ORIGIN

The vast island of Lacerta might've been rife with the potential for injury, containing gargantuan Lessers and dungeons with dusty death traps, but the great cavern it resided in was for the most part peaceful on its surface. The comparatively smaller landmasses dotting its warm and placid sea were excellent places to bask under cave lights or merely sit and contemplate one's place in the grand scheme of things. For a Drone, however, no doubts existed to be entertained. What Halcyon pondered as they lay on their belly, idly trailing a set of claws through water and watching the ripples resulting from their interference, instead was what actions next must be taken to further fulfill their duties to the Hive. Mother encouraged keeping a low profile to lull their enemies into a false sense of security, yet this didn't mean she'd praise stagnation in the face of willful destruction. As the chaotic hordes burned away at the white threads they'd painstakingly woven into the caves and nurtured, opportunities still remained to introduce their cleansing influence elsewhere while attentions were distracted by such spectacle.

These mustn't be wasted. Patrolling soldiers kept the Hive safe with brawn, but brains had been left to those with friendlier faces and more fragile bodies. Quiet schemes would be hatched away from loud bellows demanding another war to fight. The brightest minds of the network, at this very moment, were set to convene and determine how best to plan the future.

When Halcyon registered a familiar presence growing closer through their mental link, they gave a nod, though their unblinking eyes stayed fixated on the waters gently lapping at the shore before them. They radiated welcome and, by habit, referred to their visitor first through communication channels only comrades could typically access: Drone Zero-Zero-Four, my elder, it is good to witness you again under less harrowing circumstances. How goes your purpose as Manager?"

Meaningless pleasantries when one belonged to a network so intimately aware of each members' movements, but cycles of experience had taught them that many a fellow disciple of Order appreciated soft words over the bluntness of immediately addressing serious matters. What sort of Steward would they be, after all, not to ensure others of their kind maintained the specific range of comfort necessary to function optimally?

Images rather than mental speech. Halcyon hummed in mild approval of the choice to condense cycles of labor into a simple packet of information, the latest chip flavors in their respective packaging flashing across their mind before they heard the telltale crinkle of the actual products being set near their flank. Deciding to at last properly face their colleague, the Drone eased themselves out of their carefully executed sprawl. They drew their forearms inward and shifted weight back onto their hindquarters to sit. Like an automaton they executed this, every motion deliberate, not a single bit of energy wasted on unnecessary maneuvers such as stretches or yawns.

"Indeed," they remarked. The rows of chips were surveyed for a beat or two in silent deliberation. Then claws reached for one of the bags containing the curious creation dubbed Making Waves. It seemed a particularly fitting choice for the current setting. A stern eye rested upon their newest acquisition while they slowly pulled it open, never particularly fond of excessive noise and wishing to avoid a mess.

It is difficult to convince those dosed so often with poison that they are allowed a taste of purity. This environment is soaked in Chaos, and therefore, it is all they've ever known. Their minds are simple and fond of what is familiar, so we, the foreign, are shunned. Retaliated against at worst. With this comment, their gaze drifted from the first chip they'd managed to extract and down the length of their arm. Although scales had long since regrown over exposed flesh, how easily they could still picture the damage wrought by Gembounds' ignorance.

They are illogical, often prone to working against their own betterment, concluded Halcyon. Surely, though, there must be a way to make them see reason and embrace the unknown. A consistent value for us to appeal to. For Dontas to appeal to.

Whatever it was, they'd yet to determine. However, they were a Drone designed for internal affairs and not interactions with the unruly public. A more suitable figure developed by Mother might be better able to lay their finger on the pulse of the problem.

"Rewards," Halcyon mused. While their method lacked the ingenuity their comrade displayed, they followed suit in seeding the waters. Claws curled inward, pulverizing the chip they held with a single decisive crunch. Then, fist clenched and extended over the sea, they flipped their palm downward-facing and released the fragments in a sweeping arc. "A mite too bold of a proposal when that comes with the expectation of loyalty. They'll hesitate to lend aid to those they already are conditioned to trust less than their tormentors."

"But," they offered, pointedly raising a claw, "the idea has merit. Our starting position one possessing of little faith, they might be willing to participate in transactions with lower stakes. Opportunities that benefit them well but through which we'll have small gains at best. Less free, but also not too demanding."

To illustrate this, an image was presented, a mental puppet show for an Ordered audience: two generic figures, one a neutral shade and other the familiar white of a Drone. Passed from the first was a simple gift box, topped with a bow. The Drone figure accepted it, graciously bending their head in thanks, and handed over a sword in exchange.

Halcyon carefully withdrew another chip from their bag. "These missives"—they winced in recollection of an encounter with one of those gratingly voiced papers floating all over the caves—"these promises of entertainment and deals that absolutely mustn't be missed, they are ephemeral. They lack permanence. That reliability we can offer better than any of Chaos ever can. If a Gembound is told they can have knowledge, we can deliver the means to store it without loss. Instead of temporary safe haven, we have the capabilities to build them permanent shelters and craft them a means of defense."

And in exchange for what? Perhaps a minor task or item. Materials. Snippets of information. Something too minuscule for any to suspect they are contributing to an effort of a grander scale.

After once more sprinkling the water with the latest crushed chip in their possession, another was extricated from the Making Waves bag. This, Halcyon ventured to nibble at while they pondered over Jinyi's expansion upon their proposal. Unlike the classic variety they'd had the opportunity to taste cycles ago, this one they refrained from rotating so all sides were evenly eaten away; instead bites were taken parallel to the chip's eponymous waves, shrinking its size with each smooth ridge that needle-sharp teeth removed.

"Naturally"—as Hive quite often could be—"we are of like mind. There is much gain to be had from obtaining the education necessary to seal magic within objects." In the time since the attempted immolation inflicted upon them, it had crossed their thoughts, among other ideas, as a potential means of retaliation. Besides crafting weapons, they'd considered the possibility of arming those tools of war with the abilities Gembounds saw fit to unleash upon Drones, obtaining retribution through equalization of the playing field.

These had been thoughts born of rare emotional disturbance, an impulsivity Halcyon had scarcely believed themselves capable of before the conflict. Now, with tempers cooled, some consideration still existed for the concept, albeit less tinted by bloodthirst. The new variation offered, Order being the magic granted to the aforementioned objects, received a nod. It, however, was acknowledgement rather than enthusiastic approval.

"Ordered objects, Ordered weapons would certainly enforce any marketing of stability. But applicants should be properly vetted before allowing usage of such items. Perhaps establish a system, document how easily any of these might be turned against us, and only distribute the riskiest to those customers who've demonstrated exceptional brand loyalty. Keep in highest supply the safest of trinkets, as these will be the foundation of the side business alongside benevolent tasks our kind can best accomplish."

"Prices," Halcyon said, tenderly pressing claw tips to temples after finishing their chip, "therefore might scale depending upon tier for the enchanted items. That would be best determined when we've better idea of how far that extends. In the meantime, we could focus on the lowest possible price we're willing to take? Wood, ore, and other materials that can then be invested in our crafted goods, as an example?"

Halcyon's placid visage, blank as their emotions rarely breached the confines of their mind, didn't crack at the mention of imbuing a weapon with fire magic. Neither a spark of interest nor dread conjured by the sharp recollection of heat and dwindling air emerged within their unblinking red eyes. Rather their gaze fell upon one set of claws, it unconsciously clenching for the handmade staff they'd fashioned out of a pleasingly Ordered branch harvested from Eridanus's white-threaded splendor. Their first crafted ranged weapon, it'd been left back in Ursa for this meeting, perhaps not the wisest of choices when harm didn't often choose a convenient time to make its presence known.

Useful, yes. But would it be too flashy? Their intention for the staff had been utility and damage combined with a touch of subterfuge. It might be better to reserve such an enchantment for another future tool added to the Hive's arsenal then. An intriguing proposal. I shall keep it under consideration.

"Allowing them to offer their own magic for us to weave into our wares would provide a certain amount of... customization, I believe is the proper word. It might convince them they have a greater degree of control over the process of creation than if they simply selected from what we've provided." Convincing customers to use their magic for items that'd remain in possession of the Hive raised its own concerns. Trust, as always, was the sticking point. "To obtain our own pieces of elemental magic might require what appears to be a good trade. An item touched by Order for one enhanced by their spell. If we market the Ordered item's capabilities well enough, they might consider their side of the trade a massive benefit compared to what they leave us."

This adhered to a common rule when conducting good business: each party needed to leave the deal thinking they'd successfully cheated the other. Of course, Halcyon was a mere Drone lacking experience in such transactions. They stumbled upon the principle while feeling their way toward what appeared the most logical course of action.

Claws pressed together, forming a steeple. "That leaves the testing then before advertising of the Ordered products. The neuro-network, I hazard, will prove difficult to test internally." Would a connection facilitated by an object even be detectable when both sides already had a Hive-forged link? "Outside volunteers untainted by an ill bias toward Order might have to be sought out for better understanding."