Nameless Midnight Lore:
Strange things wake at the stroke of twelve.
“This is incredible work. I’ve barely had to make any adjustments.” The Warlock flexes her gloved fingers, staring intently at her hand.
Standing silently by the Loom, Namrask wonders what it is the Machine-spawn sees. He wonders if he is making another mistake.
The Humans are on the cusp of a second Whirlwind. It may be that the Guardians he armors today are only tomorrow’s Ketchkillers. Light-starved, desperate… powerful.
Will it be Namrask’s turn to be abandoned alongside the hatchlings, the sick, and the frail?
Beside him, Ada-1 nods placidly at the Guardian. “An interesting commission.”
The Warlock grins at Ada, baring her blunt teeth. “Couple of heat sinks in here and I can rig up a stealth generator. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be easier to keep the civvies safe if I can get in close without the Legion spotting me.”
Namrask stares and does not realize it until the Guardian looks up at him. Anxiety locks his breath in his chest.
“Hey, uh, what’s that word, again?” The Warlock seems uncomfortable. It takes a moment for him to realize she is embarrassed. “Velask?”
He nods, mutely.
“Couple of Eliksni on the last run. They seemed a little rattled, and I thought… you know, maybe if I say—”
“You will… bring them back?”
“Of course.” The Warlock nods at Ada-1, at Namrask. “Thanks again.”
“Wait,” Namrask says. He turns and moves toward the materials stored in orderly piles by his workstation. Digs through a month’s worth of excess fabric and small woven experiments. Clothing, not armor. Cloaks and shawls. For Eliksni, for Humans.
He presses these into the Warlock’s hands.
“For… those you find.”
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