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"It's alright," said Xander in his most soothing tone. "No need to get upset. You're doing just fine." It should've become aware enough now, so he finally decided to put his hand against its pristine glass. "Speed isn't--"

His senses were going wild.

What was this feeling?

Energy. Excitement. Enthusiasm. And so overwhelming, too. He had to retract his hand before it bombarded his mind any further.

He clutched his own wrist as he eyed the giant hourglass anew. It wasn't painful in the slightest, and yet he couldn't help feeling like a child who'd just touched a hot stove.

What in the world?

That wasn't a rejection, like he'd felt many times before. It wasn't the Hour being angrily surprised by his presence. If anything, it felt more welcoming than ever.

Slowly, he tried touching it again, bracing himself this time.

It was an avalanche of sensation. Pleased. Alert. Curious. Cool. Warm. Cold. Hot. Ready. Waiting. Come on. Bring more materials. Prove yourself, Magician.

What the--?

Xander paused, focusing through the storm. What does it mean 'more?' How could it--?

Inside the thick glass was a swirl of dust. The Hour's timeless miracle of weaving sand. The core tool of its workmanship. That sand had been busy for days now--and should've been for many more.

And yet Xander saw it calming down. Settling. Letting go of the object that it had been working on with its own suspended pocket of gravity and fine, subdimensional precision.

The item landed softly on a mound of dust, looking positively radiant.

Looking finished.

It was just a socket mount. Nothing too crazy on its own. Xander wouldn't have even bothered wasting the Hour's time on it if he didn't need it to be capable of withstanding particularly unreal atmospheric pressures and g-forces, but still.

It wasn't supposed to be done already.

Xander's green eyes widened a little as he absorbed the scene in front of him. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or worried.

In his entire career with the Vanguard, never had he felt anything quite like this from the Golden Hour.

"...What's brought this on, all of a sudden?"

The Hour seemed all too eager to answer him.

The Fury is reborn. Reborn and thriving. For once, not lost to tragedy, confusion, or madness. Not crushed under the heel of jealous tyrants. Not hunted down by agents of Chaos.

Thriving. Keeping steady. Not even burning, this time.

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Still, it was a concern for another day. The Magician remained focused on the enormous golden tower in front of him.

According to his estimations, the Hour's current project would not yet be ready to take its next step for another month of gestation. That was just how slow the Hour processed materials these days. It seemed to have gotten worse over years, which was making Xander increasingly concerned for its well-being, but no matter how many times he went over it with a fine-tooth comb, he could never find anything wrong with it.

No signs of physical degradation. No issues with the weaving of its ardor.

At this point, he could only imagine that it must have been some kind of psychological issue. But how in the world was one supposed to diagnose such a thing? Much less treat it?

Sadly, there was no such thing as a therapist for Fusion Forges.

And he'd checked.

Xander had spent considerable time visiting various archivers around the world, hoping for some kind of answer to this problem.

Hence why he was now at a point of exhausted resignation. Honestly, he felt more commiseratory for the Hour than frustrated by it. There was no doubt in his mind that it, too, was saddened by the current state of its creative process.

So what were these noises it was making now?

Low, slow reverberations. Making the whole chamber vibrate.

But not violently. Just... consistently. Repeatedly. Warmly?

Hmm. It was difficult to tell without touching it directly, but again, he had to be careful here. He had to ensure it was fully aware of his presence, first.

This ancient thing. It had been through so much. Seen so much. And despite its rather lackluster speed, it had indeed seen nearly constant usage for the last several hundred years.

In that way, it was unique among Forges. Historically speaking, they tended to die quite early, due to the attention they drew. Once they started truly pumping out great works at a good pace, the world at large tended to notice quickly. And then all hell would break loose until, one way or another, they were destroyed.

But not the Hour. No. It was a very old man still playing a young man's game.

And thinking about it like that did lend it an extra degree of reverence from Xander.

Perhaps speed wasn't everything.

Heh. And perhaps he should tell it that. See how it reacted.

Next page on the 12th

Thanks for reading, guys.