Chapter 111: First Hour Glass
The Materia Block Production Yard stretched as far as the eye could see, a sprawling expanse of mechanical precision and ancient power. The twilight sky, streaked with shades of red and purple, hung low over the yard, casting a faint, eerie glow on the countless structures below. Towering blocks, each etched with runes and hieroglyphs, moved steadily along conveyor belts, their surfaces alive with the faint shimmer of magic.
Giant gears and cogs turned in rhythmic harmony, creating a metallic symphony reverberating through the vast industrial zone. Each piece of machinery moved with a purpose, contributing to an unrelenting flow that pulsed through the heart of the yard. Cranes swung high above, their long arms carrying glowing blocks of materia, the foundational substance of this world. The air was thick with the scent of burning metal and stone, a testament to the ceaseless labor going on for what felt like an eternity.
High above this scene, perched atop a towering crane pillar, stood Zephyr. The wind tugged at his cloak, causing it to ripple in the air like a banner of defiance. His expression was as still and unyielding as the blocks beneath him, yet his eyes gleamed with an intensity that could only come from one who had seen too much, endured too long, and yet still pressed forward.
“There,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible above the cacophony below. “It has been completed.”
The words held weight as if this simple declaration carried the burden of an entire universe. Zephyr’s wings, rough and calloused from years of toil, gripped the cold metal railing of the crane. Below him, the yard continued its relentless production, oblivious to his musings. He gazed down at the complex network of gears, blocks, and conveyor belts, his mind lost in the intricacies of the process.
“The First Chapter of Hunger,” he whispered, the words slipping out like an invocation, “inscribed from the track of scripture.”
His gaze sharpened, focusing on a massive cog that dominated the center of the yard. Embedded within the cog was a blinking eye, its mechanical pupil contracting and dilating in time with the rhythm of the turning gears. Each click of the machinery seemed to sync with the beating of Zephyr’s heart as if the yard itself had become an extension of his will.
“Synchronicity aims to bend the mind’s level of perception,” Zephyr continued, his voice growing stronger as the significance of the moment crystallized in his mind.
The blinking eye twitched, and as it did, the entire production yard came to life. Smaller gears, previously dormant, began to spin and click into place, connecting the various sections of the yard. Blocks of materia shifted along their tracks with a newfound urgency, each one inscribed with faintly glowing hieroglyphs, symbols of power so ancient it defied comprehension.
“That… is will,” Zephyr declared, his voice filled with a quiet reverence.
He shifted slightly on the crane, his sharp eyes narrowing as he observed the blocks below. He could feel it now, the invisible force that connected everything in the yard—the gears, the blocks, the machines, and even himself. It was all part of a greater design, a cosmic blueprint that had been laid out long before his time.
“Intention bleeds itself outward onto the hieroglyphs of transcription,” he mused, watching as a series of glowing symbols appeared on the surface of the blocks. They moved steadily down the conveyor belts, each one a testament to the power of thought, of intention made manifest in the physical world.
As he spoke, a massive hourglass located at the heart of the yard began to rotate. The hourglass was unlike any other—its frame was made of polished obsidian, and the sand within it shimmered with an ethereal light. Each grain of sand represented a moment, a fragment of time that slipped away with every passing second.
“The first few moments of an hourglass shift and lock into the web,” Zephyr continued, his eyes fixated on the turning hourglass.
The sound of a large cog turning intensified, gears grinding together in a deafening roar that echoed through the yard. The blinking eye in the center of the cog twitched once more, and suddenly, the entire yard was alive with activity. Gears spun, cranes swung into motion, and the air was filled with the sound of machinery working in perfect harmony.
“Mechanics are now known,” Zephyr said, his voice barely audible over the clamor.
From his vantage point, he could see everything—the blocks moving with precision along their designated paths, the cranes lifting and lowering them with practiced efficiency. Each piece of the yard worked as it should, as it always had, as it always would.
Zephyr straightened, his voice taking on a resolute tone as he surveyed the scene before him. “The work and consistency are all that remain.”
He watched the hourglass as it continued its slow, deliberate rotation. The sand within fell ever so slowly, each grain a reminder of the time that had passed, the time that was yet to come.
“By the time the hourglass flips itself back over, much will have changed,” he said quietly as if speaking to the hourglass itself.
The wind picked up, swirling around him as he stood atop the crane. He was alone, surrounded by the towering blocks that had become his life’s work. Each block was etched with symbols of his journey—twin flames, a talon, the markings of monsters, and forgotten gods. These symbols were more than just designs; they were reminders of the trials he had faced, and the obstacles he had overcome to reach this point.
“Then maybe… we will finally be free to leave behind this box of shame,” Zephyr murmured, stepping forward. His talons clicked softly against the stone blocks beneath his feet.
He gazed at the blocks, the faint glow of the symbols casting a soft light on his weathered face. “And we can. Why could we not, for we have placed the steps down before.”
The wind tugged at his cloak again, and for a brief moment, a smile flickered across his face. It was a small, fleeting thing, filled with both hope and sadness.
“The good things always take time,” he whispered, his voice carrying on the wind. “Lots and lots of time.”
The smile faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by a look of quiet contemplation.
“That used to bother me,” he admitted softly, his eyes distant as if recalling a time long passed.
The wind died down, leaving the yard in a moment of eerie silence. Zephyr stood still, his eyes closed, his mind lost in thought.
“Hmm but Growlon is right,” he said after a long pause, his voice filled with a sense of acceptance. “That’s all there really is… time and the will to make intent come to be.”
In the distance, a massive pendulum swung from a towering crane, its movement slow and deliberate. With each swing, the ground trembled, sending vibrations through the very stones of the yard. The tremors rippled outward, shaking the blocks as they continued their journey along the assembly lines.
“I really think one must hold off on gratification,” Zephyr said, watching the pendulum’s hypnotic motion. “For as we build higher, we will pass the perception of what is possible.”
The pendulum swung again, its movement steady and unyielding. As it did, new markers appeared on the blocks, glowing softly as they moved through the production process.
“Why would I be worried if the vessel shatters?” Zephyr asked aloud, his voice tinged with a hint of defiance.
Suddenly, a block near the base of the crane flickered. A single, blinking eye appeared on its surface, and the words “This is only the beginning” were etched into the stone. The eye blinked once, twice, and then vanished, leaving behind only the cryptic message.
“Flow has done that many times,” Zephyr said, his gaze lingering on the block. “But death always puts rebirth into production.”
He sighed his breath a mixture of exhaustion and resolve. “Great.”
The pendulum swung once more, this time with greater force. The low, thunderous vibration that followed shook the blocks, causing them to tremble. Zephyr watched as new spawn markers were added, each one glowing brighter than the last.
“Now we hold the blueprint of the pendulum,” Zephyr said, his voice steady as he tightened his grip on the railing. “To choose from our own stones.”
He stepped back from the edge of the platform, his eyes scanning the yard ahead. “The work we want to do…”
The hourglass in the center of the yard continued to turn, its sands falling ever downward, marking the passage of time.
“It will not be perfect,” Zephyr said, his voice quieter now, “but in time, it will all come to be.”
He descended from the platform, his footsteps echoing through the yard as he approached the central hourglass. The massive structure loomed before him, surrounded by glowing mushrooms that pulsed with energy. The veins of the assembly line fed directly into the hourglass, connecting every piece of the yard to this singular point.
“But then…” Zephyr paused, resting a wing on the smooth surface of the hourglass. “Do we know how it will end?”
He gazed at the flowing sand, each grain slipping through the narrow neck of the hourglass, representing a moment lost to the void.
“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice filled with quiet wonder. “I don’t think it is possible… and that’s saying something because I built this process on nothing but belief.”
Zephyr’s wing lingered on the cool glass of the hourglass, the tip of his wing tracing the delicate contours of the structure. The sand within it shimmered faintly, almost alive with the energy of time itself. He let out a slow, measured breath, his thoughts swirling like the grains of sand slipping ever downward.
“Maybe there is an end,” he mused, though the uncertainty in his voice betrayed his doubt. “Maybe… when all of the sand in the universe has been dried up.”
His eyes followed the slow descent of the sand, watching as each grain seemed to stretch out endlessly in its fall. The silence of the yard pressed down on him, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional creak of the towering gears. The production continued, tireless, eternal. But in this moment, standing before the hourglass, Zephyr felt something shift within him.
“Maybe there is an end…” he repeated, though the words felt hollow as if the concept of an end was too distant, too abstract to grasp.
The wind picked up again, swirling around him like a phantom. It tugged at his cloak and whispered through the cracks of the stones beneath his feet. Zephyr’s gaze drifted upwards, away from the hourglass, towards the darkening sky. The twilight hues of red and purple were fading, giving way to the encroaching night. Yet, even in the growing darkness, the yard remained alive, illuminated by the soft glow of the blocks, the ever-turning gears, and the ethereal light of the hourglass.
“And yet…” Zephyr’s voice was little more than a whisper now lost amidst the sounds of the yard. “Then again… maybe not.”
He turned from the hourglass, his thoughts heavy as he made his way back across the production yard. His steps were slow, deliberate, each footfall resonating with the weight of his journey. The blocks beneath him shifted slightly as he walked, their runes pulsing with a soft, rhythmic glow that seemed to beat in time with his own heart.
The towering machinery loomed on either side of him, casting long shadows that stretched across the yard. Cranes moved with precision, lifting and lowering blocks in perfect synchrony, their long arms cutting through the air like the limbs of some giant mechanical creature. Gears turned relentlessly, their metallic grind a constant reminder of the unceasing nature of the work.
But for Zephyr, it was more than just work. It was purpose. It was life.