And finally, this one.

The one he should have culled at hatching; the one he was fervently hoping to find a purpose for. It had a keen mind, but it would have been killed quickly once upon a time. With a grunt he called for it, a loose "V-Chaos-Two!" He'd offered light rebuke to Khavur for suggesting that it "deserved" a name--you will be given the chance to earn one, he had told them all. A name was a sign that they were worthy. A sign of authority, a signal that they'd ascended to at least a slightly higher echelon among the Forge.

But did V-Chaos-Two have something in which it could ascend; some task it could do to earn its worth? In Vargas' era he'd have killed it as soon as he saw its pelvis but with some mode of freedom--without a Master breathing down his neck--he had not done so.

Was it more telling that, given the choice, he'd let it live--or that, with the slightest pressure behind him, he'd have killed it?

Perhaps the Titanite wandering Eridanus would have provided an answer--or further questions, perhaps, in that vein. It mattered little. What mattered now was, well, the now: finding Chaos-Two something to do. Something it was good at. And that, at least, Vargas was skilled at; that was his specialty, as an Overseer. Finding weakness and correcting it. Finding strengths, and training them.

Quiet, he ran one clawed hand along the shattered remnants of one of the oily chrysalises. These had been killed--slaughtered, en masse, by a murderer--before they could ever hatch. A crime, and one he planned to rectify. Magic cast out, but his thoughts were half elsewhere--half planning. Weak, this one, he thought, carefully prying an oily gem from among the bones that lay within, and setting it before the empty alcove.

He'd considered a mere guard, at the Aperture: someone to stand--or sit--and watch, and stop or announce visitors to Draco. He'd considered, too, a magic-user. Someone whose design, perhaps, could never be used toward their goals, but who could at least aid them in creating better monsters. A healer, as Doctor had been, or someone with utility magic. But he still remembered Chaos-Two's light touch across his hand, its murmur--a healer, yes, but they would need someone, would they not, to raise the children-? Perhaps it would be useful for that--unlikely to launch into anger, able to provide gentle structure. Vargas was unsure it would be interested, or strong enough to control the strongest spawn, but it was worth an attempt.

Worth the attempt, rather than having to kill it outright, and the thought was a depressing one.

He did not want to kill it: and so he would use his considerable skills and experience to find out where this one's strengths lay. And for its sake, he had best not fail.

Vargas glanced at it.

The vaguest sense of distaste was there--look at it, its crippled build--and even fainter pity. But there was, too, a bit of approval; the creature soldiered on, never complaining. Perhaps it simply couldn't feel the pain-? Vargas didn't know. I wonder if I could reform it without killing it, he wondered, idly. He also didn't know if that were possible. Perhaps it was; generally, the old Masters had killed such failures and remade them entire, but that may have simply been the most efficient way.

Hm. Thoughts for later. Vargas turned his mind to the present, and looked back to the shattered stone and bones before him. "Someone destroyed all of those who were resting here. A very long time ago, Chaos-Two, there was a rebellion. The Masters split. The creations split. A desire for freedom is admirable, but the willingness to kill the unhatched, perceived enemies or not, is--not. I suppose she detested the magic in them," he added, with a glance back at the black and grinding Spire. "I think it was her--Jupiter. Judging by these arrows," he added, taking the fletching of one between two clawed fingers. It disintegrated, too ancient to hold its form. "They died in her war. Whoever was tasked with protecting them, failed," he added, darkly. A shake of his head. "I will arrange for those that still hold life to be revived, but I fear it will be few. That is not, however, why I called you over here," he went on, turning his attention to Chaos-Two now that its question had been answered.

"The weak perish and the strong survive. We cull our weak as unfit. Were you a creation intended to fission, to send its spawn into war, you'd have been destroyed. Were you the creation of any other Master; were you here in ages past, you'd have been destroyed. This is not a threat, but an explanation. I do not want to have to explain to Lord Dhracia why I am sparing weak creations, damaged ones, and so we will find you something you are good at. Some way to serve the Forge."

He was blunt. Honest. Admirable, or cruel-? Both, perhaps? Vargas was difficult to read, on the best of days. "You hold healing magics, and your mind is somewhat keen." Somewhat, purely because it had somehow missed that half the Forge was already adorable little scouts, but he could forgive that given its general restriction to only Tunnel P for most of its life. "You seem to have a gentle nature, and that leaves me two thoughts on your potential. But I would like to hear, first, what you think. What do you think you would be good at, if anything? What would you like to do? And do those things, if you can think of them, overlap?" he asked.

Perhaps it would offer suggestions that he had not yet considered--Vargas was always open to good ideas.

As Vargas listened, he found himself trying to keep up with both V-Chaos-Two's words, and his own thoughts. A blind cat-? Where did it get that metaphor? Vargas was briefly racking his brain for any memory of a literal blind cat, but had to quickly abandon this line of thought in favor of turning his attention back to Chaos-Two's speech. At the mention of Nidhogg he interrupted automatically with a curt "V-Chaos-One," because Creator knew the little bastard hadn't earned a name yet no matter what it might choose to call itself. And a muttered, too, "And it hasn't got paws." Only thumbs--far too many thumbs. Perhaps Chaos-Two simply couldn't see them well enough--Vargas certainly knew that the thing wouldn't have let Chaos-Two get anywhere near it.

Nobody could--but that was a problem for later on. "I am fine," he answered its question absently, without emotion: his well-being mattered not at all; it wasn't serious and regardless, his mind was on other things.

Muscle. Bone. Skin. Joints. Bone breaks. Finding truths. Spies... on the field? Versatility. Talents. Vargas listened to all of this, taking each idea up in his mind and turning it, examining it from several angles. But no matter how he did, he could find no cohesive role there. There was nothing he could offer that was sometimes a vague spy in actual combat--which would not be very helpful outside of extremely rare, niche situations--and occasionally a medic. Still, it did give him another idea--one that tied in with the previous--and he allowed himself a moment of self-approval for having had the foresight and patience to ask one of the rank-and-file their actual opinions. Bravo, Vargas!

"I see no real role in any of that," he began, but his tone was thoughtful. "That is not to say that any of those are terrible ideas. But together there is no cohesion in it, nothing that another could not do better. But that is, perhaps, a good thing: let us look at the silver lining, now, as you do." Vargas turned, coming to sit somewhat before and alongside Chaos-Two, gesturing out toward the others. He wasn't sure how well Chaos-Two could even see them, but he hoped it would grasp his meaning, regardless, as he spoke. "If we had a good spy, it would be off spying. A good medic would rarely have much to do. Sharpened senses may not be of much use to a single role. But, allow me to pass an idea by you, Chaos-Two. I had considered allowing you to be part of raising future broods, once you are old enough--strong enough. You hold more..." Weakness. "Empathy and restraint than most. Certainly more than Chaos-One, and likely more than even your Overseer does. If you were to spend the next two cycles carefully training as many skills as you can--this medic capability, finding lies--as you suggest, infiltration, perhaps even moving with stealth and the like... If you ask each of the specialists to give you brief lessons, an overview in their skillset... Then perhaps you can gauge the children as they grow. The young ones. Keep them out of danger--mend them as they wound themselves--test them in these skillsets that you yourself have learned. You would be capable of teaching each child the fundamentals of everything they would need, before they were old enough to truly specialize. To be a teacher, a mentor; do you believe you have the patience, the aptitude to test them? You are young, yet; perhaps you do not yet know, but would this interest you, Chaos-Two?"

Vargas glanced to it, considering. He wasn't sure it'd be good enough--not that he doubted it but it was simply too young, yet, to tell. But given its patient, well-spoken, tolerant nature, he imagined this might be a role that would suit it rather well.

"I imagined that you would," Vargas agreed, to Chaos-Two's remark about its patience. "As for whether I would be working with you?" He tried to imagine the exact mechanics of it all, and quickly realized that it would be futile without further information. "You would not be working alone, at least not at first. I would supervise, as would the Overseer, to ensure that everything was going well; and specific, targetted lessons would likely be offered by those who specialize in them. But in time, if you became confident enough, you would likely be laying down these fundamentals yourself. I admit entirely that until we see it in practice, we cannot adjust it to be most... perfected; we need to see how all works. There may be unforeseen complications that we will need to address--for example, a particularly large creation that refuses to obey, or the like. We will see," he repeated, "but if this is where your interests lie, then from here I can sketch out a basic lesson plan for you."

Vargas considered, for a moment.

Who did they have, exactly-? Hemlocke was leaving them, though he imagined he could finagle a few lessons out of it if he wanted to. It had never been a specialist, though-... It had just been particularly good at not dying. So it wasn't, perhaps, strictly necessary. Garnet-Delta had been learning its own tasks, and Vargas understood, from experience, that sometimes teaching was a powerful method to reinforce what one had learned. And Orthoclase-Alpha had fought half the things in the caves, but was it a suitable teacher..? He'd have to discuss that with it.

As for spying, he could think, really, only of Garnet-Epsilon, but the damnable thing still hadn't finished its own training, let alone headed out for its experience-gaining mission yet. Hm. Healing, though; that could be done, at least. "I would suggest that I send Garnet-Delta to you to teach you what I've taught it regarding stealth and assassinations, with the goal in mind of you increasing your knowledge enough to pass it on to others. Doctor, I suppose, can train you more closely in its healing methods. As for combat," and here, brief inspiration struck, "Ruby-Beta can perhaps partially instruct you, as can I. Orthoclase-Alpha can offer what it knows but I fear it has got neither the patience or the eloquence, yet, to make a decent teacher except by showing and that won't do. But we might try it." No, Orthoclase-Alpha was more likely to get annoyed at this one, to leave the spar, or to harm it accidentally, at least in Vargas' mind. Short, blunt instruction that would get it no closer to understanding fundamentals.

"Do you hold any further suggestions?" Vargas asked, glancing down at it. He had one or two other things, in mind, but best to tackle it one at a time, lest they both forget where they were at.

Vargas considered, briefly. "That would be best, particularly considering that Garnet-Delta will be busy, out and learning on its own for the time being. Learn from all three of us--that is, Overseer Alpha, Ruby-Beta and myself. We will have to tackle discipline as it comes up," Vargas added. Draconua was a recent, unpleasant reminder of the old days, and a painful warning that not all children would simply obey. That some might prove larger, stronger than Vargas; that his power would, for once, be tested. They would need to figure that out as problems arose, then.

Ahh, and another thought. "Ensure Doctor knows that I have ordered him to stay here, then, for now. If he had other plans he is to come to me to sort them out; we will arrange something. I believe he'd intended to return to Tunnel P but he will train you." Not 'he will be willing,' or 'ask him,' no; 'he will train you,' a certainty, an imperative.

"Now, before we finish here. I wished to ask you if you have other concerns, questions, or suggestions, Chaos-Two. Speak them, if so."