There were very few things that Nephral appreciated more than a touch of luxury. As a sphinx he assumed it was pure instinct, the finer things simply suited him. Yet there were decidedly some differences in what he called the lap of luxury and what others thought of. Nephral lounged in his lair overlooking the city, a section of the Pinnacle had been reconstructed with him in mind, hanging beneath the throne room and offering quite the view of the growing metropolis. He rolled off of his side, careful not to jostle Jihuri. Myranda’s sphinx had found a comfortable spot amongst a pile of pillows and was not one to be disturbed lightly. He strode across the glossy tiles and sat down at the ledge.

Five years ago the outer region of the city had been nothing but blasted farmland, ruined by the vanguard of the Katali subjugation force. Now, streets of cobbled stone had been paved over with elven concrete and smoothed into neat lines that crisscrossed among a growing number of buildings. The above-ground farmland had been pushed further out, with the owners compensated with even more land than before. Between the outer-city were monoliths of black marble infused with veins of gold. The enormous blocks of stone grew slowly, like a living organism, stretching out towards one another and forming a circular outer wall.

A wide pair of roads crisscrossed the city, forming a circle around the great tower of Osan before stretching out in the cardinal directions. The road to the north was the most complete, the work on connecting the elves of the Northern Wastes to Osan had been a major project, one that was still underway somewhere out in the wilderness. Nephral narrowed his eyes, focusing on one building in particular that stood out among many of the other structures. While most were homes, narrow buildings pressed tightly together to emphasize space, this one was enormous. It covered nearly two city blocks and ran parallel to the northern road, putting it dead center in the northern part of the city.

A low sound came from it that rose into a blast not unlike the howling of a tea kettle. Nephral spread his wings and leaped, the winds carrying him down and towards the building. He passed over a small section of the city that was packed with elves, hundreds of them going about their day-to-day living. Another section just beyond it was comprised almost entirely of west-balthin humans. Villagers of the various settlements from across the wildlands who had chosen to side with his mother, the Queen. Another blast of sound drew his thoughts away from the humans and he drifted down to the top of the enormous building, peering down through its gleaming glass roof.

Inside, dozens of men and women of various races were going this way and that, working on her Majesty’s latest project. The massive machine was long with a partially cylindrical body and a large box-like carriage at the rear. It sat on oddly shaped wheels that had large divots in them as if intended more to cling to the railing beneath them rather than ride atop the ground normally. Nephral glanced to the right where he spotted a raised platform. There were a few men of higher rank standing over the crowd of workers while behind them, the audacious robes of Archlich Paraklytus fluttered about the ancient skeleton.

The archlich looked up, his bony face plastered with a permanent sneer, and his eyes glowed in Nephral’s direction. Nephral’s wings fluttered and he hurried to the right, dropping off the side of the building and going through the front entrance, shrinking down to his smaller feline form. He darted between the forest of legs beyond the doors, climbed the stairs, and alighted on the raised platform with a disgruntled sound. There were too many people here these days. A small chuckle greeted him and he looked up into the eyes of the mighty lich who had come to greet him with a playful bow.

“Archlich.”

“Master Sphinx,” Paraklytus responded in kind, “Always a pleasure.”

Nephral climbed up to the platform’s railing and looked down at the work in progress. “How is it coming?”

“If it weren’t for your unique abilities, not very well at all. Yet here we are. A monstrously magnificent merger of magic and machine,” The lich crowed, gesturing to the behemoth. “With it, our reach will extend as far as the rails beneath it. There will be nowhere we cannot reach in a timely manner.”

“Still have to build the rails,” Nephral pointed out, tilting his head as the machine howled again. “Noisy.”

“Not a problem, her Majesty tells me that where she comes from, such things were originally built by hand. That will not be an issue here in Orum!” Paraklytus declared, gesturing to two of the men standing with him. “These gentlemen are the finest engineers I have trained thus far. With the machines and magic of my lost people and the knowledge of her Majesty’s homeworld, thanks to you, we have made marvelous strides.”

Nephral let out a huff and whipped his tail left and right, pleased with the praise. “You are welcome.”

A new loud sound carried out over the gathering of people below and they began to quickly move away from the machine. After a few heartbeats, it let out one last blast of sound and began to move forward, ten feet, twenty feet, then nearly to the end of the building before coming to an easy stop. Cheers and applause carried around the room. Paraklytus clacked his bony palms together and nodded his approval, “A successful first test!” He laughed, “Good show everyone!”

Nephral turned his gaze away from Paraklytus and to the tracks leading out of the building and into the city at large. He spread his tiny wings and lifted from the ground, bidding the lich farewell with a look before launching himself off toward the path he’d chosen. He followed the rails all the way to the great black walls of Osan, admiring the tunnel that the rails passed through before landing atop the walls and peering out over the near-winter wildlands. Beyond the farms, the tall grass of the wilds was teeming with life preparing for the eventual cold snap. Already, the grains were beginning to show some of their silver blossoms, glittering white amongst a sea of gold.

Somewhere, far away, he heard the chattering of a rilk swarm rushing over the plains. Down below, none of the farmers so much as flinched at the sound, in fact, a few glanced over and shouted polite greetings to the once-hated monsters as they rustled the grass in search of prey to return to their queen. The new Lord of the Wildlands had spent the past five years on a campaign of conquest, carving out an enormous domain and subjugating the rilk hives of the wildlands under her sole authority. There were even whispers that the various hives had been connected into one singular network deep below ground, a monstrous parallel to the labyrinth.

Nephral bounded off the wall and spread his wings again, darting off and into the grassy plains. He flew over a sea of white chiton that dipped and bobbed among the tall grass, their hardened shells gleaming in the daylight. What was more interesting to Nephral, though, were the unusually shaped rilks that bounded over the grass. Their bodies were lithe, with long wings that fluttered out on either side of their jointed frames. Instead of solid shells of chiton, their bodies were segmented for ease of movement. A figure sitting atop one of the creatures waved at Nephral as he passed over.

Nephral flew down and drifted next to the person who pulled a scarf down from over his mouth. He was a red-gray-skinned young Azar wearing the signature dark clothes of a warden. His eyes were bright and his expression lively despite a bit of wind wear on his skin. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and inclined his head to the cat with a bright smile on his face.

“It’s an honor, master Nephral! Come to join us on our patrol?” The warden asked.

“I’m afraid not, just out for a stroll. How are things?” Nephral asked loudly enough to be heard over the swarm of insects below.

“Quiet as always! Not that we aren’t vigilant! Can’t wait for next week though, I hear there is a new bakery in town and I am craving something freshly baked!” The warden laughed, “Have you been yet?”

“I am afraid I am not well equipped for pastries and baked goods,” Nephral pointed out, “But I am interested in perhaps bringing a few to her Majesty.”

The warden’s eyes widened, “Oh you should! I heard about it from one of the soldiers at the western camp. You should ask them exactly where it is.”

“The western camp?” Nephral mused, Conrad was there. “I think I might just. Thank you sir Warden. Good luck on your patrol,” The sphinx called and banked left, flapping his wings and heading to the west.

Today was going to be a busy day.