IC Date: 10/02/2025

Tempesti found herself caught off guard by the relative austerity of the round chamber behind the door. Though it displayed the same undeniably skilled craftsmanship present throughout the rest of the palace complex, it was decidedly less elaborate and significantly smaller than the grand library on the floors below. The stonework, while intricate, bore none of the botanical flourishes of its more public counterparts and the chandelier bore unostentatiously rendered flowers in glowing golden crystal. Stone carved bookcases lined the walls, surrounding a single large stone table at which stood a simply but elegantly carved wooden chair. The presence of a small, spartan bed between two of the bookcases wasn’t entirely surprising given what Tempesti knew about Sotiria. Intense devotion to her work was one of the only things she knew for certain about the long dead tyrant so it would hardly seem unusual for her to sleep in her study. The room’s lack of windows also fit with her understanding of the Basilea, she would undoubtedly prefer that anywhere she slept not have the vulnerabilities created by anything intended to let in outside light.

Approaching the table, it was easy to imagine Sotiria at work here. Iridescent white feather quills lay arranged in a perfect row beside small colored glass pots filled with the residue left behind by ancient ink but it was the large, leatherbound book resting on the table that caught her attention. A delicately tooled design adorned the cover, numbers, Sotiria’s name and title. Floral motifs along the edges.

Something to do with constructs. She recognized the symbols referring to them, even if the specifics were lost on her. As Tempesti carefully opened the book, meticulous diagrams greeted her. Images of the inner workings of constructs like the ones she encountered in the Primordial Tower, designs for constructs unlike any she’d yet seen. Forms that resembled vehicles of kinds she’d never imagined. Eagerly pulling out her notebook she began to scan the pages, marking the familiar, photographing the unfamiliar with an almost fanatical ravenousness for the answers they might be able to provide her. Sotiria’s workshop was someplace in the Primordial Tower, the presence of those homing beacons and other components made her all but certain of that. She couldn’t make new constructs of her own, but maybe she’d be able to find ways to work on the ones that were there. Learn how they worked. Maybe even bring a few to the Tower of the Winds. Of any place on this planet, that was the one she most wanted to reclaim. Not for herself, not entirely, but if she could turn it into something good, a sanctuary instead of a prison, that would be worthwhile. It wouldn’t silence the echoes from Elysia’s fractured mind, but it might put at ease the part of her that feared that she could get lost in those memories, that the lines between her and Elysia might become too blurred to distinguish one from the other. Her mind was her own, and so was her work.