Silas stood at the precise nexus of three whispering ley lines, a subtle hum thrumming beneath the Cinder Moor’s desolate expanse. Dusk bled across the sky, painting the soot-stained clouds in hues of bruised violet and industrial orange. With a single, quiet surge of his will, he initiated the gathering. Not sheep, not livestock, but the errant, unbound threads of Aethelweft energy, drawn from the moor’s forgotten pockets. He watched the unseen currents coalesce. They drifted, shimmering faintly to his unique perception, toward the rough-hewn stone conduit he had fashioned years ago. No barking mechanism or steam-driven prod guided them; they obeyed an older, deeper command. This was the work of the Aethelweft, as Silas understood it after years of solitary experimentation. Firstly, focused intent could pull raw Aethelweft into tangible effect, a conversion of inner resonance into outward change. Desire became form, at a cost. Secondly, articulating that intent—through a precise mental visualization, a practiced gesture, or a whispered word—amplified its reach. It was akin to finding a resonant frequency, requiring less personal energy for a greater impact. Finally, the 'difficulty' of a desired outcome varied wildly. Sometimes, the Aethelweft bent to his will with surprising ease. Other times, it resisted, stubborn and inert, even to simple requests. Just days ago, when he confronted that rogue clockwork scavenger near the Veridian fringe, a simple command to ‘stagnate,’ a far simpler manipulation than dismantling its core, had barely hindered its clanking advance. Yet, stabilizing the volatile Aethelweft fragments that gathered around his moor-conduit, hundreds of them, flowed from him without strain. Giving a slingshot stone the kinetic force to shatter that scavenger’s head, ensuring it struck the vulnerable gyro-stabilizer—that felt ridiculously easy. When he tallied the internal expenditure, he knew he could have repeated the shot dozens of times over. As Silas guided the last of the stray energies into the moor-conduit, lost in the quiet mechanics of his gift, an unfamiliar resonance pulsed from the distance. Not the faint metallic tang of a steam engine or the distant grind of industry, but something deeper, a discordant static in the very Aethelweft itself. It was a disturbance, a fracture that felt eerily similar to the surge he’d sensed when the scavenger was first reactivated. ‘A corrupted construct?’ The ripple in the Aethelweft intensified. Soon, Corvin emerged from the twilight, a heavy, deactivated steam-automaton slung over his shoulder, its brass plating tarnished, its gears silent against the encroaching dark. “Good evening, Silas. Mind if I impose on your hospitality tonight? This relic-construct serves as fair exchange.” The automaton was a prize. Its intricate clockwork could be salvaged, its boiler components valuable to the right scrap merchant. Even its inert Aethel-core, though depleted, held a residual hum that might interest an Attuner. Certainly, more than enough for a night’s shelter. Silas offered a nod, the dust of the moor clinging to his trousers. “Not many of these roam this close to the Cinder Moor anymore. How far did you venture to find it?” For years, Silas had been quietly clearing the immediate area, dismantling any corrupted clockworks or rogue automatons he encountered. As a result, mechanical aberrations had mostly receded from his part of the moor. Besides, the moor itself, barren and windswept, housed few active constructs in the first place. “Found it while scouting near the Iron Peaks.” The Iron Peaks, a colossal range of jagged, ore-rich mountains, stood even further west of Veridia’s sprawl, a grim monument of industry and natural fortification. It was a barrier, a titan’s wall reaching for the heavens. “Reaching the foothills alone takes days…” “With my stride, half a day was sufficient.” Corvin’s voice was matter-of-fact, betraying no boast. Silas merely tightened his internal guard. He himself could cover such distances, slipping through the ley lines, but it was taxing. Corvin, it seemed, wasn't merely a boastful traveler. --- Later, the two of them sat by a crackling fire outside Silas’s small, stone dwelling, the moor wind whispering past. Wolf meat stew filled the air with a savory aroma, a gift from Corvin’s previous travels. Corvin looked up at the vast, star-peppered sky, a sight often obscured by Veridia’s perpetual smog. “The stars out here are extraordinarily vivid.” “My mother said this moor, this high ground, was one of the clearest spots, apart from the Iron Peaks themselves.” “Compared to those peaks, what could be higher? After seeing them today, I’m even more impressed. Even Technocrats would find them a challenge to traverse.” “I’ve heard Technocrats and High Attuners possess incredible power. Couldn’t they simply bypass a mountain range?” Silas asked, recalling his mother’s wary tales. “Not all of them, my friend. If you speak of the heads of the great Guild Houses, or the Prime Attuners… they might truly be akin to demigods…” Corvin mused, stirring his stew. He then recounted witnessing the head of the Obsidian Guild shatter a forgotten ore-refinery with a mere, subtle wave of his hand, collapsing the structure into a heap of twisted steel and rock. “Oh…” Silas felt a peculiar sting of inadequacy. Sometimes, in his isolated efforts, he entertained the notion that his own Aethelweft control, so much stronger than he had initially realized, might be approaching that level of influence. But Corvin’s stories, his casual mentions of such power, starkly redefined the scale. Silas’s abilities, he realized, were still fledgling, small-scale manipulations compared to the true masters of the Aethelweft. “By the way, doesn’t living alone in a place like this get lonely?” Corvin asked, his gaze drifting over the dark, empty expanse. “Of course. But I’ve grown accustomed to it.” His mother had always been his sole companion. “Why not bring someone from the Veridian outskirts to live with you? A partner?” “Who would want to spend their entire life on a desolate moor, far from the city’s pulse?” Silas said, a dry smile touching his lips. “Away from the workshops, the steam-arcades, the progress.” “I’m sure there are plenty who would appreciate a quiet life with a resourceful young man like yourself.” Corvin chuckled, a warm, resonant sound. Silas remembered distant memories, a few children from the outskirts, during his rare excursions, who had shown him a fleeting kindness. But after his mother’s death, after the villagers’ suspicion and the whispered accusations of ‘strange ways,’ all contact had withered. They had likely understood the stark reality: binding oneself to Silas meant a life of solitude, touched by the city’s disdain. “Well, don’t dwell on it too much. Who knows? A chance encounter, a fellow traveler…” Considering Corvin was the first traveler to seek him out in years, the notion felt remote. They exchanged a few more amiable remarks, then settled into a comfortable silence, watching the fire dance. Silas eventually broke the quiet. “Why do you go to such lengths?” “Hm?” Corvin looked at him, a glint in his eye from the firelight. “I don’t know what the Veridian magistrates or district elders promised you, but with your skills… you could surely find a more profitable, less arduous path.” Any settlement, any small guild, would clamor for an Attuner of Corvin’s caliber. His presence alone could offer protection against rogue constructs or ley-line disturbances. He could demand wealth, resources, influence. It would be immeasurably easier than scouring the Iron Peaks for defunct automatons, then haggling for lodging in the city’s indifferent sprawl. Someone who could traverse the Iron Peaks and retrieve a relic-construct in half a day clearly possessed significant abilities. And the common folk of Veridia, in Silas’s experience, weren’t particularly deserving of such favors. Corvin had mentioned the inflated rates the outer districts charged him for his brief stays. If Silas were in Corvin’s shoes, he would have bypassed the gatekeepers, perhaps even ‘persuaded’ them with a focused pulse of Aethelweft, taken what he needed, and moved on. “They are simply vulnerable folk.” “Vulnerable in what way?” Silas pressed. “Living every day on the frontier of this industrial world, without the subtle protections of a trained Attuner, trembling against the unknown forces that sometimes lash out.” Corvin sat straighter, speaking gently, as if imparting a foundational truth. He explained that while the Cinder Moor was relatively inert, the lands beyond Veridia, the untamed territories, harbored unpredictable Aethelweft surges and self-replicating constructs born from careless experimentation. It was, Corvin asserted, the pride of an Attuner, one who wielded the foundational energies of the world, to protect the unawakened from these perils. Even without direct service to a Guild House, he couldn’t simply stand by. This narrative was starkly different from what Silas had absorbed from his mother. She spoke of Attuners as enforcers, instruments of the Technocrats, manipulating the Aethelweft to control and exploit, rather than protect. Hadn’t that always been the truth? Noticing Silas’s uncertain expression, Corvin smiled faintly and offered him a bowl of warm, spiced cider. “Well, not everyone sees things as I do. Among the countless souls in Veridia, there are just as many philosophies.” --- Next morning, Silas tidied his small workspace, absently shaping loose bits of metal filings into intricate, miniature clockwork gears with a touch, lost in thought. Corvin’s words from the previous night resonated deeply. ‘Pride… protection…’ The conversation had left an unexpected mark. To think an Attuner wasn’t solely a tool bowing to the will of Technocrats, but could be someone who found meaning in safeguarding commoners, those oblivious to the Aethelweft’s influence? This new perspective didn't suddenly make him want to seek out a Guild House and pledge allegiance. But it did soften the harsh edges of his mother’s warnings, creating a small space for nuance. Perhaps, if there were others like Corvin, living under the gaze of the Attuner Guilds might not be entirely malign after all… ‘That aside, how should I inform him the immediate threat is gone?’ Silas had intended to let Corvin scout for a day or two, perhaps even leave, before revealing his own prior intervention. But Corvin’s selflessness, his sense of duty, made Silas reluctant to let him waste time searching for a problem that no longer existed. Retrieving the deactivated clockwork scavenger from the ravine where Silas had tossed it days ago would be a hassle. More problematic, however, were the lingering traces of Silas’s specific Aethelweft manipulation upon it. If any Attuner were to investigate, Silas would undoubtedly become the prime suspect. Sighing, Silas waved a hand, and the accumulated metallic dust and filings from his workbench flew cleanly into a recycling chute. The workspace was pristine. With the morning tasks complete, he had a small window of time. ‘Perhaps I should seek out the elder…’ If Corvin had ventured as far as yesterday, locating him would be difficult. But Silas had overheard Corvin mention patrolling closer to the Cinder Moor today, surveying for residual Aethelweft disturbances. There was a good chance of finding him. Silas focused his mind, a familiar hum building in his chest. He pushed an internal pulse of Aethelweft outwards, not to manipulate, but to perceive. A ‘life-thread perception,’ extending his senses far beyond their natural limits. As he initiated the subtle technique, Silas’s awareness expanded. His visual perception, typically limited to a few hundred meters on the moor, stretched to encompass individual blades of withered grass several kilometers away. His hearing and olfactory senses amplified further, picking up the faint scuttling of burrowing insects, the subtle metallic tang of ferrous earth, the distant sigh of steam vents. Yet, despite the flood of sensory input, his heightened Aethel-sense filtered the unnecessary. It focused, drawing his attention to a specific vibration, a resonant frequency that spoke of living presence. ‘Let’s see… Hmm?’ He turned his head sharply, a jolt of alarm going through him as a familiar, discordant hum, not entirely unlike the one he’d sensed before Corvin's arrival, caught his attention. It was close. Too close. With his enhanced vision, he saw Corvin. The Attuner was hunched, breathing heavily, grime smeared across his forehead, a tear in his sleeve where a sharp, mechanical claw had grazed his shoulder. Opposing him, standing with jerky, reanimated movements, was the very same clockwork scavenger Silas had deactivated days ago. It roared, its internal gears grinding, emitting a low, guttural whine from its damaged vocalizer. --- ‘Who in the Maker’s name would do something like this…?’ Corvin gritted his teeth, staring down the reanimated clockwork scavenger. When complex constructs were deactivated, their Aethel-cores, though inert, still retained residual energy. This energy, if left untended, could sometimes coalesce into a malevolent surge, attempting to forcibly reactivate the broken mechanisms. This phenomenon created what was known as a ‘relic-sentinel.’ For this reason, it was standard practice to either safely absorb or fully disperse the residual Aethelweft within a deactivated construct. To leave it untouched was an egregious oversight, or worse, a deliberate act. But whoever had deactivated this scavenger before him had either been ignorant of the protocols, or had chosen to ignore them. Given the distinct puncture mark on its head, indicating a powerful, localized force, the initial deactivation was likely the work of another Attuner, or someone with considerable, if crude, Aethelweft control. [—GRRRR-WHIIIIRR—!!] A grating, metallic shriek erupted from the scavenger’s damaged chassis, echoing like the wail of a tormented machine across the desolate moor. Considering its current state, the comparison wasn't far off. “Take this!” With a shout, Corvin brought up his hand, energy flaring around his palm.

Flux and Form