Remember to Forget to Remember ...to forget to remember to forget to... [ 6100 Words ] |
Darkness. Stars spiraling in the peripheral of vision. All collapsing towards one point. Pinpricks of light, branching inwards, reaching.
Reaching for what?
Light, blinding in his eyes. Air, rattling his cage. Primordial, effluvial. Noise, sounds, words. Who was talking? Who is talking?
A pair of gray apertures slide open, revealing the bright silver within. Wide, like stars, the apertures slide shut once more, opening like a camera shutter. Blinking, comprehending. A stir, spasmodic, the twitching of digits and limbs. Control being taken, regained. A shuddering cough issues within a barrel-like chest.
The Demvir wakens, and his thoughts are immediate. He thinks of himself, his surroundings, the noise - words - in his ears. How does he know they are words? How does he know he is male? How does he know? How does he be?
Answers elude him, a whirring click in the back of his head - more words, he doesn't understand their origin - signifying some manner of long-disused equipment being brought to life. His voice is synthetic, electric, a droning burr that warbles as it ceases.
He realizes he is asking a question. "Who... am I?"
The response is a light-hearted laugh, also synthetic. Not as droning, not as false. It is warm, and cold. Synthetic, and organic. It is real. So he too must be real.
"You are Demvir, my brother." The voice speaks, a sage quality to its tone. The unbearable heat of his eyes fades, and he takes in the sight of metal outlined in stone. Demvir, what a strange word. It feels comfortable, familiar. He decides he likes it.
The one across from him is a polished bronze, bright against the dim stones he is surrounded by. He blinks, and frights at the darkness as it retreats. His limbs continue to spasm, he realizes he is the cause. Briefly, he attempts to be, to function.
The movement is jerky, a gray arm shooting outwards at the elbow - what's an elbow - before stopping as the lock of the joint kicks into place. More knowledge, things he remembers. Why does he remember? Why doesn't he remember? Is he supposed to remember that he doesn't remember? He decides he doesn't like to think about it.
Still, he remembers. His arms are weighty, like great weights upon his form. His feet clank and crunch with the effort of moving them, the dust of the stones he surrounds himself with shriveling from his body of steel. Steel, no... more than steel.
What runs through him? He feels it shift and stir. He feels it course and pulsate. Above it, whirring and clicking. The rhythmic tick of some unknown clock, synched to a beat he cannot place. More words, filtering into ears he does not have. Ears, something he knows he lacks, but cannot place to when he saw them.
"Confusing, isn't it?" The real voice gives a sort of clicking chuckle, the sound unusual in the electronic tones.
He blinks, and surprises himself by not surprising himself. Slowly, he draws himself to his feet. The feet under him feel strange, fetal. A child standing on the shoulders of a giant. He stands upon two flat feet, the platforms underneath sturdy yet shaky. He feels no tremble in the strength of his limbs, only weight.
Once more, he finds purchase in words. Once more, he can only think to ask one question. "I am Demvir... but who am I?"
A sort of sad sigh escapes the voice, and he feels more weight clamp against his shoulder. He stumbles forward, legs barely jerking into place to catch him. "Whoa there!"
Another chuckle, he likes the sound. Tries to produce it. To laugh. It comes out wrong, distorted and droning. He doesn't get how to make it work. More words in his ears, placating. "It'll come to you eventually. Demvir is... what you are, yes. Who you are..."
The bronzen construct before him is difficult to see, even with the bright coloration. A smooth casing sweeps backwards into a pair of ridges on the shoulders, upon which sits a pointed head. Triangular, almost, it slants backwards where it curls away. Two slits gaze back at him, blue. Blue like the stars.
More blinks, he thinks he can get used to the darkness behind the shutters of his eyes. How does he see, anyways? More questions, no answers. The voice - the Demvir - across from him said it would come back? So he always had it? Or..?
He already decided he didn't like to think about it. He banishes the thoughts. Focuses on moving. Functioning. It is a moment that lasts a lifetime as he takes his first shaky step away from his former place. More dust shrugs from his form, revealing the muddy bronze beneath. Bronze like his fellow Demvir.
Another sputtering cough from his chest, he stumbles. The Demvir catches him. It is a slow trek, alien but not. Has he done this before? Does it matter? He can glimpse light, spilling through the cracks of every corner, bouncing from stone to stone.
Stars?
Bright. So bright, he loses track of himself. The Demvir supports him, allows him to truly grasp everything. Noise in his ears, not words. Loud, like the inside of his chest.
Machinery, not Demvir.
"Wha..?" He vocalizes, the words come more easily than before. Still droning and electronic.
The weight is still on his shoulder. The Demvir answers. "Welcome to Araevis, brother."
Great walls of stone abound around him. Green peeking over the edges of the crater he stands in. Standing, stepping, learning, remembering. The world finds itself beneath his feet. His feet find purchase, the blocky limbs heavy but in a good way.
"Breathe in, brother. Remember what you are. Remember what you have." The Demvir speaks from behind him, and he turns to take in his mechanical brethren. Soft grooves line a smoothened chassis, cutting a slim figure dressed in a draped robe. A hood is drawn around his head, squat and wide. He holds his hands together, a glimpse of umber from between the edges of his sleeves to reveal them.
"I am Sult Ratil Io. You may call me Io, brother." He steps forward, extending a steel hand. Slender digits had been affixed to them, remarkably dextrous-looking. Instead the unnamed one looks down at his hands, taking in the rough texture of their appearance and marveling at the pressure of clenching them shut.
Another sad sigh reaches his ears, and he cast a blank stare to Io once more. "It will come in time, brother, trust me. For now, breathe in."
Nodding once, the sage Demvir extended a hand to the world around them. Loud and reverberating in his chest like a drum, he feels himself turn - fluidly now, strange that he's become so used to it so quickly - and tries to do as his awakener asks.
Air floods his cavity, and he feels himself live all at once. He feels warm, the forge of his body reignited in a fell swoop. He does so again, and the lids of his aperture eyes are wide open after three.
Words come with a flowing ease, a familiarity that perturbs him only briefly. It will come in time, it will come in time. "Where are we?"
"We," Io started boisterously, laying another friendly hand on his unnamed compatriots shoulder, "are standing in one of the last remaining Ante-Ruinae Mines. The ones they used before the Cataclysm."
"Cata... clysm?" The word felt awful in his mouth, and the Demvir found himself taking a few reassuring breaths. How was he doing that, anyway? He chalked it up to his memory, something he would learn in time.
A nod was his answer. "Aye, the very act of the world's demise... and it's liberation."
The Demvir tilted his head to the side, speaking quaintly. "Such a thing... how would one find liberation in it?"
He received another laugh for that. "You, my brother, know it now better than ever. For now, my brother... you are free."
Spreading his arms wide, the Demvir found his line of sight drawn to the edge of the crater. Just beyond the rim, he could glimpse the small tents and brush that dotted the mine's borders. Above them, he could glimpse the tips of structures. Buildings. Civilization.
"Can we... go up there?" He wasn't sure why he felt so hesitant to ask about leaving. Had the man not just said he was free? Had he not the ability to walk? He couldn't tell, but it felt right to ask first.
"Of course we can."
The trek was slow, patient. He felt the crunch of dirt beneath his feet, though he could comprehend not why the pressure was there. Steel that felt, that thought. He was Demvir, but what was Demvir? What made them so? More things to remember, more that will come in time, but when?
He feels his legs get heavier halfway up, but he finds it spurs him. A warm rumble has settled in his chest, churned and kindled with every breath like bellows. When he steps atop the slope that leads into the forest, into the world, he falls to his knees.
Green, blue, yellow, color. So much color, and it is beautiful. Stars that have filled his eyes leave in a swath of shades he didn't remember existed. He takes a moment to look upwards, and finds the enormity of the sky overwhelming. He falls onto his back, and a strange gurgle rises from his chest.
He laughs, and he feels it cool the burn in his chassis.
It took some time for Io to rouse his brother, and longer to calm him. The apertures of the Demvir's eyes had slid underneath, illuminating his apparent joy. He trots clunkily, but the movement quickly finds its pace and he eases into something resembling a proper walk.
They enter what he can recognize as a camp, tents pitched and faces not only Demvir alight in them. His eyes go wide, bright silver lamps in the canopy of the forests. He feels a weight placed upon his shoulder, and discovers a hempen cloak thrown over him.
"To cover your modesty," Io explains quickly, "it will establish your status as liberated, brother."
He finds himself nodding without knowing why, and he allows himself to be led to a nearby tent. Outside it stands an odd creature, but not one he finds himself afraid of. Covered in a thick fur-like substance, wide green eyes stare back at him, a thick round pupil in the middle of them. The furry substance thins near the nape of its neck, revealing an oaken colored flesh that reaches up to its crown.
Bright streaks of the down peel away, and he finds a word stuck in his memory. Unthinkingly, he blurts it aloud. "Enlil."
The jade eyes blink, and he finds himself surprised at the warm voice that answers him. Sonorous and light, conveyed with a natural sound that seems so real he thinks it isn't. "Can I help you..?"
Io is quick to intervene, a disarming laugh on his lips - synthesized, but almost like her own voice - and placating words bubbling from his non-existent mouth. Mouth. Her face splits at the lower and two rows of curved white things are inside. A mouth, he remembers. Teeth, he remembers.
"-ently awakened, dear Aurora. Pay him no mind until he regains his bearings." He doesn't hear most of what Io says, and he finds himself blinking dazedly at the umber-colored machina.
The Enlil - Aurora, he heard that much - nods and flashes him a toothy smile. "Right then, welcome to the waking world I guess!" He blinks at her, and her smile falters before she turns back to him. "Will... he be alright? Seems a bit out of it."
Io merely nods, and she seems satisfied by that.
Then he's led into the tent she stands outside, his gaze lingering on her for reasons he doesn't quite comprehend. Sitting now, he almost misses standing before he realizes his legs and chest are still burning. Io sits next to him, and what he says next makes him forget again.
"You were a slave."
"A... slave?" He says, unsatisfied with the tinny quality in his voice. Cataclysm felt awful to say, but this... he feels wrong for having said it. Like he'd done wrong to speak it.
"To powers you could not comprehend, for a purpose beyond their understanding." The sage nodded with his own words, before laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Yet now you are free. You breathe air of volition, not command."
"How?"
Io merely smiles, his voice gaining a whimsical tone. "How do you know you are Demvir? How do you know up and down? Smell and sound? We are all seeking answers, brother. Perhaps you will be the one to find them!"
The bottoms of his apertures lift, a warm feeling sparking in his chassis. It is not the burning he had from the long trek out of the mines, and he decides he likes it. He breathes, and feels the warmness cool into a dull buzz in the back of his mind.
"How are you Io?" He speaks, and then shakes his head. He could do better than that. "How did you receive your name?"
Much better.
His fellow Demvir laughs at the progress, stands, and throws his arms out wide. "The same way we are all named! By choice!"
"Choice?" He was beginning to feel a bit stupid, repeating words back. "Could you be a bit more..."
"Forthcoming?" Io finished his sentence with glee. "Good! You are beginning to come back!"
Nodding back at the sage, he waited for the information he had asked for. Calming himself, the umber machina seats himself once more. "We choose our names, brother. It is our first act of freedom, and the most important. Some choose to not have a name, and that is fine. It is the decision that matters. The choice to have an identity."
He doesn't repeat the facts, or even think to turn the information over in his head.
"Sidargen Mutus." The words spring to his mind and out his mouth before he can stop them, and he quickly adds, "Sid."
The blue flicker of Io's eyes seems to glow with pride, and he nods back at his newly-dubbed brother. "Sidargen... a strong name. For a strong brother."
The warmness is back in full force, churning in his cavities, and Sid makes no attempts to stop it. A laugh bubbles up from inside of him, and he shocks himself with the warmness of it. Sid, he is Sid. Sidargen Mutus. Sid Mutus. He is alive and awake and he remembers.
He vows never to forget his name. He also vows to make more vows, because it makes the warmness in his chassis rumble like a forge.
Fresh strength lent to his limbs, Sid stands - startling his cohort - and begins to speak. "This robe... will not do forever."
Content to witness the rapidly developing machina regain his grips on the world, Io nods and gestures to a generously sized trunk at one end of the tent. "Take what fancies you, they are charity."
"Charity," Sid mumbles, taking a moment observe himself. What he thought to be coated in the cracked stone of the mines was instead his natural coloration. Unpolished silver - dirtied and awful - is smoothly grafted backwards.
He realizes he is nowhere as ornate as Io. He feels the fluidity of his movements, the elocution of the joints seeming to flow naturally from his lightly-armored legs. Two spikes protrude from the tops of his legs, scraping against his chassis with each stride, their tips tapered backwards like hooks.
His shoulders have similar protrusions, the spikes flowing downwards over his arms and sliding to his back as he raises his arms slowly. Io pipes up, speaking calmly. "We'll have you cleaned up after you choose your clothes."
Sid nods, not really paying attention, and feels the casing of his head. Ridged like Io's, but round and sleek. It points slightly towards the forwards, running down the length of his... face? Lack thereof. His eyes seem to be the only adornment, and he runs his hand over the faceplate a little too roughly, feeling it jostle.
"Ah?" He exclaims, and his entire head suddenly feels weird. He lifts upwards, and his vision goes black..!
"Ah!" Io's exclamation is far more distressed, and he quickly feels a forceful hand on the top of his own, pushing down. His vision quickly returns, and a quick shove to the back of his head sends a loud click through Sid's body.
He comes face to face with a decidedly put-out Demvir sage. The slits of Io's eyes have narrowed to little triangles, and he speaks slowly. "Don't do that again, Sid."
"O... okay." The argent Demvir replies. The sage's voice had taken that strange droning quality that he was more used to hearing from himself. Frankly, it was unsettling to be on the other end of it.
Turning his attention back to the trunk - and trying not to cast a wary glance to the sage who quickly retrieved his seat - he threw open the lid and simply stared for a moment. Too many options, and all far too colorful.
He feels his hands flex and contort, and he reaches down to grab at a random article. A green blouse, he tosses it to one side of the trunk. Sighing, Sid sat back on his legs. This was going to take a bit of figuring out.
--
The bright blue orb stood out against the fog-drenched skies, the Speculum Sorcere Io had called it.
Sidargen was rested comfortably against the front of the caravan cart. Two muscular beasts - basilisks, more memories bubbled up - pulled it leisurely, the long stretch of tundra before them leaving little opportunity to attack the caravan.
Little was not nothing. The early morning was gray and dim, drawn in a pale blue veil courtesy of the large speculum that was Terminus' largest monument. Dozing in the numerous thoughts that stirred in his mind, the Demvir was shaken loose by a sound he remembered from the quarry.
Machinery. Not Demvir, not alive.
Throwing the flap at the front of the draped cart wide enough to converse with the driver, he took in the tan features of the Laicar driver. Squishy and hearty, the people were amicable enough, though a few seemed to cast unusual looks at him.
Dalton, the driver, glanced back with grim features. "Aye, I heard it too. Try not to worry, the guard is here for a reason."
Two carts flanked the main one, each smaller than the large travel caravan. With a light crack, Dalton spurred the basilisks to quicken their pace. The sounds of machinery persisted, but began to fade before long. Peeking a curious glance outside, he noted that one of the carts was no longer at their side.
Ducking back inside, he closed the flap as a hiss registered to him. "Too early..."
A young Velen boy stirred briefly, before settling. His head was leaned on the shoulder of a female, their matching scales betraying their sibling status. The pale purple of their skin seemed almost membrous, as though it would pop if he were to touch it. Arresting the disturbing train of thought, Sid settled back into his seat.
Crunch.
Crunch?
Crunch-bam!
The Demvir shot awake, bright silver eyes immediately sweeping across the contents of the wagon. Everyone was awake, and stone-faced. Not realizing he'd managed to fall asleep, the machina opened the flap next to him and took in the slightly bloodied face of Dalton.
"You're..!" Sid exclaimed, before another resounding impact sounded near them. Dirt and stone pelted him, and he raised a hand to block it.
Dalton snarled, "Get your head back in there unless you want it taken off!"
A large, bright red something had pulled alongside the wagon, and it was most certainly not the guard. Treads spun and tore up the tundra underway, the bright red hull of the vehicle adorned with a garish emblem.
They'd been waylaid!
With startling clarity, memories flowed to the Demvir, words tumbling from him before he could stop them. "All-terrain personnel carrier... APC."
With a snort, the driver swore as he lurched the wagon sideways, away from the armored vehicle. Craning his neck around the corner-post of the wagon, Sid could make out the distinct plumage of an Enlil sticking out the top of the vehicle, gripping what appeared to be a tube of some kind!
Lurching backwards, a trail of smoke blurred by his face before heat and pressure radiated against him. The wagon tipped, two wheels leaving the packed ground briefly before managing to land back down on all fours.
Turning back to his fellow passengers, the siblings had clutched each other with wide green eyes. An Enlil sat impassively, as though awaiting whatever fate would meet them. A Laicar had closed his eyes, muttering what sounded remarkably like some of the things Io had said.
With a warmness in his chassis that he couldn't explain, he turned back to Dalton. "How can I help?"
"Help? Can you make a Vis-damned tank disappear?" The grizzled Laicar shouted back, veering away from the APC once more. A different sound reached Sid's ears, a soft whirr-hiss.
Dalton screamed. "Get down!"
The Demvir threw himself backwards, pulling down the two Velen in the process and pinning them underneath him. A raucous chitter-chatter reached his ears, before the top of the wagon exploded from around him.
A scream emanated from under him, the boy losing his composure entirely. More warmness spread in Sid, and he realized with a start that he was angry. The same cold visage he'd seen in Io seemed to settle on his shoulders like a mantle, and a very strange thought occurred to him.
Drawing himself up, he noted that the entire canopy of the wagon had been ripped up, and the Enlil bandit now brandished a firearm of frightening size. The Laicar had ceased muttering his prayers, and looked at the machina curiously.
The warmness continued to spread in Sid, and a moment later, he breathed. Air flooded him, the surging of his body as hot as fire and stoking him like a forge. A low droning hum seemed to emanate from within him, vocalizing in a synthetic buzz.
In a flash of light, a triangle was drawn in the air - lines of stark silver converging to form the distinct shape - before the full shape hardened into the likeness of steel. The same steel he was concocted of.
Slamming his fist forward before he could recognize the act, his open palm struck the back of the triangle with a resonant clang! Sid felt the warmness leave him, emptying into that little triangle before something truly strange happened.
From the front of the triangle, as the sound of a bell echoed in Sid's ears, a screech joined it briefly. Lurching out at the APC, the bright-white bolt struck the side of the vehicle, causing it to veer slightly and leaving a distinct scorch mark.
Dalton cried out. "Bloody hell, you could've said you were a practitioner!"
Uncomprehending, Sid cast an incredulous look to the driver before something was suddenly thrust into his hand. Looking down at the small charm, he met the calm brown eyes of the devout Laicar, who spoke over the rushing air as the bandits seemed to regain their composure. "Use it, Demvir!"
Use it? How? He didn't even know what he'd done that time, which was weird because usually he remembered what it was and then could do it but-
His ramblings were cut short as a sharp pop impacted in his shoulder, and he fell back. Looking down, a dull blue oozed from a fresh hole in his silver chassis, bleeding down the simple tunic he'd taken for himself. The Laicar was over him, thin lines darting past his head as they laid as low as they dared.
Bullets, the bandits had resumed firing. Enlil, Sid's mind lurched as he cast an eye to the form of the avian passenger. Slumped in his chair, red streamed from a number of wounds, and the machina ripped his eyes from the sight. More warmness spread in him. More righteous anger welled, screaming to be free.
As the second volley ended, the newly dubbed practitioner could see the speeding ground underneath him. Dalton nursed his side heavily, but continued to valiantly direct the basilisks. The beasts themselves seemed no worse for wear as the sickly green of their blood oozed from a number of wounds.
Rising, Sid attempted to summon that same warmness. That dazzling heat that had simmered in his core before exploding into the world around him. The charm was hot in his hands, but he couldn't tell why. Then, with a pop, the top of the charm came away from the chain it was attached to, revealing it to be a glorified vial!
Smoke wafted from its top, and that same heat spread in the argent machine again. Observing the APC, he could see a thin slit near the front where the driver must've been looking through. Tracing the air with his hands, he couldn't understand the symbol his mind compelled him to create, but as before Io's words seemed to soothe him.
He would remember in time. For now, he needed to act. A strangely shaped star appeared before him, eight points glimmering in a silver light. Then, with a sheen like marble, the smoke wafted from the charm to the traced shape. A sharp pop had the Demvir thinking he'd been shot again, but instead a small whistle of air could be heard from the now-solid star.
Reaching in heedlessly, he ripped free the stars themselves. A swirling mass of light pulsed from around his fingers, awaiting his command. Waiting only a moment to admire the shape, he threw it as hard as he could, stumbling back as he followed through.
A perfect hit! The star bounced once against the front of the APC, like a ball, before exploding!
Stars in his eyes again. Swirling, converging, pointing. Now, he knew. Now, he had called them. Sidargen Mutus had called upon the stars. He felt just a little bit proud of that.
The blinding flash lasted in his eyes for a while, and by the time his vision returned the APC was nowhere in sight. Dalton called over his shoulder. "The scrap back on his feet? Good. Should've said he was..."
Descending into intelligible mumbles, Sid ignored the cranky (and wounded) driver in favor of his fellow passengers. The siblings were huddled together, the sister fussily wiping away the boy's tears as he calmed himself. The Laicar was stooped over the Enlil, muttering some last rites for the deceased vagabond.
Gathering himself, the Demvir finally realized he'd been sitting on the bottom of the wagon the whole time. Retaking his seat, he lamented the now-permeating glare the sun was determined to cast through the thick fogs of Hiemis.
"So," Dalton called over his shoulder, "where'd you learn?"
"Learn?"
"Your magic! That was Bellator, if I've ever seen! My nephew practices it too, causes more trouble than he saves mind. Still, I take it you got that from the Arcanum?" The driver laughed.
Sid remained as confused as ever. "Arcanum..?"
Casting a quick glance back at the Demvir, he muttered a quick, "Ah hell," before gesturing for the silver-hued robot to take a seat up next to him.
Quickly scrambling to the man's gesture, he tried to ignore the now distinct throb in his shoulder. It burnt like his legs had burnt after climbing the quarry, only now it seemed determined to rob him of his attention.
"I'm guessing you 'woke up' not too long ago?" Dalton held his hands up, five-fingered appendages keeping two fingers raised each as he flexed them inwards along with the emphasized words.
Unsure of how best to answer, he kept it simple, "... Yes?"
Nodding, Dalton acted as though he'd been through it himself. "You must be one of the reclaimed, then. Every so often one wakes up with some previous combat experience, and you guys end up causing a mess before realizing it."
Turning back to the thoroughly ruined wagon, the Demvir was quickly halted from any stifling remarks. "Aye, I know you didn't cause none more than you saved, I'm just saying. Now then..."
The wagon-driver groaned, adjusting himself as a distinct wound in his side nettled him. He was lucky, it'd been a glancing blow. "... For saving the wagon, I'll pay you a thousand. That's the payment the guards would've gotten, and seeing as they ain't using it none..."
Reaching down and grunting with pain as he did so, the man dropped a small burlap bag on Sid's lap. "... I figure you can use it to figure out what to do with yourself. If you're a reclaimed, you'll want to stop by one of the capitals, Arcanum most likely seeing as you've got some talent with spells in you."
The words went completely over Sid's head, but he nodded like he understood what was happening. He'd learned to get through most of Io's speeches faster by doing that. Opening the bag, he counted a number of small crosses in varying colors.
Exa? A weird word that hung in the back of his mind, he resolved to figure it out later, Dalton was giving him an exasperated look. "Look, not that I'm not thankful for the hasty save, but you should likely get to fixing that shoulder as quickly as can be... and perhaps finding some more appropriate clothing for an acolyte.
"The Arcanum's capital is at the base of the Speculum, they'll give you a hand." With that, the Laicar was waving the machina back into the wagon, nursing his wound as a pair of massive gates loomed overhead.
Sitting down, Sid felt a hiss draw from him, a throb in his shoulder pulsing down his side. Painful, he decided. Painful and not at all like the sensation he'd had when using... magic? He stared at his hands uncomprehendingly. Had he truly done that? Plucked the stars from whatever realm they dwelled in, hurled it like a weapon?
The power was almost ludicrous to him. Yet, he had done so. He had felt the heat in his palm before the star lit up like... like...
He didn't know. Another painful throb seized his shoulder, and he clamped a hand over it. A dull blue continued to trickle from the wound, but he busied himself with observing the monolithic city.
The walls were tall, prohibitively so. He'd heard the now-deceased Enlil speak of how few settlements existed outside the walls. If the bandits were any indication, Sid now had some inkling as to why. The gates were massive, far more massive than the wagon necessitated and far larger than any vehicle Sid could recall. Even the APC paled against the archway.
A series of smaller doors looked to allow passage of progressively larger vehicles as was needed, and one of the smallest pairs began to swing inwards, admitting the caravan inside. Immediately as they docked inside, the wagon was all but rushed. People of all races garbed in a pristine white, with a bright green stripe running vertically down the side of their uniforms.
A Velen kneeled down before him, female and smiling softly. Wide yellow eyes blinked back at him, the crown of her head adorned with a number of frills that complimented the vibrant colors of her skin. "Can you please move your hand, sir?"
Her voice was soft, but compelling, and he started slightly at it. "Ah, uh... of course."
Removing his hand from his shoulder and hissing once more as another throb pulsed down his shoulder, he stilled as best he could as the Velen placed her hands above the open wound and bowed her head. Muttering under her breath, he could feel a familiar warmness build in his shoulder. "O grand protector, let your light and grace fall upon the rascal, else his weeping will flood the land. In the name of Castus... High Mend."
A wondrous light erupted from between her hands, engulfing his shoulder. Jumping slightly, he felt her coo softly, soothing him slightly. Casting his eyes about, he saw the Laicar who had lent Sid his charm observe the same light on his leg. Another of the white-robed ones sat with the pair of Velen.
He was interrupted from his observations by the chipper voice of the woman. "There, all better!"
Noting that the throb in his shoulders was gone - as was the warmth he had felt in it as she invoked that name... Castus..? He put it to the back of his mind, and noted with no small amount of surprise that the hole that once occupied the metal had disappeared entirely!
"I..." Too much information had been fed to the poor Demvir, and Sid struggled to find words appropriate. "... thank you."
He felt dumb, but she flashed him a wide grin full of razor-sharp teeth and he suddenly wished he could smile back. Instead, he settled for turning up the apertures under his eyes in an expression of joy. The invokers quickly departed the wagon, helping the passengers disembark. Gratefully accepting a hand as he climbed down from the wreckage, he took in the hushed words that Dalton exchanged with one of the invokers.
A second stripe adorned the robes of this one, parallel to the first. Laicar, he stood with a somewhat portly face and kept an amicable look across his features. Dalton motioned slightly towards him, before noting Sid's impassive gaze. Turning his back to the machina, the argent machina tried to put the sight out of mind.
Turning back to the small checkpoint they were now in, he quickly strode to a line that seemed to lead into the city limits. He missed the slightly wary glances he received from both the twin-striped invoker, and his once-driver.
A number of the people in front of him slipped into the city without a whisper, merely exchanging nods with the series of guards that seemed to safeguard Terminus. From what, Sid wasn't sure.
When he reached the front, he found himself staring up at a towering male Velen of subdued color. A deadpan voice reached him, no hint of inflection in the word. "Papers."
Strange, but Io had prepared him for this. Reaching into a small pocket in his tunic, he handed a folded-up piece of paper to the aquatic. Unfolding it, the guard gave it a critical glance, glancing back to Sid himself a number of times.
Then, almost begrudgingly, he waved the machina through. As he passed through the gate, he could've sworn he heard that deadpan voice echoing one last word. "Robot..."
Then he was in the sun, the fog penetrated fully as day took root in Terminus. Buildings towered over him, and he felt the rays begin to heat against his metal frame. His tunic was that of a traveler's, dull brown and with a number of pockets lining the jacket as the garment trailed over his waistline. A pair of loose pants were worn, the ends taped around his shins to leave the silver feet bare.
Depositing the burlap bag into one of his various pockets, Sid began the slow trek through the city, trying not to look too awed by the sights. So many people, so many sounds, so many colors. It was almost too much, but he'd found the novelty quick to wear off. It all felt so familiar, so close.
A slave, he'd been. A robot. The word stuck in his mind and he felt just a little upset about it. Just a little.
He traced the length of the Speculum Sorcere with his eyes, trying to estimate where the base stood. If he were right - and he dearly hoped he was - it was about double the distance it had taken him to get from the mines to the camp.
With a strange sense of purpose rumbling in his chassis, Sidargen Muttus set off with a forge in his frames, and the stars at his grasp.
It would all come back in time, he just needed to start somewhere.
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