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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.