.” 

Lyall found a map in the second drawer. The text naturally remained unhelpful, but it secured the scouts’ credibility. Two hallways ran the length of the factory. The work floor in the center extended to the back of the building and the cargo doors to cut them off, but the map revealed the hallways branched off halfway to create a walkway above the production area that also led to the smaller second floor. However, the rooms there were respectively larger. 

“Likely offices for the higher-ups,” Cylon guessed, peeking over Lyall’s shoulder. “It looks like there’s a basement too, since there are stairs going down in the work floor. No map for that though.” 

“Let’s keep looking.” 

They did. Although they remained mapless for the basement, Cylon found a ring with three dirty keys. He jangled them, unimpressed. 

“If these were left here, I can’t imagine they unlock anything crucial. At least they’re something. I think that’s everything useful. What now?” 

“We’ll press on with your plan,” Lyall said. 

“Which door should we start with?” 

“Left.” 

“Why left?” 

“Because almost everyone else would go right,” Lyall smiled and held up his right hand—his dominant one. 

“What a rebel.” 

Cylon went to the left door, a hand up requesting distance. Lyall took note of how his companion’s soft boots made no sound upon the floor rich in tiny pebbles of a slowly withering building. The bright blue shirt and white pants Cylon wore yesterday had been replaced with clothes and leather armor in shades of brown, and, as Cylon approached the door, he stretched a tight cap also of brown to hide his striking blond locks. The dim shadows eagerly welcomed him as one of their own as he searched the hinges, cracks, and knob. 

“No traps I can see, although it is locked,” Cylon relayed quietly. 

The search and his low voice shifted the pair from at ease to on guard. Lyall only nodded and did his best to limit the subtle metallic ringing of his breastplate and pauldrons catching on each other as he went to watch Cylon try the keys. The longest one cleanly undid the lock. That pulsing glow from the lines of the floor their lone light, the hallway before them quickly fell into darkness. 

“Avoiding detection if anything’s awake is best, so I’d like to keep things darker. I also don’t want to traverse this hallway blindly,” Cylon whispered. A mumble from his lips and twirl of his fingers popped a fist-sized orb of magical light before their eyes. 

“Blindly running down a hallway is an awful idea, I agree,” Lyall had to quip. 

Cylon flattened himself to the floor without acknowledgement. His orb hovered low and inched thirty feet down the path. “I don’t see tripwires or anything raised, like a pressure plate. Still watch where you step and keep an ear out. Once we search the rooms the orb has passed, I’ll look further.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Their searching was slow, methodical, and fruitful. Oh, the three offices they searched before glancing ahead with the orb bore nothing other than documents and schematics neither of them could make any sense of, but no obvious dangers presented themselves while Lyall knew the Engineering Guild would easily be able to hire a translator. They came across another locked door close to where the hallway branched off. The shortest key opened it up to reveal the grand find of a cleaning closet. 

“I expected a golem factory from the Artifex era to have more security,” Cylon contemplated softly. 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Jinx us.” 

“Reality does not change based on what I say. Otherwise, I’d be a god and not skulking in a place like this. People simply enjoy pointing out patterns of coincidence.” 

“I don’t know about that. One time, this old gnome passed through our town. My mother and I often struggled for money, and it was obvious. He told me that each day I brushed my teeth well and listened to my mother that I would come across some coin the following day. I found coins in the strangest places each day after that until I forgot to brush my teeth before bed one night. Then the coins stopped showing up.” 

“I did not peg you for a superstitious type,” Cylon gawked. 

“It’s not superstition if there’s evidence,” Lyall challenged. 

“...I think I’ll leave my rebuttal to that for our return to Riath. We’re getting too chatty. C’mon.” 

Lyall, naturally, did not protest. He and Cylon continued the same hallway instead of turning. They discovered a toilet, break room, and more offices. The hallway ended at a thicker, wider door Cylon thoroughly checked as he had before. This time, none of the keys undid the lock. 

“We’ve reached that point,” Cylon whipped out a lockpick set. Lyall would have been suspicious of his clear skill after hearing a satisfying click in under a minute had the Mall not offered events teaching members how to do such things. Cylon slowly opened the creaky door and nudged his head within. “Looks like supplies.” 

“The map does indicate this room is connected to the bay of one of the cargo doors,” Lyall nodded along, glancing at the paper to confirm. 

Following Cylon’s lead, Lyall checked the rows of neatly stacked crates, bags, and bundles. They found the obvious gears, wires, and sheets of metal, but Lyall couldn’t gather why a golem factory would need yards of fake fur, cloth, and boxes upon boxes of thread spools in endless colors too. Lyall noted everything on the map as he’d done the entire hallway. Cylon reached his hands high and stretched backwards. 

“Want to go to the reception room and start from the other door, cross the walkway, or deal with the center room?” 

“Let’s cross the walkway. The map doesn’t indicate if it’ll give us a view below, but it would be good to have a higher survey of the area if possible.” 

“I agree.” 

So, they returned to that halfway point where Cylon sent his floating light up the stairs. That the light’s maximum range of thirty feet didn’t reveal the top ominously tightened the darkness ahead. Cylon didn’t falter. 

“It’s a narrow width. I’ll go first.” 

Lyall trailed two steps behind. His shoulders eased tension after needing only a few more feet to see the top of the stairs. However, Lyall’s core became a void when Cylon’s foot on the thirteenth step sunk the stone surface down with an audible thunk then click. The distinctive rumble of force built in metal pipes within the walls tight on both sides. Cylon whipped around, ashen. 

“Back! Back!” 

Lyall tried to turn around. Cylon tried to leap over Lyall entirely. They succeeded in wrenching themselves down the stairs—by tumbling upon one another and thudding to a chaotic halt. Neither nursed their hurts and scrambled further back. They turned in time to see what erupted from countless opening holes. 

Cylon wheezed. “Bubbles?!”