“Copperopolis” Dellen said, feeling the name on his tongue.

It felt unfamiliar. No, that was wrong; it resonated with him, but like a deep echo searching for purchase in his mind. A whisper across his consciousness, a voice just out of reach.

Dellen’s eyes roved the vista before him.

Ahead was a mechanical marvel, a labyrinth of towering skyscrapers, colossal clock towers, and intricate machines that literally moved the city. Buildings were adorned with intricate gears, cogs, and pistons, their surfaces gleaming with a metallic sheen.

The air around the buildings was alive with ships from the small one-man crafts to huge zeppelins large enough to house thousands; even derelict vessels drifted or tethered, hung at odd angles, waiting for time and obsolesce to crash them down.

Below was a hive of activity; pedestrians swarmed across paths and crossed over an intricate network of ever-moving bridges. Startling shocks of green were everywhere, with an abundance of parks and greenhouses strewn across the ground.

The air was fresh and buzzed with energy; a cool breeze ran over his skin and ruffled his hair, the city felt clean.

Beneath the walkways and the bridges was the foundation of Copperopolis itself, a dizzying display of interconnected gears of enormous proportions. Some spun slowly, while others moved erratically, causing buildings to sway and shift, moving up and down in stately dance reminiscent of a society function.

“What am I,” Dellen paused, “What are we supposed to be doing here,” he tapped at his chest, stopped, and did it again. Dellen’s forehead wrinkled, his chest felt… soft. “I.” Dellen began before stopping again. He tapped his chest once more. It was meat. His hand was meat. He held up both of his hands. They were both meat.

“That’s interesting.” Said Gilgamesh, you aren’t fully metallic anymore; you’re unforged again. You’ve been taken back to meat. More than anything else, you’re human again. That’s going to be a problem. You’ve lost your thought engine; at the very least, it will take you a long time to sort your memories into anything coherent.”

“What does that mean?” Dellen said.

“You’d forged yourself a more powerful mind, capable of withstanding the rigours of a multi-century existence; now you’ve been reduced to your original form. Memories will have been scrambled or lost, your core personality and goals will diverge. You are no longer the person you were. You merely share a past.” Gilgamesh shared this information with the calm tones of one delivering troublesome facts that did not directly affect the life of the speaker.

Dellen already felt like a stranger to himself; he wasn’t sure how much this information changed. Still, he looked down at his chest and felt a flash of discomfort. He had no steel skin; his bones would break from the lightest of touches, organs could fail, he was fragile and mortal. He tried to imagine his hand as it had been in the Refinery. The mental image wavered; it was slippery, no more tangible than trying to touch a reflection on the water. He’d been somewhere before the Refinery; he’d been doing something. Something important to him. He felt at his chest. Warmth emanated from his Spark Core. He could feel his Aether, but it was thready and weak, the barest trickle where had become accustomed to a steady and comforting thrum of energy. The body containing it was even less comforting.

He had no desire to stay flesh and blood any longer than was absolutely necessary.

“What’s the best way to forge myself in this city?”

“Again, my knowledge of the world outside of The Refinery is limited.” Said Gilgamesh; Dellen could hear the equivalent of gritted teeth. “Perhaps you should find out whose balcony we’re on.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Dellen said.

“I’m going back to the Refinery.” With that, Gilgamesh folded sideways in space and vanished. The fold in space reopened and spat Gilgamesh back out. “That was annoying.”

Dellen stared at Gilgamesh and tried to push him from his mind, he then turned around to inspect the door behind him.

The door was made of rich, dark wood and adorned with intricate metalwork, brass handles, and decorative plates etched with a filagree of curling vines. Whoever owned this building had the money to spend on frivolous decoration, and Dellen was walking into their home uninvited.

He pushed down on the handle, opening the door. Hinges squeaked, and the door creaked open. There was enough dust that the door’s path was outlined in grey. A suggestion of footprints led out of the room up to the doorway. Dellen’s gaze stuck to the footprints. “Did I make those?” He murmured to himself while looking at the room.

He was in a library, a private library. There was an immediate sense of faded glory; this room had once been where the lord of a household had spent their days. A desk with a decrepit feather and dry inkwell stood nearby.

Shelves bulged with books, covered in a thick layer of the same dust found by the door. Titles obscured, leather faded.

Faded portraits with dull paintings of lords posing in their chairs adorned the walls.

The portrait nearest the desk looked not quite familiar, but Dellen stared and walked over to it. The figure in the portrait had a stern and unyielding face. There wasn’t a glimmer of humour or joy to be found anywhere in those eyes.

Another door creaked open.

Dellen froze, and his mind raced as he tried to think of any reason or excuse as to why he might be in the room.

“Oh, Lord Northcote, you shouldn’t be standing here in the dark like this. No, no, dearie me.” Clucked an older voice. A switch clicked, and a flickering light came on. “Ah, your father, bless him; he did let this old room go. If you ask old Maisy’s opinion, and you didn’t, this room has seen better days. I never could understand why he abandoned this library. He used to spend so much time in here.” An older woman with hair the color of lead bustled into the room, tracking more footprints into the dust. She gave the impression of a fixture more permanent than the walls or the ceiling and a sense of belonging that Dellen felt he lacked.

“At least you’re dressed like a proper lord.” She said.

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Dellen had been so focused on his fleshy body that he hadn’t taken in his clothes. A dark coat hung over broad shoulders. Made from a rich, heavy fabric, the coat had a pleasing sheen and detailed stitching on the shoulders, and buttons of silver or platinum adorned the cuffs. Hanging to his calves, the coat came to just below the tops of his boots. “Thank you.” He said, trying to insert the right amount of quiet certainty into his voice; he needed to believe that he belonged there.

“Is everything a’right, my lord?” She asked.

Evidently, he had not been successful. “Yes, I just haven’t spent much time in here of late,” Dellen said, hoping it was true.

“You haven’t spent much time anywhere on the family estate in years.” She said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d taken another five years to come home if your father hadn’t died.”

His father had died. That’s why he was here. It was damned inconvenient not remembering his life. He needed to find out what he’d been doing beforehand; Gilgamesh had said something about being re-integrated into the time stream, his timeline.

There were so many questions he needed answers to. “Perhaps not, Maisy.” He said.

“Well, having a strained relationship with family can be difficult.” She said. “Still, we’ll be needing you to see to the family affairs.”

“I may need to appoint a steward.” He hazarded.

Maisy turned to look at him properly for the first time. Large eyes blinked at him. “Are you letting Stefan go?”

He had a steward named Stefan. Another important note. “No, no, sorry, a slip of the tongue; I’ll need to consider training a second steward to handle my correspondences.”

Maisy nodded, though Dellen wasn’t sure his explanation made sense.

“What will you be doing now that you’re home?” She asked.

Dellen looked at his hands. “I’ve decided to become an aetherforged.” He wasn’t sure where the expression came from. Only those who had taken the step to become more metal than flesh were considered aetherforged.

Maisy nodded at him looking slightly surprised. “As my lord wishes.”

Dellen’s gaze returned to his hands.

“Is something the matter, my lord?”

“No, of course not. I was thinking about how to proceed.” He tapped the side of his head. “I get distracted sometimes. Feel free to share any suggestions you might have.”

Maisy tilted her head to the side and gave it some thought. “I don’t know how one might go about forging oneself, but I’m sure it’s expensive. Maybe you could find something at a market?”

“Which market?”

Maisy took on a thoughtful expression, “Well, there’s The Clockwork Bazaar, The Aethertide Emporium, and The Skyward Exchange, but if you want a specialty shop you might need to speak to a merchant at one of those places for better suggestions.”

For a moment, Dellen felt as though the names could have been familiar, but it passed. “I don’t remember where those are.”

“My lord, I’ve heard of these markets, but these aren’t the kinds of things that I shop for, and these old bones haven’t been off of Aurum Heights in a decade. Perhaps Stefan could give you more accurate directions.”

Dellen recalled the ever-moving tapestry that was the city; he didn’t have even the faintest idea of how to navigate from sector to sector. He was going to need a guide.

“Now, if you’ll excuse my rushing you, my lord, but Stefan asked me if I knew where you might be, he’s wanting to discuss some family business. He’s been looking for you for hours.”

“I’ll find Stefan in his office,” Dellen said.

“Thank you, my lord,” Maisy said, leaving the room.

With a backward glance at the balcony where he had left Gilgamesh, Dellen left the library intent on finding Stefan’s office. He stepped into the hall, and didn’t know whether to turn left or right. Trying doors at random, he first chanced into a trophy room; it was as sad and lifeless as his father’s library. The centrepiece was a clockwork lion, heavy with dust; it seemed a monument to his family’s former glory. With intricately crafted metal fur and razor-sharp teeth, it was an imposing piece.

Off to the side was an aetheric falcon, small and sleek; the metal plating of the feathers glinted and shone even in the relative gloom of the room.

Exiting the trophy room through another door led Dellen to a spiral staircase, which he descended to reach the lower levels of the mansion. At the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a wide hallway lined with large windows. The hallway lead to the entrance to the ballroom.

He crossed the polished marble floor, and the vast, empty room echoed with his footsteps. A smaller door on the far side of the room, partially hidden behind heavy curtains, led him to a dimly lit passage and the kitchen.

“My lord?” Said a startled cook.

“Carry on,” Dellen said with a calming wave of his hand. “Just taking a long walk; I hear Stefan is looking for me.”

“Through there, my lord.” The cook said, a faint tone of relief in his voice, his hand pointing at a closed door across the hallway with a brass plaque that read “Steward’s Office.”

Dellen nodded his thanks to the cook and stepped into Stefan’s office, closing the door behind him. Sitting at a desk was a serious-looking older gentleman dressed in a grey suit with a cravat. Dellen felt an immediate kinship with him. It took a moment, and he understood, they were both attuned to Electrical Aether.

Stefan looked up, allowing his eyebrows to betray the faintest hint of surprise. Clearing his throat, he said, “My lord, I’m glad to finally have the opportunity to speak with you. I must admit, it has been difficult trying to catch you between your… exploration of the estates since the funerals.”

Maisy had only mentioned the one; now there were two funerals he had to learn about. “Ah, yes. I haven’t felt quite myself since I came home. I’m sure you understand.”

Stefan’s face softened momentarily, “Of course, my lord; however, as your steward, it is my duty to keep you apprised of the state of Northcote Industries and your family’s finances. There are pressing matters that require your attention.”

Dellen felt the skin around his eye tighten. “Tell me, how are we faring?”

Stefan prefaced his answer with a grimace. “It’s not good news, my lord. As you know, your family business specializes in the creation, import, and manufacture of alloys, however, recent market trends and competition have caused a significant decline in revenue.”

“I see, and what about my father’s investments?”

“Your father.” Here, Stefan paused, and his face took on the expression of one choosing his words carefully. “Made a series of investments to bolster the family’s finances; regrettably, the investments have not been profitable.” He exhaled. “Of your father’s last three major investments, the first was a farming initiative that turned up no saleable goods, the second was an investment in a transportation company poised to revolutionize the transport of goods between cogs. Unfortunately, they failed to deliver a working prototype or enough funding to continue, and finally, your father bought a majority shareholding in a firm that closed its doors not long thereafter.”

Dellen rubbed his temples. “I see. What can be done to shore up Northcote Industries?”

“We need funds to invest in research and development, innovate and regain our market advantage. We have faced lean times before and come back strong; we can do it again.”

“Well then, it sounds as though you already have a plan.” Said Dellen.

“Yes, my lord,” Stefan said. “However, there is the matter of the funds.”

“How much do you need?”

“A conservative estimate? Perhaps two hundred thousand sovereigns, my lord.”

Two hundred thousand. Dellen wasn’t sure, but he thought it sounded like a lot. “Do we have a line of credit with the bank?”

“Your father exhausted his credit with the bank,” Stefan said.

“Well, then,” Dellen said, “I will just have to be a little more creative. Keep filling orders; I’ll find the funds for the research.” He turned as though to go, “Oh, one other thing, do you have any thoughts on where I might turn if I wanted to become aetherforged?”

“Aetherforged?” Stefan drummed his fingers on his desk. “It does lend a noble house a serious air when their leader is aetherforged,“ He nodded approvingly. “Certainly Lady Lockridge would take you more seriously. It would be good to see another Northcote walk that path. I would first stop at Lumina’s Aetheric Atelier. They have sent us some clients with unusual needs. I wouldn’t be surprised if you found something esoteric there.” Stefan looked down at his desk to resume his work, then back at Dellen. “I have a few invitations, addressed to you, for social events around the city; perhaps you’d care to respond to one or two.”

Dellen was finding it hard enough to pretend to know his staff, let alone survive a social engagement with people who might have known him for years. “Thank you, I’ll take those.” He took them from Stefan’s outstretched hand.”

“Good luck with everything,” Stefan said as Dellen walked out the door.