Book 7. Chapter 33: The forgesmith's origins
The path home was simple, following the digital stream back the way I’d come. Soon, in the murky depths of the digital sea, I saw a small beacon of land. A tiny floorplan, that quickly filled up my vision, fully developing back into the Icon’s office space.
I landed firmly on the floor grounds here. And then had to navigate and stumble around all the junk and garbage that had appeared basically everywhere. Even had to step around what looked to be a life-sized cardboard cutout of Wrath, drawn up like she was cheering someone on, arms extended out.
The Icon was staring at that with murder in her eyes, still behind her desk, while Aztu remained relaxed in her sofa, waving a hand around while more junk appeared and fell on the floor, further turning the once perfectly clean space into a hoarder’s first junkyard.
Aztu gave me a head nod. “So, how’d it go?”
I wordlessly pointed at the stuffed animals, the cardboard cutout, random unplugged toaster, and the several hundred bottles, tin cans, food bowls, and coffee mugs.
A lazy few armored plates from the reclining protofeather waved in the Icon’s direction. “She wasn’t making progress fast enough, so I decided to properly motivate her. Can’t let my apprentices get soft now, can I?”
My eyes looked over to Wrath’s little cheerleader cutout. “Want to be a little more specific?”
“Spite and hatred are powerful motivators.” Aztu said, arms now readjusting behind where her neck should have been, piles of plates rising up to land on the small table, knocking a few bottles off. “Feel free to copy anything you want from my hoard of treasures. I’ll allow it.”
I strolled over to the sofa on my end, sat down and equally kicked my feet up on the table, pushing aside some of the empty bottles there, while one hand reached out to my old experimental bottle. I could see Aztu had been investigating it while I was gone. “I didn’t yet manage that, you know. The bottle’s empty.”