Silence. No more murrs of steady working machines, no more clangs of large robots being built, no more soft rumble of voices echoing through metal hallways, no more whirs of Master as he turned in his seat. Only the clicking sound of soft padded feet scurrying through the metal ducts echoed in the looming silence engulfing the castle of the former Zaibach Empire.

Boris was the last being in the large palace, a forgotten halfling who meandered the castle at will, clinging to the threads of memories of his Master. Everyone else had left for the outskirts of the city, to try to piece back together the rubble that was once known as Zaibach. No more Sorcerers were needed; Zaibach was starving, its people needed food not mechanisms of war.

Boris skittered on all fours throughout the castle, roaming it freely as if he were its Master, mumbling fragments of thoughts as they formed in his mind. Food had to be found, the rumbling of his tummy would not stop until it had something put in it. He could not eat the Birdman now rotting in the main chamber, one of the few kind souls to Boris. All the meat in the freeze chambers had been consumed, Boris needed to search for bugs, mice, any number of small creatures that should be populating the metal maze of a castle.

He approached one of the large halls that reminded him of a great, metal ribcage, concentrating on finding the scent of something other than dusty metal. Pausing at the catch of a scent, he barely remembered the now familiar musky, tangy odor: humans. Overwhelmed with joy at being remembered, he scuttled down the duct he was in, half tripping over his arms and legs in his haste. Yes, there they were! Two men warily searching the great hall of pipes, wrapped in the same metallic clothing that the former Sorcerers wore, clutching swords in trepidation. They poked and prodded at the dead machines as if trying to coax them back to life.

Boris scampered down the pipes towards them, squealing his pleasure. "You remember Boris! Boris happy, oh so happy!"

One of the men squeaked at the sight, dropping his sword with a loud clang to the ground. "What the hell is that?"

"Freeze!" With barely concealed fear, the other, the one with a thick beard growing on his face like fuzzy moss, pointed a shaky sword to Boris. Boris stopped, confused. "N-no closer! Get away, you monster!"

"Boris no hurt! See, is good Boris!" Trying to look ingratiating, Boris dropped to the floor in a humbling gesture. If the men knew Boris meant no harm, they would not prick his skin with wicked swords.

"It looks harmless enough," the one that dropped his sword, the one with a birdbeak nose, stood trying to control his quaking fear. "Maybe we ought to capture it?"

"Y-you do it!" Mossbeard gestured wildly with his sword, keeping one eye on Boris and the other on his partner.

Birdbeak held out a hand in friendship, like he would to an unfamiliar dog, trying to smile. "Nice creature. Good creature." Boris let out a few purr-like sounds, eyes wide and appealing. Surely these good men would take him away from this awful empty place and give him food and a bed to sleep on! Birdbeak rested a hesitant hand on Boris' head, releasing his breath in relief as Boris grinned and purred louder. "It seems harmless."

"We should take it to the General, then!" Mossbeard tromped self-righteously over towards Boris, his sword extended like part of his body. "He will know what to do with it."

Birdbeak nodded, cajoling Boris to get up and follow them in a soothing voice, so much like Master's. Except younger. Boris happily plodded after them, thinking of full tummies, warm beds, and kind voices singing Boris to sleep every night. Just like Master used to do. Except Master wasn't the best singer Boris could think of, maybe Birdbeak could sing better.

They walked and walked through the endless silent corridors of interwoven metal, Boris clinging to his newfound master with pride, eventually reaching Master's room; the one where glass shards to cut tender toes were scattered everywhere, and where the dead Birdman was. Two other humans were there, perched like vultures over the dead Birdman. One was male, tall, so much taller than most of the men Boris had met. He was draped in a long, plastic cloak concealing his body. The other was female, dressed the same as the tall one, but with long raven hair brushing the bloodstained floor.

"General!" Mossbeard snapped a salute, rigid as a pole, face vacant. Birdbeak mimicked him, clicking his leather boots together. Boris hovered near Birdbeak, curious about the new visitors to his palace. Curious, and excited that Boris now had so many people about him. Boris would not suffer loneliness again!

Casually, both turned about, the same vacant expression on their faces, making them look like twins. The tall one's face seemed chiseled out of granite, with cold piercing eyes. He smelled of power-hunger and hatred and blood. The look in his eyes made Boris' fur stand straight, running shivers down his spine. Boris did not like this one, this Iron-eyes, not at all.

The woman was familiar. She had visited once or twice before, when people milled around the palace like busy ants in a hive. Boris remembered how she kindly scratched Boris in his itchy spots when Master was too fixated on looking through his spy-glass and muttering to himself. She was older, grown to a woman rather than an awkward unsure girl. Her face was white, like milk, and her eyes were violet pools framed by feathered lashes. She smelled of flowers and perfume which prickled poor Boris' nose so he couldn't smell anything else. But her eyes were gentle, not like Iron-eyes. Boris liked this woman, Ravendark.

"What is that thing behind you, Kivol?" Iron-eyes frowned, skewering poor Boris in his gaze.

"We found it sir!" Birdbeak barked his answer, saluting as he spoke, his voice filling the empty hall. "It was roaming around, Lord General Sir!"

Ravendark allowed Boris a sliver of a smile as she recognized him, the warmth in her eyes belieing her frosty answer, "That is Boris, Donkirk's pet. I believe he found the poor creature lying half-dead somewhere long ago and took it in out of pity. To think he is still here after Donkirk's demise."

"What should we do with it, Lord General?" Mossbeard took his turn to salute, puffing out his chest like a great bird, trying to look impressive.

Boris flinched as Iron-eyes studied him, eyes probing through the layers of gray fur and muscle pierce Boris' heart. Iron-eyes blinked once. "Kill it."

Before Boris could gabble his protests, Ravendark was laughing, a cold clattering noise echoing off the stark walls of the chamber. "Does such a harmless creature threaten you, Vladir?"

Iron-eyes turned to face her, hatred crackling around him like lightning, spearing her violet eyes with his own. They locked in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to give ground, the air about them seeming to congeal into a heavy, breathless tension. Boris watched, mesmerized, not wanting Ravendark to lose against bad Iron-eyes. "What do you mean, Princess?" Iron-eyes' voice cut through the heavy silence.

"Boris will not interfere with our plans." Ravendark raised her chin defiantly, confidant in her win. "Killing him does no good."

"It is useless."

Boris shook his head violently, hating nasty Iron-eyes. "Boris not useless! Boris good! Boris very good! Guard Master's machine from sneaky nasties! Guard Birdman from bad wolfies! Is good Boris!"

"See?" Ravendark laughed again. "Boris has guarded our precious machine, and weapons for us. We don't have to worry about scavengers who picked over the best material. We can now take Zaibach's metal wonders for ourselves."

"Nonononononono!" Boris scrambled over to her, eyes appealing. No, this woman is *not* bad! Not like all the other nasties with pointy knives and greedy hearts! She has to understand! "This is all *Master's*! No one else use! No no! Bad! Very bad!"

Her eyes hardened like diamonds, their warm fire snuffed out by an icy wind. "Your Master will no longer need these things. He owes us a great debt, one that will be repaid in blood. Who do you think *helped* him build these machines? Who provided him with the metal for his citadel?"

"Master good! Master wise!" Boris bared his teeth, not liking this grown-up Ravendark with no sympathy for Master. "He want peace!"

"He *wanted* to conquer Gaia," Ravendark motioned to the two guards who grabbed Boris harshly, hurting him with strong hands, no longer sparing Boris a kind look. "He promised us many things, things which he *never* returned. We are only fulfilling both his goal and ours."

"Bad lady! Bad!" Boris cursed, squirming against his prisoners. "You go away! Leave! Boris hate! Boris hate!"

"Take him to the dungeon." Ravendark turned her back on Boris, cape and hair whirling in one motion as she walked to the Great Machine. "And do *not* attempt to kill him." She glanced back to Iron-eyes, "*Understand?*"

Mossbeard and Birdbeak nodded curtly, dragging protesting Boris away to a cold, damp dungeon with no bugs to eat or no straw to sleep in. They threw him in, tossing him in a crumbling, whimpering heap on the damp floor, slamming the door and shutting out all the light.

Boris lay there, bemoaning his fate. "Poor Boris! No good now! No good, Master. Bad Boris. Bad." He curled into a furry ball on the floor, rocking and rocking, wailing to the tone deaf walls until finally sleep overtook him.