7th Day of Winter, 513 AV
Thank the Gods she’d dressed light.
Celeste mopped her brow as she descended into the forge, pausing just beyond the entryway to get a better grasp of her surroundings. There was lava absolutely everywhere, a substance she’d only ever heard about. Astonished, she looked about the stone catwalks, her eyes dancing from one platform to the next. It seemed the workers toiled away in silence, aided by the strange and steady rhythm of the golems alongside. What was it like, she wondered, to work so hard each day? Were they content? Or were they slaves, eternally bound to the never-ending cycle of creation?
’Why did we come here?’ The familiar asked her quietly. Celeste had been oddly silent for the better part of the day. She’d done a lot of thinking about her future, about her meeting with Amaryllis and it left her strangely abstracted. So rather than returning to her usual haunts, she pulled on a set of plain clothing and decided to pay the forge a visit instead.
Her eyes finally settled on their mark. He was a lean man, covered from head to foot in grime from long hours at the forge. Under one arm was the meal delivered to her that afternoon. She’d decided to take it with her; after all, she hadn’t been particularly hungry anyway. The fog that’d descended in her heart had shrouded those base desires.
’Because,’ Celeste replied telepathically, ’I feel like it.’
She approached quietly, holding up a hand when she drew near, so as not to startle him. He’d see the apprentice’s ring upon her finger glinting in the vermillion light. ”Hallo,” she called out. ”My name is Celeste. Can I speak with you for a moment?”
Celeste was quite obviously, a girl, no older than thirteen with auburn hair tied off to one side in a functional sort of way. She bore naked feet, cloth pants and a shirt and was flanked by a purple cat that regarded him brightly. ”And I’m Illia!” At which, she cast a tolerant smile in that familiar’s direction.
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