[b]The Star King![/b]

The Weapon was perfect. It had never failed. It would never fail. The craftsman who had built it had worked back from this effect to whatever causes would make it so. But to kill with Regret meant having to be free from Regret; the faintest flicker of imperfection was like the line of water linking the wielder to the open power socket. All that power needed somewhere to earth itself.

The Weapon was perfect. It had never failed. It never would fail. This was not a promise, it was a threat. To wield it meant having to maintain the same perfection the weapon embodied. If this perfection faltered then, rather than allow itself to be stained, it erased the corruption from its own timeline.

The Weapon falls to the floor in front of the Star Kings. It was pure and untouched. It had never been wielded, a gift from the Gods. It was free to anyone who would pick it up. Of its former owner(s) there was only a fading memory. And a fear.

None of the Star Kings moved. Their pseudowolves shifted, uncomfortable and confused - they did not understand like their rulers did. 

[b]Dolce![/b]

"Ha!" rasped the Ancient Craftsman. "You! I dreamed of you. Funny thing, isn't it? To meet a friend from a dream? Peach schnapps, please, and chocolate and chili pretzels. You know these bastards don't have the slightest taste for the finer things in life?"

He unbundled himself, bags of tools filling the chair next to him. Hestia sat down next to him, mug on the table - black coffee for her, she didn't even need to ask. "Do you remember our conversation? I told you how I sought to merge life and energy, stormclouds caged in matter? Well, here we are," he laughed. "Amidst the Funko Pops of my dreams."

He slammed the schnapps down, wiping his scarred lips with the back of his hand. "You - you wouldn't know that, that's a Liquid Bronze saying, the bastard. A man who was so right about his opinions he needed to re-invent his political opponents so he wouldn't have to change what kind of right he was. I worked with him on the Ikarani project now, I remember - well, [i]he [/i]remembered. He's a man who forgets nothing and learns nothing. The moment the Underworld coughed me back up he sent his people to collect me so I could see how history had vindicated him. The Summerkind!" he laughed. "He solved the problem of energy based life burning through their physical shells by calling it a feature! He mass produced and militarized my malfunctioning prototypes! There's a genius to him, no mistake - nobody works harder than him towards the goal of avoiding work."

He pursed his lip and tapped his fingers on the table. "That girl - Vesper? I remember her now. I didn't have all the pieces before, I didn't remember, but... I left her in a bad way. I'd like to help her, if you can help me do that."