Granix steps onto the transfiguration field with a thud.

  Smith runs off as soon as Granix lowers them and Nadeden to the metal ground.

  The metal ground, the pure, unrusted metal ground. Smith practically kisses it as they exclaim, “The first temple is that way! A few kiloclicks north! That’s where my siblings will be!”

  Granix doesn’t want to say it, but the planet appears to be surprisingly barren. There are very few buildings or other structures, and absolutely no fauna or wildlife to speak of.

  Nadeden is far too focused on following Smith to notice anything abnormal. Granted, the entire planet seems abnormal to her. It’s a far cry from the many human planets she was deployed to during the war, and the lack of a welcoming party or designated landing zone is enough to tell her that this is a very isolated society with a unique culture.

  Smith, however, knows better.

  There should have been someone to welcome them. The other Machinists should have been alerted to their presence by now.

  So where are they?

  The temple is empty.

  Nadeden strolls through it, scanning over the numerous ones and zeros inscribed on the iron wall.

  The writing isn’t recent. It has always been there.

  “I guess they must have left.” Smith sighs, stepping out of a room that Nadeden assumes was meant for praying.

  “Can you tell me what this says?” She asks, attempting to lighten Smith’s mood and gain more time with them before the inevitable encounter with the other Machinists. Smith wanders over to Nadeden, pressing their hand of flesh that was once metal onto the iron.

  “Sorry,” Smith huffs. “That’s ancient code, no one can read it, not even the Mystics.”

  “What’s it for then?” Nadeden traces a number one with her nail.

  “I don’t know.” Smith shrugs before sprinting toward the wide door.

  “There’s another temple not far from here, I’m sure that the other Machinists will be there, c’mon!”

  Separated from Smith and Nadeden, Granix curiously examines a large tower that appears to have no entrance or exit.

  Granix finds this odd, but again, chooses not to speak as their large legs traverse the ground with ease until suddenly being forced to stop at something they find incredibly disturbing.

  They hurry to find their friends.

  Somewhere on the Forge, lava erupts from a smelting pool and drifts off into the vacuum of space.

  The molten liquid floats aimlessly, only stopping once it meets the other side of the planet.

  Where the rust is waiting for it.

  The next temple is more promising than the previous, but not in the way Smith had hoped.

  Nadeden is the first to touch the corpse.

  “There’s no rust.” She mutters, gazing toward Smith, who is frozen at the elaborate entrance. “They died a different way.”

  Smith nods, “Uh, huh.”

  Nadeden explores the rest of the temple, leaving Smith to slowly but surely meet their lifeless kin. They kneel down and grip the metal hand, holding it to their brow. They close their eyes as they recite the litany, “Life is precious, life is all, I shall not raise my hand. I would weep for the dead if I had tears to shed.”

  They clear their throat as they leave the Scholar to their rest. “Go with peace, knowledgeable one. Go with peace.”

  Smith says nothing as they exit the temple, and Nadeden knows better than to ask them anything.

  Granix’s trip across the planet hits a snag.

  There is no sense of direction on the Forge except to move forward.

  Move constantly forward and never look back.

  Granix surveys the area, but it is as flat as all of the other metal surfaces they have run across.

  Anxious, Granix looks up, hoping to locate some sort of anchor point to trace their steps.

  The rings of the planet then shift, and Granix meets the eyes of what hides beneath them.

  Nadeden snatches Smith’s arm before they can enter the third temple. “Are you sure you want to see what’s inside?”

  Smith breaks away from her, rushing to the iron walls without a second thought.

  The temple is just as empty as the first.

  Upon entering the fourth temple, which is somehow even more desolate than the others, Smith decides to make use of their abilities.

  The metal has been oddly silent.

  Perhaps it just needs to be asked the right questions.

  “Where are they?” Smith calls out to the metal of the Forge, placing a palm to the smooth ground, wires hiding beneath it.

  The electricity has gone from the planet.

  The lifeblood of constant information and data flow was extinguished long before Smith arrived.

  “Where are they?” Smith pressures the metal again.

  The cold steel reaches out, but doesn’t contact anything but the barren, untarnished oasis.

  Smith slams their fists to the ground. “Where!”

  The metal finally provides them with an answer.

  We do not know.

  Smith rises with determined, clenched fists.

  Nadeden sits at the corner of the temple with folded arms.

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  She wants to comfort Smith, to reassure them, to tell them that she’s sure they’ll find the other Machinists.

  But deep down somewhere inside of her aching, bleeding heart, she knows that she would only be lying to them.

  “There are still two more temples. That’s two more places where we can find them.” Smith states, in defiance of the truth, “And we still have a whole other side of the planet to search.”

  Granix refuses to look back at the rings.

  Coming here was a mistake.

  They should have insisted that the Mystic was right.

  It’s just like Quandroiz. The eerie similarities bite at them.

  This planet is dead. Everything on it is dead. Everything outside of it is dead.

  Where is Smith? Where is Nadeden?

  They all have to get out of here.

  They can’t see what they’ve seen.

  They can’t live with these horrors.

  The fifth temple proves to be the most promising of the six.

  Although the mound of lifeless Scholars clumped together in the prayer room still isn’t exactly what Smith was hoping for.

  They claw into the heap of metal bodies, turning each of them over to lay them to rest in the benches beside the altar.

  Nadeden stands back, hoping not to intrude, yet by the twelfth corpse, she finds herself assisting Smith in the grim ritual.

  “Go with peace.” Smith drapes their fatigued fingers on the last Scholar’s optics before making for the exit.

  “They were all Scholars. All the dead ones.”

  They drag their feet.

  “What does it mean? The Rusting didn’t touch any of them. How?”

  Nadeden doesn’t say a word.

  “How?” Smith asks, desperate for the mortifying answer that will shake them to their very core.

  “We need to go,” Granix warns their friends, kneeling down to meet them.

  If stone could be out of breath, Granix would be gasping for air.

  “I’m not leaving until I find them,” Smith states, not bothering to gaze up at the giant.

  Nadeden rushes to stop Smith from entering the final temple. “Granix is right, Smith. Even if it wasn’t the Rusting, everyone here is-”

  “What? Dead!” Smith screams back, tossing out their arms as if to showcase the entire metal desert as a graveyard. “I don’t care, Nadeden. These are my people! Even if they’re all gone, I’m seeing them off because no one else will.”

  Smith enters the vacant temple. They walk out shortly after and say the words that Granix has been dreading. “There’s still another half of the planet to search.”

  “You don’t want to do that, Smith. I’ve already searched what I could and-”

  “So you didn’t see all of it?”

  Granix stands at Smith’s wide and hopeful eyes. The impact of their hulking weight shakes the metal beneath them.

  “I…” Granix stumbles. Nadeden tenses as the giant mutters, “I didn’t want to see anymore.”

  Somewhere deep within the core of the Forge, magma floods into a Smelting pit and erupts as molten lava. The same destructive energy boils within Smith and explodes as they run off into the distance.

  Nadeden begins to go after them, but Granix places their hand down, serving as a protective barrier to stall the inevitable. “Let them go,” they solemnly state as low as they can.

  “If they need to see, so be it. They’ll see.”

  The soles of Smith’s shoes burn against the cold metal surface of the Forge.

  Their muscles ache and beg for relief with the rest of their weak, useless human body as they run.

  Sweat drenches them as they huff and gasp. Refusing to let up, they push through the pain.

  The only thoughts Smith has now are of reaching their destination, of coming home, of seeing their family again, their siblings.

  Where have they gone?

  Smith collapses once they learn the answer.

  On the edge of where the Scholars placed their runes to shield the Forge from the Rusting, the other half of the planet drifts into the abyss.

  It is now only a minuscule speck of dust surrounded by specks that were once corpses and specks that were once homes, libraries, transfiguration fields, smelting pits, charging centers, places of love and learning that are now all gone as if they were never there.

  Then the rings drift down.

  The rusted spiral of dead Machinists who desperately sought refuge from extinction meets their gaze. They are all still holding each other, all still grasping onto what they love, even in death.

  Smith’s dry human eyes meet all the optics of their brethren one by one.

  They look at all of them and selfishly question why they aren’t weeping at the sight.

  Tears should be flowing from their eyes right now. The dead are right in front of them, and yet their eyes can do nothing but gaze at the horror before them.

  They stay kneeling on the edge of metal and darkness for an eternity, until they finally press their palms onto the sharp steel and cut into their fragile skin.

  Nadeden wanders gently up to Smith, sitting beside them.

  She had planned to stay with them in silence for as long as they needed, but upon glimpsing the horrific act, she rips Smith’s bloodied hands off the edge in terror.

  “What do you think you’re-”

  “Gelmidas Atheneum.” Smith wrestles themself out of Nadeden’s grasp as they speak through a trembling voice, eager to burst into tears that won’t fall.

  “The Emperor. He did this. He created the Rusting.” Smith places their bleeding hands together, intertwining the thin, pale fingers that they’ve come to hate more than anything.

  “Now I understand, Nadeden. You were right all along. You and the Mystic. This is what humans do. This is what all life does. Everything in this universe cannibalizes itself with violence, killing, and hurting without caring about the consequences. We’re all nothing but dirt to be carelessly stepped on.”

  Nadeden reaches out to Smith, but as their blood drips onto the metal ground, she recoils her hand. “What are you saying?”

  Smith rubs their blood together. Forcing it to take a shape.

  They stretch out their palms, opening them to reveal an iron arrowhead.

  “Gelmidas Atheneum needs to pay. Please, Nadeden…”

  She looks into Smith’s eyes, those shadowed black eyes are begging to cry as they order her to.

  “Kill him for me.”

  Lava flows out from the planet’s side.

  The molten glow shines onto the weary pair before flying out into nothingness.

  The bold luster of the arrowhead pokes its way through the thick blood, still dripping from Smith’s hands.

  Granix is standing over them now. With nowhere left to go and death on all sides, their mind has already been made.

  They will take Smith to exact their revenge.

  Nadeden, however, is undecided.

  “Do you really-”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s just that-”

  “Please, Nadeden. I’m not as strong as you. I can’t do this alone.”

  Then why even do it in the first place?

  Nadeden refuses to ask the question.

  She understands. More than anyone, she understands.

  Yet she also knows that she can’t possibly comprehend just how deep this wound goes.

  “Would they have wanted this?”

  “I don’t know, Nadeden.” Smith’s reply reveals more to Nadeden than anything else could have.

  For the first time and the last time, Nadeden finds herself scared of Smith.

  The thing that guides them now is the same thing that has guided her for these past twelve years. Fire burns inside them now.

  “Smith…” She softly whispers, “When Adamus was born, I promised myself that I wouldn’t let him turn out like me. The universe doesn’t need another Scorched Archer.”

  She grasps Smith’s hands, the stars flicker amid the rust.

  “I’ve seen too many monsters in my lifetime. Smith, if I do this for you, can you promise me something back?”

  Smith nods.

  Nadeden gives a sweet, sad smile.

  “Don’t take a life. Any life, please. Keep thinking that it’s precious. Keep saying that it is, because it’s true.”

  “Nadeden-”

  She takes the arrowhead, gripping it in a fist.

  “I don’t care, Smith. I don’t care about exceptions or if you see me doing this as you murdering indirectly. Just please, promise me. You’ll never take a life with your own hands.”

  Smith still wants to cry. They want to scream, laugh, do anything if only to drive this storm of emotions out of them. Yet, this human body denies them even those small reliefs. It remains frozen as Smith makes the promise they can’t possibly keep, “I promise.”

  Nadeden nods.

  “You’re a good person, Smith. Please stay that way.”

  She walks toward Granix as Smith hangs their head.

  The rust wanders aimlessly in space. It flutters onto Smith’s arm. An arm that was once metal.

  Smith wipes it away and walks forward.