Dellen and Eliza exited the Thorne family home. A cool breeze rustled the leaves on the trees that lined the path leading to the waiting carriage. Eliza turned to Dellen with her arms crossed and an inquisitive expression.

“Why didn’t you mention that you knew the Thorne family? And not just that you knew them, but that you’re friendly with Lord Thorne?” She asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and immense irritation.

Dellen rubbed the back of his neck, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t involve time travel. He hesitated before saying, “I’ve been having memory lapses since I forged my arms.” He touched his temple. “I frequently forget the extent of my relationships with people, and I didn’t remember how well acquainted I was with Lord Thorne until we were there.”

“That was an almost plausible falsehood, very close to the truth,” Gilgamesh said. “I might even be a little bit impressed.”

Eliza gave him a long, weighing look. “Let’s say I believe you, provisionally.”

“Okay.”

“How far back do your clear memories go?”

Dellen locked his eyes with hers. “Eight days to the day I forged myself.”

“Oooh,” Gilgamesh said, “Another falsehood that cut close to the bone. You’re getting better at this.”

“When did you return to your family estate?”

“I’m not sure.” He said. “What does your research say?”

“Nine days.”

Dellen nodded his head. That matched what his staff had indicated to him over the time loops. He’d never felt comfortable enough to ask directly.

“And where were you before?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m not sure?’ Where were you two weeks ago?”

“I don’t know,” Dellen said.

“What do you remember?”

“Bits of my childhood.”

Eliza just stared at him. “Yet you can talk, you can pretend, and you, for some reason, knew there was an attack planned.”

“Yes.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that this memory loss might be somehow related to that?”

Dellen looked at her in confusion. “How would my memory loss be related to that?”

“It doesn’t strike you as suspicious that you lost your memories?”

Gilgamesh had told him how scrambled his memories would be after losing his thought engine. The unforged were not equipped to remember the weight of centuries, with his forging gone, his memories were little more than a jumbled mess. “No.”He said, “Truthfully. I’ve had a lot to deal with, reading about family history, learning about the family business, boxing, and figuring out how to navigate the city. Meeting people who’ve met me before and having to pretend. It’s all rather a lot.”

“I suppose… it would be.” Eliza was looking at him like a new and unexpected species of animal. “Wait, did you say boxing?”

“What? Miranda Gallows, whom I had you take out the ad in the broadsheets for, has been teaching me how to box. I won a match.”

Eliza shook her head as though to clear an errant thought. “And you spent yesterday trying to save people. You certainly aren’t behaving like any noble I’ve met before.”

“Has she met a lot of nobles?” Gilgamesh said.

“Have you met a lot of nobles?”

A hint of color crept into Eliza’s cheeks. “Well, not as such, no.”

“Don’t worry.” Dellen said, “Neither have I. Are you ready to accompany me to the Lockridge estate to find out if I’ve met Lady Victoria before?”

Half an hour later, they found themselves standing before the impressive gates of the Lockridge estate. The meticulously maintained grounds spread out before them, showcasing an array of carefully trimmed hedges and flower beds that were only occasionally marred by large portions of broken wreckage.

Looming in the distance, the main building was an imposing mansion made of dark stone and ornate ironwork, its tall windows reflected the sunlight. Upon the door was a crest of a lion rearing up on its hind legs, large enough to be seen, even at a distance.

Dellen and Eliza exchanged a glance before taking a deep breath and stepping forward to knock on the massive wooden door that served as the entrance to the estate. The door was adorned with a brass knocker disguised as part of the lion’s head, which seemed to watch them intently as they approached.

Moments after their knock echoed through the entrance hall, the door was opened by a well-dressed servant who regarded them with polite curiosity.

Dellen stepped forward with a polite smile as he addressed the servant. “Good morning; my associate, Ms. Eliza Montgomery, and I have come to request an audience with Lady Lockridge.”

The servant, a man with a neatly trimmed beard and sharp eyes, looked them both up and down before nodding. “What is your name, sir?”

“Lord Dellen Northcote.”

The servant nodded again. “Very well, Lord Northcote, Ms. Montgomery,” the servant said, stepping aside and ushering them into the grand foyer of the Lockridge estate. “Please, follow me. I will inform Lady Lockridge of your arrival and see if she is available to meet with you.” With a snap of his fingers, he summoned another servant from a hidden sconce who raced off ahead of them.

The servant led them through the opulent halls of the Lockridge estate, past intricate tapestries and exquisite works of art that adorned the walls. Perhaps a minute later, the running servant returned, nodded once, and discreetly disappeared again.

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After a few minutes, they arrived at a set of large double doors carved with floral designs. The servant knocked gently, almost diffidently, and waited for a response.

“Enter,” came a soft yet commanding voice from within.

The servant opened the doors and gestured for Dellen and Eliza to proceed. They stepped inside a spacious sitting room decorated in deep blues and gold. A large bay window provided a stunning view of the manicured gardens. Various lush potted plans filled the room with a sense of serenity.

There, seated in a luxurious velvet armchair, was Lady Victoria Lockridge. She was tiny, but her presence was far from diminutive. Every inch of her visible body was steelskin of the same quality as Dellen’s own.

“Lord Northcote, Miss Montgomery,” she greeted them, her voice like silk. “I must admit, I was not expecting visitors today. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

“Lady Lockridge,” Dellen said. “We’ve been trying to determine why anyone would be attacking Copperopolis. Noble houses have the most to lose, so we’ve begun by trying to determine if any noble houses have made any enemies.”

“Noble houses also have the most to gain.” She said without rancor. “Especially if none of their holdings were damaged in the attacks. Am I a suspect?”

“We’re not making any accusations, my lady,” Dellen assured her, “We’re merely trying to understand what happened and why.”

Lady Lockridge regarded them both for a long moment, her gaze unwavering, before giving a slight nod. “Very well, Lord Northcote, Miss Montgomery. If you answer one question first, I will do my best to assist you in your investigation.”

“Yes?” Eliza said.

“Not you, young lady.” She turned to Dellen, “You, Lord Northcote, I make a point of knowing every aetherforged noble in the city, yet here you are with two forged hands and fresh scars on your neck. How long have you been interested in aetheric cultivation, and what is that over your shoulder?”

Dellen rocked back on his feet.

“You can see me?” Gilgamesh said.

He was out of the time stream and standing upright on a railed balcony with the landscape spinning by at an idle pace.

”What happened? Why are we here?” Dellen asked, hands moving up and down his torso, looking for wounds he knew would not be there, scrambling for an explanation.

”It appears we have found the boundaries of your time loop,” Gilgamesh said, his voice bright. “Congratulations on surviving, for once.”

Dellen sighed and drummed his fingers on the balcony railing. “That was getting very interesting.” He said to Gilgamesh. “I thought you said no one else would be able to see you?”

“Who would have expected there to be two aetherforged with dual affinities in a backwater like Copperopolis?”

Dellen ignored him; he took a minute to lean against the railing, taking in the view of the buildings and the distant hum of the city’s inner workings, and allowed himself to enjoy the beauty of his home. Sunlight glinted off the metallic surfaces, casting a warm glow over the city, and the breeze carried the scent of oil and metal.

“It seems this city will surprise you,” Dellen said. “Do you want to go back and see Lady Lockridge, or avoid her?”

Gilgamesh spent a minute or so thinking. “For now, I’d like to avoid her. The idea of her being able to see me is… uncomfortable.” He changed the subject. “What are you going to do now?”

Dellen drummed his fingers on the metal again. “I’m going to visit the Aetheric Cultivators.” He held up his hands. “Maybe it’s different for others who’ve never been aetherforged, but I cannot stand this weak flesh.”

“And from there?”

“Perhaps the Copperopolis Chronicle. Maybe Eliza will have some ideas for what we could do to prevent the explosions with a bit more forewarning.”

“You are aware that she won’t remember you?”

“Yes, Gilgamesh, I am aware.”

An hour later, Dellen was seated in a chair, yelling at Tristan, “More, give me more!”

The power flowing through him compressed into lines, and a storm of change rippled out from his Spark Core. There was a disquieting sensation of organs moving within him. Branching fern-like scars spread on his skin, he felt a network of lines rising from under his collar up his neck.

The power shot to his hands; this was familiar.

His breath caught in his throat, and he gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the transformation that was about to take place.

The metal of his cuffs dissolved into gaseous iron and rushed into his body.

Change began at the tips of his fingers, a tingling sensation that grew into a pulsing ache of fire and pain, Aether and iron assaulted his body. He could feel the very structure of his bones shifting and changing, threads of organic material replaced by dense, unyielding iron, woven within him, like lace. It hurt, but was unable to cry out, pain rendered him mute in the chair.

As the transformation continued, pain gave way to a sense of power that radiated from his hands and arms. Aether swirled beneath his skin, its electric charge effecting a new storm of change, causing his flesh to take on a hard-to-see sheen. Traces of iron threaded through his skin, strengthening it, its appearance almost indistinguishable from unforged flesh, yet with improved strength and resilience.

The pulsing ache in his bones stopped just past his shoulders, as did the swirl of energy beneath his skin.

Dellen felt Electrical Aether circulating through his hands and arms, almost without interference from him. The newly formed steelskin and iron bones acted as conductors, focusing his Aetheric Energy.

The sensation was both thrilling and disorienting, a mix of the familiar and the alien. Dellen flexed his new hands and arms, his aetherforged limbs, feeling the iron laced bones and steelskin move with a fluidity that belied their inorganic nature.

“Dellen let out a relieved sigh. “That feels so much better.” He looked over at Tristan, “You can turn the dial down anytime you want to now.”

Late in the afternoon, after meeting Thaddeus, and accepting his apprenticeship, Dellen took a trip to Copperopolis Chronicle. The front doors of the building were awash with activity, newsboys darted about, their arms laden with stacks of the latest editions. The sound of printing presses could be heard from outside, a rhythmic clanking and hissing.

Dellen stepped in, walking with purpose, sidestepping the numerous journalists, editors, and assistants rushing about. He found the stairwell and climbed five storeys until he found the floor where he’d first met Eliza.

Eliza’s door was shut just enough that Dellen felt the need to knock.

“Hello?” Came a voice from within, sounding slightly confused.

Dellen pushed the door open. “Good afternoon, pleased to meet you, Ms. Montgomery,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake. “My name is Dellen Northcote.”

Eliza stared at him from her desk. “Lord Northcote?”

“Yes,” Dellen said, “How did you know?”

“The cut and quality of your clothes,” Eliza said.

“Excellent observation.” Dellen said, “That is exactly why I’m here.”

If anything, Eliza looked more confused, “You want me to write a piece on the sartorial choices of the gentry and class inequality?”

“No.” Dellen squeezed into the small office and closed the door behind him. “So sorry for the intrusion, I don’t feel comfortable being overheard.” He waited to hear the click of the lock. “I’ve received information that I consider credible, that Copperopolis may be attacked in a week.”

Eliza’s eyebrows shot skyward in alarm. “Attacked? Attacked how? Is it The Mercantile Guild?”

Dellen had no idea who she was referring to.

“No wonder she believed your letters,” Gilgamesh said, “She hardly needs an excuse to jump at a shadows.”

“Nothing like that.” Dellen said, he paused, “Well, actually, I don’t know. All I do know is that we should expect explosives to be placed beneath the cogs, and detonated.”

Eliza’s released a small shudder. “Under the cogs? How would one even get there?”

“I don’t know. I’d hoped you could help me find people who might know.”

Eliza nodded her head a few times. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t broken a major story yet, my name isn’t famous in these circles, I’d be amazed if you’d read anything I’d written. How did you even know to look for me?”

Dellen laughed. “That’s easy. I don’t have proof, and I don’t want to make waves or be scrutinized. Working with you will give me a chance to investigate without being discovered.”

“You’re a lord with resources I could only wish for; why include me at all?”

“That’s simple,” Dellen said. “I don’t know the questions to ask.”

“And you think I do?”

“I hope so. I also hope that you have contacts that I don’t, who will help us investigate under the city.”

Eliza looked around her office and down at the papers she’d been working on. “I think I know where to start.”