I wasn’t so confident in the Anatla’s inability to stop to fully commit and enter the library-like chamber with the key. My body walks forward with a trail of fire connecting to most of still hiding in the wall. It took a while to push my flas through the walls, but it’s only a hundred tres; my fire easily links to the outside for the — very likely — occasion that I’ll have to flee.
I’m willing to push forward and face this Anatla, but I’ll take what precautions I can.
So, with the cubic key nestled in cooling tal waiting for the last finger width of wall to break, I walk to the end of this room. The only door leading out — more of a sliding shutter — is closed tight. This, thankfully, is a far easier to bypass than the last hundred tres of solid tal I crawled through. I don’t so much as walk through the door — more like devolve into fla and reform on the other side — but the effect is the sa.
The corridor I find myself in is identical to the one we followed after breaking from the cannon the last ti us five ca through. If I walk down this path, I should find myself in that sa cargo bay as last ti.
mories of my last trip here brings up thoughts of Grímr and Leal. Hopefully, they got back to their hos safely. I wonder what they’re up to right now? Leal’s probably back with her dad, Gerben, helping them along the docks. Well, either that or she’s not helping anyone and is transfixed with her Marking research. I know which I would bet on.
Grímr… is likely back with our team. I know he’s got family that live with the áinfean, but he never talks of them. His reluctance to see them even after the war speaks for itself.
Not wanting to extend my ti in this place any longer than I need to, I run down the corridor. A trail of fire following in my steps, linking my mind as one. Unlike last ti, a large steel shutter blocks my way. I try to push my fire through, but water on the other side halts my attempt.
We landed near a different dock than the one we originally entered, so I’d been hoping I’d luck out and have a nice, easy path direct to the centre of the island. Unfortunately, that is not to be. Well, it’s not the end of the world… yet; as long as the massive central chamber isn’t flooded, I should be able to make my way up, even if it’ll take so ti to bypass the direct route.
Before my body even turns to walk back, I have a strand of my fire push through another of the shuttered doors that leads further from the island exterior. Reforming my body on the other side, I find myself in another of those rooms filled with tallic bookshelves. As I squeeze myself through the gaps between each tal slab — my body deforming to pass faster — the rear wall cos into sight. But the lack of a door leading beyond doesn’t bother .
Doors an nothing to anymore.
My flas filter through the inner wall, avoiding more vents, pipes, and inscription pathways as I push further into the depths of the island. The Anatla’s influence is getting thicker. Each ter I gain takes considerably longer. I’d love if there were a faster route, but I’ll have to push through with what I can.
Eventually, I find a dry room to reform myself. It’s nothing like the other chambers I’ve seen in this island so far. Large shutters fill the entire walls to my left and right, but what lies in the space between them is what attracts my interest.
A towering contraption sits in the middle of the chamber. At ten tres tall, it’s like soone took two train-cars and placed them on each side of an oversized wheel. A wheel with so dangerously sharp teeth evenly protruding outward. The actual design is a lot cleaner than what I’m familiar with from the eastern nations, which is not all that surprising considering where I am.
Compared to the cube ships or the island itself, it isn’t all that impressive, but I still stare wide eyed because its form is actually sowhat comprehensible. The wheels may not be identical to what I know from trains or Henosis’ cars, hidden from view and taking the form of so tal belt, but the purpose is clear; this thing will move.
It’s the massive wheel that I’m not too sure of. My first thought is the waterwheel that powers the centzon’s regna cities, but I quickly dismiss the idea. The only similarities between them is they are both big; neither material, design, nor approach is similar.
The toothed wheel protrudes both out the front and top, easily the focus of the vehicle. It could be a war machine — that wheel would cause unimaginable damage if it were to grind through an opposing enemy’s fortifications — but that doesn’t seem right. The creators of this island were advanced enough to create explosions of plasma to kill their enemies; would they really get in close with machines like this if they could blast into opposition defences with those cannons?
The alternative seems much more likely; These are mining machines. With all the tal they needed to create this island, they must have dug through entire mountains. How would they do that without machines designed to do so? I doubt they’d want to blow up the tal they wanted to use.
And this room must be where they brought it for storage and repairs, if the equipnt along the walls is any indication.
I shake my head and rush across the room. This isn’t the ti to wonder about the race that might have once built this place. It is obvious they are long gone, replaced by a being that doesn’t belong. I need to focus on the task ahead of .
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The large hanger bay doors to each side of the room both lead to water, so I cut through the other wall. The next ten chambers I pass through are nearly identical. Each of them has their own mining machine and is surprisingly unsubrged. Despite flooding being only a door away, a lot of effort must have gone into separating these rooms from the rest of the island.
I don’t complain. Why would I? It gives the quickest path I could hope for.
Still, passing so many of these mining machines makes wonder why they are here, in the middle of the ocean. Wouldn’t it be better for the beings that made this place to keep them near their mining sites? Why go through the effort of carrying them this far across the ocean?
We didn’t co across them last ti, and considering the sheer size of this island, I have to wonder how many thousands of these machines hide. What else is closed behind flooded corridors, untouched for millennia?
Really, I’m just thankful that the Anatla’s control over these machines is as limited as it is. Sure, it can alter and enhance the energy already rushing through operating inscriptions, equipnt and materials, but it cannot start up systems that are not active. At least, that’s what we assu.
Such machines shouldn’t pose a threat, but I can’t help sending glances at the massive armoured vehicles any ti I pass them by. My imagination pictures them coming alive, their wheels spinning with speed and tearing apart walls as they chase . The physical damage wouldn’t hurt, but it would take only one to crash through the door panels to flood everything.
After almost fifty of these hangers — only a couple missing their respective machines — I finally co to the end of the row, if the thicker wall is anything to go by. None of the previous barriers were thin under any interpretation of the word, but the one before is many tis wider. Worse, the Anatla’s corruptive influence is stronger with each tre, slowing my progression to essentially a stop. I could keep pushing, but depending on how thick this wall is, it could take days to push through with ethereal fla alone.
Thankfully, there is no cooling inscription or vents running through this wall. It is entirely solid steel. I can burn through it, but I won’t know what’s on the other side until I’m through. I could very well burn my way into another flooded chamber and not realise until the water rushes back.
So, I do what I can. I disperse my form, leaving only what little I need to lt steel and pull the rest back into the open space of a mining machine storage bay. Three walls away, just in case. Once I’m relatively safe — can’t be truly assured while still in the belly of the beast, after all — I ramp up the heat.
The tal my flas already penetrate lts near instantly, but the rest is slow work. I scoop out the molten tal with so physical flas as I push in deeper. I’ve already burnt through ten tres of steel when I start to doubt myself. A wall this thick must be there to hold back sothing unimaginably dangerous. I’m not burning into the sphere of ranked water, am I? Maybe three walls might not be enough.
But that can’t be right. I can still feel my connection to the outer wall. I’m a kilotre, maybe two, from the outside. The large central chamber was larger alone.
Before I can pull back and reconsider my approach, I burn through the last of the wall. I tense, expecting the worst, but nothing cos. After ten seconds of nothing snuffing the life out of the fire I risked, I tentatively push through.
The room is small, far smaller than any other in this island. Five by five tres. One wall holds half a dozen holes thick enough to crawl through, and another, a tall door, but it’s the table along one wall that attracts my attention. Made of steel, it’s not dissimilar from the rest of the island’s architecture, but it is clearly a type of cooking bench.
This is one of their old residences, I realise. I cast my gaze around the room, hoping to see so remnant of the creatures that once lived here, but besides ample dust along the ground, the place is bare.
Curious of the large holes in the wall, I climb up into one. It’s about as deep as the room is wide, but doesn’t actually lead anywhere. So sort of storage, maybe? But the bottom half of the cylinder hole indicates differently. There is a section missing that looks like sothing is supposed to fill it; the slot would only make trying to get anything out difficult, so probably not for storage.
I jump out and check each of the others, only to find the sa missing hand width of steel from the cylinders’ bottoms. It is only when I search the rest of the small abode that I realise what they might be. There is no other space to sleep. So maybe those slots are for rugs or mattresses or whatever ancient equivalent they slept on.
Unless I’m wrong to assu they have the sa customs as the eastern races that I’ve seen with similar countertops. For all I know, they don’t even need sleep.
One of those control interfaces with knife-like indents sits on an extended panel above the bench. I reach my fire into the small orb. Each slot is roughly spaced enough for a finger, and I montarily consider how annoying it might be to wear a glove intended to be a key.
But this is a soone’s ho, right? Why would they need a key?
Are they not keys? I’d thought it was a security asure to stop just anyone from using the interface on the bridge, but that might be wrong. Actually, now that I think about it, the slots would be an incredibly poor security asure. I an, I could operate them just by extending my flas inside. Anyone could shove so narrow sticks or a thin blade into each of the slots and be able to control it.
Dismissing the strangeness of so long forgotten beings, I activate the interface, unable to help myself.
Is it a bad idea? Well, I thought not, but I imdiately regret my action as water shrieks out the panel, cutting into the tal bench and splashing everywhere. In a panic, I let go of the control and flee back through the wall.
When, after a minute, the water doesn’t flow through the hole after , I creep back into the long abandoned residence. The panel doesn’t gush the powerful stream anymore — likely shut off as soon as I let go of the control sphere — but by the new indent in the otherwise unmarred tal, I’m almost certain that the stream isn’t supposed to be that powerful.
A faucet? I’ve seen such things before, but — for obvious reasons — have kept my distance.
I step through the door and out from an alcove to find open space. There’s no doubt; I’ve made it to the huge central chamber of the island. It’s a different path than originally, but it got here.
Stairs lead down from the ho I found myself in, down to a path that connects with the raised bridge we walked across last ti, up to my left. Each ho appears much like a part of a valley or canyon from down here, with each ho looking closer to that of a grotto than the vestibule before their front door. Of course, the steel is smooth and unblemished, unlike that of natural rock formations, but the resemblance is there.
Well, I’ve made my way this far. I better bring the cubic key through now. I’m only ten thousand steps from my goal. What could possibly go wrong? It’s not like there’s so unimaginable being from another world waiting to stop .
I sigh in resignation. I’ve co this far already; backing down now would be pointless.
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