Chapter 6; Zeta- Newcomer

The bustling of the mess hall could not reach me.

Many of the other tables were fully seated

Most of them, humans.

Few of them, Inhumans.

However, my table alone was the only one

To be seated with me and me alone.

And then, there was peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The humans called this place the “Matha Biquadrant”.

Neither “Matha” nor “Biquadrant” matters to me.

The only thing that matters is to mend.

Mending the armour made of metal.

Mending the armour that protects.

The broken pieces of this lux were interesting:

One of them, a shield stuck to a plate armour.

Both concaving to the same degree,

Like the crater of a meteor,

Trying to pierce through.

The enemy of this man is not human.

It could only be

The work of an Inhuman.

One can only hope the wearer died

For there is no living with this injury.

Mending the pieces were simple:

Pouring mana into my left hand

Through the inscriptions of fire magic circuit,

Red hot flames were produced,

Separating the shield from the armour plate.

A few swift hits with the hammer on the anvil,

The shield and armour plate are as good as new.

There is a tradition among us dwarves

To inscribe their craft with their own mark.

Yet my mark lies only to those that I had mended,

For these hands sworn never to create.

????: [May the wearer be granted protection,

and the ability to return as a whole.]

My final blessing to these pieces,

Before they begin to serve their purpose.

Occasionally, a young human boy would come,

With eyes of fascination,

And eager observation.

With his radiating golden hair,

Yet he chose to remain a silent spectator.

Our times are rare

and few in between

Yet they were never unpleasant,

Unlike the other humans and Inhumans.

The second piece of this lux was interesting too:

A helm with three entry holes

and three exit holes,

Forming trajectories that go

In from the left ear and

Out from the right forehead.

No sympathy could be had since

There was no chance for survival.

The enemy of this man is not human.

It could only be

The work of an Inhuman.

The sympathy lies in the Scavengers

That had to clean and deliver this second piece.

Mending the piece was simple:

Pouring mana into my right hand

Through the inscriptions of metal synthesis magic circuit,

New metal began to form,

Filling up the holes

As if they were never there before.

Unlike the first mend of the lux,

The second took a significantly longer time as

metal synthesis requires much mana and control,

But it was completed nonetheless.

????: [May the wearer be granted protection,

and the ability to return as a whole.]

My final blessing to this helm,

Before it begins to serve its purpose.

The young boy with eyes of awe was long gone.

Replacing him were fellow dwarves,

With eyes of deceit and unwarranted superiority.

????: [Doren, is it not time that you quit handling junk?]

????: [That is right, Doren. With the gift of your right arm of metal synthesis granted by Lux, you should be joining us in creation, be it weaponry or armoury.]

????: [That is quite enough, you two. “Dorren the stubborn” is not a mere nickname. He refused to join us in the past. He would refuse to join us even now. No doubt the same for the future too. Instead, we should focus on our craft.]

Doren: [...]

The noise left as quickly as they had come.

The purpose of their visit?

Ambiguous.

To plead support for their cause?

Or to laugh at a failure of their species?

None of that matters,

For I have to mend.

The third and last piece was interesting too:

A pair of gauntlets cut clean off at their openings,

With nothing as much

As a thin layer of rust along the cut.

The enemy of this man is not human.

It could only be

The work of an Inhuman.

Mending the piece was simple:

A mere replacement of the opening plates

And the gauntlets are now ready.

Doren: [May the wearer be granted protection,

and the ability to return as a whole.]

My final blessing to these gauntlets,

Before they begin to serve their purpose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bustling of the mess hall could not reach me.

Many of the other tables were fully seated

Most of them, humans.

Few of them, Inhumans.

However, my table alone was the only one

To be seated with me and me alone.

And then, there was peace.

????: [Did you hear? The guy that tried to escape his Matha duties?]

????: [The first in nearly 50 luxus, who even is he?]

????: [Some say there were no records of him in the entirety of Tawouest.]

????: [Others say he spoke a foreign language, not unlike the Inhumans, ]

????: [But he couldn’t be an Inhuman, he could barely control any mana!]

????: [Whatever it is, all we do know is that he is allocated to the Scavengers.]

????: [The lowest of the low?]

????: [The lowest of the low.]

And yet the bustling of the mess hall does reach me.

The rumours of a newcomer unbeknownst to all.

My peace was disturbed but not broken,

For the true moment it was shattered

Came slightly not long after.

When the sight of a stranger entered my view.

Unlike all others that came before,

The human decided to join my table.

He was scrawny, unlike the rest.

Only male humans and special Inhumans were allowed

In the Matha Biquadrant.

Yet this stranger’s face does not scream male.

All he had been doing was talking non-stop,

Ranting in a strange tongue unfamiliar to me.

Forcing him to leave would not be difficult,

Yet I find myself stopped dead in my tracks.

For his eyes were eyes of old,

Seeing so much more that is unbefitting of his age.

Yet despite so, they remained defiant, 

Refusing to accept whatever that is to come,

Burning through the darkness that is the abyss.

One thing was for sure:

My peace was no more.