He isn't allowed to be here for long. The magnet doesn't like it when he is down in its depths, in his cavern. He knows and understands its limit and as a result, keeps an ear on the clock. Until that allotted time, he is content to mingle.
Babelan folk are more used to their Fifteenth War keeping his distance, living in a small home erected just outside the Holdt of Gnomes that settled outside the only pass into the Gravity Wastes. Usually, he goes to other towns and settlements in the upper Reach for supplies, where the land itself won't rise against him. Every so often, though, he manages his way home and simply pays mind to the mysterious entity that is the magnet.
His presence is mildly surprising, wandering the upper commercial islands without much trouble, and without reaction from the thrumming walls that encase the strange chasm-cavern. Without emotion showing at all, he is still polite. Friendliness is mutual, answers to questions in concerning what one thing does or the other. Surprise wanes to joy in the other inhabitants to see all of their Horsemen in one cavern again. They all want to keep him, to speak with him on his curiosities, but they know they cannot. Like him, they know his presence among them is limited.
He has bought a few baubles. Some for his mother as a reminder of home, some for Xerxes with his ever-moving mind, a few books for himself to keep the long days alone between missions. Nothing for his father out of respect and request; Thaddius never liked frivolous giftings and he has all he needs or wants of his own accord.
Smell of fresh naan pulls him from his musings, attention drawn to one of the bakeries in the upper islands. The sugared flatbread has been pulled off its ovens, the top decorated with careful hand in intricate patterns also made with the bread. It has been a while since he last tasted it and the scent wafting over the perfumed crowds makes his mouth water.
He manages to catch the attention of the young woman in charge of the sales, readying to make his way toward her when it happens. The magnet's voice changes, audible above the roar of the twin waterfalls at the front and back of the caverns. It starts at the top of the carved ceiling far above, a shift to lower octaves so deep, it rattles window panes. Activity stops immediately, hushed conversation changing to the strange behaviour of the creature that is the magnet.
No one notices that War has retreated, knowing more than anyone what that sound is, and what it means.
No one, that is, but the young baker.
YOU ARE READING
100 Blinks
FanfictionA collection of drabbles written off a pre-existing list of 100 prompts, centered around a multitude of noncanon continuities. Some long, some short, but all addressed in one way or another.
