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Rarely had Jackson seen him take such a tone and disposition with him, but it always meant that he was in no mood for japes, despite all previous evidence to the contrary.

For his part, however, Jackson remained quietly suspicious, even as he acquiesced to the High Commander's order.

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The Golden Hour hummed lowly, growing briefly strong enough to send a shock wave through the polished floor.

The Magician of Light looked up from his broad desk, having just sat down after returning from a long and frustrating trip. He hadn't even attempted to communicate with the Fusion Forge in several days, much less actually use it.

So what was this now? Why was it acting up?

The monolithic thing certainly lived up to its name. It was a gigantic golden hourglass, stretching up the full height of the chamber and connecting with the domed ceiling at its central point.

Xander's green eyes narrowed at the sight of it there, and he stood up, shaking the malaise from his mind and the fatigue from his limbs.

To say that the Hour was a fickle entity was certainly an understatement. Xander had been privileged enough to work with multiple different Fusion Forges over the course of his life, but the Hour was the most mercurial by far.

Oh, how he missed the Silent Serpent. Not a day went by that he didn't envy Kurata for inheriting such a cooperative Forge.

Instead, he'd become the steward of this moody bastard.

He approached the Golden Hour but didn't yet deign to touch it. That was a mistake he'd made too many times before. He needed to give it ample time to prepare itself before making direct contact. He needed to speak to it, too. Help alert it to his presence.

"What's the matter?" he asked in a soothing tone.

This was key to its operation, he'd learned. He suspected it was because the Golden Hour was often lost in thought and so its ability to sense its immediate surroundings was greatly diminished--possibly even non-existent.

So he had to lure it back into reality, first.

This was especially important when the Hour had a project already running inside it, like it did now. Slow as it was, its projects could often take weeks to complete even just a single step; and worse still, if Xander approached it carelessly, the brewing project could be instantly ruined.

Months of work, lost in an instant.

Another mistake he'd made far too many times.

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"I want you to stop drowning yourself," said Hector.

"Oh, is that what I'm doing? How silly of me. Yeah, I'll just go ahead and cut that out. Thanks."

What the hell are you two on about?

Then, however, there was silence. Both of them shut up at once, leaving Jackson to wonder what in the world could have ended their bickering so abruptly.

Is there something you need to tell me?

Jackson stared at Sermung first, then Hector. They weren't saying anything aloud, but there was an exchange going on. A silent one. They were trying to have a private conversation right in front of him.

The Radiant Sentinel found that intensely obnoxious.

He released a small puff of flame between the two of them.

Hey. Don't ignore me.

They glared at each other for a moment longer before Hector finally spoke up.

"...Your boss needs a vacation," he said.

Hah. So do I. But sadly, this isn't that kind of job.

And the two of them fell quiet again, though they didn't seem to be having a silent discussion this time.

Jackson felt compelled to press further. What's the matter?

"It's not important," said Sermung. "I'll tell you some other time. Tell us more about the situation here in Andeyal."

Jackson was not prepared to drop it, however. Drowning himself, Hector had said? He decided to press the kid further. What did you mean by Sermung drowning himself?

Sermung answered, instead. "He's worried that I am taking on too much responsibility."

Hmm. And are you?

"Of course I am. That, too, is the job."

Well, he wasn't wrong, Jackson knew. But still. His burning gaze lingered on Hector for a moment.

This was hardly the first time that such concerns had arisen over the centuries. Loose talk of that exact type was common enough for any servant who reached even the rank of general.

But Sermung had always been something of a special case in that regard. In Jackson's youth, his mentor here had always been utterly unflappable. A rock. Both literally and metaphorically.

And Jackson knew that Sermung disliked wasting time on such discussions. 'Aimless pondering' he often called it.

But was that the case, still? It was admittedly a bit difficult for Jackson to see the man as ever struggling in such a way, but--

"Your report, Marshal." The relaxed air that had surrounded the High Commander was gone.

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