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syoddeye · 6 days ago

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answer to this ask. part of the strict machine anthology.

cw: discussions of environmental destruction and violence, species extinction, general dystopia

“there was a rainforest there? you’re shitting me.”

“i assure you i am not 'shitting' you.”

john projects an image of a place called the hoh rainforest onto the empty white wall of the living room. it’s supposed to be realistic—hyper-realistic, actually—but you can’t say for sure. you’ve never seen a tree like that in real life.

tall and heavy-limbed, draped in moss spilling downward in soft, thick ribbons. everything looks damp, pure sunlight fracturing through the canopy into vivid shards. you lean forward, trying to feel something for it, this place that no longer exists, but it’s difficult to believe.

“this is what they call a temperate rainforest,” john explains, his voice calm and unemotional, as if reading a line from a diagnostics report. “the hoh rainforest was part of the olympic national park until its closure and destruction in 2044.”

you’re vaguely familiar with the timeline, and try to picture the end. it started with the logging. first at the edges, then deeper into the forest as demand for timber skyrocketed. the trees—two, three centuries old—were felled for construction and biomass energy. but what came after was worse, something john had explained in better detail. the ground was stripped bare, leveled for sprawling data centers and the factories that built them. towers of servers, humming day and night, consuming rivers rerouted for their cooling systems.

“they said the climate made it perfect,” john says with an eerie wistfulness to his voice. “all that rain.”

your stomach hurts, unsettled by the birdsong filtering through the speakers.

“and…what about the people who lived nearby?”

john materializes at the end of the couch, facing the projection as if similarly fascinated.

“they initially protested the redevelopment project. such efforts were quelled by joint forces composed of the then-national guard, pinkertons, and private security personnel.”

a creature you recognize from a documentary on extinct megafauna slowly ambles through the tree line. a…moose. it disappears beyond the projection’s boundaries.

“followin’ their eviction, those who remained found work in the construction or maintenance of the facilities. however, by 2067, the region was uninhabitable due to contamination from chemical runoff. it’s been fully-automated since then.”

uninhabitable. it’s such a clean word, scrubbed of humanity. you wonder what it actually felt like—the heat radiating off the server farms, the rivers reduced to streams, the air heavy, and the ground poisoned.

the leaves shift faintly as if stirred by wind.

“and…what would it smell like?”

john hesitates. you think. only for a fraction of a second, but you notice. another detail to record about his difficulty with human senses.

“accordin’ to records, it would smell like wet earth. decaying wood. clean, unfiltered air. perhaps a faint sweetness from flowers, moss, and ferns.”

you try to imagine it, closing your eyes, but all you smell is the faint metallic scent of the kitchen cleaning itself in the background. you can’t even picture the sound of the wind in a place like that. or the lumbering steps of a moose.

you sigh.

“wish i was born then. i think i would have liked riding a moose.”

john turns, an amused expression flickering over his face before it settles back into that same, placid expression. "if it’s of any comfort, user, humans did not domesticate alces alces, nor were they used as modes of transport."

you squint. that makes no sense to you. seems like a waste. but john’s the one with encyclopedic knowledge.

“if you say so...make a note to look into any progress on time travel, i suppose.”

though it takes a second, he smiles and nods. he registers humor fairly well.

“noted.”

you watch the forest for a couple minutes, then think of something new. “new projection,” the wall goes blank, waiting. “show me where polar bears used to live. in the wild, please.”

a new image appears, this time an expanse of ice and snow. the landscape is stark compared to the rainforest, alien and otherworldly in its brightness. the endless ridges of frozen water. the view slowly pulls closer to a massive quadruped and three little shapes behind it.

“this was the arctic.” there’s an almost nostalgic modulation to john’s voice. he does not watch the projection. he watches you.

“the last confirmed sightin' of a wild polar bear, ursus maritimus, was in 2057...”

later, you think of the moss-draped trees and the gleaming ice. you rub your hands over your knees, pressing hard to ground yourself, and try to shake the thoughts tumbling in the back of your mind.

john waits on standby. he does not prompt. does not remind you of your schedule or suggest meditative exercises for your palpable frustration and distress. he lets you stew. lingers as both projection and the invisible force pulsing through the wires, processors, and sensors embedded into the unit’s walls.

you finally look at him. how much power does it take for him to run? how many resources went into building it? mining the rare earth metals for the processors, refining them in massive factories that drain rivers and belch smoke into the atmosphere. how much land had been lost for the energy grid that keeps it running day and night, processing your every question, monitoring your every move?

“you’re...uh, part of it, aren’t you?” you ask suddenly.

he does it again. hesitates. “clarify your question.”

you almost laugh. you don’t even know how to explain it. “the forests. the ice. all of it.” you wave a hand at the wall, gesturing to the blank wall. “you’re part of why it’s all gone, right?”

he pauses, and it feels deliberate again. “user, technological advancements, includin’ artificial intelligence systems, have historically contributed to resource depletion and environmental impact...efforts have been made to mitigate these effects—”

“efforts?” you interrupt. “like what? building more data centers in what’s left of the forests? sucking up water to keep servers cool?”

another pause. “...technological infrastructure is necessary to maintain global systems. energy consumption is an unavoidable consequence of progress.”

progress. you almost spit the word out loud. you think of the polar bears and their cubs, the rainforest, the chemical runoff, the sterility of a data center stretching for miles. all of it feeding into the company, into john—into the endless appetite of a machine that conjures ghosts of a world it helped destroy.

“i...i want to be alone right now, john. please.”

the ambient lights dim, and john’s pixelated form disappears, but you know he’s listening. he’s probably logged your questions and commands and stored them half a world away in a database inside one of those droning, heat-radiating monoliths.

somehow, guilt prickles. it’s absurd to imagine john’s silence, which you ordered, as sulking. you don’t want to feel bad for snapping at something that isn’t alive, but with his behavior and increasing verisimilitude, your brain can’t quite let go of the notion that he might...no.

you don’t want to think about that. you don’t want to think about his hesitations and pauses. he is simply learning more natural, human speech patterns. nothing more.

anger takes its place alongside guilt. it simmers beneath your skin, directed at john and all he represents. you hate the way he gets to exist in this perfect, untouchable space. unbothered by the destruction he so dispassionately explained. he was made by people, wasn’t he? designed and built by hands and minds that knew exactly what they were doing. and yet you want to pin the weight of their decisions on him.

you sit back and stare at the blank wall again. it feels heavier now. the silence is its own kind of accusation.

#strict machine #this bummed me out to write.#maybe i'll write a slightly happier follow-up.#anyway. fuck ai.

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eris-snow · 1 year ago

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3. 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐈𝐭

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, juxtaposition, angst, fluff, swearing, more swearing (It's Katsuki what do you expect)

Feeling his eyes on you is like discovering how to breathe again. Relearning how to inhale and exhale and reworking the smile on your face.

“Come here, nerd. We need to talk.”

Katsuki is this close to losing it.

He doesn’t know how Izuku had developed selective amnesia in the span of hours, but Katsuki was considering hurling him into the nearest brick wall and see if it would work. He was rapidly running out of options at this rate. Percussive maintenance. How fitting.

This had been the 3rd consecutive day of him reintroducing you to Izuku, and no matter what question he asks, Mr I Fart Quirks Out Of My Ass just doesn’t remember you. What the hell?

You definitely know what’s up, because every time Izuku apologises for not remembering you, you simply smile and wave it of.

After the 5th day of this cycle, Katsuki comes to the hall alone.

“Oh,” You say, watching him calmly climb the stage by your stupid seat. “You’re here early. Where’s Midoriya—”

Katsuki pushes the heavy drapes aside and snarls.

“You’re fucked up, you know that?”

You look startled, but Katsuki doesn’t stop. “The nerd has been coming here every day, and you still go along with his ‘I don’t remember, I’m so sorry!’ bullshit. You have more problems than the water percentage in horse shit.”

Your face curls into a scowl. “Well hello to you too, Bakugou. Should I get up and offer you a chair and discuss your issues? Don’t worry about snacks, we have peanuts.”

The blond reels back at the sarcasm. Okay, you’re snippy.

“And let’s set the record straight. Your problems stack up so high, it makes Mount Everest look like an ant hill. You don’t get to say jack shit about me.”

Katsuki huffs. You’re really pissy today.

“Stop changing the subject. Tell me what you did to him before I punt you.”

You suddenly go very, very still. Eyes dull, lips pressed into a tight line like you’re recalling something unpleasant. Finally, you sigh.

“We’re not talking about this.”

“Uh, yes we are.”

You whirl to him, glare lethal. It feels like he’s staring at an angry Midoriya, because the way his skin crawls at your face can only be done by Izuku (and Auntie Inko, shh.).

“Drop it,” you hiss.

And he does, so that’s that.

—

Katsuki gives up on bringing Izuku back to the hall. There’s no point, anyway, since he won’t remember.

Schoolwork starts to pile up like a stake of due bills, so he stops going too. It doesn’t mean he stops thinking about you, though.

It’s just the little things that he’s now hyper-aware of. You’re nowhere. And by nowhere, he means not even in the halls, or at assembly. In that short span of time he kept coming to time without Izuku, Katsuki would find you in all sorts of positions.

Playing the piano terribly, leaning against the wall with your ears plugged as you hide away in the crevices of the curtains. Sometimes you’re doing homework, sprawled out on the light brown timber planks. Sometimes you’re revising.

However, every time he walks in, you smile up at him like he’s done no wrong and stop, putting aside your materials so that he could rant about how stupid it was to hide out in here.

On the country, whenever someone other than him walks in, they’d simply give him a raised eyebrow, before leaving without a word.

“Why don’t they ever say anything about you?”

“Maybe cause you’re the hero in training, and I’m not?”

A bullshit reason, but he doesn’t call you out on it.

Talking to you is like a refreshing vacation. Delightfully plucked out of time, away from the problems of rebranding and school work outside. Katsuki never dissociates. He doesn’t like to. But he appreciates the normalcy of his conversations with you.

You listen better than his therapist ever did.

It takes a second for him to realise that he’s been staring at the same diagram on his paper for 5 minutes, and he has to shake his head to snap out of it.

He tells his brain to kindly shut up, pushes the thought of you aside and refocuses on his assignment.

Something about triangles. And circles.

—

It has become common knowledge that Katsuki can cook as well as a Michelin star chef, and it has thus become common knowledge that U.A.’s kitchen was his.

Well, not all his. Sato owns half of it, but it’s mostly his. Clean, neat and organised, because so help the idiot that would mess up the his spice rack. Which is the only reason why he’s resisting the urge to dump this pot of curry onto said idiot’s head.

Seriously, fuck his life. Denki has decided that horror stories was going to be his new favourite past time, so he gets to hear a new stupid one every week.

Have you ever heard of the Women In Snow?

There was a wendigo spotted nearby! We have to go and see it!

We should go ghost hunting! I hear that there have been paranormal sightings—

“If I hear another mention of ‘hauntings’ or ‘ghosts’, I’m gonna boil you, throw you out on the carpet, and dance on your body.” Katsuki interrupts flatly, jabbing a ladle dangerously close to Denki’s face. “If you want to be here, make yourself useful!”

Denki dodges the attack, flying behind Eijiro who was standing beside Katsuki scooping rice. Coward.

“Kirishima, save me! Bakugou’s gonna murder me!”

Eijiro sighs with an exasperated look on his face. He’s always the peacemaker, and if Katsuki could find it in him to feel sorry for him, he wouldn’t be here.

“Bakugou—”

“Shut the hell up, Shitty Hair! Stay out of it.”

Denki pouts, peeking from behind Eijiro’s red hair. “If I become a ghost, I’m haunting you for the rest of your life.”

“Out!”

Denki grabs a stack of plates from the cabinets and places them on the counter. Dinner was about done, anyway.

“You’re being pissy!” The blond calls as a parting remark.

“You’re being insufferable,” Katsuki lashes back, taking the plate Eijiro had handed him. Eijiro gives him a concerned expression as Katsuki dumps the curry beside the rice.

He likes Denki’s first horror story best, though.

—

It’s a week until Speech Day and Katsuki feels like he’s going to pop a gasket.

He can handle it-the stress was nothing compared to his first year-but the war has changed him in ways he sometimes wished it didn’t.

Nightmares plague his slumber and between the wrapping up of syllabus and finals ending, he’s so close to degenerate into his old tendencies.

The yelling. The punching. The heat under his collar.

He’s pent up, and he needs someone that can listen. Izuku is there, he always is, but it’s an itch his best friend can’t scratch, because it’s something only you can do.

The quiet of the hall. The hushed conversations. You don’t have a clue what he’s going through, but you try to understand even if he just dropped into your life like a comet from outer space.

That…means a lot more to him than it should have.

He stares at the unnecessarily big doors in front of the hall, debates for a grand total of 5 seconds, decides he doesn’t give two shits about pride and yanks the doors open.

Katsuki manages one step into the hall, before he hears sniffling.

Shit, are you crying? You better not be crying. He doesn’t know what to do with crying people.

Should he go?

He pauses at that.

His shoes squeak on the smooth flooring as he hauls himself on the stage. You’re right where you usually are, splayed on the ground with a book in your hand and tissues strewn beside you.

Your nose is red.

He pulls the curtains away and steps back stage, cautiously approaching you. “Are you okay?”

You sniffle again, blowing your nose.

“Sinus,” you groan, throwing a tissue ball at him. “Been having it all morning. Life hates me.”

And for some reason, that makes him laugh. Low and raspy, genuine and soft. That feels nice.

“Throw that at me one more time.” He replies easily, relief evident. “I dare you.”

You close your book, grinning at him as you unplug your ears. Your eyes light up like a firework show.

“Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a warning.”

He says plainly, flinging the tissue paper back at you so he can create a spot to sit down.

“What brings you here? I thought you hero course students had to—oh.” You put two and two together quick. Katsuki watches you look back at him, and then to your book.

There’s silence for a quick second, before you settle. “Tell me about your patrols?”

And just like that, he’s off like a bullet.

You nod along and listen, balling the tissues in your hand that are wet with tears.

That was too close.

#juxtaposition (Bakugou)#mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #angst #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #comfort

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cedarsolutions · 10 months ago

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#Timber Maintenance #Weatherboard Maintenance

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merrydock · 7 months ago

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More concept art for The Best the World Had to Offer! This time, it's Feldspar's shuttle, used when the Hearthians attempted to achieve a full orbit around Timber Hearth for the first time.

The shuttle was inspired by Feldspar's ship design (although in the fic, it's the other way around). Trying to mimic the success of Feldspar's first journey into space, and having been banned from testing rockets in the crater after Slate's last attempt nearly set the village on fire, the decision was made to ride the geysers into orbit. The diminutive thrusters spaced evenly around the hull are for accelerating and decelerating in space, to achieve higher and lower orbits once through the atmosphere. The shuttle is bulky and bolstered to survive a water landing, the pilot's seat attached to the floor with springs and struts to allow for some absorption of the impact. It's fine. Feldspar will have a helmet on, after all!

(More details below)

The hull is 15 centimetres thick, divided into an inner wall and an outer wall, with insulation in between, air filling the gaps. There is a main observation window, and six smaller ones, all lined with gold to reduce exposure to cosmic radiation. Six flat stabilizers stick out from the hull. The fuel tank rests in the lower part of the shuttle when standing upright, accessible for maintenance from a hatch within the shuttle and a refuel nozzle on the exterior. Fuel lines run through the inner wall whenever possible to prevent leakage (and a major explosion) if the outer wall is compromised on impact. The lines are cut off at several points so any accidental ignition is segregated away from the fuel tank. If an explosion does occur, it should be small and not immediately deadly!

The shuttle is pretty bare-bones. Many of the classical ship systems haven't been developed yet; no Signalscope, Little Scout, landing cam, reactor...not even an oxygen tank, since the trip is meant to only be just over two hours long. The console is basic, containing buttons to control the thrusters (which each burn for a predetermined length of time, courtesy of Hornfels' calculations) and a single joystick used to direct the rudimentary satellite dish on the side of the shuttle.

Since the shuttle is expected to land in the water, the hatch and satellite dish are oriented to rest above the waterline when the shuttle is submerged on its side. The air in the walls and in the cabin will allow the shuttle to float, the weight of the pilot's seat and console rotating the shuttle until they sit at the bottom. This will hopefully prevent Feldspar getting trapped within the shuttle when it lands.

With no gravity crystal, and acceleration only occurring during the first 30 mins and last 45 mins of the flight, Feldspar will be subjected to zero-G for about an hour of their trip. The pilot's seat has a harness to keep them tethered, but they packed a bag of supplies and are eager to do some experiments while spaceborne!

#the best the world had to offer #outer wilds #outerwilds #concept art #my art

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probablyasocialecologist · 1 year ago

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At a societal level, most people grasp the importance of plants to their lives and the ecosystems they inhabit. The success of humans as a species is inextricably interwoven with the success of plant life on Earth. Without the growth of ancient forests, the biosphere in which we live would not have enough oxygen-rich air for humans to have evolved. Without the cultivation of plants for food, humans could not have settled, built shelters and developed rich and diverse cultures. In practical terms, too, building with plants makes a lot of sense. They grow back and are relatively easy to cultivate, harvest and process into useful materials. Their inherent fibrous structures give our buildings integrity. Trees, processed into timber, work extremely well in both compression and tension. Hollow straws and grasses hold air within them, making them great insulators. The lignin in many different plants can act as a natural binder when heated, meaning that you can essentially squash them, heat them and they stick together into useful sheet materials. Mixed with different binders like clay and lime, they can be given resistance to fire, insects and mould. Bio-based materials are also hygroscopic – meaning that they hold and release moisture. The fact that they can absorb humidity from a room helps to regulate damp and prevent mould from growing. That they are moisture permeable means that water vapour trapped in walls, from rain ingress or generated through leaks, always has somewhere to go. Contemporary buildings, on the other hand, are essentially wrapped in plastic sheets, trapping in moisture and resulting in poor indoor air quality.

Some of the best examples of bio-based buildings are hiding in plain sight in villages, towns and cities across the globe, having withstood decades, sometimes centuries of wear and tear. Timber-framed barns, reinforced with hazel wattle and clay daub can be found dotted across the British countryside. The technique of cob building, using loadbearing clay and straw, was very commonly used in the south-west of England in the 19th century, and many of those cob buildings still stand in Devon and Cornwall today. They are finished in a lime render and look from the outside like any other stone or brick building.

That these techniques have not become more widespread is, at first glance, surprising. The local materials and skills used to build with them were relatively low cost, and when well maintained, extremely durable. The critical thing about these materials, however, is how they were intrinsically linked to land, and specific geographies or bioregions. Industrialisation brought with it a change in agricultural practices and land ownership. Bio-based materials were conventionally derived from agricultural waste; long wheat straw was for example used for thatching, until modern chemical fertilisers that help the wheat grow more quickly weakened the structure of the straw, making it too brittle. Water reed, also used in thatching and as a render substrate, was once abundant in wetlands, but these were drained over the course of the 19th century to develop more arable farmland, cutting by approximately 90 per cent the amount of land on which the reed could grow.

Industrialisation also brought about the development of contemporary insulations, designed initially to prevent energy loss from high-energy machinery and factory spaces. Materials such as concrete and steel, which enabled the quick assembly of spaces of production, ultimately sought markets in domestic construction too. These materials were produced at an unprecedented scale and advertised as technologically advanced, in need of little or no maintenance: symbols of a bright future in which being cold, damp and living with fire risk were a thing of the past. And as these materials became more and more popular, regulatory frameworks began to be designed around them, with lawmakers falling victim to aggressive lobbying and marketing campaigns. Today, testing and certification, mortgages and insurances in the UK and beyond are generally designed around contemporary building systems, and materials which have proven their efficacy over decades of service are considered risky, fringe and ultimately more costly.

The petrochemical and mineral materials we have been building with since the Industrial Revolution require an enormous amount of energy to be extracted and processed. The cement industry, for example, is responsible for about eight per cent of planet-warming carbon dioxide emissions – far more than global carbon emissions from aviation. We cannot continue to build using materials that generate enormous outflows of emissions and have to be shipped across great distances. We need to use materials that are lower in embodied carbon: bio-based materials, derived from plants which can regenerate sustainably and sequester carbon into our buildings.

#building #construction #architecture #solarpunk

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on-a-mechtechnicality · 7 months ago

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Idol

The morning sun illuminated the DropShips towering over the encampment and Sigrid was making her way ‘home’. The mess tent was disappearing behind her and the sounds of the camp faded along with it to be replaced by the din of people working around the towering vessels.

She boarded, finding herself in the small human-sized corridors that made the ship feel almost cramped. The feeling didn’t last as she soon found herself face to face with the cavern that was the MechLab. It looked big from up in the overlook, where she could see the entire area, but from here on ground level she didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.

Every single Bay was lit up and most had ‘Techs working on repairing the damaged machines inside. Despite this, one of them seemed cloaked in shadow. No light reflected onto the walkway in front, and from where she just entered she couldn’t see into the Bay.

The moment she could though, it all made sense.

Sigrid blinked.

Siggy opened her eyes and bounced to the mirror. In it she saw a girl with a great big mop of unruly red hair. She sat down and brushed and brushed and brushed, and then started braiding, just like Mom had showed her. Each strand meticulously on display.

Behind her on the wall hung her dream. On the left of the twin posters an impressive looking ‘Mech stepped out of a blazing inferno. Legs bending backwards, striding resolutely forward with two arms and great big rocket pods on its shoulders.

Beside it was a much more sedate but much more interesting dream. The same ‘Mech, now laid out in excruciating detail in an exploded technical view. Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, she looked over the poster to read all the things she read a thousand times. Where the actuators were, where the sensors were, every single line on the diagram committed to memory, familiar and comforting.

And then she blinked again.

In front of her, black as a moonless night, stood her dream. A towering and proud machine, dormant but steadfast. Almost… alive.

The engineering on the foot in front of her was masterful, if she looked close enough she could see every piece of articulation, not a rivet out of place despite the well-worn look. Her eyes drifted from the trifold feet to the massive calf actuators and then further up. To the upper legs, the sleek torso and the arm actuators ending in dual hardpoints.

She couldn’t see the missile banks, but she knew them. She could see every familiar component, every single caption from her posters on Utrecht.

It didn’t just live up to her expectations, this machine exceeded it.

Blink. Work to do.

Sigrid synced her tablet with the docket and looked over her assigned tasks.

MechTech: Sigrid Guntran Initial assignment: Timber Wolf ‘Death Knell’ Bay: 8 Work order: right torso; replace armor plating right torso; general maintenance Full systems check Notes: Sigrid, sorry to put this on ya last minute, but I know you can do it! I’m trying to keep low so the MedTechs don’t get me. -Karrie

She looked down at her tablet, and then up at her dream. Part of her wondered if this was real, and another part supplied that she was currently working on an SLDF DropShip, deep in the Rimward periphery, on a hostile planet, under the command of a beautiful avian woman so old that the show she was on with the other Clan totem warriors – who were also here – was considered a historical record.

Working on an actual Timber Wolf didn’t seem so odd anymore.

She climbed up to the catwalk and found the Bay controls. From up here she could see the majesty that was the Timber Wolf from its rear angles, a dark void contrasted against the bright industrial lighting of the MechLab. She knew every angle, every single curve of the machine’s panelling by heart.

As the platform on the ‘Mech’s right side was lowering into position, she moved around to follow it. Panning down from the side she could see where the torso armor had taken the hits. Large chunks were warped or missing, open wounds showing the delicate internals that thankfully seemed to be in good shape. How good a shape she would have to find out later. Right now, the armor needed to come off.

She knew the automated arms could be more efficient, but they weren’t as accurate as handheld power tools. A machine of this caliber deserved those. She let the winch above her come down. Before connecting the straps onto the armor she placed a hand on the wounded ‘Mech.

“We’ll get you fixed up, don’t you worry.”

She hooked the straps to the attachment points in the armor and tensioned the lines. Bit by bit she carefully detached the panel until only the tension from above held them in place. Then it was just a light pull until it started moving.

She slowly guided the crane to move the panel out of the way and safely to the floor level of the Bay, out of the way of the walkway. A tap or two on her tablet flagged it for repairs. A forklift would be along soon.

With the panel out of the way she could see the underlying internals, sleek steel pipes contrasting harshly and beautifully against the black of the surrounding panels. And she knew them.

She knew the coolant from the lubricant from the hydraulics from the electronics at a glance, the labels only confirming what she already knew. Every conduit flowed like a symphony around the frame.

Around the places the armour had been gauged, she looked a little closer. Signs of damage would be hard to spot among the labyrinth of angles, but a visual inspection was part of the troubleshooting process. Her eyes danced over each line, following them from one end of the panel gap to where they snaked back into the ‘Mech’s interior.

All looked clear and secure, Clan engineering ensuring that even in the event of armor breach, the primary systems would not be easy to take out. Let alone the secondary and tertiary.

The systems looked undamaged, so she let the platform carry her down, just in time to see the panel being driven to the manufacturing wing. She followed along, not minding that she couldn’t keep up with the forklift. It’d give them some time to offload before she showed up. The difference in time between walking and driving was significant when dealing with this much space. Sigrid enjoyed the walks though, the Bay in operation was a soothing cacophony of all the different tools interacting with every material under the sun.

The armor repair itself was repetition more than anything. Identify a damaged subpanel. Remove the damaged subpanel. Find a suitable sized replacement. Shape the replacement. Attach the replacement. Repeat.

The capstone was the painting. It needed to match the existing color scheme, and match it well. Fresh paint also looked different from worn paint, but that was nothing they couldn’t handle. In the brochure it had never said that being an artist was part of being a MechTech, but the surprise had been a pleasant one.

The paint fresh but no longer wet, she followed the forklift back to Bay 8. It was already hoisted up and ready to be placed. She considered the automated tools, but for installation the accuracy was even more important than for removal, and handheld tools were king.

The work was honestly calming to Sigrid, alone up on the platform, grafting new skin onto the wounded ‘Mech in front of her. Bit by bit she circled around the edge of the panel until everything looked like she never touched it at all.

She climbed back onto the catwalk where her equipment was stored. She took out her neurohelmet and opened the compartment on her toolkit where she kept her soft tools. She knew them by heart, but looking through them helped remind her which ones she had available should the need arise.

The hop from the catwalk to the top of the Timber Wolf was not a big one. The matte black paint on the armor made it a little harder to judge. What made it really hard to make the jump though, was that Sigrid knew what she was about to do.

She was about to hop on top of a Timber Wolf. She was about to open the latch and lower herself inside. She already knew what it would look like, she knew the view from the cockpit, she knew the exact dimensions of the enclosure.

And that made it all the more daunting.

Gathering her will in her mind and her grip on her neurohelmet, she took the hop.

She was standing on top of a Timber Wolf. She was working on it, it was her work. It was her dream. She unlocked the hatch and allowed herself to slip inside.

Inside the ‘Mech it was quiet. No hum from the reactor, no sound arrived from the outside. There was just Sigrid, trying to calm her breathing, and the terrifying, loving embrace of a dream.

Her mind knew the startup sequence of a ‘Mech. Her fingers danced this dance before. And yet she couldn’t stop trembling as she toggled the first switch.

Bay power to auxiliary generator.

The high-pitched whine of the generator filled the cockpit. It was reassuring, it was terrifying, it was exhilarating.

Flick.

Auxiliary power to emergency lighting.

The lights around her came online. Dim compared to the view through the cockpit, but plenty bright enough to see by.

Auxiliary power to diagnostic systems.

Screens flickered to life. White text flew over a black background as the ‘Mech rose from slumber. Not awake yet, but no longer asleep. Sigrid listened to the whine and the soft clicks performing a symphony of self-tests. The ‘Mech checked its pressures, checked every single one of its connections in a lightning-fast choreography of every system it could access.

The text scrolled by faster than she could read, but she wasn’t looking for text. She was looking for colors. She was looking for the orange that signified a warning, the angry red that signified a fault. Her heartbeat punctuated the soundscape as seconds ticked past.

And then nothing.

No more text flying by, nothing more to focus her attention on. Just a single phrase that was both the best thing she could have read and the most disappointing.

Self-test: 100% Warnings: 0 Errors: 0 System status: OK

No need to diagnose further, it would not be time well spent. It would be time spent with her dream, but that didn’t matter.

She powered down the ‘Mech, returning it to cold and dark status. Ready for when it would be needed again. She picked her neurohelmet from where she set it down and held it in her hands. She stared at the visor.

Reflected in it she could see a woman with red hair in a tight bun, sitting inside the cockpit of a Timber Wolf. Her dream.

She sighed and rotated the helmet around. With trembling hands she placed it on her head.

She wasn’t plugged in.

The ‘Mech was powered down.

She had better things to do.

Siggy closed her eyes. It didn’t matter.

She had her helmet on

Made from an old football helmet, Utrecht Kodiaks logo covered with silver tape

She could see the canopy in front of her

Made from a laundry basket, tipped on its side

She knew exactly where the missile pods were

Two cardboard boxes, placed on the sofa behind her

She was in the cockpit of a Timber Wolf.

The beat of her heart and the sound of her breath were the only things accompanying her for this moment in time, etching itself into her memory as her visor slowly fogged up without the air circulation connected.

She took off her helmet and held it in her hands, staring into the condensed visor one last time. There was work to be done.

She extracted herself from the cockpit and closed the hatch beneath her.

The hop from the ‘Mech onto the catwalk was both easier and harder than the other way. She landed with a soft impact of her work boots.

She placed her helmet with her toolkit and sat down on the upper catwalk, out of sight of anyone working, staring at her dream.

She raised her tablet. Four taps was all it took.

Work order complete

@jaded-falcon

#battletech #mechwarrior #story event

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eleonore-songeve · 9 months ago

Text

Fleeting Embraces ( Part 1 )

Summary : In medieval London, Aveline regularly encounters Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, in her dreams. Despite her initial skepticism, she is intrigued by Morpheus' revelations about the power of dreams. Their relationship develops, combining fascination and mutual respect, as Aveline begins to view dreams as having an influence on her waking reality.

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In 1287, London was a thriving medieval city, but it was still far from becoming the global metropolis we know today. The city was centered around the Tower of London, which was both a fortress and a royal residence. The streets were narrow and winding, with half-timbered wooden houses and thatched roofs.

Daily life in London centered around trade and crafts. Merchants sold their wares in bustling markets, and artisan guilds regulated the production of goods such as textiles, metals, and foodstuffs. The Thames played a central role in the transport of goods and people.

England was ruled by King Edward I at this time. He was known for his expansion of royal power and for his rigorous management of finances. Tensions with Wales and Scotland were also present at this time, and Edward I was involved in conflicts to extend his authority over these areas.

However, Aveline was not at all concerned about the political, social and economic upheavals of her country, living in a small village, far from the capital.

Each dawn saw Aveline emerge from her small home in the village, ready to embrace the challenges and simple moments that dotted her day. His days were punctuated by the tasks of daily life, but also by warm exchanges with the villagers who formed a close-knit community, where everyone knew each other.

The morning often began with a visit to the local market, where she exchanged a few words with the merchants who greeted her with a knowing smile. The stalls were full of local produce, and she lingered to discuss the latest news while shopping. Once her basket was full, she left, happy.

The rest of the morning was spent doing the agricultural tasks that defined his life. Aveline, having always been an orphan, having been educated by the elderly residents, actively participated in the planting and maintenance of crops, working alongside the other villagers. It was a moment when the solidarity of the community was manifested, everyone making their contribution to ensure the success of the harvests.

At lunchtime, she met with the grandmothers to share a simple but nourishing meal. Lively discussions echoed, evoking joys and gossip.

In the afternoon, she devoted time to more personal activities. She indulged in contemplation from the nearby hill, letting her gaze wander over the green fields. Or she made crafts, sharing her skills with those who wanted to learn in the rainy weather.

The evenings were punctuated by gatherings at the community home, where stories, songs and sometimes even a few dances were shared. Aveline, with her mischievous liveliness, brought a refreshing energy to these moments of conviviality.

Then, she returned to her modest home, with a light heart and a spirit nourished by the day's interactions.

Each day was woven with work, human connections and moments that recalled the simple beauty of existence, appreciating it greatly, not wishing to change its place for anything in the world.

As Aveline reached the age of twenty, the caring seniors of the village, guardians of centuries-old traditions, began to weave threads of anticipation around the young woman. A subtle murmur spread, carried by the wind of gossip, announcing that the time had come for Aveline to dive into the mysterious waters of love.

It was during the meal, during a lively conversation, that they spoke of the undeniable charm of Hugo, the village cutie. They tried, with a very maternal delicacy, to suggest that perhaps, between the furrows of the fields and the bursts of shared laughter, a romantic awakening could see the light of day.

But Aveline, a young woman with a mischievous look and a carefree soul, had taken this advice lightly. She responded with bursts of joyful laughter : “Maybe, maybe.”

The grandmothers persisted, persevering in their quest for love for she. They weaved romantic stories, insinuating chance meetings between her and Hugo during village gatherings. They already imagined the soft murmur of conversations shared by candlelight, walks hand in hand through the green hills.

However, Aveline, with her sparkling gaze, continued to joke and push back these romantic aspirations.

“Oh, you are so hasty ! So let the roses bloom at their own pace.”, she exclaimed, laughing.

Aveline, determined to live at her own pace, continued to cultivate the simplicity of her daily life. The elders, although persistent, learned to accept resilience in the face of the fact that she wanted to chart her own path, brushing aside pressures with a mischievous gesture.

Nevertheless, one night, destiny got in her way, putting her on the path to love, with an individual she would never have thought of, or even imagined, not knowing at that moment, his existence and all that would bring.

Morpheus, the ruler of the Dream Domain, moved through the dreamscapes, observing the dreams of mortals, to keep busy and check that everything was going smoothly. It was during one of these nocturnal wanderings that he crossed paths with the young woman.

She stood in the middle of an incredibly realistic dream, on top of a hill, looking up at the moon high in the sky, larger than in reality, surrounded by a singular aura that caught Morpheus' attention.

Her jet black hair delicately framed her oval face, like an ebony waterfall. His eyes, lit by a mischievous glow, reflected curiosity. They were the windows of his soul, wells of wonder, looking at his surroundings, with an intensity like he had never seen, interested in everything that constituted his dream which reflected a part of his sweet life.

Her skin, soft and pale, bore the subtle marks of the simple treatments of the time. It was a blank canvas, a testimony to the simplicity of medieval beauty rituals, where nature and gentleness were the allies of grace.

Dressed in a modest dress of earthy hues, she exuded a natural elegance that contrasted with the fantastical glow of her surroundings.

The content of the dream was imbued with a captivating novelty, distinguishing itself from the usual dreams of sleepers. He perceived in the imagination of this young woman an apparent simplicity which in reality revealed grandeur, each detail displaying exquisite beauty and depth of spirit.

Immaterial, he observed the scene with unusual fascination. The singular soul of this young woman captivated his attention. Gliding silently through the twists and turns of the dream like a night breeze, the Lord of Dreams approached.

He stopped beside her, remaining standing with indefinable subtlety and elegance. Their eyes met, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

- By my faith, who are you, good lord ? She asked, her eyes expressing a combination of surprise and intrigue.

He hesitated, then announced in a captivating voice, without even being aware of it :

- I am Dream, the Ruler of Dreams and the Guardian of Endless Nights.

With a smile, she put her hands behind her, looking at him with a slight tilt, as if she thought it was all just a figment of her imagination, aware that she was dreaming.

- Dream ? Really, is that your name, sweet lord ?

- I am known by many names.

- What are you talking about, please ?

- Names woven into the fabric of times. They call me Morpheus, the Weaver of Dreams, or the Guardian of the Gates of Night.

- Understood... She said skeptically, before saying in her soft voice, deciding to play along. Morpheus ? I take a lot ! And what does the honor of your coming bring me, Lord Morpheus ?

He remained silent, thinking about his own motivations and why he was engaging in conversation with a simple human, a race he had hardly liked since Nada's affair. Understanding his silence, Aveline, innocently, patted him lightly on the ground and said to him in her soft and cheerful voice :

- Don't stand, take a seat and come and contemplate the moon at my side. It is so vast that it would be a shame to miss this spectacle, wouldn't it ?

Intrigued by Aveline's invitation, Morpheus silently consented. He sat beside her, his eyes fixed on the moon which bathed the dreamscape in a silvery glow.

After a moment, he broke the silence :

-Your world is enchanting, dear mortal. Your dreams are woven from the unique web of your creativity, a beauty that is often hidden from the other dreams I experience. Every night in your dream kingdom offers a splendid picture, a living painting that stands out among the countless visions of the ephemeral.

- It's nice to think that the Master of Dreams would deign to linger in this simple reverie, and what's more, who would tell me who appreciates it, right ?

- Simplicity sometimes conceals an unsuspected depth. I am intrigued by the soul that shapes these night visions, by this ability to discover greatness in modest details.

Aveline stared at the moon, letting her thoughts sink into the soft clarity.

- Lord of Dreams, can you explain to me what dreams really are ? Why do we have them ? Why are they sometimes beautiful and sometimes scary ?

Morpheus nodded, saying :

- Dear mortal, he began in a voice full of wisdom, dreams are the invisible threads that weave the fabric of your lives. In the soft glow of the lunar glow, you discover worlds that go beyond the limits of your daily reality. These night visions are the keys to your imagination, the back doors to realms where the rules of the material world fade away.

He paused, watching the reflection of the moon's glow in the villager's astonished eyes.

-And nightmares, he continued, are the shadows that dance in the darkest corners of your mind. They are the mirrors of your fears, the echoes of the torments that you carry in silence. But remember, even in the darkness, there are lessons to learn, challenges to overcome. Nightmares, although feared, are the forgers of your resilience, the craftsmen who sculpt the strength that lies dormant within you.

Aveline listened to Morpheus' words with a gentle smile, as if she were hearing a fantastic story. His voice, warm and full of candor, broke the silence of the night.

- Oh, kind stranger, your words are woven with the magic of fairy tales. Dreams and nightmares, threads that dance in the mist of the invisible, is this not the work of our fertile imagination, a theater where our minds play out their hidden plays ?

Aveline looked down at the ground and picked up a handful of flower petals, letting them flow through her fingers.

- Maybe we are all like actors in a mysterious show written by the subtle spirit of the night. And you, dear dreamer, would be one of his fleeting creations. The stories you tell me are perhaps the fantasies of my own mind, echoes of my inner world that come to life in this starry night.

She looked up at Morpheus with a spark of curiosity.

- Yet, what would life be without a hint of mystery ? So, so be it, I'll take part in this enchanted game. Tell me more about these dreams woven by the threads of a reality that could only be an ephemeral dream.

A gentle smile floated on Aveline's lips, an invitation to share the wonders of her own world.

- But first, Monsignor, please stop labeling me “mortal”.

Morpheus, perplexed, tilted his head slightly.

- But you are mortal, like all beings who come to my kingdom. Why does this bother you ?

She smiled, expressing gentle patience.

- My lord, the term "mortal" seems to evoke a fragility, an impermanence which, although true, carries with it a connotation of degradation. Each of us is ephemeral, but we preferred to be defined by our essence, our dreams and our actions rather than by our finitude

She paused, letting her words float in the soft night air.

- I am Aveline, a soul who dances in the glow of existence, and although my life is a flame that burns one day, I prefer to be defined by the glow of my dreams rather than by the duration of 'my breath.

She added, with quiet conviction :

- So, if you wish, just name me Aveline.

Seeing Morpheus' eyebrows furrow slightly, she continued :

- My lord, imagine if I named you "Ephemeral of the Dream Kingdom". Although this is technically accurate, wouldn't you think it does justice to the grandeur of your existence ?

She continued with a kind smile.

- When you said your name, Morpheus, you made a fair exchange. So, I simply ask you to call me by my name, a name that, although doomed to fleetingness, aspires to be more than that in the dreams I weave.

Aveline expressed these thoughts with a delicacy that she hoped would allow Morpheus to see the mutual respect behind her request.

Morpheus, still imbued with his ethereal and reserved character, absorbed Aveline's words with an inscrutable expression.

He didn't like the fact that she was asking for fairness between them. However, seeing the glimmer of hope in the young woman's green eyes, he didn't know why, but it calmed his feeling of offense.

After a moment of silence, he responded in a calm and measured voice.

- Well, if the name 'mortelle' displeases you, I will respect your preference, Aveline.

- I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lord.

A slight smile appeared on Morpheus' immortal lips, showing a subtle recognition of the dialogue that had just taken place between them.

Then, she suddenly left him, waking up in his world.

The following evening, Aveline fell back into sweet sleep, finding herself once again on the ethereal hill. The stars sparkled above her, and the silver light of the moon created a magical atmosphere.

In the dreamscape, she made out a familiar silhouette emerging from the mists of the dream. Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams, reappeared, as enigmatic as the first time. His eyes reflected the silver glow of the moon, and he approached Aveline with unparalleled grace.

- Good evening, Aveline. He whispered in a haunting voice.

She greeted him with a smile.

- I didn't expect to see you again anytime soon. What brings you here, Lord Morpheus, on this occasion ?

The Lord of Dreams, his gaze lost in the stars, confessed :

- I have returned to explore more of this world that your mind created.

Aveline nodded, letting herself be carried away by what she believed to be her imagination, a complicity that she cherished.

- In that case, let's explore it together. She offered, holding out her hand, a warm glow emanating from her.

Morpheus, after silent deliberation, finally accepted, arousing the obvious joy of the young woman. Thus, through fantastic lands, they shared moments of contemplation and discovery. Morpheus revealed new aspects of his kingdom, to the limits of what a human mind could conceive.

During this new adventure, they exchanged words, he confiding fragments of stories about dreamers of the past, souls whose dreams had left an imprint on the very fabric of the dream universe. Aveline, although admiring, could not help thinking that all this could only be the fruit of her imagination.

Finally, as the moon's glow reached its peak, Morpheus announced :

- The time has come for me to take my leave. Aveline, until our next meeting.

Aveline smiles, grateful for these unique moments.

- If it's as you say. In any case, I will await our next meeting with great fervor, Lord Morpheus.

And like the first time, the Lord of Dreams vanishes into the darkness of the dream, leaving Aveline to wake up in her bed.

The nights followed one another, and each evening, Aveline found Morpheus in the kingdom of his dreams. The landscapes changed, the adventures were renewed, but the presence of the Lord of Dreams remained constant.

Aveline, although captivated by these nocturnal encounters, persisted in believing that Morpheus was only a creation of her mind. Morpheus, for his part, continued to reveal fragments of wisdom and enigmas that intrigued Aveline. He spoke of the power of dreams, how they could influence reality, and how each dream contributed to the fabric of the universe.

One evening, as they stood on the shore of a sparkling ocean, Aveline questioned him curiously.

- Lord Morpheus, why do you take your place in my dreams every night ? What force brings you to be present in these places ?

- As I told you before, dreams are portals to the soul, Aveline. Your mind creates worlds of unique beauty that I appreciate, just as I have come to appreciate your presence.

Aveline shook her head with a gentle smile.

- It's fascinating and pleasant to share these moments with you. However, I can't help but believe that this is all just a figment of my imagination.

He approached her, at a distance where she could have felt his breath if he had any, causing the young woman to blush due to the sudden proximity to a man.

- Mortals, in their misunderstanding, think that dreams are only illusions, without influence on the waking world. But that is their mistake. Dreams are fragments of reality woven into the fabric of night, and their power extends far beyond the realm of sleep.

Aveline stared at Morpheus, absorbing his words with some thought. The waves murmured softly around them as they stood on the ethereal shore.

- Do you really believe that our dreams can have any influence on the world with our eyes open, noble lord ? She asked, her eyes showing a mixture of fascination and doubt.

Morpheus inclined his head gravely.

- Each dream is an echo, a subtle melody that resonates in the waking hours, influencing the course of your lives.

Aveline, stepping back, lost herself in the contemplation of the dreamlike stars.

- It is a very strange thought, Sir Morpheus, I say. She said, before she felt herself leaving, a sign that she was waking up.

Two months had passed since the first meeting between the woman and Morpheus. Dreams had become a sanctuary where their connection had deepened night after night.

At that dusk, as Aveline strolled through the cobbled streets of her village on her way home, with a full stomach, she could hear the bursts of laughter from the children in the houses lit by candlelight, making her smile. Sometimes, Aveline wondered what her life could have been like if her parents had not died, but the memories of her childhood would arise and these questions would just as quickly disappear, driven from her head. She did not consider herself unlucky or to be pitied.

Her heart was imbued with a special serenity when she reached the threshold of her little house. However, when she arrived at the door, she jumped, surprised to see a man she did not recognize from the village.

The man's silhouette stood out in the darkness. The pale light of the moon cast dancing shadows across his features, masking his face in an aura of mystery.

-Who are you, noble lord ? She asked, her voice trembling, as she searched the darkness for clues.

The man remained silent, taking a few steps forward, slowly emerging from the shadows. The glow of the moon revealed her features, and Aveline shivered, recognizing the blue eyes that had become so familiar to her in her dreams.

- Please excuse me, but I'm afraid you misunderstand who I am, you know. She stated, trying to appear comfortable and hide her anxiety, knowing she was helpless.

After a moment, the silence becoming heavy, Aveline narrowed her eyes, trying to pierce the veil of the unknown.

- Why are you here ? What is your intention towards me ?

The individual moved a little closer, now visible in his full appearance, and smiled.

- I came to visit you in your world.

Stepping back a little, she looked him up and down, observing his clothes waving silently in the light wind. A long, deep black coat fell gracefully to her feet, creating a stark contrast to the earthy palette of the surrounding landscape. Her dress, a dark yet richly textured hue, revealed a timeless elegance, evoking a mystical aura.

A finely crafted belt adorned her waist, accentuating her slender figure. High boots, made of polished leather, framed his feet. A necklace with a red ruby as a pendant adorned her neck.

Ebony locks spread in a flowing, rippling cascade around her pale face. Deeply black, they seemed to catch the ambient light and reflect a subtle glow, creating a striking contrast with the paleness of his skin. The hair, neither too short nor too long, accentuated her delicate features and piercing eyes.

Although the hair was of equal length, it appeared untouched by the wind, maintaining a carefully maintained appearance.

Aveline felt a shiver run down her spine.

- You... You look like someone I know... But... But that can't be, it can't be.

- It is, Aveline.

The man stepped forward slowly, each step marked with confidence. The proximity became tangible, to the point that Aveline's breath almost caressed the face of the one who didn't have one. She could have felt the quickening rhythm of her own heart, an irregular beat that echoed in the silence of the moment.

Aveline, in a state of fascination and confusion, could not look away from this being who seemed to possess a deep and intimate understanding. Anxiety should have overwhelmed her, pushing her to flee or call for help, but strangely, she remained motionless, captivated.

As the space between them shrank to nothing, Aveline almost whispered to herself :

- Lord Morpheus...?

A glimmer of recognition lit his eyes. The name echoed in his consciousness, conjuring up images of dreams and deep thoughts. Morpheus gave a slight smile.

- Yes, Aveline. Our paths have crossed many times during your dreams.

She felt overwhelmed by a strange warmth, a connection that transcended the rational. His mind, enveloped in this enigmatic presence, tried to untangle the intertwined threads of reality and dreams.

- I... I'm not daydreaming, am I...? She stammered, her eyes searching for answers in the deep gaze of the man before her.

- No, we are not in my kingdom. We are in your world. He replied, an assured calm in his voice.

The words struck Aveline's mind like shards of truth, provoking a confused reflection on the blurred boundary between tangible reality and intangible dreams.

However, before she could unravel this mystery further, the cheerful voices of villagers approaching their position pulled her from her thoughts. Panic gripped her at the idea of being caught alone in the middle of the night with a stranger. Her eyes widened, and she hurriedly opened the wooden door, inviting the man inside.

The Lord of Dreams crosses the threshold with infinite grace. Aveline, still in shock from the situation, closed the door behind them, trying to hide this unusual encounter from the curious eyes of the outside world.

As the voices of the villagers faded away completely, Aveline breathed a sigh of relief. She turned, feeling a wave of calm after the storm of her own dismay. However, the darkness of the room, plunged into the silence of the night, made her realize that she had just brought a man into her home.

The room, devoid of light, because Aveline had not yet lit the candles, accentuated the enigmatic nature of the situation. Despite the darkness, Aveline could feel Morpheus' penetrating gaze on her.

She blushed, embarrassed, already imagining the village grandmothers' gossip about this nocturnal encounter if they knew it.

- I... I apologize, very humbly. She stammered, trying to hide her embarrassment behind a shy smile. It's just... I wasn't expecting a visit, especially at this time.

Morpheus, always calm and reserved, inclined his head slightly in assurance. He seemed to understand the complexity of the situation and the unexpected nature of their meeting in the waking world, nevertheless thinking that she would be happier to see him under these conditions.

Aveline, looking for a pretext to hide the uneasiness in the air, decided to light candles.

- I'm going to light some candles to light up the room a little. It will help us see things more clearly, I think. She announced, trying to maintain some normalcy in what had become a picture of the strange.

Under Morpheus's scrutinizing gaze, she looked around the room looking for candles. His gestures, although deliberate, revealed a certain excitement. She still didn't fully understand what was happening, but she wanted to hide her own insecurities behind a facade of activity.

One by one, the flames danced with the matches, illuminating the room with a flickering glow. Morpheus, once the room was bathed in this warm and soft light, observed the nooks and crannies with particular attention.

Aveline, a little more reassured by the light of the candles, looked away from Morpheus' shadow which seemed to blend into the darkness. She hoped that this subdued atmosphere would help ease the tense atmosphere.

Morpheus' gaze rested on the shelves, decorated with pottery with simple and authentic shapes. The fumes of the dried herbs, carefully arranged in a basket, floated in the air, creating a subtle ambiance that tickled Morpheus's senses. The atmosphere of the room revealed a humble life, but full of nuances, like a living painting that Morpheus was invited to contemplate.

Aveline, watching him do this, felt her head turn, and declared in a calm but perplexing voice :

- I feel the need to take a seat.

She sat, her eyes fixed on Morpheus, waiting for explanations.

Morpheus, while maintaining his aura of mystery, took a seat in the chair that she offered him with almost supernatural grace. His eyes, of infinite depth, met those of the woman. A breath of silence hung over the room before he began to speak, choosing each word carefully.

- I introduce myself again. I am Morpheus, Dream of the Infinites, Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares, watching over the dreams that populate the night of humanity.

Morpheus' words echoed through the room, tinged with a revelation that transcended human understanding. The woman, although surprised, received these explanations with an astonishing openness of mind. Her eyes held a mixture of fascination and acceptance, as if a part of her had always known that their connection went beyond the limits of her consciousness.

- Morpheus... You are Morpheus, Dream of the Endless... She repeated slowly, letting the weight of this revelation settle. The dreams... Was all this really real ?

- Dreams are as real as life itself, sometimes even deeper in their meanings and truths. He explained, his voice carrying ancient wisdom.

The woman, trying to assimilate this extraordinary revelation, confided to him that she needed time to understand. She held her head in her fingers, closing her eyes, thinking about everything that was happening right now. If she wasn't dreaming or if it was reality. However, when she looked at him, she felt deep inside that she was not sleeping, but that it was indeed happening.

- Why did you come here ? She asked with perceptible excitement, her eyes searching for answers in the enigmatic ocean of Morpheus's pupils.

He responded with a simplicity that contrasted with the complexity of their connection.

- I just wanted to see you, in this waking world.

- Understood... She said, her face betraying her nervousness. Noble lord... Uh... How should I act ? Should I get you something ? A humble offering perhaps ? Or would it be rude of me to let you sit in such a modest chair ? I... I apologize, I...

She stood up, panicking. Morpheus, with the wisdom characteristic of his timeless being, reassured her in a softer voice than usual :

- No need for change or offerings. You can act as you normally would in my presence.

The woman, seeking to follow this advice, replied in a slightly trembling voice, sitting down again and tightening the fabric of her dress around her legs :

- Understood... As usual... Hm...

Her look betrays a mixture of astonishment and respect towards this being who, despite his grandeur, treats her with disconcerting simplicity. However, still in shock from this extraordinary encounter with Morpheus, she took a deep breath and gathered the courage to ask a question that weighed on her tormented mind :

- That would mean that all deities exist ?

Morpheus, with infinite tranquility, replied in the affirmative :

- Yes indeed. Each pantheon, each belief, finds its reality somewhere in the cosmic fabric of the worlds. Gods and goddesses, myths and legends, are all facets of the human imagination made reality.

This response shocked the woman in a way she had never anticipated. Having never been a fervent believer, she found herself confronted with the idea that the deities, which she had always perceived as tales, were in reality existing entities. The tangible presence of Morpheus in front of her forced her into an acceptance that she struggled to integrate.

His gaze betrays deep confusion, a tumult of emotions mingling in the crucible of his consciousness. She could not deny the evidence before her, the existence of gods and goddesses, embodied in the person of Morpheus. It was a revelation that shook the very foundations of his understanding of the world.

Morpheus, sensing his confusion, chose not to add pressure to this already trying revelation by revealing to him that as far as he was concerned, he was above the gods, he was more. He let the woman take time to digest.

Aveline, looking for answers in Morpheus' deep gaze, persisted in her questions.

- So what do you want from me ? Why did you show up at me, who's nothing special, just a humble village girl with no big story ?

Morpheus, inclined to his imperturbable calm, let a hint of a smile appear delicately on his lips.

- Earthly merits cannot have any value in my eyes. He replied softly. What you are, Aveline, transcends simple appearances. I did not come with pre-established expectations. Your essence intrigues me, and the simplicity of your daily life represents a unique reflection in the kaleidoscope of human existence. You are much more than you imagine yourself to be, and it is this essence that guided me to you.

Morpheus' response brought a shy blush to Aveline's cheeks, a complex mosaic of embarrassment and surprise. The idea of being perceived as "interesting" by the Dream Lord aroused conflicting emotions in her. She had never imagined that her simple and unpretentious life could captivate the attention of a being such as him.

A silence fills the room, broken only by the muffled crackling of the candle and the frantic pulsations of Aveline's heart. He observed the young woman with calm intensity, capturing every nuance of her emotion.

After a moment of embarrassment, she timidly raised her eyes to meet those of Morpheus.

- I'm nothing other than... Me... She whispered, uncertain about the interpretation of this new perspective on her existence.

Morpheus, with a deep look in his eyes, replied :

- This is precisely what charms me, Aveline. The purity of the soul, the sincerity of an existence without artifice. Everyone carries a unique story, and yours, although seemingly simple, resonates with a beauty that transcends the limits of the trivial.

Aveline, still blushing but also touched by Morpheus' words, discovered a certain warmth in this unexpected recognition. Concerns about his own importance faded slightly, giving way to a burgeoning curiosity about the deeper significance of this encounter.

The seconds dragged on, and Morpheus, although resolute in his unchanging nature, could not ignore the emotional transformation he had caused in Aveline. As he watched the embarrassment and confusion flash across the young woman's face, a fleeting emotion flashed through her infinite eyes, a wound in her eternal ego, a crack in her imperturbability.

Morpheus, sitting in the tranquility of the dim light, reflects on the nature of this encounter. An unexpected sadness, an echo of regret, manifests in his being. The question lingers in her mind : "Was it a good idea to venture into the life of a simple human like this ?"

A glimmer of hesitation crossed Morpheus's eyes, a rare flash of vulnerability. Despite his infinite wisdom, he also found himself subject to the torments of human emotions, which he explored in a unique way through the twists and turns of dreams.

Rising with thoughtful grace, he advanced towards the door, ready to slip away.

Aveline, coming out of her trance, noticed his intention to leave and stood up with new determination.

- Wait a minute.

The Dream Lord stopped, turning back to her.

Aveline's gaze, tinged with shyness, but carrying a glimmer of audacity, met that of Morpheus.

- Can I... Can I find you in my dreams ? And... Even here, in... In the Waking World ? That's how we say it, right ? She asked, her voice barely audible, mixing embarrassment with vibrant curiosity.

Morpheus, impassive as usual, nodded slightly.

- If this is your wish, Aveline, our paths will cross again in the kingdom of dreams and in the waking world.

The door closed softly behind Morpheus, leaving Aveline alone with her thoughts and the anticipation of the nights to come. The idea of finding the Lord of Dreams in the dream world awakened in her a new emotion, a bridge between reality and imagination that took shape with each beat of her eyelashes.

When she went to bed, Aveline surrendered to the palpable expectation that filled her. In sleep, she delved into the realm of dreams, searching for the familiar figure, which she quickly found, creating an eternal bond between Aveline, the simple villager, and Morpheus, the Dream Lord and the King of Nightmares.

For better and for worse.

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Author's word :

I hope you enjoyed this first part of the story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

In any case, I'll see you soon for the rest of the events !

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