I gazed out at the inner fabrication coil of the Temple, assessing the damage. The design of the station had spared most of the sensitive equipment, a small consolation. The increasing toxicity of the environment aboard the last vestiges of the Etherium Empire was eroding morale, the others becoming resigned to their demise. We had been so advanced we had not felt the sting of pain or desperation for millenia, but already I felt accustomed to it, embraced it. The tone of the Empire had changed. I felt hardened in my resolve to make decisions that Elders in past years would have deemed abhorent and primitive.

Only precious iridium could reverse the process and feed the orbital complex's mass fabrication devices. A constant source of the extremely rare mineral would be needed, but if found could be repurposed into almost anything - fresh atmosphere, new equipment - and more importantly - new vessels.

That was why I had summoned the others. Seers that could offer council to one such as myself were now extremely rare, and their trust was a luxury I no longer possessed. While few knew of Elder Stratos's demise at my hands, many knew it was I who had ordered the evacuation and premature launch of the Bridge. But to betray me would be folly - death by iridium deficiency was a painful end and having witnessed in others a sickness that had not struck us since the birth of the Empire - a sickness believed to be a fabrication of truth in order to rule until now - was an end none would choose for themselves.

Without me, they would all be dead and our kind extinct.

They began arriving now, each of them experts in their field. I had demanded new designs for vessels more suited to this sector and now I would learn of the progress made. We needed to be able to defend the sacred station, the one true relic of the Fall. But the Temple was never constructed for larger vessel creation, and the equipment we had required iridium to fabricate the components needed. Our equipment had confirmed the presence of the required element, but it was across dangerous and occupied space. We had captured one damaged human craft that had wandered too close to our new home and a small team were attempting to repair it. Just one shipment of dense iridium in solid form would be enough to flush the station with fresh atmosphere and prime the fabricators, greatly enhancing our chances.

Whatever the Seers offered now would correlate directly to our survivability. As they entered I continued to gaze across the fabrication coil that was the centrepiece of our Temple, awaiting the results of our painful labour

Crankshaft was exceedingly tired. He sat to rest. The pain in his body was intense. He couldn't bear assimilating Iridium anymore. Not ever since The Battle for Etheria. A part of him died that day.

He remembered the day well. He was out in the outer rims when the distress signal was received. He was one of the many that flew as fast as they could to Etheria. He remembered the first time he saw the invaders. Blue and cylindrical in shape, tapering at the ends. He slew them in defense of his homeland. Scores had fallen to his guns. But as he slew one two would take its place. They were too many, he was too late. He saw a huge mass move towards Etheria. Then he got a call from the Elder to retreat. He hastened to the meeting point and along with the few they retreated. Etheria had fallen. His family, his friends, his love.

He was changed that day. He hated the Elder for it. He wished he had died along with his brothers that day. Not to be ravaged by pain every moment of his life. Yet along with the hate came gratitude to the Elder. Without him the remainder of Etherium would not have survived. Without him we wouldn't have a chance to rebuild .

He was drawn back to his surroundings. He realized while deep in thought he had crafted something. He was perplexed. He studied the design before him intently.