Zane was welcomed by a cacophony of metallic clamor.
It was music in itself—a harmonious symphony of dissonance that enveloped him, transforming the quiet city from sterile perfection into vibrant chaos. The sound didn't assault; it invited. And he fell in love with it immediately.
At first, it emerged as a low hum: metal kissing metal, the whisper of tools against materials, indistinguishable textures of sound layered into something almost organic. The volume swelled as they approached a certain monolithic structure, and Zane understood instinctively that this was the Avenue of the Artificers Lady Sylvia had promised.
The building before them rose like a wall signifying the street's end—though not the end of their walk, as the road branched sharply right, curving around the edifice like water around stone.
The cacophony reached its crescendo as they arrived at the corner.
The avenue revealed itself, giving form to the symphony.
The sight exceeded every expectation. Not the iron foundries or sprawling steelworks he'd envisioned, but something far more intimate and spectacular: a congregation of masters, each absorbed in their singular craft.
Workstations lined both walls of the broad avenue—stands, looms, forges, and benches creating an artisan's gallery that stretched beyond sight. Hundreds of gentlets labored at their posts: one spinning a loom with hypnotic precision, another striking heated metal on an anvil with rhythmic fury, a third carefully etching intricate patterns into what looked like crystalline glass. It was a cathedral of creation, and every artisan within it was forging their own small miracle.
"We have arrived, Mr. Ling." Lady Sylvia's voice cut through the tumult with practiced ease. "Welcome to Eryndor's own Avenue of Artificers, where memories are forged, enhanced, and transformed."
She moved through the controlled chaos with grace that seemed impossible given her armored state—stoic and fluid simultaneously. The clink-clank of her knightly boots made metallic announcements with each step, though the sound was now thoroughly absorbed by the incessant turbulence of industry.
"I will introduce you to Master Euna, the chief wright of the avenue." She glanced back at him, purple eyes unreadable. "You two will have much to discuss."
Zane followed closely, his gaze darting between workstations, drinking in details with barely restrained fascination. The artificers, he noticed, behaved exactly like every other gentlet he'd encountered in Eryndor—save for Lady Sylvia, the hunters, and the council. They simply ignored him. Some looked up at his approach, but the moment his eyes met theirs, they quickly returned to their work as if burned by the contact.
Yet despite their averted gazes, he could feel the weight of countless eyes on him. Especially from behind—from the artificers they'd already passed. The gentlets were avoiding him deliberately. But why?
They walked until the avenue terminated at a dead end, where a tall, fortress-like structure loomed before them.
Massive iron double doors blocked the entrance, each appearing to weigh several tons. Despite this, Lady Sylvia pushed them open with casual ease, the heavy metal swinging soundlessly on perfectly balanced hinges.
'As expected from a rank three knight.'
The thought whispered through Zane's mind unbidden as his gaze swept the interior that had just revealed itself.
'A factory.'
Very much like ones he'd seen on television, yet distinctly other in ways he couldn't immediately articulate.
In the far corner, several gentlets were pouring shattered glass into what looked like an enormous hopper. The shards moved through various compartments via some mechanism he couldn't quite see—heated until they melted into molten streams, then mixed with white powder from burlap sacks. The color transformed from smoldering crimson to brilliant azure, bright enough to hurt if he stared directly at it.
The blue molten glass was then poured into a roller system that conveyed it toward a compartment whose interior workings remained hidden behind metal housing. From the opposite side, perfectly clear spherical glass orbs jetted from an aperture, falling with rhythmic plinks into waiting carton boxes. Once filled, two gentlets standing beside each box would pull it aside while a third, positioned opposite them, swiftly placed an empty box to catch the continuing stream.
A memory orb assembly line.
Zane was so absorbed in observation that he didn't notice when a broad-shouldered gentlet in a white dust coat joined them. He only became aware when Lady Sylvia's voice cut through his fascination.
"Ah, Master Euna."
Her tone had shifted from its usual melodic curiosity to something more formal, befitting her stoic knightly persona.
"Thank you for meeting us. Our esteemed guest wished to visit the forge, thus I brought him here." A deliberate pause. "He would like to speak with you."
Zane tore his gaze from the production line to look at Master Euna, carefully keeping Lady Sylvia in his peripheral vision rather than meeting her eyes directly. Master Euna's attention shifted from the knight to Zane as she spoke, and something lit in his expression—recognition, yes, but also something approaching reverence.
"Mr. Ling." A genuine smile rose on his cerulean features. "Welcome to the Forge. I am truly grateful that you would bestow your grace upon this humble workplace."
The phrasing struck Zane immediately.
When he'd first arrived in Milgardia, the gentish hunters had revered him openly—treated him with a mixture of awe and hope that bordered on worship. But upon reaching Eryndor, that dynamic had vanished. He'd met only the guild receptionists and the council, neither of whom had shown particular deference. Over the past two days, he hadn't actually spoken to any common gentlets beyond brief, necessary exchanges.
He'd expected them to approach him—some to pray, others to request favors or blessings, as the Milgardian hunters had. Surprisingly, none of that had occurred. The gentlets he'd encountered during his tours of the city simply stared before looking away, as if meeting his gaze had been a mistake, or as if they feared him.
He'd been wondering why.
Master Euna's response now revealed the answer with crystalline clarity.
The gentlets—or at least those within the city—had been informed of his presence. They'd also been given explicit instructions: do not approach the ancestor. Do not seek him out. Not unless he sought them first, or unless someone with authority like Lady Sylvia decided they were worthy of his "guestly grace."
This explained how Master Euna knew his name, and why the artificer's greeting carried such careful formality.
"Thank you for having me, Master Euna." Zane kept his voice warm but measured. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. There is much I would like to exchange with you—words and items alike."
His mind raced ahead, cataloging possibilities. What information could he offer? What items might interest a master craftsman of memory orbs? He needed to establish value without revealing the hollowness of his supposed divine authority.
"If I may ask—" He gestured toward the assembly line. "What exactly is a memory orb?"
He already knew the answer from the Bazaar's appraisal function, but that knowledge was sterile, technical. Now that he stood before an acknowledged master, he wanted to hear it explained with the passion of expertise.
"How does it function? And most importantly, how is it made?" He paused, letting curiosity color his expression. "I can observe the process myself, but I might need illumination from an expert of your caliber, Master Euna."
The questions served dual purposes: buying time while establishing genuine interest in the craft. They would also, hopefully, provide information he'd need to successfully trade memories without exposing his ignorance.
He also needed to make an offer—even an empty one, while he formulated what he might actually conjure from imagination and fragmentary knowledge.
"I would also like to exchange certain items with you." He kept his tone casual, exploratory. "I wonder—what sort of memories would a master like yourself possess? I hope you wouldn't mind an exchange."
The opening gambit. First move made.
"I'm glad you asked, Mr. Ling." Master Euna's entire demeanor brightened, excitement bleeding into every word. "Only the ancestors know how long I've been waiting for someone to ask these questions. Gentlets never seem to care about the how, only the what." He laughed—a sound caught between amusement and genuine gratitude. "I suppose this is why you've graced me with your presence, holy ancestor."
The joke sounded too sincere to be entirely a joke. For all Zane knew, Master Euna genuinely believed he was some divine being here to answer long-held prayers.
Master Euna cleared his throat before continuing, falling into the cadence of a teacher who'd longed for an attentive student.
"Memory orbs are artificial spatial domains contained within enchanted glass spheres capable of storing memories. They utilize level three spatial manipulation and alteration enchantments as their foundation—these create the pocket dimension within the sphere's physical boundaries."
A brief pause, like drawing breath before a plunge.
"Beyond the primary level three spatial enchantments, they incorporate various secondary enchantments of lower tiers. For example: level two concealment enchantments to hide the glyph work from casual observation, and level one quality-transfer enchantments to ensure perfect fidelity when memories are stored and retrieved."
He watched Zane's face carefully, gauging interest.
"I hope this answers your first question, though if you'd like, I can enumerate all the enchantments within a memory orb—their purposes, their interactions, the theoretical frameworks underlying their construction. Would you like me to explain the complete enchantment schema?"
Zane's eyes brightened, genuine curiosity flaring before he could suppress it. He wanted to say yes—desperately wanted to dive into that ocean of knowledge. But wisdom interceded. Enchantments sounded too spectacular, too fundamental to learn as a footnote to memory orb construction. If he was going to study them properly, it should be as a dedicated pursuit.
"That definitely answers my question."
He kept his tone warm to soften the decline.
"As for the enchantments themselves, I would absolutely like to know more about them—but perhaps not now. Right now, my focus is on memory orbs and the memories they contain. I want to understand the complete process before diving into the underlying mechanics."
He watched disappointment settle across Master Euna's features like a shadow. The artificer had the look of someone who loved his work with consuming passion, who wanted nothing more than to share that passion with anyone who'd listen. Zane's response had clearly dampened that enthusiasm.
"I'll be in Eryndor for quite some time, though."
Zane added quickly, throwing the master a lifeline.
"I would be honored to learn about enchantments from you when the opportunity arises. You clearly possess deep knowledge on the subject, Master Euna."
He leaned forward slightly, projecting renewed interest.
"For now, tell me—how do memory orbs actually function? How do they extract and store a memory from a dream bubble? I'm quite fascinated by the practical application."
Excitement flooded back into Master Euna's expression like water filling a vessel.
"Please do visit me for that discussion, Mr. Ling."
He nodded his head with such enthusiasm it bordered on frantic, a wide grin spreading to show perfectly white teeth.
"I would gladly teach you everything I know about enchantments—the theoretical foundations, the practical applications, even the experimental frontiers we're currently exploring."
He took a breath, visibly collecting himself.
"I'll explain the functioning without delving into enchantment mechanics, though understand that enchantments are involved in every single step of the process."
Master Euna moved to the box where memory orbs were still falling with rhythmic precision and selected one, cradling it carefully. He then returned to his original position, the sphere held reverently in one hand.
"I do not advocate for wasting memory orbs," he said solemnly, "but today I must demonstrate."
He reached beneath his dust coat and withdrew a carved dagger—golden hilt, steel blade, both wrought with obvious craftsmanship. He held the glass orb in one hand and the weapon in the other, displaying them like sacred implements.
"Watch closely, esteemed guest." His voice dropped to a reverent whisper that somehow still carried over the factory's ambient din. "A memory isn't placed directly inside a memory orb. The process is more... fundamental."
Zane leaned forward, anticipation coiling in his chest.
Master Euna raised the dagger between them, and it began to change.
The transformation was gradual yet inexorable—solid matter surrendering to something more essential. The steel and gold didn't melt; they dissolved, the physical substance breaking down into streams of shimmering, luminous essence. Not quite liquid, not quite light. Something between states, opalescent and hypnotic.
Dream essence.
The dagger had become pure potential, refined to its most elemental form—the fundamental substance from which all things in the dream realms were ultimately composed. It flowed like mercury made of starlight, silver motes dancing within translucent streams, each particle containing compressed possibility.
Master Euna released the transformed dagger, which floated suspended for a heartbeat before the silvery essence separated into multiple strands. The strands flowed with purposeful grace toward Master Euna's open palm, merging with his hand and disappearing beneath the sleeve of his white coat. They weren't absorbed through the skin but seemed to pass through it, as if his body was merely a permeable membrane to this particular substance.
Master Euna closed his eyes, his expression settling into deep concentration.
In his other hand, something extraordinary occurred.
The memory orb began to glow with soft azure luminescence, responding to some internal activation. The same silvery strands that had entered Master Euna's body now emerged from his palm—flowing into the glowing sphere like threads being woven into fabric. They passed through the glass surface as if it didn't exist, entering the spatial domain contained within.
Inside the illuminated orb, the reverse transformation took place.
The silvery strands of dream essence, now confined within the pocket dimension, began to coalesce and rearrange themselves. They compressed, solidified, taking on metallic sheen and geometric form. The liquid essence reformed into the recognizable shape of the dagger—golden hilt materializing first, followed by the steel blade crystallizing from concentrated potential back into fixed matter.
Within seconds, the dagger existed whole again—not as a copy or echo, but as the same object, reconstituted from its own fundamental essence.
Master Euna opened his eyes. He appeared visibly drained, the bright enthusiasm in his features slightly dimmed by the effort. His smile remained but had grown more subdued.
"Memory orbs can only store dream essence," he explained, voice touched by fatigue. "Fortunately, memories are themselves a form of dream essence—experiences crystallized into mental substance. Unfortunately for my kind, raw memories must be converted to pure dream essence to enter the storage domain."
He lifted the orb containing the reformed dagger, studying it with professional assessment.
"Rank zeros like myself are the only gentlets capable of manipulating dream essence directly. Once a gentlet begins refining their core—advancing to rank one and beyond—they lose the ability to wield dream essence. They can only manipulate Primogenitor's sap." A soft, self-deprecating chuckle escaped him. "Thus, only rank zeros like me can actually use memory orbs to store and retrieve memories. And since memories cannot be extracted from dream bubbles without being converted to dream essence and contained in memory orbs, every expedition requires at least one rank zero."
His expression brightened slightly, pride mingling with resignation.
"We might be weak in combat, but we're still essential. Helpful, at least."
The hand holding the orb lifted higher as Master Euna gazed at it one final time—then moved with sudden violence as he hurled the sphere toward the factory floor.
It shattered on impact with a sharp crystalline crack, fragments scattering across the smooth grey surface. The fragments vanished leaving nothing but thin air.
But something remained behind where the orb had broken: the golden-hilted steel dagger, solid and whole, gleaming as if it had simply been waiting to be released.
The demonstration was complete.