It's unclear just how much time has passed. Two score days, perhaps? But during the course of Envoy's stay, she has managed to piece together the language of the Balfin (their name meaning "Humble People") … and to persuade them that she isn't some sort of deity, nor is she from the Sifra. She has learned that this mist-shrouded island that the Balfin live on is but one of countless like it, and the Balfin do not really claim any place as home, but instead live a semi-nomadic existence, occasionally traveling from island to island at the dictates of the tribe's wise woman.

The climate is cold, though not bitterly so. So far, Envoy has not caught sight of the sun, but also has not seen evidence of any sort of nightfall. The Balfin do not even have any word that clearly corresponds to the concept of "day" or "night," and they have no particular organized routine. They sleep when they are tired, and rise when they are awake. They harvest a brown algae that grows in pools of water on the island, that, when prepared, has a slightly nutty taste, and shepherd shaggy six-legged beasts that look very much like smaller versions of Rughrats. (They call them "ghoros," or "six-leggers.")

The Balfin themselves look very much like the Aelfin, and though Envoy never got a chance to master the Aelfin tongue on Sinai, she had heard enough to be able to tell that these languages are very closely related, if not entirely identical. Where the Aelfin would be light-furred, the Balfin are dark. Where the Aelfin would be slender and child-like, the Balfin are tough, rugged and dwarven. Where the Aelfin have large, expressive eyes, the Balfin have small, beady, wide-set eyes. But both species are short humanoids with four ears, abbreviated muzzles, and short fur.

If there is any truly distinctive anatomical feature of the Balfin, it is that they have a pair of vestigial arms clutched to their sides, bent like a chicken's wings, and only barely mobile. The Balfin, dressing sparsely in coarse woven garments to cover those areas not sufficiently warmed by fur, use these stunted "arms" like a pair of natural pockets or clips, clutching pouches or small objects in them, to fetch later when so inclined.

From what Envoy is able to gather, the Balfin are not the only native species indigenous to the area. There are others, the Svartifin (the Deep Ones or the Dark Ones) who hold the Balfin in awe and fear … provided, that is, they are real beings, and not merely "bogeymen" invented for the purpose of tales. Where the Balfin are short, the Svartifin are tall. Where the Balfin forage about on the ground, the Svartifin defy gravity. Where the Balfin are simple, humble and mortal, the Svartifin are wise and ancient. The Balfin prepare gifts for the Svartifin, to appease them, and keep them at bay … and if the Balfin have not actually seen a Svartifin in any of their lifetimes, it is simply because the Svartifin are well pleased.

If Envoy understands correctly, this land is an island, but she has yet to see water around it. In fact, her initial attempts to go to the coastline were thwarted when she found the air growing increasingly cold, thin and toxic whenever she flew too high, or walked too far. The Balfin are aware that the sea around the island is full of death, and that only at the appointed times – when the wise woman declares – is it safe for them to journey to another island. (They do not explain what they should do, if they are deprived of a wise woman. It seems that such a situation would spell the doom of them all, and accordingly they pay great respect and care to their venerated old matron.)

The colorless grass that the Ghoros graze on has grown sparse. Envoy has yet to see any of the mushrooms that the Balfin claim grow on the islands from time to time. The air has grown colder, and the clouds are darker. The Balfin have grown anxious and restless, paying frequent visits to the wise woman. Time and time again, the chief asks her, "Is it time?" And she sends him away, saying, "No, it is not, and when it is, I will tell you." Anxious Balfin wives moan and sing prayers to the Sifra, and the children clutch together for warmth.

At last, however, the wise woman comes down from one of the hilltops. "It is time," she says, raising the expectations of the Balfin, and then finishes with, "to offer gifts to the Svartifin." Before the spirits of the Balfin drop entirely, she adds, "And then we go." Immediately, the gathered Balfin scurry into action. Several of the men rush to what serves as a granary, others to round up their herds. The wise woman just turns, and, leaning on a crooked cane (a rarity, as Envoy has yet to see a tree), makes her way slowly back up to the hilltop.

Seeing her first chance to actually talk to the normally secluded wise woman, Envoy hurries to catch up to her before she vanishes again. "Excuse me, Mathusa?" she calls to the woman.

The old Balfin stops and turns, still leaning heavily on her cane. A faint breeze tousles the shaggy pepper-grey fur that crowns her softly-shaped head. She looks at Envoy with beady black eyes framed by wrinkles.

"Yes, She-Who-Travels?" Mathusa asks. "If you worry that you have a gift for the Svartifin, do not. You are our guest. Nothing is required of you."

Bowing to the wise woman, Envoy says, "There is something else I need to ask you, Mathusa. What do you know of magic?"

"Magic?" Mathusa repeats. "Magic is the domain of the Sifra," she says. "We, the Balfin, know nothing of it, save what we need to appease the Svartifin, to send our gifts down to them."

"Send?" Envoy asks, making sure she understands correctly. "You do not leave them out to be collected then?"

Mathusa shakes her head. "No, She-Who-Travels. We take them to the hilltop, to the crystal pool. There, when the light comes, our offerings go through the pool, to the Svartifin. Once they are appeased, then it will be due time that we move on."

Envoy blinks, and smiles wide! "Then that is where I need to go in order to continue my journey," she says. "Is there any problem with me doing so?"

Mathusa blinks at this, and takes a half step back. "You wish to go … to the Svartifin?"

"Yes. They may be able to help me," Envoy explains. "Is it forbidden to try to go to them?"

"We have no such law, but if you are to go, you must go prepared," Mathusa says. "We will give you a weave-band to show that you have stayed with us. That you know our tongue now will do you well, I pray, but one does not take chances when dealing with the Svartifin."

"I will follow your sage advise, Mathusa," Envoy agrees, and hopes the Svartifin are friendly.

Mathusa looks past Envoy, at the Balfin people bringing the choicest of their ghoros, the bounty of their harvests of wild grain, algae and fungus. "So little time. Please, hold my cane," she says, leaning it toward Envoy, even while she starts to reach up with her other hand toward her neck, and the many braided and beaded necklaces she wears.

Envoy kneels down to be at eye-level with the woman, and holds the cane as requested while watching the gathering of the gifts. She hadn't expected them to be so substantial, given the harsh conditions the Balfin live under.

The old woman struggles to stand on her own, even as she fumbles with one of the beaded strings around her neck. At last, she unties it, then pulls free a few of her own hairs that have been caught in the twine, and hands it to Envoy. "Tie this about your neck," she instructs. "It will be a sign to the Svartifin."

Returning the cane to Mathusa, the Aeolun ties the strand about her neck. "This will prevent me from being mistaken for an offering?" she asks.

The wise woman nods, and takes the cane back, smiling wanly. "We do not dress our offerings."

"Thank you for all of your help and hospitality, Mathusa," Envoy says once she's standing again. "Is there any message you would have me take to the Svartifin for you?"

Mathusa ponders this, pausing to watch the men guide some protesting ghoros up the hillside, then she shakes her head. "If our offerings are not enough, no message will suffice."

"I'm sure they will be impressed and pleased with them," Envoy assures the elder. The offerings seem impressive to her after all.

Mathusa nods. "We give them of our bounty, as always. As we have, so we give." She continues to walk up the hill, now, using her cane to aid the way. The mists limit Envoy's clarity of vision at any great distance, but she can see the silhouette of the hill-line through the haze.

"Has anyone ever gone to the Svartifin before?" Envoy asks as she follows along.

"There are legends," Mathusa says, "but in the legends, none ever return."

As they walk along, Envoy can see a light ahead. The vegetation here is more sparse, dying out entirely past a certain point. The air is noticeably more thin, colder, to the point of making one wonder why a wise woman would want to sit and meditate here of all places. The Balfin gather at the summit, at the crown of which is laid bare a crystalline structure, a ring rimming what appears to be a mirror, or perhaps a perfectly placid pool.

At least it looks a bit like the last gateway, Envoy thinks as she approaches the structure and peeks into the mirror-pool.

As the ghoros are goaded onto the surface, it becomes apparent that what water is in it is very shallow, rippling with the disturbance, but quickly coming to a still state far more easily than a normal pool of water would be expected to do. Beneath the pool is a layer of crystal that glows faintly of its own light – as obvious a Sifran construction as any. A few ghoros crowd into the wide pool, and the less ambulatory offerings are secured on their backs. To the others, Mathusa says, "She-Who-Travels shall travel again. We thank her for gracing us with her presence, for never in our generation – nor in the recollection of many before – have we had such a visitor. We send with her our strongest luck-wishes for good fortune, and favor in the sight of the Svartifin."

Envoy bows once more to the wise woman and the tribe, and then steps into the pool to join the Ghoros.

The Balfin turn to look, and, in the distance, there is a vertical ribbon of light that grows more distinct. It draws closer. The mist swirls and parts by a wind that joins this beam of light, and most of the Balfin scurry away from the hilltop – though the wise woman remains, bravely watching the oncoming light.

Is the beam really moving, or is the island just intercepting it in its course, Envoy wonders. Based on her arrival experience, she leans towards the latter theory.

The light grows brighter, and closer … until it envelops the entirety of the pool, filling it with a cloud of sparkles. Envoy can feel the crystals singing … and then – a flash – the island is gone! In an instant, Envoy realizes that she is elsewhere, along with the lowing beasts and their burdens. The light fades into near darkness. Envoy is standing on another "pool," from which light rises to illuminate the chambers of a dark stone chamber. Here and there are glittering "veins" of Sifran crystal, but they are dim, so dim as to offer very little illumination at all, but only a hint as to the proportions of the wide and low-ceilinged room.

It is, in fact, very cold here, making the island seem warm by comparison. The air, however, is breathable, dry, and almost antiseptic.

"Hello?" Envoy calls out in Balfin, assuming someone must come to collect the offerings. She wraps her wings around herself for the added insulation provided by the feathers.

A faint breeze stirs, blowing away what's left of the orange mists that have drifted down into the chamber with the offerings. Points of light form a faint silhouette, and then a crystalline door opens in the heart of the shadows to one side of the chamber, admitting a tall, unnaturally slender, long-necked creature. It seems like it could be remote kin to the Balfin or Aelfin, having four ears, and a roughly approximate face. No legs are visible, though robes trail down toward the floor – not touching. The creature's arms are long and slender – frail-looking as the rest of its body. Behind it, there is a flurry of motion … wings, though they could not possibly be responsible for keeping this creature airborne, and certainly not so stable and smooth in its movements. The glittering glow of Sifran crystal crowns the creature, forming an elaborate headdress, and worked into adornments encircling its arms and decorating its robes.

"Welcome," the ebon-skinned, white-maned apparition says, in an airy, genderless voice. Its preternaturally long ears – long enough to make one think of small wings – lift from a resting position to splay out in an almost "X" formation as the creature's head cocks slightly to regard the offerings – and the visitor.

After overcoming her initial shock at the sight of the creature, Envoy bows to it and introduces herself. "I am She-Who-Travels. I have come from Sinai on a quest."

"From Sinai," the creature responds in a voice that is at once musical and devoid of easily fathomed emotion. "And what is your quest?"

"I seek elements to complete a mechanical life-form," Envoy explains. "It needs senses and a … luck balancer?" she says, not having the term for 'quantum stabilizer' in Balfin.

"You seek elements," the creature replies. "There are many elements created here. Follow me," it says, in a resonant voice, and Envoy feels a strange tingle run through her. The ghoros quit their moaning, and step off of the crystal dais, slowly striding toward the tall being.

Envoy follows along as well, wondering if there was some sort of magical command embedded in the Svartifin's voice.

The creature glides above the floor at a casual pace, leading Envoy and the offerings down a long cylindrical corridor. The walls are semi-translucent, and through them, Envoy can see stars and nebulae … or, at least, very small and convincing representations of them, floating in contained space.

"Are we still within the clouds of Behemoth?" the exile ventures to ask her guide.

"Within them, yes," the creature says. "They are all around us." A long slender hand drifts to indicate the window to the left, then to the right with a casual sweep. "These are remnants we have kept for our experimentation and amusement."

"Remnants of what?" Envoy asks, looking again at the starscapes. "Do you build worlds here?"

As they continue along, a buttress of stone signals a divider in this strange aquarium of miniature space, and a window reveals another microcosm, this one at a different scale. It looks like a single solar system – or so Envoy might suppose, as she can pick out the largest orbiting bodies as mere pinpricks, and can only guess at the presence of others by what she can observe of their (vastly accelerated) orbits. "Not precisely," the creature says. "We harness the powers of creation and destruction, for the Silfrin Masters. Now and then, there are remnants that we keep for our use, or release to the Portals."

"What do you mean by powers of creation and destruction?" Envoy asks. She also makes a note of the similarity between Silfrin and Xylphrim. Could they be the same, she wonders.

For a time, the creature does not answer. She just leads Envoy and the beasts along, as Envoy passes more contained microcosms. In one, a sun expands outward, consuming the innermost planets of its solar system, then collapses into a white dwarf. There, Envoy sees a black hole, by some artificial means clearly meant to benefit an observer. The walls that apparently contain these microcosms seem to have no effect on their contents, and Envoy cannot actually see walls on the other sides – just the windows that separate herself from these strange and accelerated worlds, and the odd sense of perspective that makes it all seem so small, such that she could accidentally inhale an entire solar system if she were not careful. At last, however, the corridor ends, opening up into a much larger and more spherical chamber. They stand on a walkway, devoid of any protective rails, that runs along the equator of this vast sphere.

This sphere is vast in the sense that at first Envoy isn't able to grasp that it is a sphere at all, as the walls seem flat enough … but nowhere does she see a bend. This room is large enough to have its own atmospheric conditions, it seems … and in its center float countless crystalline orbs that move about each other in a strange concert, glowing, flashing with brilliant light, then falling into darkness, in endless cycles.

"What… what is this chamber for?" she finally manages to ask her guide, while she also tries to keep her attention on the walkway, lest she wander off of it while looking at something else.

"It harnesses the power of creation and destruction," Envoy's guide repeats. "We tend the engines for the Silfrin, who have ascended. This is the chamber of Sanah." Whatever this word is, Envoy hasn't picked up the translation amongst the Balfin. "Only it and the Central Engine still operate, for the stabilizing medium has been compromised. We have shut down the others to use their media for these two engines."

"Do the Silfrin still give you instructions?" Envoy asks, figuring she isn't going to get a better description of 'creation and destruction' for the moment.

"Not clearly," the creature says, stopping. The beasts mill past Envoy and her guide, and continue along the walkway, as if they knew the way perfectly, though their eyes are wide and half-glazed. "It has been so long, and we are so few in number. It has been so long since the Silfrin have created more to come to replace us." The creature looks Envoy up and down appraisingly. "You are not as I expected."

Envoy blinks at this. "I… I wasn't created as a replacement for you," she explains. "I am not even from this universe originally. What will happen when there are not enough of you to maintain the engines?"

"I can tell you are not of this universe," the Svartifin says. "That is why I know you were created by the Silfrin. You were extracted to the Portals." The creature reaches up with a slender finger and strokes the smooth, curved muzzle of its own face, something approaching Aelfin in proportion, and along the ebon, curved vestigial horn set in its forehead, then runs the same finger gently along Envoy's own muzzle. Envoy's horn glows faintly. "You have the aesthetic of our creators – or you are a remarkable coincidence. Do not those in your image create and destroy, from whence you come?"

"Yes, they do – or did. They're all gone now," Envoy says, surprised at the touch. "But the one who created me was not a Silfrin, or anywhere near as ancient. I am from a fairly young lineage."

"Within your reality, you were born or made, or came to be, it does not matter," the Svartifin says. "Come. See. You must understand." The creature's wings, which had been hanging steady as it hovered in place, now beat quickly and lightly, creating a small draft. It floats out into the chamber, as if gravity did not apply to it, toward the distantly floating spheres.

Envoy spreads her own wings, and does her best to fly alongside her strange guide.

As Envoy flies out to the chamber, she finds it easier than she might suppose. Whatever force suspends her guide seems inclined to lend the Exile a helping – and unseen – hand as well. As they approach the "crystal" spheres, Envoy can sense that they are not as substantial as they look. There is a force that contains them, but not a solid wall. "They are not true universes," the Svartifin says, "for a universe is infinite. These are but microcosms, born of chaos – though the Silfrin from time to time exert their influence over what is created. We in time have learned something of how to observe these worlds, and to pull out of them things worth saving, though to do so consumes energy that would otherwise go back into the reaction … so we choose carefully."

Staring at the contained universe, Envoy begins to feel overwhelmed. "You expand vacuum fluctuations into functioning universes, and then draw energy from them when they collapse?" she asks her guide.

"That is one way to describe it," the Svartifin says. "They are inherently unstable and flawed … but sufficient to sustain a reaction indefinitely. The Silfrin are possessed of great ingenuity to fashion such a device. If only it were not for entropy in our own universe, that it would work indefinitely!"

They probably have a small black hole around here, and it is finally decaying, Envoy supposes to herself. "What is the energy ultimately used for? Is it sent off to other universes?"

"It is sent to the Silfrin," the Svartifin says, "for the completion of the Great Experiment."

"What is the Great Experiment?" Envoy asks anxiously. The Wandering Roams alien hinted at some sort of grand scheme to her the year before.

"Only the Silfrin know," the Svartifin says. "It is the completion of their Transformation, we believe."

As they weave deeper into the dance of spheres, Envoy can see that in the midst of them all is a glittering mass that seems halfway between ghostly ethereal mist, and solid crystal, moving with an alien order that suggests some sort of elaborate machine. Within it, glittering streams float about … glittering traces that look like sparkling sand pouring through the machinery with a liquid grace, in a way that sand and machines wouldn't normally mesh together.

"Transformation," Envoy repeats, then points to the strange glittering device. "Is that the engine?" she asks.

The Svartifin nods. "Yes. And that is the quantum essence that passes through it. Without it, the reaction would collapse."

A sphere sweeps by, and for a moment, Envoy's reality blinks away, as she experiences a curious sensation of floating in a void (though she feels no need to breathe), accompanied by the Svartifin. They witness, with senses that do not depend upon the limitations of the speed of light, all the matter of a universe compressed together … then exploding outward. Particles group together, forming into swirling vortexes … stars … galaxies … systems … worlds … and then, the stars begin to die out … matter draws in toward black holes … the outward expansion slows … then halts … then reverses. The universe collapses back inward. And then Envoy and her guide are back in the vast chamber again, as the sphere floats on by, on its merry way. A flash of light hints at the cycle repeating itself all over again.

"That was… " Envoy begins to say, but can't find the appropriate adjectives. "That was something completely outside of the experience of anyone I have known," she finally relates.

"It is not real," the Svartifin says. "It is unstable, and very temporal. The process by which we extract from these realities is one even we do not wholly understand. We make real that which was not, but we do not control the process. We trust in the Silfrin to guide us."

"I suppose it makes sense for virtual particles to expand into virtual universes," Envoy says, and looks once more at the strange engine driving it all. "What do you do to maintain this, beyond observing it?" she asks.

"We stabilize irregularities that escape the containment fields," the Svartifin says, "and counteract quantum fluctuations that go outside acceptable parameters." These are definitely words that were not introduced by the Balfin. Envoy's own interpretation of these words might best be described as educated guesses.

"What do you use to stabilize them?" the Aeolun next asks, hoping it will be something small and portable and in abundant supply.

"We sing," the Svartifin says.

"Oh," Envoy says, not particularly surprised. "I might be able to do that, with some practice. I was able to align the gateway that brought me down from the outer framework."

The Svartifin nods approvingly. "That is commendable. Would you like to see the other engines?"

"Yes, especially one of the shut-down ones," Envoy says. Maybe she'll be able to make more sense of one that isn't actually running.

The Svartifin nods. "Take my hand. You are not used to this environment. I will take you more quickly."

The creature extends a slender, frail-looking hand to Envoy.

Envoy carefully takes the Svartifin's hand. "Alright, I'm ready."

The air picks up, and the spheres rush past them, as the Svartifin leads Envoy away, and down a chute at alarming speed. If Envoy had used her normal flight to try to travel this distance, the time would be measured in hours … perhaps even days to traverse this far. Up and down seem entirely relative concepts, and gravity seems to shift at a whim. They pass into a central chamber, even larger than the first one, where the activity blazes with light and power, and a whole host of Svartifin fill the air with their songs. They skirt along the edges, then dive into another passage. "The engine for our world," the Svartifin says, as they enter another chamber that looks much like the first one … except that the spheres hang in place, dull and almost lifeless, and the room is dark and cold. "Only the barest embers remain," the Svartifin seems to say, though the translation is probably not exact. The guide seems not inclined to pause here, and instead traverses the room.

"You mean the engine that powers Behemoth itself?" Envoy asks as she's pulled along.

The creature pauses a moment, then nods. "As you say, 'Behemoth', but it does not power all that works here. It powers the quantum reactions. 'Behemoth' provides the fuel for the reactions, and that is its most important function, so it was not deemed essential that the engine continue operation." As they glide by, Envoy feels a strange tingle within her horn. The "engine" itself is dark, solid black, and no light escapes it, though Envoy can "sense" something inside – perhaps those "embers" the Svartifin was referring to. The Svartifin, however, is intent upon another passage, and wings toward it.

"The engine is full of black holes?" the Aeolun asks, although the object is falling behind now.

The Svartifin does not answer, but instead takes Envoy on another blindingly fast trek, until they enter a room that is even more lifeless than the one before. "Abed," the Svartifin says. "I do not know if this engine could ever be started again." And then, another whirlwind trip to yet another room – though this one is a stark contrast, full of wild colors and light. "Do not touch any of the spheres," the Svartifin warns. "This engine did not close down, but has gone wild." The spheres spin about wildly, changing shape, and sometimes splitting into smaller ones, or merging together. Envoy's horn tingles and flashes with color, and she is struck by a sense of deja vu, as if somehow she has been here before.

"This must be the power source for the Forbidden Zones," Envoy whispers. "Randomly connecting to other universes, perhaps. Do you know what I am referring to?" she asks the Svartifin.

The Svartifin doesn't evidence any recognition. "The world this one powers flies erratically, out of its place in the ordered mechanism. It is only chance that it has not collided with Sanah or Abed."

"Fortunatis!" Envoy blurts. Abed must be Abaddon, and Sanah is Sinai, she figures. "It isn't meant to be so chaotic then?"

"It has always had a special place in the system," the Svartifin says, "but its erratic behavior has become more pronounced."

"It is being tampered with," Envoy says. "Someone has been trying to access the… the demiurge there. I do not know who it is yet though."

The Svartifin, for the first time, frowns. "I do not know how that is possible. But then, this reaction should not be possible."

"How long has it been behaving like this?" Envoy asks, wondering if her own contact with Deus Ex Machina could have aggravated things.

"For many… " And then it becomes keenly obvious to Envoy that she failed to pick up any solid measurements of time to any great scale during her stay with the Balfin. "It was home to the Master Interface with the Grand Mechanism for the Silfrin, before they Ascended. Sanah is the only remaining possessor of the Lesser Interface that functions within acceptable parameters."

"What does the Lesser Interface look like?" Envoy asks. Could it have been the Observer?

The Svartifin says, "The Lesser Interface does not 'look like' anything. It is pervasive."

"Magic," the Aeolun says. "Although it would seem more pervasive near the surface. Do the two interfaces directly connect to each other in any way?"

"Directly?" the Svartifin echoes. "All parts of the mechanism are ideally interconnected … but the ideal is no longer the reality."

"Is the system beyond repair now?" the Aeolun asks.

"Without the stabilizing agent," the Svartifin says, "we do not know of a way. Only the Silfrin can provide a new way."

"What is the stabilizing agent?" Envoy asks. "Is it related to the embers in the old engine, or the similar element in my horn?"

The Svartifin nods. "Your horn evidences some relationship to the stabilizing agent, though I do not know how. There is a trace element of it remaining in the old engine, for we have hope of starting it up once again some day, should we find a new quantity."

"Timestone, or some other form of illiaster," Envoy says, wondering at the import of it. Clearly, it acted as the 'quantum stabilizer' necessary for her own sentience to be installed, and it would make sense that some amount would be present in the remains of dead universes – even little ones. "How much would you need to restart the failed engines?"

The Svartifin utters a response … but unfortunately, Envoy's time with the Balfin also failed to provide her with the names of any standard quantities used among these people. The best impression that Envoy might be able to get is that a whole lot more would be needed than she might acquire from, say, doing something drastic like grinding her horn into quantum dust – that much is for sure.

"You will have to harvest it from the embers of the spent universes," Envoy says. "Perhaps if you could increase their duration slightly, they would leave more behind."

The Svartifin says, "It is something to consider. Can you demonstrate how to do this?"

Envoy closes her eyes and tries to recall the necessary quantum-gravity conditions. Lothryn never managed to create timestone for the ansibles herself, after all – it was donated by one of the Stelya-ryan. "I think I have the formula, but I cannot solve the equations myself. I do not have the processing capacity."

"Then we shall have to find the processing capacity," the Svartifin says. "Is there anything else you would like to observe?"

"I would like to listen to your songs, if I may," the Aeolun requests. "And if you have any way of forming the Silfrin crystal to perform specific functions, I would be very interested in seeing them."

The Svartifin nods. "Then we shall go to the First Chamber, to join the Host." And once more the creature takes Envoy's hand and takes her with unnatural speed through the vastness of the "engine chambers."

If I make it out of here and succeed in awakening the Leviathan, I will have to look further into the issue with Fortunatis, Envoy thinks. She also can't help but wonder if there was some ulterior Sifran motive in the reshaping of her body when she arrived on Sinai now.