In the exchanges that followed, through repeated questioning, Yvette gained a sense of the scope of deep intel Ice Rain actually possessed.

According to her, when Yvette first set foot on the Blacktide Continent five hundred years ago, she—as a sub-persona—had only just been born. She knew who she was, but many key memories had been excised; most of what she later learned about the world came from traveling with Yvette and from what she picked up along the way.

Put simply, she didn’t know much more about the world than Yvette did.

The only real difference was this: as a replicated persona of the God of Machines’ main self, the God had preserved many things a replicated main persona ought to know—such as where the Machinefolk came from, what their purpose is, and why they pursue human cultivation.

“—So why do the Machinefolk practice human cultivation?” Yvette asked after a moment’s thought.

It wasn’t all that important to her, but it had nagged at her curiosity for a long time.

Based on various works of art she’d seen, she naturally expected there had to be some deeper meaning behind it—perhaps questions of selfhood, life’s value, the resonance of the soul and other philosophical fare—tasteful, lofty stuff that might even make her feel the tremor of life.

But—

Ice Rain’s answer was nothing like she expected.

She said, “Well—actually—uh, here’s the thing, Miss Good Samaritan. Before I answer, I have to tell you—there are no Machinefolk in this world.”

Yvette froze. “No Machinefolk—what do you mean?”

“Mm—or rather, there used to be Machinefolk, but after the Cataclysm there weren’t anymore. The ‘Machinefolk’ you see now are all parts of me.”

“You mean—you’re a hive mind?” Yvette blurted, immediately thinking of a few sci-fi notions.

“Not exactly. I had the main persona first, then deliberately budded off sub-personas and created the Machinefolk,” Ice Rain explained. “Miss Good Samaritan, you know about the Heartcore, right?”

Yvette nodded.

“Long ago, I obtained the Heartcore. It contains tremendous power—enough to call divine. In the post-Cataclysm world, I’ve been studying that power, seeking more from it.”

“It’s a godly power centered on the ‘soul’—like magic, yet beyond magic—closer to a ‘law’ or an authority. And by soul I mean not just the spirit body, but the overlay of spirit and memory substrate.”

“To comprehend it, I needed to learn more about the nature of souls. So, using this authority, I split off many fragments of anima and attached them to existing golems. The golems thus quickened were all part of me, but so long as I didn’t recall them, they were independent individuals—free bodies, spirits, and memory substrates—able to grow into independent personas unbound.”

“That became the prototype of what you call the Machinefolk, and also why I’m not quite the same as those sub-personas. I’m a replicated persona of the main body; they are posterior-born.”

Here Ice Rain shifted tone, a bit dejected: “But soon a new problem emerged—I couldn’t give them memories, or they wouldn’t grow naturally. Without memories, and with golem bodies lacking innate instincts, all these awakened golems were… dumb.”

“They weren’t like humans—with survival drive, reproductive urge, hormones, the works. They just wandered endlessly, with no stimuli or experiences to speak of—no life—so no complex personas could form. Useless to my study of the Heartcore.”

Then she blinked. “So I came up with a solution. If they had no innate instincts—why not add some?”

Yvette’s heart stirred. “So ‘imitating humans’ is an innate instinct you implanted?”

“Correct.” Ice Rain said proudly, clearly pleased with her brilliant idea. “I added three instincts in all.”

“First: fear of death. That’s basic to living things.”

“Second: maintain awe of me—so I could influence the Machinefolk as a whole more naturally, and observe and apprehend the changes.”

“Third: yearning to become human!”

“Human souls are the most complex. If they could shape souls as complex as humans’, that would surely aid my practice of the Heartcore most.”

“And that is the whole truth about the Machinefolk.”

As Ice Rain finished, the dim room fell quiet again; faintly, Abella’s muttering in her sleep drifted down from the second floor.

Yvette looked at the cool moonlight on the floor, opened her mouth, and found she didn’t know what to say.

She’d expected something more literary and philosophical; instead, the truth was unexpectedly down-to-earth—practical, even.

The Machinefolk were the God of Machines. So-called “human cultivation” had nothing to do with “seeking life’s meaning”; it was simply the God of Machines’ method of augmenting power—

Well, not that there was zero philosophy in it. At least, through the Machinefolk’s changes you could see the primacy of the “id” in forming persona—enough to force Ice Rain to add extra instincts.

It did lack a touch of elegance.

Soon, as Yvette stayed silent, Ice Rain—who’d been waiting ages—grew fidgety. In a pitiable tone she said, “Hey, Miss Good Samaritan, I’ve told you the biggest secret I know. You’re not mad at me anymore, right?”

Yvette came back to herself and turned to her. From Ice Rain’s near-human eyes she read clear unease. She walked over, sat on the edge of Ice Rain’s bed, and shook her head. “No. I’m not angry. I just need a little time to process.”

“Good.” Ice Rain patted her chest and let out a long breath. “We do have a strong bond after all, don’t we?”

Yvette smiled, made a small sound of assent, and nodded.

Through the latter half of the night, she listened as Ice Rain recounted the past—five hundred years ago, when Yvette first set foot on Blacktide—and all the forethought that went into staging that “chance” meeting.

First, the God of Machines hadn’t overthought it; Ice Rain’s body was designed with habit, comfort, performance, and aesthetics in mind—hence the especially refined appearance.

Though it had become a tell, Ice Rain also offered an unassailable reason: “If I weren’t pretty, Miss Good Samaritan, would you really have wanted to travel with me for so long?”

Yvette found she had no rebuttal.

And frankly, it was only human—no need to rebut anyway.

Next, Ice Rain revealed that though her memories began five centuries ago, the main body had been observing Yvette earlier—already knowing when she’d leave Ish Island and on what day she’d reach Blacktide.

So, to ensure the encounter, the God of Machines first stationed Ice Rain at the most likely landing spot, then mobilized the Sanctum—dispatching many clergy to numerous Golem Kingdoms along Blacktide’s west coast—to seek the “mysterious silver-haired girl” as quickly as possible.

For instance, Miss Sunflower—the nun they’d just run into again—was one of those posted out. Otherwise, that little place, the Agasha Golem Kingdom, would never have had such a high-end sister.

Ultimately, over their long travels, Ice Rain came to trust Yvette enough, and synced those conclusions to the God of Machines, who then changed course—quietly helping cover Yvette’s tracks to keep Vermes from finding her. Otherwise, given the early gap in strength, once the “King of Shadows” raised his domain, Yvette would have died even if she burned all her aberrant mana.

Of course, Yvette’s own cautious streak mattered too. Had she rushed to the Silvermirror Continent to seek the God of Machines centuries ago, odds are she wouldn’t be around now.

And so they talked until dawn. When they finally slept and woke, Abella—who knew nothing of the night before—had just sat up in bed when she heard the abrupt announcement that the “Silvermirror tour ends ahead of schedule,” her face full of confusion.

Yvette didn’t want it either, but the “King of Shadows” was surely hunting for her in fury—perhaps already marshaling God-graced units for a massive sweep. Best to leave first and avoid trouble.

She also suspected the Witch of the End was alive, nine times out of ten. Otherwise, with the God of Machines favoring her, Vermes as Holy Lord had no reason to try to kill her outright.

Rather than the Witch of the End’s aide assigned under the God of Machines, “prosecutor” fit him better.

But why would the God of Machines extend goodwill to her?

Over Ice Rain’s talk of friendship and bonds—nice as that sounded—Yvette, being an adult, inclined to think the God of Machines was constrained by the Witch of the End and sought an outside ally to help break that leash.

At this point, Yvette—wielding Shenshed power—became the ideal candidate for the God of Machines to shatter the shackles and regain freedom.

As for the Witch of the End, her hostility was likely because of Shenshed as well. She might not even be dead—just… somewhere unknown—

In any case, with the Flesh-and-Blood Waymark her self-preservation was strong. If worst came to worst, she could hop to the other world and lie low.

With the four True Gods holding up the sky, even if it fell it wouldn’t crush her—and even if it did, she could still blink back, couldn’t she?

So—

Find the aurora first!