Archive of Our Own ^beta

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One of the habits I never quite got used to was the Glenfolk's morning activities.

During my first visit I met a young man. A smith with a passion for making bells and other delicate objects, named Rachis. He invited me to the home he shared with his friends.

We talked for hours, getting to know each other better.

I... wasn't expecting to wake up to what I can only describe as crowing, coming from Rachis. He called it "being a good host". Strange waking method as that was, I am grateful to see the morning sun over green fields.

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What would you put in a safe, given the chance?

I suppose they are meant to treasure things, but doing so locks it away from yourself. To me, it means losing any property that made the object valuable in the first place.

Haha, but that is not all it is, is it?

It can keep secrets, and prevent the passage of time from deteriorating them.

Given the right code, you are rewarded with this treasure...

I suppose I would put something that I know someone else will want to see. That will be its own gift, only time will tell.

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Yesterday I dreamed I was able to fly, I wonder whether spending time closer to nature is influencing that.

The sky was colored in every hue one could imagine, while wind blew all around me. I could see the houses below me, each roof telling a story of those that lived underneath it.

If I was to reach higher, would I be able to touch the clouds themselves?

As soon as I woke up, I began making drafts to visualize a contraption that could achieve this. I think interviewing a few mechanics on the matter will help with the ideas.

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I was never great at mending wounds, otherwise I would have pursued medicine.

But when she needed me, I couldn't say no.

I'd never met one of her kind before, and I am afraid she may be the last, but I didn't know that. Apologies for the lack of information.

After I stopped her bleeding and put bandages on her wound, she spoke for the first time, to thank me, leaving me speechless.

She waved her tail, and left without another word.

The second time I saw her, she told me her name: "Rue."

I hope to see her again.

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I'm writing everything I can remember of this day.

"What is beyond this river?" was Rue's question.

"A whole world, forests, sea, cities…"

"What are cities like?"

"They're full of people going about their days, streets they roam, and buildings they go into…"

"What do they do there? Are they interesting?"

"I can't say what everyone does, but it's always something unique." She looked pensive. "What are you thinking about?"

"… I want to see it. I know everything in this forest, every tree, rock… I want to follow you, and see what you see."

I couldn't say no to her.

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Ah, this old page is still empty, I must have skipped it.

A fight broke out in the labs today. I wasn't present, but rumors say it involved someone I know.

She built a robot, but against recommendations, the code was highly experimental and unstable. This resulted in incidents in the city. Once stabilized, the unit was sent to another location, with some questioning from her peers.

I don't know what to do for her in this scenario. Perhaps I do think she needs a lesson. But her creation... I suppose visiting the mines will be beneficial. She's still there.

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I used this pen I'm writing with elsewhere today.

There is a guardian in the gate that divides the City and the Glen, and a robot guarding it. However, you need to sign on your name on a scroll to cross.

This time... neither Rachis or the guardian had one.

I was also shocked to find out Rachis didn't know how to read besides a few words.

Fortunately, I came prepared with this journal, how convenient. Rachis is now interested in my writing, so I promised I would teach him how to read. Maybe he'll see this page one day.

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My first memory comes from a day I picked a black clover from the ground and brought it home. My mother put the plant between the pages of a thick book; later on I found out it was a way to dry and preserve it.

I wonder what Rue's first memory is. I wonder what Cedric will consider his first memory as well.

I wonder what the last event worth remembering will be. Denial and grief won't let me write her name, but I hope she rests in peace. I hope I can tell Cedric about his mother one day.

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I've been trying to get into visual arts as of late, specifically, watercolor painting. It's a hobby I can only pursue sparingly, but is worth the time spent.

My only problem is... that it isn't good at conveying lights. Sunshine has a specific way of affecting everything it touches, it pours on objects and gives them something... but watercolors work by darkening the paper, and light is the absence of paint.

I guess there's something poetic about the limitations of a medium. I want to capture these sights... but this goal can wait.

The sun will rise tomorrow, that's certain.

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I'm fighting the urge to sleep. 

It is way past midnight, but this book…

I used to think good writing was an art exclusive to fiction, but the cadence and structure of this article is equally as engaging. It presents concepts in an easy to follow way, while still reaching a level of depth that almost transmit the stream of thoughts the author must have been going through. 

Of course, I should keep practicing to match them… 

Which is what this journal is turning into, it seems.

Ah, George will have an interesting day tomorrow, I hope she likes this.

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Today I got lost in the forest by the Ruins. Though Rachis insists the paths are easy to follow, I disagree.

I was beginning to worry, when I stumbled upon two people. A woman with blonde hair sat by a tree full of vines, while an elderly glenfolk stood next to her, chatting.

"You're not from here, hmm? But your path will make you return." The elder spoke, nodding slowly. She cackled, then. "Don't mind me. Let's go to the Ruins?"

"Yes."

Your usual route is flooded, Gallia, let me mark the path."

"Of course, Maize. You take care, hmm?"

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Once in her home, Gallia commented:

"You ought to get quite lost to find Maize by accident. What an adventuring young man, hmm?"

"What... is Maize?"

"A plant spirit, her power is sought by many, but she prefers to be elusive."

"Why?"

"She wants to help in secret and protect herself". Her feathers had a faint golden glow. "I perceive what's to come, but a gift like this needs others to be of use." She smiled, her bottom eyes closing.

"I suppose that's true." I nodded. "Does it burden you?"

"Sometimes, but a gift is what you make of it."

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Solstice is an interesting concept.

It describes both the darkest and the brightest day of the year; two sides of one coin.

It's a celebration of ends, When one reaches it, the next step is to return, undoing the journey our world has done. I suppose Solstice lets us imagine a day beyond. From the darkest night, a new light begins to shine.

I read on the news of darkening times. The thread our world hangs on is growing thinner.

Here I wait as the winter Solstice comes closer, but this time, I do not take new light for granted.

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When will this journal be read for the last time ever?

Authors publish many things that outlive them, but even them have texts that are not meant for most others. I value the secrecy of this journal, and yet I wonder, what would someone think of me from reading it?

A sentimental fool, maybe.

At least, I hope they can take something from it. Something I can't yet comprehend as I live through what I write. If this is my last trace as a person, let it be worth enough to make my rawest existence of worth to someone else.

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When I was a teen, I had not expected the robotics club I was in to become so relevant to my career. Robot design was the talk of town, but I was more concerned for the artificial intelligence involved, rather than the mechanics, which are optimized by now.

Kip Silverpoint was the enthusiastic leader of said club. A few years younger than myself, but known for her unstoppable passion and creativity. When she reached out with a request for help, I couldn't say no, could I?

She's looking into the taming of robots, and I'm certain she'll make a breakthrough.

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I was with Rachis when the prophet invited us for tea.

"In the future I see darkness, drowning us all." I must have flinched, because she added: "Not yet, I won't live to see it."

"Why tell us this?" Rachis asked.

"Possibilities are plenty before the end. I have visions, but they show a limited frame. As a youth, I saw people built from the ground caring the land. Today, robots can farm." She stared at me. "One day I'll be out of a job. Please make sure my legacy is in good hands. Prove to me that it's possible."

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Kip wrote something for me today.

She reviewed all the available data on people's behavior, along with the human body. Her messy handwriting described her intent of making mechanical person come true. Impressive as it is, I think it will take a considerable amount of work, and she'll need a reliable and willing model to test her success.

She beamed at the idea, and handed me another sketchbook. A page showed detailed drawings of herself, her best friend... and myself.

I declined to become her model. It would be far more fitting if she used herself.

I hope she succeeds.

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This old page will do, I simply need to write something about this.

According to Rue, Cedric and I sleep in the same position. What a silly thing to note.

It feels late, to only realize now how much we share. He looks up to me, and I wish I could give him more than a dream for someone else to find.

How cruel, to face our children with our problems, when they don't have our experience to handle it. I'm sorry, and I hope that if my children read this, they are able to understand me a little better.