Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, readers! Throughout 2025, I worked on this new short story. It stated as an idea for a Dungeons & Dragons character but evolved into more. I hope you enjoy it!

The Dwarven realm of Kom Malduhr had been known for its proficiency in crafting the finest jewelry. The wealthiest buyers from across the continent would flock to the annual Glistening Bazaar hosted in the ivory streets of Kom Malduhr. But with the oligarchs and magnates came the attention of the Black Blood Marauders, a band of greedy brigands who had made a name for themselves through ruthless pillaging and bloody raids. At one such Bazaar, the Marauders appeared and demanded tribute from both patrons and sellers alike. When Hjoldor Goldhewn, King of Kom Malduhr, refused and threatened the Marauders with his army of Dwarven warriors as they surrounded, the bloodthirsty gang vowed to make a vile assault when they returned. 

Though no blood was shed that day, King Hjoldor knew a fight would soon come. Despite the uncertainty of when that battle would commence, he set to work on fortifying the defenses. Recruiting more soldiers and bolstering those stationed at the realm’s borders, King Hjoldor still needed something extra, something special, something the Black Blood Marauders wouldn’t see coming.

Borunaz Quarrystone had come from a long line of hardy miners. While he continued the family tradition by digging further into the mountain which housed Kom Malduhr’s magnificence, he yearned for something more. After tiring days digging up ore and gemstones, he fancied himself a tinkerer. His home was filled with little gadgets and gizmos he had designed from childhood onward, most of which could move on their own with the turning of cogs or by the power of steam. His sights, however, lofted higher than cute trinkets or children’s toys. Borunaz dreamed of bringing a construct to life. Poring over schematics and gathering materials could only do so much. He needed a trial run and something more powerful than steam to make his creation thrive.

Thus, he enlisted the help of local sorceress Elloriana Axehammer. The rumor mill speculated that in between sessions of potion-making and enchanting items as part of her trade, she had been trying to crack the mystery of the life force.Together, they researched deep into several nights in hopes of finding some magical miracle that would quench both of their thirsts for knowledge. While on the verge of attaining their goal, the Black Blood Marauders arrived at the Glistening Bazaar and made their threat.

Borunaz’s and Elloriana’s purposes changed that day. No longer was their pursuit in the name of technical and magical wonder. No longer did they see their potential achievements as landmarks for their careers or a monolith that would earn them praise. No longer was it about them and their own endeavors. Now it was an avenue to provide their beloved Kom Malduhr a fresh sense of safety and security. Should they pull off the impossible, to bring true sentient life to a mechanical construct, they could possibly help save their home from death and ruin. That would be more powerful and fulfilling than a sack of gold, though both wouldn’t hurt.

One evening, Elloriana came to Borunaz with a breakthrough. She refused to say how she had come by it, but she was certain it would work. With a mix of herbs, potions, and sacred words in an ancient tongue. Elloriana prepared her spell. Upon uttering the final syllable, their workshop went dark. Not even the city outside their window bled its light into the room. The blackness surrounded for a long and silent moment, finally breaking as a small white sphere with an ethereal glow descended through the ceiling. It fell, slow and in a solid line, toward the still metallic figure lying on the workbench. The little ball, perfect and beautiful like a pearl, sunk below the chest plate and disappeared into the body.

Borunaz and Elloriana held their breath. In the darkness, they found each other’s hands and gripped tight. This was the moment they had studied and crafted and worked so hard for. Though they were too stunned to speak, they prayed to whichever god was listening to let this miracle occur.

Wood creaked and metal groaned in the darkness. The air stirred. A hum buzzed into the emptiness and then quieted itself. Metal scraped against metal. Soon, two small rings of light blinked to life, bright white circles that drove out the surrounding black and illuminated the space. They sat high, far taller than either dwarf could reach on their own. Borunaz’s and Elloriana’s faces lit up with wonder as the lights (no, the eyes, they thought) found them. The eyes disappeared with a slow shutter, then reopened with a new small ball of the same white in each center.

The lights of the workshop flickered back on. The automaton sat upright on the table. Its brow was raised as it examined them, the little white pupils bouncing back and forth between the two dwarves. Its head was wide, stocky, and smooth. It sat atop a short but thick neck. Mostly made of steel, its detailed parts, particularly its brow and mouth, shined gold in the light. The latter, a simple hinged jaw that hung slightly ajar, moved up and down in a minute movement as if it was trying to say something. Wide shoulders led to a long torso, its breast made of a strong and brilliant gold. Its arms and legs, both of which seemed to go on for forever, hosted long stretches of that same metal bordered by strips of steel. Underneath, seen through small gaps between the golden and silvery plates, were long sinewy tendons that connected all of the being’s parts. Its steel hands sat on its knees, intricately designed in its digits and joints, as its fingers flexed. Hovering only a few inches above the floor were sturdy blocks of hardened steel, the bright silver metal reaching up from the feet to the middle of its calves.

Borunaz and Elloriana could not contain their excitement. They exploded with joy. The sudden loud sound of their exaltation startled the metal being; it jumped from its spot and tumbled off of the table. When the dwarves noticed, they rushed to its aid and helped it to its feet. Once upright, it towered over them by two feet. Despite the mild scare, it did not show signs of fear. Instead, it held out a gentle hand to greet them both.

Over the course of the following few days, the duo observed the automaton to determine its level of intelligence and sentience. They gave it puzzles, which it solved quickly. They showed it a variety of items and asked for their names and functions, which it answered flawlessly. They spoke in both their native Dwarvish and the common tongue, which it responded in the same dialects. Although it did not come much as a surprise to them, they noticed that it did not require any nourishment to stave off hunger or thirst. They watched as it would sit and become still, noting that while it rested it did not quite sleep. Once called upon, it would spring to its feet and give them its attention. Finally, they began to ask questions. How did it feel? Was it thinking anything? Did it know where or who it was? Borunaz and Elloriana were met with confusion. While the automaton understood that it felt safe and was generally aware that it was in a dwarven workshop, it could not quite grasp the concept of who it was. It knew that the two of them were dwarves, but had no word to call itself. It was alive, yes, but it knew not who it could call kin. It did not even have a name for itself. It had no memories of who it may have been before inhabiting the crafted body. When asked what it wanted in life, again it had no answer.

The looming threat of the Black Blood Marauders’ return boiled throughout Kom Malduhr. From the commonfolk to King Hjoldor, whispers fluttered through the streets as to when the vicious bandits would return. While they had yet to be spotted near the borders or even worse within their realm, King Hjoldor could feel their presence. He made a proclamation to his people: whosoever came to him with either information of the Black Blood Marauders’ whereabouts or solutions to further bolster their protection would be generously rewarded. 

Borunaz and Elloriana knew their time had come. They queued with many others in the halls of King Hjoldor’s meeting quarters. Informants, inventors, and even some less-than-honorable profiteers each waited for their turns to speak with the king and offer whatever they had at their disposal. To avert curious eyes, Borunaz and Elloriana carted the automaton around with a sheet on top of it. It sat still, just as it was asked, all the way from the workshop and into the conference room where King Hjoldor and his advisors were stationed. The lordly dwarves’ looks of tiredness, boredom, and mild desperation flickered to intrigue at the sight of the shrouded mass. The inventor and the sorceress explained what they had made and their process (or, as much as they would tell to not expose any crafting or magical secrets), and they emphasized their belief that it could stand up to any foe placed before it.

The automaton rose from its spot then, getting to its feet in a slow and careful motion so as not to scare the onlookers. Once at its full height, it pulled the sheet from its body and revealed itself. It was met with gasps, as well as looks ranging from awe to mild horror. The king’s advisors remained seated as the automaton stepped off of its cart, but King Hjoldor was too intrigued to stay put. With slow steps, the two of them moved closer and closer to one another. Borunaz and Elloriana held their breath just as they had done that night in the workshop. Soon, the automaton and the king stood face to face, the latter atop a small flight of stairs. He christened the automaton a Sentinel and shook its metal hand.

More Sentinels were soon ordered and put into production. Borunaz was granted access to Kom Malduhr’s resources and a team of employees to assist with the construction. Elloriana used her magic each night a new batch was completed. In a matter of a couple months, more than one hundred Sentinels stood ready to defend the people of Kom Malduhr. 

During this massive production spree, Borunaz’s and Elloriana’s first Sentinel transitioned to living in King Hjoldor’s palace. There, he became acquainted with the royal family. Of them all, he was most often paired with Queen Katrin. The Sentinel and the Queen quickly formed a tight bond, which was encouraged by her inquisitive nature. Much like in the workshop, the Sentinel was asked many questions. The Sentinel did not mind; it welcomed them, in fact. Each question could lead it closer to learning more about itself, which delighted both it and the Queen. Not long after the initial introductory phase, Queen Katrin nicknamed the Sentinel “Haven” for how safe she felt around it. Even after it was branded with its specialized serial number on its arm and its workshop code embedded on its forehead, it preferred to be called Haven.

Training came to Haven and the other Sentinels with a quick ease. Soon, platoons of Sentinels were ready to guard the borders and patrol the streets. A squad of them were even reserved to protect the royal family specifically, among whom Haven officially was assigned to be Queen Katrin’s personal bodyguard. The two could not have been happier.

The next Glistening Bazaar was right around the corner. There had not yet been any signs of the Black Blood Marauders near any side of the border, but Kom Malduhr’s vigilance would not falter. Travelers trickled into the capital in the weeks leading up to the event, most of whom ogled at the tall metallic figures that walked around. None seemed to mind these new additions to the capital, however. Some even wondered if they would be up for sale once the Bazaar commenced. 

When the day came and the vendors revealed their goods to their patrons, a silent worry crept throughout the streets. It lingered underneath every transaction, every conversation, every waking moment. As the days passed, two camps of thought emerged: either the Black Blood Marauders were right around the corner and were waiting until the final day to launch their assault, or they weren’t coming at all. King Hjoldor, again and again, assured his citizens and their guests that they all would remain safe whether or not the Black Blood Marauders would fulfill their violent promise.

And then the Glistening Bazaar came to an end. Purveyors sold off the last of their goods and happy customers returned home. The citizenry breathed a sigh of relief, finally allowing that feeling of safety to sink in. Over the course of the next few weeks, everything seemed to go back to normal.

Haven, however, could not let go of its paranoia. Although nary a sighting of the vicious ones was ever reported, it could feel them out there watching. For many nights, Haven would gaze out upon the capital and the land beyond and swear it could feel something horrible on the horizon. It knew deep within its complex body that the trouble was not over. Perhaps that feeling, it thought, was the true menace of the Black Blood Marauders: to rip away one’s sense of safety and security forever, despite having no real intention to deliver that lethal strike. It hated that feeling, that lack of control over its emotions. It hated the Black Blood Marauders.

They first came in the night. Slipping past the outposts and watchtowers, they opted to trek through the camouflage of the forests before reaching the capital. They started with a home on the outskirts and left only a grisly silence in their wake. It wasn’t until the house’s denizens were reported missing in the following days that the city seemed to notice. By then, more and more bodies had piled up. King Hjoldor and his advisors were left with more questions than answers. More Sentinels were assigned to patrol the streets at night. Soon, curfews were put in place and all residents were advised to lock their doors at night. For a long while, there were no other such instances. While the perpetrator of the killings was never found, King Hjoldor kept the curfews in place. He, as well as many others, were not yet certain that they were all safe.

Haven thought dawn had come earlier than expected, that its internal clock had been off somehow. Outside Queen Katrin’s window where it stood guard, the bright warmth of the sun filled the horizon. But the sun, as it had come to know, did not dance as it shined. The sun did not crackle and roar. The sun did not send dwarves running through the streets away from it.

The fire spread quickly. Haven’s duty was to protect Queen Katrin, but it knew deep in its circuits that it needed to help. She accepted its plea and gave it permission to leave its post to help the citizens below. Haven ran through the streets and escorted others to safety. It searched homes for anyone trapped and freed them. It carried unconscious dwarves away from the flames. Back and forth it went, diving into the hellscape over and over until its metal grew too hot. During its final round of looking for anyone at all needing help or bodies needing to be pulled from the inferno, a curious sight caught its attention: strewn here and there amidst the razing buildings were several charred husks of Sentinel Patrollers. Haven wondered if they had felt that same urge to come help and perished in their efforts, or if their advanced state of incineration meant they had already been there when the fires started. Needing to escape, it could not dwell on these thoughts.

Most of the capital’s homes were destroyed before the fires could be put out, leaving only those living closest to the palace. Included in the destruction was Borunaz’s original workshop and Elloriana’s home. However, due to increased production, the former was no longer used to create Sentinels. For their monumental contribution to Kom Malduhr, they were both granted rooms of their own in the palace while reconstruction was under way. 

Those who remained displaced were invited to stay either with those spared from the fire or in a makeshift shelter. Reconstruction began shortly after a mourning period, but fewer workers made the effort slower than expected. More Sentinels were created to supplement the workforce, and soon whole neighborhoods were restored to their former glory. Now blessed with magic making them immune to fire, citizens returned to their homes with a breath of security.

Haven, however, felt that something was still wrong. It could not place why it had such a feeling, which troubled it even more. Shadows crept with secrets. The night air carried malevolent whispers. Eyes shifted, watched from their corners. Spies, it reasoned, were hidden all around them. Spies for the Black Blood Marauders. The vile bandits were not yet finished with Kom Malduhr, but how would they strike next?

Haven brought its concerns to Queen Katrin. Full of worry herself at her guardian’s observations and suspicions, she passed them along to her husband, who then shared them with his advisors. These dwarves assured King Hjoldor that there would be no such further attacks from the Black Blood Marauders, for they had gotten their revenge in the terrible razing of the city. The king relented and took them at their word.

Three days later, sickness ravaged the capital. Cases of faintness, lethargy, loss of smell and taste, body aches, and vomiting flooded the medical center. While most survived, victims piled up. Mostly small children and the elderly succumbed to whatever disease spread throughout the city, but it was no less crippling for the hardier folk. Another round of Sentinels was ordered to help care for the sick, as they were immune to all illnesses that could befall dwarven kind. Families were forced to separate to avoid the further spread of the disease, including the royal family. Thankfully, each had their own Sentinel to keep them company and tend to them.

While others argued that the illness could have been borne of diseased rats that had made their way into the city, Haven was not swayed to believe such theories. It was certain this disease was the work of the Black Blood Marauders. Whether they had a terrible yet talented alchemist in their ranks or they had recruited (or forced) one to do their bidding, it could not determine. As with the fire that had ravaged the capital, Haven shared its thoughts with Queen Katrin, who shared them with King Hjoldor, who shared them with his advisors. However, again, the worry was brushed off as baseless conspiracy. Their misfortunes, they assured King Hjoldor, were simply that: misfortunes. There was no credible link between either tragedy and the Black Blood Marauders.

Those who were too sick to work were replaced by Sentinels. It was promised to be only a temporary solution while the citizenry regained their health and strength. Some, though, whispered that this had been devised from the start. Rumors circulated that the royal family, in their opulence and greed, had commissioned the constructs as a way to protect their wealth. The calamities, even the initial threat and subsequent attack from the Black Blood Marauders, were planned to weaken the commonfolk. These conspirators claimed that once the people were thoroughly downtrodden from so much disaster, King Hjoldor would claim all their possessions as his and drive his lowly kinsman into poverty purely for his own gain. 

The whispers grew louder in the streets, and unrest settled amongst the capital. Violence sparked against the Sentinels. Blood was shed. Metal casings exploded into shrapnel. Calls from the king for the fighting to cease fell on deaf dwarven ears. 

King Hjoldor’s advisors brokered a potential peace treaty between their kin and the Sentinels. There was but one stipulation: the Sentinels must leave the capital and never return. Despite protests from the king, his advisors were steadfast in upholding this decision. With great reluctance, King Hjoldor signed The Mechanical Parting Accord and banished all Sentinels from his kingdom. They marched out of the capital, out of Kom Malduhr, and into the wilderness.

Haven, however, remained behind. Under the command of Queen Katrin, it sequestered itself into a hidden chamber in her quarters. Initially meant to serve as a bunker in case of an emergency, the hidden space soon became Haven’s new home. Queen Katrin would visit often, updating her Sentinel on the goings-on of the dwarven capital. Peace returned to the streets. A cure was developed for the terrible sickness that had brought them to their knees, and sparse cases remained. The Glistening Bazaar approached, and many were hard at work preparing their wares. Queen Katrin stopped by early in the morning when the Glistening Bazaar began, as she often did each morning. Haven entertained itself with the books it kept in its shelter, as it often did every day. It worked on its swordplay against a stuffed training dummy, as it often did every day. It paced and pondered the activities of the world outside its secret room, as it often did every day.

Morning turned to midday.

Haven waited.

Midday turned to dusk.

Haven waited.

Dusk turned to night, turned to morning, turned to night again.

Haven waited.

The walls were soundproofed, both inside and outside. The door to its hidden room was locked from the outside. The sole key was kept on Queen Katrin’s person. There was no exit, no escape. Only patience. 

Haven kept track of the passing days for as long as it could. It would mark notable activities and occurrences, if any, in a journal. After several entries, its writings devolved into incomprehensible phrases and non-words. Not long after, the entries stopped altogether. The books went untouched. Dust settled on everything.

Even as the room darkened and blurred around it, as its body slowed and grew tired and weak, as its mind frayed and withered, Haven waited.

When it awoke, light filtered in through the open door. It lay on the bed, but it did not recall ever falling asleep. A sword lay at its side atop the bed covers. Dust particles danced in sunbeams. Books sat in stacks here and there about the floor. And poring over tomes not far from the bed were two figures: a man and a woman, both human. When they spoke to each other in hushed voices, it could not immediately decipher the language. After a few soft clicks in its head, the words made more sense. They spoke in Commontongue. It wondered, as it lay motionless on the bed, where it had learned the language. It could not remember having heard it before, but it must have. What other languages did it know? What was its native tongue? Did it even have a tongue?

The humans took notice of it watching them. They froze at first like deer listening for predators in the woods. Soon, the shorter of the two, the woman, slowly stepped forth. Wonder and awe and unbridled curiosity sparked on her face as she drew near. She marveled to her companion at its construction and how it seemed to still be working. She asked it to sit up.

It did.

She asked it to stand.

It did.

She asked it to pick up the sword.

It did.

The man asked its name. 

Its head whirred. It had a name. Of course it had a name. Everything and everyone had a name. Why, then, could it not answer?

The man pointed to its forehead. Something was written there: TIK. Perhaps, it thought, that was its name. The woman asked if it was, and although it was uncertain it accepted it as such. The humans introduced themselves as Rokkoh and Kym, adventurers who had stumbled upon a ruined city and its hidden chamber. They invited Tik to journey with them, at least until they returned to the nearest town, and it accepted.

Outside the open door lay a short but broad skeleton. Its bones within the faded and dirty yet ornate dress made ridges in the cloth. An arm reached out toward the door. Kym told Tik that an old, dusty key had been held in between the skeleton’s fingers, and that key had opened the secret door.

Tik looked upon the skeleton and felt sorrow. Had it known this person? It must have. Why else would it feel like crying if only it had the capability? Yet that familiarity had sunk too far in its depths, too low into the darkness and shadow of memory. It knelt, pressed its fingertips to where its mouth would be if it had one, and laid them upon the aged and fragile skull.

Tik followed close behind as the group traversed through the remainder of the derelict palace. Again, it felt as though it knew the place, but had no idea why. Even as the trio passed through the giant doors of the entrance hall and out into the ruined city, its head whirred dully with faint recognition. Homes, workshops, and market stalls had once brought this city to life. Now there was only desolation.Tik’s proverbial heart shattered. It asked the humans if they knew of the city’s history, what had happened to it, and when it had fallen into such a woeful state. They unfortunately had no answers, but suggested a historian they knew might know. 

The road to their historian was long, but it offered sights of rolling hills, grand mountains, bubbling brooks, and a magnificent ocean. Beautiful through and through, in every nook and cranny, wonderful to the very dirt. Tik was enthralled by it all. It would often be found watching insects crawl along its hands or animals as they drank from lakes or rivers. It even found people fascinating. Its eyes would linger over folks of all types: humans like its rescuers, elegant-looking people with pointed ears called elves, various kinds of being with animal features, and even smaller folk like halflings, gnomes, and dwarves. 

The latter gave it that feeling again, and it thought of that skeleton outside its door. The proportions made sense in hindsight. The bones could have belonged to some dwarven noble, and perhaps the whole city had been a dwarven haven.

Haven. Hm. That feeling once more.

Something Tik struggled with accepting was the attention of others. While it had found itself utterly fascinated by those around it, catching curious and sometimes fearful glances made it uneasy. It meant no one any harm. And how was it any different than the myriad of humanoids that made up the world? True, the rest of them were made of flesh and it was made of metal and cord, but what was wrong with that? Were there so few like Tik out in the world? Did it have no automaton peers? Was it alone, and thus an oddity?

The journey was not without its perils. At night, the occasional predator would prowl around their campsite. In efforts to spare the creatures’ lives, Tik would scare them off with a blaze of fire or showing off its grand size. On a sunny day, the way was blocked by a band of rogues. Swords drawn, they refused to let the group pass without paying a toll. Upon seeing the automaton, they demanded the humans surrender it as payment to use their road. They refused.

Something in Tik snapped. A fiery hatred filled its cords and gears. Before the others could stop it, it stepped down from the carriage and approached the bandits. At first, they cheered thinking they had won a fancy new toy. Tik, however, drew its sword. The air hung still in silence for a long few seconds. Tik leapt forth into the throng. Its blade found flesh, severed it, made it weep crimson. Its free hand snatched the nearest of them and threw them into a pair. All three crumpled to the ground, groaned there, and were slow to rise back to their feet. Metal sang and sparked against Tik’s body, but it felt nothing but vitriol. Those who brandished their weapons against it were met with either a deep laceration or a heavy fist. In a matter of merely a minute, none of the despicable marauders were left standing.

Marauders, it thought, did not deserve to breathe as free people. They did not deserve to breathe at all, in fact. Death to them all, it decreed. It sought to such.

The trio pressed on and arrived in a city nestled between a mountain and a lake called Yellowberry. It was separated into two sections: Upper Yellowberry on the mountainside and Lower Yellowberry near the water. They piled into a tram and ascended along the face of the mountain until they reached the highest plain. Carved to be flat, a walled courtyard awaited them. Beyond it, a palace was etched into the stone. 

They made their way into one of the towers that made up a corner of the fortification. Inside, incense burned and candles lit up a mystic’s space. Tall bookshelves stretch from the floor to the ceiling, and stacks of more books stood like pillars. The ceiling looked enchanted, granting a few of the sky instead of the stones with which the whole place had been constructed. Spices grew from sprawling vines, and small animals either wandered about the place or rested in cages. 

A figure appeared from behind one of the bookcases. Draped from head to toe in golden fabric with red rope around its waist and crown, they greeted the trio with an eager politeness. She introduced herself to Tik as Vicar Senthia, Mistress of the Histories. She took a keen interest in Tik, eyes hidden behind her shroud examining it in great detail. She asked them all to sit around a small circular table, and they did. On top, laying open, rested a thick tome. Its pages, however, were blank. Vicar Senthia explained that the book would only reveal its truth to those who wished to read from it, and if they had a good heart. 

While Tik was certain of the former, the latter gave it pause. It had no heart at all. Yet, as it gazed upon the aged yellow pages, something seemed to shimmer there. Ink swirled before its eyes, danced across the paper, and scrawled into a strange runic script. Tik could not read it, but it felt all too familiar. Slowly, as its head whirred and the cogs within spun faster, the symbols began to make sense. Dwarvish, it realized. It could read Dwarvish.

The others asked what it saw, unable to witness it for themselves. Tik explained Kom Malduhr, the Glistening Bazaar, the Black Blood Marauders, all of it. It remembered its makers, BorunazQuarrystone and EllorianaAxehammer, and the royal family. It remembered its dear Queen Katrin, and recognized the robe of the skeleton who had perished outside its door. She had died there, key in hand, trying to free Tik from what would become its tomb. It spoke of the city after the Mechanical Parting Accord, how it had been attacked once more with precious few left alive to spread its tale. The Black Blood Marauders laid waste to Kom Malduhr for its transgressions. Justice came to them, in the end, and had themselves been wiped out years later. The Sentinels, unfortunately, did not fare well upon their release. Most either broke down or were slain by fearful brigands, or simply became lost. Last, Tik learned its true name: Haven, given to him by Queen Katrin. “Tik” had simply been misread, instead being a Dwarvish abbreviation for who and where it had been initially constructed: BorunazQuarrystone of the Quarrystone Armory.

The room went quiet. The book, exhausted of information, closed itself. It was a long time before Vicar Senthia spoke and asked how Haven felt after relearning so much. It did not answer. Rokkoh and Kym asked if it was even still awake. It did not answer. Worried looks cast from all sides of the table. Had it all been too much? Had the knowledge overloaded Haven’s system and caused a devastating crash? None of them knew what to do but wait. And so they did.

Something in Haven’s head ticked multiple times in slow succession. Its fingertips drummed on the table’s surface as if it considered something. Soon after, it stood and left the room without a word. The three others followed it as it exited the tower, walked through the courtyard, and passed through the gate. They stopped there and watched as it entered a tram and descended the mountainside.

Haven walked for days. It retraced the path it and its rescuers had made from the ruined city. It did not stop as the sun set and the moon rose in the sky, nor when the moon later fell and was replaced by the sun. While a long trek, it at least was uneventful. Its stride unbroken, it made its way back to the desolate Kom Malduhr. Though it and the two humans had left it dark and mostly undisturbed, a firelight shone in one of the dark corners. Haven headed toward it. 

The fire and smoke led it to a workshop, just as old and abandoned as everything else in the forgotten city. As it stepped inside, it recognized its decrepit walls as the same workshop in which it had been given life. In the middle of the room, tending to the campfire whose smoke rose through a hole in the ceiling, sat a dwarf woman. Though her back was to Haven, it still knew her as EllorianaAxehammer. 

She greeted him, having not aged a day, and they embraced. For many hours, they held palaver in the firelight. Even as the sun broke over the horizon, their talking did not yield. She told him many things that the book did not reveal. Borunaz had managed to escape the Black Blood Marauder’s assault with her, and together they traveled far and wide. In their journeying, they had been the ones who orchestrated the plot to bring the fiends to their knees, which thankfully worked. They lived together for many decades until his unfortunate yet timely demise. While she had managed to retain her youth (how she managed this she did not say), Borunaz succumbed to the passage of time. She had then become a wanderer for a time, and then a traveling innkeeper. She invited Haven to join her there, to come home and join her odd little family.

Something in its core had to decline. As delightful as it sounded, Haven needed to exist on its own. It had awoken to such a large world, and it needed to see more of it. It needed to, as she had done in the wake of her loss, wander. Without Kom Malduhr and Queen Katrin to serve, it needed to serve itself. It needed to embrace the freedom time and fate had granted it.

And so, it did. 

The automaton and the dwarf parted ways, but her offer remained ever on the table should it change its mind. Haven gazed upon the ruins of Kom Malduhr once last time, said a prayer for its long-gone people, and strode onward.