3/16/2024 0 Comments Dead space ignition vacillating![]() He pushed his thick-lensed goggles up on his head, leaving a raccoon mask of clean skin around his eyes. The supply of Æther was tightly controlled by the consuls, but her parents knew ways of procuring it, and they always helped those who needed fuel for their inventive passions.Ĭhandra clambered over the railing onto the platform where her father was at work on one of his own metallic creations. Maybe Chandra would never be a metalsmith like her father or an ingenious artisan like her mother, but in a world that ran on elegant machines, she could supply the power source-the mystical Æther-to those who needed it. She had never quite found her place in a world governed by clockwork and consuls. She had tried applying herself to schoolwork, until she was sent home with bruised knuckles and a headmaster’s note. She set her mind to becoming a master artist, and had a roomful of snapped paintbrushes and ripped canvases to prove it. And somehow, sometime during the construction phase, her fist almost invariably wound up colliding with the face of someone who deserved it. It was just that somehow her patience seemed to end sometime before her projects did. Her world was full of wondrous inventions and marvels of clicking, gear-driven artificial life. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate devices. Inventing had never been her strong point. ![]() ![]() Today was the day she would finally embrace what had always been her chosen destiny: to become a deliverer of canisters. Her parents were inventors, her grandparents had been inventors, ancestors throughout Chandra’s family had been inventors. She climbed hand-over-hand up the web of scaffolding that clung to the walls of the tunnel. One or both of her parents were welding somewhere up the mine shaft from her and she grinned as the little flecks of fire bounced off her red hair. Eleven-year-old Chandra Nalaar climbed through a shower of sparks. ![]()
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