A Festering Forge

  Tomorrow comes and so does opportunity.

  Edith begins the day renewing the sleeping charms on the bark of the Tree of Merlin and checking the energy output after a quick breakfast of eggs and an unhealthy amount of coffee.

  It felt weird to be doing menial tasks when she could be doing literally anything more important but she needed access to the building until she was able to build something that can either get her in or something that can contain the Waxen Amygdala just enough for her to smuggle it out, though she doubted she can.

  For once she felt grateful that she was one of the reserve staff. She was going to need all her energy for the first session.

  The day went by similarly. Carefully cleaning up the Artificial Adarna's nest, even more cleaning the found belongings of Igor, arranging statements from knights who did a rescue mission on Pandora twenty years ago to give to another department and taking stock of the reserve silver and the least diluted essence vials under the orders of her elven supervisors.

  Edith never liked elves. She hates how they walk as if they owned the land they walk in, how they drove away the wonders and replaced them with their own.

  Sometimes, the sun's shine only hurts.

  She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

  She hasn't been picked for Project Prometheus but that's fine, just fine.

  She has something else now, something more important.

  She'll run circles around them as they almost make discovery after discovery after discovery. She'll be one step ahead, ready to burn their progress to ashes.

  "But I'm getting ahead of myself." she thinks to herself as she breathes and feels herself untether to nothing but magic.

  Within the shared realm of a pact, exists a Workshop where it is always autumn, something that truly belongs and its' new owner.

  It looks familiar enough, almost like one of the Ruby Tower's many workshops. A simple table filled with different tools, some needles for sewing and different thread but also hammers and nails for wood.

  It was a strange thing to see but she just wanted to know what they'd be doing.

  She hears a heartbeat from behind her and turns to look at it.

  There beats the Waxen Amygdala, the candle like heart glowing as a shining beacon against the daunting atmosphere.

  Edith smiles, trying to disguise her nervousness even as she fidgets in place.

  The wax drips and turns to honeyed words as they take up a pen and hand it to the chosen.

  "For this chapter divine, you shall sketch a vessel of your own, a heart that breathes it's own air." The noble voice echoes, it's own light shining on the tools. "To see the truth of others, one must first have a truth of their own and that truth must live."

  "What kind of vessel?" Edith asked.

  "One of emotion and memory, one created from your deepest memory." The heart glows intensely and becomes a limelight beaming on Edith and only Edith.

  "What even is your truth, Edith Brightwing?"

  Suddenly, memories forms and become waves that engulf her in reminisce.

  She is suppose to excel in whatever way she can.

  And so she does, blurs of memory doing just that, reading books from the library, practicing handwriting until it's perfect, looking at her own weaknesses and painstakingly patching them up alone.

  The cold has become a familiar friend, it's frigid air turning into nothing more than a light breeze.

  Of course, it was all worth it when she made it and finally got a job at the Ruby Tower.

  Or was it?

  "What even is the success you reach for?"

  Lights swarm all around her, illuminating the grass around them.

  Her crying ceases as she takes in the lights.

  Fireflies, just simple yet shining fireflies.

  She watches transfixed, seeing the lights dance with each other.

  She snaps out of her trance and begins to walk, following the green lights.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  That's how the night was spent, her looking at the lights and taking notes about their behavior in her head to keep from panicking as she walks.

  She hoped that she too would someday shine like the lights around her, leading her to safety.

  "Is it just success you're chasing or is there something else?"

  It all happened so fast.

  The explosion was thankfully contained within the room and only very minimal injuries.

  Of course, she was the one who got blamed for it and thus one of the people assigned to clean the mess.

  At least this time around it was only three fingers that got broken.

  Cleaning here was deeply embarrassing, the explosion wasn't even her fault!

  Her elven superior was the true cause of the explosion. Idiot thought she could mix shrouding darkness and the essence of light without diluting it.

  With a sigh, she resumes sweeping with her other undamaged hand.

  "A desire for equal chances and anger, a call for justice to bring down its' hammer through the world. A sharp kind of nobleness but it is not your core."

  She hazily remembered the sounds--

  "Please stop." The emotions and memories only serve to overwhelm her rather than inspire her to make anything. "Not that one."

  And everything stops, the memory freezes and the tide of memory recedes.

  "I'm sorry." Dazed, she can't help but apologize, despite not knowing what she did wrong.

  "Do not apologize. The world was not built with one thought, even the colors need time to flow." The heart waves the apology off.

  The workshop reappears once more, comforting yet not homely.

  "An apology shall be made and given form, useful and adored." The candle light intensifies and a beam of light shines down onto thread which quickly sews itself, magic unseen becoming it's essence.

  The result? A cloak of simple yarn, glittering with hidden magic.

  As she holds it, she couldn't help but shiver. The fabric felt stifling under her fingers, like a grand shadow.

  If she wasn't sure that she was safe here, she'd wonder if her hands simply haven't vanished.

  "Put this upon yourself when hiding is necessary. The cloak conceals the acts, the magic and the self."

  She looked at the yarn with awe, thinking if ways she could use it. If it can hide her then....

  She can find out what Project Prometheus even is.

  As if sensing her thoughts, the dream begins to collapse.

  "Rest for now. The future is illuminated with your hopes."

  A Spark of Creativity

  When life teaches you to crave for answers, to sneak while search every nook and cranny for it, you start to notice when you've stopped.

  Edith Brightwing never had the chance to fully explore the tower before. It's many corridors etched with charms were always a curiosity, to her and to everyone. The silver walls that protect from the artifacts inside and the people outside it, the many, many weaved charms lining the walls for energy and the numerous researchers trying to uncover their secrets.

  As the Ruby Tower is an assemblage of historical artifacts, security is one of their biggest priorities. The blood-enchanted emblems act as the keys, guards on every door and the less said about the sentries the better.

  She'd never thought she'd be breaking in to her workplace but that was before the "apology".

  She has enough faith that'll work inside, despite the silver and the protective sigils in place. If the Waxen Amygdala could work despite being inside, surely the gift would too.

  She wears the gift and practically waltzes inside, the guards don't see a thing and the scanners not picking up even a hint of the power of the apology.

  She's utterly unseen.

  And so, with her motive of curiosity and a little bit of resentment, she moves through the halls.

  As she follows her special coworkers, she wonders whether any of the artifacts are also unrestrained. Hiding in plain sight, just waiting for a set of conditions to come to life and follow their agendas.

  She shakes her head. It's not her business. For now at least.

  Almost tripping on the wires, she successfully gets inside the chamber for Project Prometheus.

  Inside was a gigantic machine, metal plates plates carved with complex runes, tubes that were for extracting vigor energy, one clear conduit for a color to be put in.

  It's a grand machine, built from the ideas of elven minds that haven't failed them...

  Yet.

  She rolls her eyes at the design, it is very grand but not practical. The wires are too haphazardly placed, getting in the way of her co workers. The machine is clearly too large for the room and would need significant peoplepower to even power.

  Everything about it reeks of desperation.

  Good, though she does wonder if someone from the Jade Tower said anything about lacking results. It wouldn't be the first time...

  Unfortunately, her good mood at not getting caught is immediately ruined when she sees one of the supervisors.

  Said supervisor is one of the head researchers in the Ruby Tower, status obvious to anyone who looks. Aside from the gold and ruby red emblem on her coat, her yellow hair is tied in a bun, showing off her pointed ears, the authority she has in these walls and beyond.

  Still, she came for information so she needed to eavesdrop and she most likely had the most information out of everyone here.

  "Is everything ready?"

  "Yes, ma'am! Everything is proceeding greatly. Testing is yielding excellent results, it should be able to handle colors at least 345 VM."

  "That should be enough for exact examinations. Pass around more energy drinks and potions, everyone's gonna need it."

  So it's just a machine for thorough examination? Interesting to note, especially if it manages to be more safe than the usual method, though she doubts it.

  Besides the incredible knowledge gained, the practice of "volunteering" would stop if it worked.

  She flinches at the memory, at least the burns weren't too horrible.

  She goes left into an observatory where all found colors are contained and studied, she could tell there wasn't much more information to be eavesdropped.

  There was temperamental pink turning darker and darker depending on who's examining, confusing yet translucent indigo and rampaging orange trying to get out.

  Even Edith has to admit that it was impressive to collect even these many, especially with enough form to manifest their properties.

  She hopes that the families of those who undoubtedly died trying to get these samples are rewarded enough to never work another day in their lives.

  Though the feeling is somewhat buried as she is still smug about the lack of Yellow.

  She saw her coworkers all absorbed in their tasks, all double checking and excited chatter.

  The Ruby Tower looked alive, for once.

  Looking at the entirety of the scenes, she feels oddly hollow.

  Her eyes intently stare at everything, seeing yet uncomprehending.

  But the hollowness fades as she feels a burning feeling in her chest.

  She's livid.

  And she can't do anything about it.

  But she knows that she'll fan their flames of desperation as they burn for eternity.

  The Repugnant Yet Captivating Fire of Patchwork Creation

  She feels the world slowly fade away as the world becomes nothing but her pounding and angry heartbeat.

  She blinks and suddenly she's in the Workshop.

  Uncaring and too angry to care of why and how she's here, she fumes and searches for a pen, for anything to help burn.

  Too lost in her emotions, a memory unwillingly surfaces and paints a scenery.

  She hazily remembered the sounds of packing, cabinets being open and clothing being pulled.

  She sculpts the body from white clay, the proportions tall but thin, almost skeletal.

  She tries to stay as still as she possibly can. As far as anyone knows, she's still asleep.

  She joins together needles to create hands that grasp for more.

  But she heard it all, the shouts and crying and arguments.

  Agile arms and legs from thin yet sharp wires, she gives them the strength to simply be.

  Of course she did, the walls were thin enough that you could hear anything happening in the living room.

  She gives the vessel what she could never have, incandescent wings of feather and beauty made from inferior wax.

  So why was she surprised?

  She sculpts the marble face to be beautiful, beautiful than them all.

  She hears the silence and the closing of the front door.

  Important purple and pompous indigo blots the eyes, just like hers.

  The only unfortunate thing is that she loved her.

  With a spark of golden fire, the vessel comes alive.

  Edith blinks, not fully processing what she just did.

  The vessel sits up, staring at her as if processing.

  And Edith stared back, reeling and drained of energy.

  She wasn't going to lie, it looked alien despite her efforts to sculpt it to look human.

  But strangely, it looked lovely in an innocent way.

  Edith could see that it was curious, just like her. It was in the way it stared, eyes scanning and taking in details.

  Truly just like her.

  And wasn't that a wonderful coincidence?

  "The Maestro of Flight"

  The title shines within the Workshop, a title fit for its owner, a foolhardy follower who'll give her life in the name of glory and knowledge.

  In the name of her own broken reflection.

  Edith Brightwing gently cusps the title given, feeling it's immense power as tears go down her cheeks.

  She'd never imagined that she'd gained a title, especially one as esteemed as this one.

  A name of power, a name of essence and above all else

  a name that promises mastery.

  As she feels the power slowly but surely course through her veins, she vows to live up to it in all the ways it matters.

  The vessel watches and clumsily claps it's hands in celebration, of it's own birth and what it granted her creator.