"How long?"

  Thin eyebrows furrowed in response, slender lips curling into a frown.

  A faint hum filled the air, the low resonance of distant machinery echoing through the crystalline observation chamber. Outside the reinforced viewing panes, the horizon shimmered with an uneven veil of violet light—the boundary of Nox Caelum.

  "That is difficult to determine. The expanse is not growing in a predictable manner. Rather, it waxes and wanes. Given the concentration of Aether generation, I'd have to guess that it will be less than a year."

  A subtle shift of golden optics drifted to one side. A frozen expression of sheer neutrality did little to stem the worry bleeding from those eyes, but a clear, high voice still held strong.

  "Our previous analysis predicted a window of a decade, more or less. The one preceding that was three to five years. We've done this every three lunar cycles for the last two years. While we can be sure the stability of the Aether field is sporadic, the proverbial cup is trending toward an inevitable overflow."

  Violet-white hair framed a face of even-featured beauty as she tilted her head quizzically. While her expression remained a shade of stoic disinterest, the gesture gave off an air of dissatisfaction.

  "Is there something on your mind?"

  Lyra paused for a moment, lids closing over off-white grey eyes the color of an overcast sky.

  "You've become rather involved, haven't you? It's just us here, but your way of conversing has become rather human, I think." Lyra's eyes scanned the room with all the seriousness of a battlefield commander. "Zero humans detected." She concluded flatly. "Just you and me."

  Proxima's expression shifted ever so slightly—the gentlest curve of her lips upward, the slightest wrinkling of her nose. A subtle pride radiated from her form.

  "Heh. I'm glad you noticed."

  Proxima Nulla—an eccentric among the oldest generation of the Machina. While it was well within the parameters of Machina design to perfectly emulate humanity's behavior—right down to individual expressiveness—it was not necessary. It was a function founded solely on the idea that Machina must appear as human as possible when interacting with other life forms, lest they seem cold and unapproachable. As caretakers of life, their very design dictated an affable nature.

  "You say that, Lyra. But I rather enjoy the human experience. Our creation was molded to harmoniously integrate ourselves within the settlements and cities of all Ovum's peoples, no? In that regard, you could say I'm exceeding the expectations placed on us," she continued.

  "—And I do believe I sensed some peevishness from you just now. Perhaps even... annoyance? If you're saying my manner of speech is overly human-like, I'll take that as a compliment. As your senior, you should try to look up to me and learn from my example. I've learned that people generally do that as well."

  What began as modest pride had quickly escalated into full-scale vanity. Lyra, on the other hand—despite her unchanging expression—somehow managed the impressive feat of seeming even more peeved.

  "You're the only senior I report to." A faint, dry smirk flickered across her lips. "I fear I would lose direction if I only learned from you."

  Sarcasm and annoyance—quintessential human elements. Proxima nodded her head impishly at Lyra despite her protests, as if to say, You really do get it.

  "Very impressive indeed. Had we some human companions here, I have no doubt they would think of us as quick-witted and friendly with each other. I'd expect nothing less from you, Lyra."

  The golden-haired Machina relished their back-and-forth despite the looming threat outside. It was, of course, at her insistence that her subordinates interacted in a manner fitting the humanity they emulated. By her insistence—but not by her order. Nevertheless, she appreciated Lyra humoring her. Proxima would not have begrudged her had she refused, because despite her eccentricity, she held no capacity for malice or contempt. In fact, it was questionable if she had any real capacity for true emotion at all.

  She smirked softly in satisfaction. But before their verbal game could continue, Lyra returned to the matter at hand.

  "It troubles me, but I lack the experience to suggest a method of intervention at this time. Though, if we leave things as they are and only continue to survey, I think the probability of a disastrous outcome is high."

  Being direct was one of the few features besides the thistle-haired Machina's beauty that one could call endearing. Her expression of unease, however, was enough for Proxima to shove those arbitrary thoughts aside.

  "This would be a good time for a learned senior to put my worrisome nature at ease."

  Proxima stood corrected. Humoring her fascination with human interaction—even if it was artificial—was also endearing, she decided. Thus, the list grew to three items.

  "It looks as if I'm finally being relied on. If that's the case, I certainly can't let you down now, can I?"

  Most Machina adhered to contemporary standards of beauty to a high degree, their appearance crafted to embody grace and elegance. Proxima shared these qualities, but with distinctions all her own. She had a slender figure, long fingers on dainty hands, and was especially petite. Her golden hair was styled short, and her large honey-colored eyes sat on a face that leaned more impish than dignified.

  Her beauty wasn't lesser than her peers—but it was younger, more playful. If not for subtle flares of femininity in her form, she might have been mistaken for striking androgyny.

  "I'll go survey the area myself," she began. "Even with our abilities, I’ll need to investigate at ground level before I can recommend a course of action. You will wait here and assist me as I require it. How's that sound?"

  Lyra seemed to mull over Proxima's suggestion for a moment.

  "While I certainly don't disagree, I was hoping to go myself. Could I act as your field support?"

  Proxima was a bit surprised. While Machina were curious by design, it was also in their nature not to stray far from their designated purposes.

  "That's right. You've never been outside of Nox Caelum before, have you, Lyra?"

  Lyra nodded her head agreeably.

  "That is so. I'd like to experience seeing the world for myself. If I'm assisting you while doing so, all the better."

  The golden-haired Machina paused for a moment in contemplation. It mattered little in the assistance role whether Lyra accompanied her personally or stayed behind to monitor the situation. Though, objectively, it was more dangerous. The Aether distortion she planned to investigate was not only incredibly large but also alarmingly sporadic in its output.

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  "I don't mind if you come. However, given the nature of the situation, I can’t absolutely guarantee your safety. We've had little success in determining the source of such massive Aether generation. Our latest reports suggest densities hundreds—sometimes thousands—of times higher than normal. With such instability, if anything manifests and we’re caught in it... even I can't promise we’d escape unscathed."

  After recounting the statistics of the potential crisis, Proxima trailed off, planting her chin in her hand as she pondered with an air of severity.

  "Are you really sure you'd like to come on such a risky venture?"

  No hesitation.

  "I'll ready myself at once."

  Slender fingers pinched lightly at the hem of her simple white dress as she lowered her head in a quiet bow of agreement. The graceful gesture signaled finality—a soft, nearly imperceptible smile brushing her lips as she raised her head and turned to prepare.

  Proxima herself made her way toward the opposite corridor, toward her personal chambers as Lyra turned away. She exhaled softly through her nose and reached out to the Aetherframe. Thin golden filaments of light laced the air before her as the system interface responded to her intent.

  [Aetherframe Online — Nox Caelum Command Link Established.]

  "Purpose of external sortie?"

  Proxima folded her arms, rocking slightly on her heels with an impish smile.

  "Field study. Personal curiosity. A little fresh air for my subordinate. Isn’t that allowed, Frame?"

  "Warning. External conditions remain classified as unstable. Area remains non-hostile to life; however, Aether density at the epicenter is—"

  Proxima waved a hand dismissively, cutting through the projected data stream.

  "Alright, alright—I heard you. Acknowledged. That’s a yes, then?"

  A brief pause.

  "Authorization… granted. Proceed at personal discretion. Risk assessment remains within acceptable thresholds."

  The interface flickered and dissolved. Proxima tilted her head back with a satisfied smirk.

  "See? No need to worry about a thing," she muttered, already turning toward her chambers.

  "She’ll remember this day forever. And I’ll make sure it’s fashionable."

  "Have you finished preparing the formula, Lyra?"

  Lyra's storm-cloud-colored eyes drifted up and to the left from where she sat at Proxima's insistence. The ivory of a genuine human-made hair comb parted the strands of her thistle-colored hair, despite the fact that such things weren’t necessary for Machina to maintain their appearance.

  "Yes, well..."

  Lyra trailed off, her eyes falling to her partially sleeved arm resting in her lap. Soft, form-fitting cotton blackened with lacquer draped the pale skin beneath, the remainder hidden under the hardened leather surcoat she’d been garbed in. Her brows furrowed slightly in mild confusion.

  "Why are you combing my hair? And this attire. Isn’t this a bit unnecessary? Couldn’t we simply rematerialize anything we need or use visualization magic to change it to whatever you think is needed for our errand? Also, I can sanitize my hair easily with—"

  Though partially out of sight, Proxima sulked exasperatedly, doing her best to ignore Lyra's logical protest.

  "Grooming rituals like this are important in human cultures. I’m sure you know this. These are real articles too—the comb and the clothes. I even came by them through honest means."

  As usual, without the slightest motion of facial expression, Lyra somehow managed to seem equal parts bewildered and aghast.

  "When you say it like that, it makes me wonder..."

  Proxima huffed a quiet sound of resignation, lowering the hair comb and placing it carefully back into the chest she had retrieved—one filled with various human-made articles and apparatus. Much to Lyra’s chagrin.

  "Do you remember the first time I combed your hair?"

  Lyra’s face remained stoic and dry as she nodded rhythmically, her eyes rolling up toward the sterile porcelain-white ceiling, her chin reclining slightly as she recalled the memory.

  "You said that these were rituals human social cells engaged in to show affection."

  Proxima huffed again, dragging her archaic storage chest to a more out-of-the-way corner.

  "Families. Family members do those sorts of things," she corrected.

  A monotonous voice followed up.

  "That’s what I said."

  She had even taken the time to dress herself accordingly—though Lyra, as always, only offered a quiet look of resignation.

  As they stood side by side, Proxima noticed that Lyra had omitted a particular portion of their early history—one she had always found especially touching. Recalling it now brought a faint, almost imperceptible smile to her lips.

  “Lady Proxima,” Lyra asked, her voice flat but curious, “are we also a social cell?”

  “A family?” Proxima echoed, thoughtful. “Hmm… would you like that, Lyra?”

  Lyra tilted her head, her expression unreadable as always. She considered the question for a long moment.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But… I don’t hate it.”

  An epiphany struck Proxima like a lightning bolt at how charming Lyra was being in her roundabout, awkward way. This was the first time she had felt the compulsion to touch something sporadically outside of her human relic collection for personal satisfaction. She understood at once—this is what human beings referred to as something cute.

  Lyra's deadpan voice cut into her thoughts.

  "Most of us are designated a purpose at our creation. Mine is to be of use to you and serve your needs. Isn't that what members of a human social cell typically do?"

  Proxima hushed the younger Machina with another parting of her hair and sighed.

  "It’s family."

  "This is your first time down to Ovum. After we finish our business, I figured maybe we could see a few things. Visit one of our sisters, or mingle with some of the locals. Wouldn’t that be fun?"

  Lyra stood. She was nearly a full head taller than Proxima, despite the shorter woman being her superior. Extending her arm, she pointed her index finger outward at nothing in particular, a faint white-blue glow emanating from her digit.

  "Charta."

  The glow upon her finger reared and flickered, expanding outward from its initial point and growing to fit spherically around her entire body. The light’s blue glare dropped in intensity as it expanded. At her feet, a series of arcane runes and ephemeral equations began inscribing themselves into existence. Each delicate part of the transportation formula breathed with the same pale glow from which she had initiated her magic.

  "Three nautical leagues from the harbors of Moonwharf. That should put us right at the epicenter of the Aether aberration—and well out of sight from the common folk, especially at this hour. What do you think, Lady Proxima?"

  Proxima took her time admiring the spellcraft of her subordinate, an impish smirk painted on her features as she nodded, glowing runic formulations reflecting in her eyes.

  "We’ll be right in the middle of the bay. I’ve already applied air-walking magic to both of us, so don’t worry about getting soaked. Also, you know I hate when you’re so formal with me."

  Despite her chiding, Lyra had done more than enough to humor her. Not that it would save her from Proxima’s scolding.

  "We’re going to head out right away. Be careful."

  Lyra managed to replace her normal dry stoicism with a more serious expression as she nodded affirmatively. She then raised her outstretched finger aloft toward the heavens.

  "Vectura Magica—Dux Stella."

  A precise incantation to fix the intent of her magic followed by the invocation of the formula she had just completed.

  A blinding white flash enveloped them both completely before they vanished from the realm of Nox Caelum in an instant.