Master of the Machine God

Several humans in robes stood around the large statue, watched by the surrounding crowd. At the back of their clothes embossed a symbol of a tree with the intertwined root, memiliki arti untuk their cause menolak technological advancement demi keseimbangan alam.

"We banish you, False God, to the abyss of Umbra!" The leader of the organizer stepped forward, his voice like thunder. He raised his hands high, and the air seemed to shudder as his chant silenced the murmurs.

"Hear me, children of Veilan! We have severed the reign of the Machine God, a shadow of evil that no light could redeem."

He halted, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. His voice lowered, resonating with raw conviction. "Yet, look around you! Are we truly free? We walk among them, these creations of steel and soulless will. We share their roofs, depend on their systems, and trust in their tools. But mark my words, it is only a matter of time before their blades find our backs."

His tone turned fierce, each word setting off the fire in the hearts of those assembled. "This is not freedom! As long as they exist, freedom is but an illusion!"

He thrust his hand forward and the other members did the same. "So burn them! Reduce their influence to ash and rise to a life unchained, a life without fear, without control, and for the sake of nature!"

As their hands began to emit light, an unstable fire burst forth from them, consuming the statue. The flames spread and engulfed the replica from bottom to top. Cheers erupted amidst the black smoke, with sparks scattering in the air.

"Burn it to the deepest hell!" someone shouted.

Hermaeus remained silent, his interest clashing with theirs. This was a moment where Hermaeus's curiosity burned brighter than the flames. He wanted to delve deeper into the origins of the Machine God and the automatons. There was something unsettling, something that stirred his heart.

"If the Siverians are the founders of steam machines and the creators of the automatons," he murmured. "Does that mean they also created the Machine God?"

These mysteries remained blurred, contradicting the nature of the Siverians. As far as Hermaeus knew, the Siverians revered their own deities believed to be related to the essence of Eleftheria. Their strict adherence to preserving the purity of nature stood in stark opposition to the concept of an industrial revolution.

Hermaeus sighed, overwhelmed by the conflicting knowledge he obtained in such a short time. There was so much he still didn't know about the Septimus Empire, secrets that might provide the clarity he sought. But for now, his thoughts shifted to a more immediate concern to fill his stomach.

"Gingerbread?" His sight fell on a booth with an unusually long line. "It must be good."

Reaching into his purse, Hermaeus checked his coins, only for his face to fall. His expression turned languid as he muttered to himself, "Well, maybe I'll find something else."

He circled the square, observing various activities. Playground dedicated to children was bustling, all occupied with their cheerful atmosphere. The cleaning automaton spun around, picking up trash, ignored by everyone but Hermaeus. Many times, it was pelted with drinks and even kicked, becoming an outlet for their frustration.

Hermaeus couldn't blame them, though, as in the past, humans had been enslaved under the Machine God's reign. "I wonder what the Siverians would do at that time if they knew their creation was out of control," he whispered.

A delicious scent wafted into his nose, and as he searched for the source, he was led to a stall labeled Pie's Favorite. Although there weren't many customers, it was clear the prices weren't affordable. However, beside it stood a vendor selling hot potatoes.

"Now that's what I'm looking for," he muttered, rushing over and ordering a wrap for 15 bronze, leaving enough brass coins for his fare back home.

"Thanks! Come again!" the stout man called out enthusiastically, waving his hand. Hermaeus responded with a thumbs-up before turning to leave.

At the corner of the square, the mood was different. It was quieter, more tranquil, with far fewer individuals around. Here, he saw someone engrossed in a newspaper, another absorbed in a book, and a few couples sharing tender moments.

As he enjoyed a simple snack on one of the benches, he noticed that the automaton he had observed earlier was nowhere to be seen. Trash still littered the area, there was no way the machine had completed its work. Then, he spotted a bunch of teenagers making fun of something he immediately recognized—a fragment of the automaton.

Hermaeus rose to his feet, deciding to investigate. He cautiously approached the narrow alleyway from which the teenagers had emerged. Ensuring it was safe, he examined the dimly lit passage and saw the machine lying in ruin, its components scattered and broken.

Puffs of smoke drifted from its fractured metal chest, with its internal mechanisms spilling out, including its spherical core. The head was cracked, the eyes shattered, and several gears detached on the ground. Worse still, the trash and dirt from its storage had leaked everywhere, releasing a foul odor that permeated the air.

"Gosh, what did they do to you?" Hermaeus muttered in a concerned tone, kneeling before the damaged creation. "Is the core still alive?"

As Hermaeus reached out to touch it, a sudden electric current coursed through his veins, jolting him in shock and confusion. "What was that?" he exclaimed.

Steam engines were not supposed to produce electrical energy, he understood the basic concept of their operation well enough. This felt different, almost as if it were a current tied to the flow of the Kiver.

"Is this normal for everyone else?" he contemplated, his thoughts racing as he tried to make sense of the strange phenomenon.

Not yet satisfied with his conclusion, Hermaeus once again reached out to touch the heart of the engine. The strange sensation returned, this time spreading through his body with deeper intensity. Despite the discomfort, he lingered, determined to understand. His fingers closed around the core, and within seconds, it flickered to life—fragile at first, but slowly growing stronger, until it radiated a brilliant blue light.

Hermaeus was struck speechless. His mind tried to comprehend what had happened. Not only had he reignited the life of the machine, but something else stirred within him, a vision of a desolate desert landscape, vast and foreboding. Beneath its sands, something massive remains hidden. Then, as if he were there, he beheld it. An enormous automaton.

"We... serve the Master... and bow to the Machine God."