The night passed in a blur of productivity. I accessed my Depository, withdrawing stacks of preserved timber, sheets of metal, and containers of fasteners I'd collected during our journey. My arms and tendrils moved with practiced efficiency, each motion precise and economical as I began transforming raw materials into functional pieces.

First came the workbench, its sturdy oak legs supporting a three-inch-thick surface reinforced with metal bracing beneath. I installed a vice at one corner, testing its grip with a scrap of wood. The bench stood waist-high to my war frame, perfect for detailed work while standing. My fingers traced the smooth surface with satisfaction.

What do you think? I asked a hovering construct that had been observing my work. It bobbed in the air, propellers whirring in what I interpreted as approval.

Shelving units followed, some low and wide for heavier components, others tall and narrow with multiple compartments. I designed them not merely for storage but as an environment for my mechanical children. The scout spiders needed vertical surfaces to climb, while the hovering units required perches at various heights. The quadrupedal models preferred enclosed spaces they could enter and exit at will.

A wheeled unit rolled up to inspect a newly completed shelf, extending a manipulator arm to test its stability. I watched with something akin to pride as it maneuvered onto the bottom shelf, tucking itself into the protected space.

Throughout the night, I periodically paused construction to perform maintenance on my constructs. Each received thorough diagnostics, with gears cleaned, joints oiled, sensors calibrated. Despite months in storage, they functioned remarkably well. The scout spiders' articulation remained fluid, the quadrupedal units' balance systems needed only minor recalibration, and the hovering units' propellers showed minimal wear.

By dawn, the warehouse had transformed. No longer an empty shell, it now contained organized workspaces, storage solutions, and habitats for my mechanical offspring. They explored their new domain with increasing confidence, some perched on high shelves, others nestled in custom-built niches.

I stood in the center, watching them move about with purpose. The space felt different now, not just a building but something more personal. Not merely a workshop.

A home.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted my thoughts. I crossed the workshop floor, mechanical children scattering from my path, and pulled the heavy door open.

Elder Yudron stood outside, his weathered orc face creased in a smile. "Good morning, Vardiel. I trust you found your accommodations-"

A blur of motion shot between my tendrils. Rolly, seeing a chance to escape, darted past Yudron, nearly causing the elder to stumble.

Rolly! I snapped, irritation flaring. Through our Brace link, I seized control of the wayward construct, forcing it to halt its escape. The small wheeled unit spun in place, making a sound that resembled a mechanical whine as I compelled it to return. Inside. Now.

Rolly rolled back reluctantly, its single optical sensor dimming in what I'd come to recognize as mechanical sulking.

Yudron peered past me into the transformed workshop. His eyes widened at the sight of my constructs moving with purpose throughout the space; scout spiders climbing the walls, hovering units maintaining positions near the ceiling, quadrupedal models organizing materials on the new shelving.

"You've been busy," he remarked, bushy eyebrow raised. "Very busy indeed."

Don't mind them, I said, watching a pair of scout spiders scurrying along a high shelf. My children are harmless. Curious, but harmless.

Yudron's smile widened. "Remarkable. Truly remarkable that you can create children in the same manner as the Prophet."

Not exactly the same, I corrected him, gesturing toward my workbench where parts for a new construct lay partially assembled. I build mine from raw materials. The Prophet seems to form the Voiceless directly from the black sand.

The elder laughed, a warm rumbling sound. "That's not what I meant." He leaned against his walking stick. "All the people of the world have different ways of having children. Some lay eggs, others give birth to live young. But none can do so alone." He looked at me with a reverence that made me uncomfortable. "Only the Voiceless Prophet and yourself can accomplish such a feat. You truly are the Ancestors."

The term sparked curiosity. I was about to ask him about it but Yudron swiftly changed the subject.

"Are you ready to see more of our enclave?" He gestured toward the busy settlement beyond my door. "There is much to show you."

I nodded, curiosity about the community outweighing my questions for the moment. Before stepping outside, I turned back to my mechanical children. A hovering unit drifted too close to the doorway, its propellers whirring with anticipation.

Stay, I commanded through our link, receiving a chorus of mechanical acknowledgments. I pulled the door firmly shut behind me, hearing the distinctive sound of Rolly bumping against it from the inside.

"Rambunctious little ones," Yudron observed with a knowing smile.

Yes, they are, I replied, following the elder into the heart of the monster enclave, my questions about "Ancestors" temporarily set aside but not forgotten.

Yudron led me through winding pathways of the enclave, his walking stick tapping a steady rhythm against the black brick roads. We passed the market stalls from yesterday, now bustling with activity in the morning light.

"This is where most of our craftsmen sell their goods," Yudron explained, gesturing to the vibrant displays of wares. "Everything from tools to clothing to medicines."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I noticed how the flow of commerce paused as we walked by. Shoppers and merchants alike stopped their haggling to bow respectfully to Yudron. Some murmured greetings while others simply inclined their heads with reverence. Many cast curious glances at me, though none approached.

"Elder Yudron, blessings of the Prophet," called a kobold merchant, her bright scales gleaming as she bowed low.

"And to you, Meriska," Yudron replied warmly.

We continued past the marketplace into a vast cavern where enormous mushrooms grew in neat rows. The fungi towered nearly fifteen feet high, their caps spreading wide like umbrellas. Orcs and goblins tended the crops, harvesting mature specimens and planting spores in fresh volcanic soil.

"Our main food source," Yudron said proudly. "These giant mushrooms are surprisingly delicious. They taste remarkably like meat when properly prepared." He turned to me with a twinkle in his eye. "You should try some later."

I do not eat, I informed him.

"Ah, of course," he replied with an understanding smile. "The Prophet is the same way. Another similarity between you."

We proceeded deeper into the settlement, passing through residential areas where families of various monster species lived in harmony. Yudron nodded to those who greeted him, exchanging brief pleasantries with several parents from different species.

I observed the diversity around me: orcs with their imposing stature, nimble kobolds darting between buildings, goblins chattering excitedly, and lizardmen like Arctur moving with measured grace. There were others I couldn't immediately identify, some with features I had never encountered before.

How many types of intelligent monsters live here? I asked, curiosity piqued by the variety.

Yudron laughed, the sound echoing off the cavern walls. "Pretty much all races of our kind have representatives here. This enclave has become a sanctuary for monsters from across the continent."

He gestured upward to the high ceiling of the cavern. "Sadly, due to the air quality, harpies cannot sustain themselves here. Their kind needs clear skies and clean air to thrive. The volcanic fumes are too harsh for their respiratory systems."

I processed this information, noting the absence of winged humanoids among the population. Another question formed in my mind.

Do any humans live here?

Yudron's expression clouded momentarily, his smile fading. "A few," he admitted after a pause. "Most are merchants with special connections who trade with us for necessities we cannot produce ourselves."

He led me down a side path toward a section of the enclave I hadn't yet seen. The buildings here were constructed differently; more angular, less organic in design.

"They bring us human crafted goods, certain medicines, fabrics," Yudron continued. "In exchange, they take rare volcanic minerals, mushroom extracts, and crafted goods back to their kingdoms." He glanced at me. "Would you like to meet them?"

I nodded, curious about these humans who had chosen to live among those their kind typically hunted or shunned.

Yes. I would like to understand why they are here.

"Their reasons vary," Yudron said cryptically as we approached a building with a distinctly human architectural style. "But they all share one thing in common: they've seen beyond the prejudices of their societies."

He knocked firmly on the wooden door, the sound echoing in the volcanic air.

The door swung open, revealing a short dwarven woman with bright red hair and freckles scattered across her dusky skin. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Yudron, and she offered him a warm smile.

"Elder Yudron! What a pleasant surprise this morning," she said, her voice carrying a melodic lilt.

"Sophaia of Karna," Yudron replied with a respectful nod. "I hope the day finds you well." He gestured toward me. "I wanted to introduce you to our esteemed guest. This is Vardiel, a special friend of the Prophet."

Sophaia's eyebrows shot up as she studied my mechanical form. "Friend of the Prophet? That's rare indeed. I didn't realize the old rock had many friends."

The Prophet has spoken to me, I confirmed.

Yudron chuckled, the sound warm and resonant. "Yes, the Prophet is a being of many secrets. More than even I have learned in my long years here."

"What brings you to my humble doorstep?" Sophaia asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Vardiel expressed interest in meeting some of the humans who have made our little enclave their home," Yudron explained.

Sophaia barked out a laugh. "Well, first off, there's nothing 'little' about this place anymore." She stepped aside, gesturing for us to enter. "Come in, come in."

I ducked through the doorway, my mechanical frame barely clearing the lintel. The interior was surprisingly spacious, with shelves of ledgers and maps covering the walls. A large table dominated the center, covered with manifests and trade agreements.

"What you've built here," Sophaia continued, "a thriving community in the middle of a Hellzone; it's extraordinary. Anyone would be proud of what you and your forefathers have accomplished, Yudron."

You sound as if you admire the monsters here, I observed.

"Of course I do," she replied without hesitation, pouring tea into three cups despite my inability to drink. "Humans have tried for centuries to build settlements within Hellzones. They've always failed. Always. The dangers are too great, the environment too hostile." She set the teapot down with a decisive clink. "What exists here is nothing short of a miracle of the gods-" She caught herself, glancing at Yudron. "A miracle of the Ancestors."

Yudron smiled gently, inclining his head in thanks for the correction.

What is your function here? I asked, my curiosity piqued.

Sophaia brightened, clearly pleased with the question. "I supervise and arrange business dealings between human caravans seeking Hellzone goods and locals looking to acquire human-made items." She gestured to the papers on her table. "It's a delicate balance, but a profitable one for all involved."

She picked up a small black stone from her desk, turning it over in her palm. "The Hellzone is rich with rare metals and materials found nowhere else. Humans are always eager to get their hands on such things, especially mages and alchemists."

I'm surprised the enclave conducts business with so many humans, I said. Aren't you concerned your secret location might be discovered by those who would harm you?

Sophaia's laugh echoed through the room. "The people I do business with aren't exactly kingdom favorites. They either live in settlements beyond kingdom control, or their status within the kingdoms is..." she searched for the right word, "less than stellar."

"Criminals," Yudron interjected with a wry smile. "At least according to human authorities."

"Independent entrepreneurs with flexible interpretations of kingdom laws," Sophaia corrected with a wink.

I processed this information, recalling our recent journey. Do you conduct business with the settlement in Lathan?

Sophaia slapped her hand on the table, her face lighting up. "Calsor? They're our biggest customers! Been trading with them for decades." She pulled out a ledger, flipping it open to reveal extensive records. "They've got access to old world artifacts from before the Plague that fetch high prices, and they're always looking for our volcanic metals for their smiths."

"The relationship has been mutually beneficial," Yudron added. "Both communities exist outside the reach of kingdom influence."

Both communities of outcasts, I observed.

"Precisely," Sophaia nodded. "The unwanted and the persecuted, making our own way in places others fear to tread." She looked at me with sudden intensity. "Which makes me wonder… what brings someone like you to our little corner of nowhere? The Prophet doesn't often call strangers to its presence."

I considered my response carefully. I am seeking knowledge about what I am. The Prophet possesses insights that others do not.

"Ah," Sophaia said, leaning back in her chair. "Seeking answers. Aren't we all?" She glanced at Yudron. "Though I suspect your questions are more profound than most, if they've caught the Prophet's attention."

Yudron placed his walking stick against the table. "The Prophet believes Vardiel's presence here is significant for all of us. Beyond that, it is not my place to elaborate."

Sophaia nodded respectfully. "Fair enough. The Prophet's wisdom has guided this enclave since before I arrived." She turned back to me. "Well, Vardiel, friend of the Prophet, if there's anything you need during your stay, especially materials for whatever impressive machinery you're made of, my traders can likely procure it."

Thank you, I replied. I may require certain materials that are difficult to find.

"Make me a list," she said with a businesslike nod. "If it exists in this world, I can find someone willing to sell it."

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