"Oh to thee of rushing water, broke upon thy shore, with no fortune foul.
Speak to we few, holders of little time, fools to thee of eternal wisdom.
We art lost upon the seas of time, lost upon the end, lost as the time breaks and bends around us.
Sing to us, a song of fortune and the wise, a song lost to time, a song of the lost."

The sounds of vast machinery stirred Spark from his slumber, his eyes felt like lead as he slowly forced his way into wakefulness. Though, as he was roused, he regretted it as a sharp pain in his side demanded his attention.

His throat felt like sandpaper, but as he scanned the area around him in an attempt to find a solution, he was greeted only by darkness.

His memory flashed to life as he pieced together what happened, something about bells… and running…

His muscles cried in agony as he forced himself onto his hooves, dust and ash clinging to his fur as he moved away from his resting place. Channeling what remains of his mana, he lit the area and paused as he took it all in.

It was eerily similar to the ruins of Manehatten, but unlike the ruins, there was little to no stone. Iron and steel stretched for as far as he could see, like a scrapyard of raw metal.

In the distance, the sound of clanking, steam, and grinding gears voiced its presence with a steady, yet faint, siren call. Part of his mind craved the idea of a fantasy steampunk wonderland, with himself being dropped into a new world like the old fanfictions he had written as a colt.

Another part of his mind cried foul, calling it hopeful wishes and screaming this being wrong. Unnatural… unsafe.

And yet, with no better leads, and his fellow guards being Celestia-knows-where, he had no better options.

{---}^v[ Steele ]v^{---}

Tears stung her eyes as she fought through the smoke and ash, screams of another fallen comrade spurring her onwards to greater speeds.

Each hour another of their number had been slain by creatures in the darkness. Their presence only found in bright flashes of red, and the scorching flame of plasma cutting through flesh like butter.

They called in a full company after the Sergeant was culled, the veteran having taken three attacks in an attempt to give his comrades time to escape.

The smell of burnt flesh, smoldering fur, and melted armour… it would haunt Steele for years to come.

Her stuttering three-hoof geit. rung out like anvil strikes from the forge as she ducked under a long hanging tube of steel. She could barely see five hooves in front of her, but she could still hear it.

The source of the buzzing, a golem taller than the princesses themselves. Not blade nor magic could touch its hide, each only earning a crackling flash of red energy as it deflected it with naught but a thought.

Using her remaining wing, thankfully on the same side as her lost leg, as an aide, she pulled a tight turn around a burning forge. Its heat not from burning coal, but glowing rods that provided barely enough light to see.

The floor moved around her, plates of metal screaming past at speeds faster than she could ever hope to achieve on hoof, like a symphony to cruel production.

Part of her wondered how they hadn’t found this place before now, but the other parts couldn’t care less as they tried their damndest to find a way out of this hellhole.

The steps of the monster seemed to sound in time to her racing heart. Its pace an unnatural speed, bordering on a slow teleport.

“What the fuck do you want with me?!” Steele breathlessly cried, her lungs burning at the exertion.

As he grew closer to the sounds, Spark began to marvel at the large cavern he found himself in.

The roof was far above him, to the point that he couldn’t see it even with his magical light. Yet, it wasn’t unbearably hot, if anything, it was quite pleasant. Had he not known better, it was almost as if he was outside in a star-less night.

Regardless, Spark much prefered this to the previous hole he was in. It was almost comforting to hear the dull ringing of machines, as if he wasn’t alone here, as if there was something there for him.

At some point the ground had shifted from the jagged scraps, to a smooth metal flooring. Every now and then, there was a small heap of white scrap, often with bits of cloth or gold shining through the dull light.

Part of his mind called for him to investigate them, but it was just scrap metal. Discarded even.

After the first couple piles, he began to find tall forges being fed a steady stream of silvery plates. Parts of the floor seemed to dance across the ground, blue stripes indicating direction as they moved in time to a low humming.

Thankfully, as he neared enough to step on them, the floor slowed to a stop to allow for his unheeded passing.

Like as one throws a ball into the air and then watches it fall to the ground, it felt right.

Every now and then, he noticed small bricks flying around. Some carries plates or lumps, others just moved around. They ignored him, and he in turn, ignored them.

Time ticked on, each second passing as he wandered the paradise of machines. Though he still felt like he needed a drink, the pain from his muscles had faded and allowed for him to move freely.

And yet, as he walked, his gut seemed to pull him in one direction. And, as he had nothing else to do, he followed.

{---}^v[ Steele ]v^{---}

Whipping around with her remaining wingblade ready, Steele took stock of her options. To her back was a wall, to the left and right of her was metal… things, too tightly packed to be used to escape. And the only way out of this cranny was about thirty hooves of hallway.

Coughing in a vain attempt to clear her lungs of the smoke, she adopted a fighting stance and prepared to jump at whatever came though the darkness.

Lighter stomps sounded from around the corner, as if the golem had sicked a smaller minion on her…

The thought brought a smirk to Steele’s face, she knew she couldn’t kill the golem, but a minion she should have a chance against.

Although his current migraine was making it hard to think, he was almost entirely sure that he had never seen a creature like this before.

It was a tall insect, almost larger than himself, its stomach scales were a smooth cream whilst its shell was a dull golden yellow.

It seemed injured, with two of its six insectoid legs missing. One on the left, one on the right.

The Heartbeats of Iron

by Eric Longtooth

Cold Iron