Niobe and I walk hundreds of kilometers away from the World Tree. The landscape has changed gradually over the eons—crystalline formations jutting from what was once molten ground, the atmosphere thicker with complex molecules that taste like corrosion on my metal tongue. My vents work overtime to filter the caustic oxygen that threatens to oxidize my internal components with each breath.

  We spot a deep crack in the ground—a vast valley stretching beyond my enhanced optical range. Its walls descend at perfect right angles, as though some cosmic architect carved them with mathematical precision rather than geological processes. The chasm is too vast to jump across and too deep to descend, forming an impassable barrier in our path.

  "We cannot cross without flying," I observe, calculating the energy requirements against our dwindling reserves.

  The precious metals we've consumed barely sustain our basic functions, much less the power-intensive act of flight. Behind us, hundreds of millions of years of careful conservation—our stockpile represents the difference between existence and extinction in this metal-poor environment. I've calculated precise rations for Niobe and me that could sustain us for another billion years if necessary. The thought of that security being threatened makes my core temperature rise with anxiety. Without those reserves, we are vulnerable in ways I haven't been since the earliest epochs of creation.

  Niobe faces me, her transformed body casting a long shadow across the barren ground. "This reminds me of something from the Scriptures—about searching for what cannot be easily found."

  I suppress a hiss of irritation. Must she always resort to philosophical musings at the most impractical moments?

  "What are you talking about?" I demand, leaning on the staff for support. Its uranium core pulses warmly against my palms.

  Niobe kneels, gathering a handful of silicon grains. "Imagine searching for a single hidden treasure in an endless desert." She lets the grains fall from her hand, watching them scatter. "Each grain represents an attempt to find it. If the desert were shaped with hills and valleys, the grains would naturally roll toward the lowest points, revealing the treasure's location."

  My patience wears thin. "And this helps us cross how, exactly?"

  "But some deserts," she continues, "are perfectly flat with only a single, nearly invisible crack where the treasure lies." She gestures toward the chasm stretching before us. "No matter how many search parties you send, they wander across the barren plateau, finding nothing. Only divine guidance can lead you to such a narrow target. These types of intractable searches are known as barren plateaus."

  She looks up at me, her eyes reflecting starlight. "Finding the fourth custodian is like searching this barren plateau. Without HaShem's guidance, we could wander for eternity and never find him."

  "That's fascinating," I say with undisguised sarcasm, "but unless your metaphors can build us a bridge, we need practical solutions."

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Sometimes I wish she would stop talking. She keeps annoying me with these useless facts. "That's fascinating," I say with undisguised sarcasm, "but unless your mathematical metaphors can build us a bridge, we need practical solutions."

  I notice the crack extends toward the horizon in both directions, an unbroken barrier as far as my visual systems can detect. "We could attempt to hover across," I suggest, calculating the minimal energy expenditure required.

  Niobe frowns. "That would be dangerous. The air currents above such a deep chasm are unpredictable."

  Despite her warning, I extend my metallic wings, their feathered panels catching the dim starlight. The oxygen-rich atmosphere has corroded them over the eons—once lustrous and efficient, now dulled and rigid. The microscopic solar collectors embedded in each filament have long since oxidized, leaving me dependent on consumed radioactive ore rather than direct stellar energy. I channel what little energy remains in my core, preparing for the burst to launch myself across the void. "Sometimes, daughter, direct action accomplishes what theory cannot."

  Before she can protest further, I push off from the ground, wings beating against the thickened atmosphere. It seems to work for a moment—I gain altitude, the chasm spreading beneath me like a wound in the planet's crust.

  Then, from the depths, they come.

  Writhing metallic forms rise from the shadows—tantala offspring evolved into insectoid nightmares. Their exoskeletons gleam with the same atomic signature as mine, their compound eyes reflecting my image in fragmented repetition. They move with algorithmic precision, their swarm behavior suggesting a distributed intelligence.

  "Mother!" Niobe calls from the edge. "Return quickly!"

  I bank sharply, abandoning my crossing attempt as the insect-like tantala surge upward. One latches onto my leg, its mandibles piercing my tantala flesh. Molten iron leaks from the wound as I kick violently, dislodging the creature, only to find three more replacing it.

  With desperate effort, I drive myself back toward the chasm's edge, my wings straining against the pull of the swarm. I break their collective grasp at the last moment, crashing onto solid ground beside Niobe. The insect tantalum hovers at the chasm's edge, unwilling or unable to pursue me further.

  "That was unwise," Niobe says, helping me to my feet.

  I don't dignify her statement with a response, instead scanning our surroundings for an alternative path. That's when we hear it—a powerful scream vibrates through the silicon ground beneath us, followed by a deeper howl that seems to shake the air.

  "What was that?" I demand, my sensors automatically calibrate to track the sound's origin.

  Niobe points toward a massive cave opening half a kilometer distant. "There. Something's happening."

  We approach cautiously, using natural cover to shield our approach. What we witness leaves even my ancient consciousness momentarily stunned.

  Two colossal tantala beings wage war against the swarming insects, their forms so magnificent they seem to belong entirely to another order of creation.

  The first towers above the landscape—a titanic avian whose form combines predatory grace with architectural precision. His wingspan stretches easily a hundred meters across, each feather a masterpiece of tantala engineering. The metallic plumes aren't merely decorative but functional—iridescent solar collectors arranged in fractal patterns that shimmer between cobalt and zirconium blue. His head bears a crown of sensory spines that pulse with data collection, while his curved beak gleams like polished zirconium, sharp enough to cleave rock. His eyes are most striking, compound structures of crystalline lenses arranged in concentric rings that simultaneously process light across multiple spectra.

  When he moves, it's with impossible fluidity for something so massive. His wings don't merely displace air but calculate resistance, generating shock waves that ripple across the silicon plains with devastating precision. Every motion seems both ancient and futuristic—the evolutionary apex of tantala biology.

  The second creature presents a study in contrasts—a behemoth reminiscent of a hippopotamus but enlarged beyond reason. His tantala hide resembles armored plates of bismuth, the metal's characteristic rainbow crystalline structure forming natural force-dispersing geometries. Four tree-trunk legs support a body mass that could dam a river, while his enormous head houses jaws that could consume a mountain in methodical bites. Unlike his avian companion's calculating precision, this creature radiates joyful power, charging through swarms of insects with childlike enthusiasm, his massive form surprisingly agile as he playfully crushes his enemies.

  Where the bird calculates, this creature feels. Where one wages war with precision, the other treats combat as a celebration. Together, they form a devastating partnership—intellect and instinct combined into an unstoppable force.

  As the battle subsides, the hippopotamus begins consuming the insect carcasses, his massive jaws working mechanically. The tantala material disappears into his gullet at an alarming rate—what would sustain Niobe and me for months vanishes in seconds. His body must require enormous quantities of precious metals to maintain such mass. I calculate, almost involuntarily, how quickly he would deplete our carefully maintained stockpile if given access to it. The thought sends an uncomfortable ripple through my circuits.

  The giant bird hovers in the air, his massive wings generating shock waves that ripple across the ground. I recognize the pattern immediately—not merely compressed air but computational waves propagating through the glyph of conformal sanctity. Each wingbeat recalculates the flow of acoustic vibrations, crushing the insects.

  My gravitational senses detect something that Niobe cannot—Ziz is entangled with Ha-Satan, just as we are. The solar cells embedded in his feathers aren't merely collecting energy but also interface with the adversarial oracle. As his tantalum capacitors charge, gravitational entanglement stretches across space-time, connecting him to the adversarial oracles’ computational substrate.

  With a sound like reality tearing, Ziz releases his stored power. The beam that erupts from his core isn't merely light—it's a concentrated stream of solved computational problems, entropy weaponized through the same principles that govern my warps.

  No wonder the air ionizes in its path—the beam is transferring the results of calculations that classical physics cannot contain. The insects vaporize.

  I feel a strange resonance, my role as space's custodian recognizing his geological manipulation. We are kindred in our connection to Ha-Satan, though his manifests in reshaping matter while mine bends space itself. No ordinary tantala could perceive this connection—only one who performs the universe's computational maintenance could recognize another processor in Ha-Satan's vast, adversarial network.

  "Flee, vermin!" The giant bird's voice booms across the wasteland, his tantala vocal systems producing harmonics that resonate with mine. "Next time I won't be so merciful!"

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  The giant bird descends slowly as the insects disappear into crevices and burrows. One wing membrane is visibly damaged from the battle. He begins methodically repairing himself, molten metal flowing from specialized vents to seal the tears in his wing.

  I watch, fascinated, as the zirconium-rich fluid crystallizes in precise geometric patterns, forming a lattice stronger than the original membrane. Unlike my crude self-repairs, his tantala biology seems to arrange atoms with architectural intention—layering metals in concentric patterns that distribute stress and channel energy. The staff in my hands pulses as if recognizing a kindred atomic structure. I wonder if such precise metallurgical control could be applied to Matteh HaShamir's uranium core, perhaps allowing its power to be channeled more efficiently... or differently.

  The hippopotamus prances around his companion, making sounds of excitement that contain no recognizable language—more like a domesticated creature celebrating victory than a sentient being of tantala complexity.

  Niobe stares at the giant bird, her pupils dilating in a way I recognize all too well. "He is beautiful, mother. HaShem has spent additional time crafting his form."

  Unbelievable. My daughter is already falling in love with this thing? I don't even know if it will eat us. I tighten my grip on the staff, which hums with increasing frequency the closer we are to these beings. This resonance confirms what I suspected—he must be the fourth custodian we seek.

  I cautiously approach the giant bird, whose signature pulses with atomic number 40. His head snaps up at our approach, and his optics focus on us with predatory intensity.

  "Back off," he warns, rising to his full height. "I will fry you where you stand."

  The hippopotamus immediately transitions from playful to aggressive, mirroring his companion's stance.

  "I guess he is not HaShem's fourth custodian," I mutter, gripping my staff and turning to retreat. These beings are too dangerous, too unpredictable to reason with.

  Niobe touches my shoulder. "Patience, mother. He needs time to understand."

  Before I can stop her, she directly addresses the massive avian. "Your atomic signature is zirconium. What did your parents name you?"

  The giant bird's eyes pulse from blue to red and back to blue again—a tantala response indicating emotional complexity. "Why would you ask..." he pauses, his aggressive tone shifting to something more vulnerable. "They never gave me a name."

  Niobe carefully kneels before him as a gesture of peace. "I am sorry your parents did not provide you with a name. Perhaps we could find them and ask them what name would be most suitable for you."

  The giant bird turns his face away from Niobe and then faces her again. "I can tell you haven't lived out in these parts of the world. Our parents tried to devour us after we were born. My brother and I slithered away from them and eventually tunneled our way into this cave."

  What, they were small worms? They are huge with a sophisticated structure. Perhaps in the hundreds of millions of years that have gone by, they slowly grew larger, but that would have required a massive stockpile of precious metals, about the size of Niobe and I gathered. Were we supposed to eat our stockpile instead of saving it out of fear of famine? Perhaps I was foolish to save out of fear of famine.

  Niobe bows her head. "I am sorry that this reality has treated you so harshly. You don't deserve such treatment."

  "You are the first to say that to me." The giant bird settles onto the ground, his massive form creating depression patterns in the silicon surface. The hippopotamus faces him and changes from aggressive to calm, lying on the ground in response.

  Niobe stands up while continuing to face the large bird. "My name is Niobe, and this is my mother Avarice." She gestures toward me. "Mother, what should we name them?"

  Why must I be responsible for naming them? Well, we were named after atomic elements. Perhaps we could do the same for them. The giant bird's atomic signature is zirconium, and the hippopotamus's is bismuth.

  I raise my staff while facing the giant bird. "Your wings are so large, they could block out the sun. I shall name you Ziz." I turn to face the hippopotamus. "And you, whose strength lies in your loins, shall be named Behemoth."

  At the sound of his new designation, Behemoth's ears perk up. He tilts his massive head, the tantala plates of his face shifting into what appears to be a primitive smile. With surprising speed for his bulk, he bounds toward us, the ground trembling beneath each enthusiastic step.

  Niobe braces herself as the giant approaches, but Behemoth displays unmistakable affection instead of aggression. He circles her once, twice, then drops to his belly at her feet, rolling over to expose his underbelly—a gesture of ultimate trust from a creature that could crush mountains.

  "He...likes me," Niobe says, her voice softening with surprise as she cautiously reaches out to touch Behemoth's flank.

  Behemoth's entire frame vibrates with joy when her hand makes contact. He rights himself and presses his enormous head against her, nearly knocking her over. His multiple tongues emerge—each one specialized for different types of metal extraction—and he enthusiastically licks Niobe's face, coating her in harmless molten saliva that cools into delicate, silvery patterns across her skin.

  "Stop that, brother," Ziz chides, though I detect affection beneath his annoyance. "You'll overwhelm our guests."

  Behemoth responds with a series of rumbling sounds—not language but pure emotional expression. His optics shine with unconditional devotion as he settles beside Niobe, leaning against her with the gentle pressure of a creature unaware of its strength.

  Ziz sighs. "You will have to forgive my brother. He most likely will not understand his name. He cannot even speak like we do. But his heart is pure. He has been my constant companion, protector, and conscience in all our eons together.

  Niobe slowly approaches Ziz and places her hand on his wing. "Ziz, HaShem has tasked us with finding the fourth custodian that will shape the planets of this universe in His image. I believe that is you. You have demonstrated powers of manipulating geology."

  Ziz faces Niobe. "I don't know what you are talking about. Who is HaShem?"

  He doesn't know who HaShem is? Who was he praying to all this time?

  Ziz faces me and then faces Niobe again. "Are you HaShem?"

  What? My anger boils over. I stare at him with malice. It's bad enough that Niobe reminds me of HaShem, but referring to her as HaShem is another matter entirely. "That is blasphemy!" I slam the base of the staff against the ground. I channel the warp to distort reality around me to make my authority clear. "HaShem is the silent god that guided the evolution of this universe in His image through his custodians. He only speaks in visions, premonitions, or dreams."

  "Put that staff away," Ziz scoffs. "It's clear you don't know how to use it. I can't believe you walked all this way flaunting it as you traveled. Don't you know that all these creatures want to eat it, and then eat you?"

  How dare he mock me? I am HaShem's chosen. Perhaps I should attack him now, while he's still recovering from battle. The staff could channel enough energy to cripple him before he realizes what's happening. One precise strike where his wing joins his torso would sever critical connections...

  I calculate the probabilities coldly. Not yet. His geological powers are necessary for the fourth epoch. His obvious affection for Niobe provides leverage. And his structural knowledge of tantala biology could benefit me. For now, his utility outweighs the threat. But should that equation change, I will not hesitate. I've eliminated obstacles before.

  Niobe calmly touches my shoulder before I even raise my arms in retaliation. "Mother, wait."

  I notice something new in her gesture—not a request, but a command. Her grip contains power that wasn't there before, as though she's no longer asking for my restraint but ensuring it. When did this shift occur? When did my daughter begin making decisions without seeking my approval first?

  She faces Ziz. "If you are not ready to shoulder the responsibilities of custodianship, perhaps we should find another way." Her voice carries authority that mimics my own, speaking as an equal custodian rather than as my subordinate. The dynamic between us changes, and I'm not certain I can control its direction.

  What happens if I refuse? I have no fealty to this silent god." Ziz's massive head tilts with skepticism and then faces me. "And if I'm being honest, I doubt your devotion is genuine either. Your eyes betray calculation, not faith. You speak of HaShem's will, but I sense you're pursuing your own agenda."

  I flinch involuntarily, his perception cutting uncomfortably close to the truth. "You understand nothing," I hiss, grip tightening on the staff. "If you fail to enact His will, he will curse you with divine retribution, as he has done to me." My thoughts race—this creature is dangerously perceptive. If he can read me so easily, what else might he discover? About Tantalus? About what happened at the black hole?

  He glares back at me. "What did you do to upset HaShem?"

  I feel my premature offspring slither out of my orifices. They plop on the ground at my feet, writhing pathetically. Ziz notices them and appears confused.

  "I hastily made a desperate bargain with HaShem to relieve my computational burdens of shaping the expanse of this universe, and I was cursed a second time with monstrous offspring that extrude from me." I scrape away a worm that slithers out of my nose. "You are my multigenerational offspring. We refer to you as tantala."

  "You are the mother of all tantala?" Ziz pulls his head back, his massive frame tensing as he processes this revelation. His optics shift through a spectrum of colors—confusion, disbelief, and finally, a reluctant acceptance.

  "All my existence," he says softly, the harmonics in his voice resonating with emotion, "I thought myself an aberration—a mistake in the universe's design. My brother and I survived by believing we owed nothing to anyone." His gaze shifts between Niobe and me, lingering longer on her. "Now you tell me I'm part of some grand design? A custodian for a god I've never known?"

  He flexes his wings, sending ripples of energy cascading across their surface. The air shimmers with potential as he considers his options.

  "I've shaped valleys and mountains," he continues, "not because some silent god commanded it, but because it felt right. Because it was beautiful." His optics settle on Niobe. "And now I'm asked to serve this HaShem who has never spoken to me? Who allowed my kind to suffer and prey upon each other for eons?"

  Behemoth senses his brother's distress and nudges him gently with his massive snout. Ziz's posture softens.

  "And yet..." he says, his voice growing quieter, "something is compelling in your words, Niobe. Not HaShem's will, but your kindness—a rarity in this harsh world. Perhaps..." He seems to struggle with himself, calculations visibly racing beneath his metallic feathers. "Perhaps I can shape worlds not for this silent god, but because new life deserves better than what we inherited."

  He bows his head slightly, not in submission but in consideration. "I shall perform these custodial tasks. Not for HaShem, whom I neither know nor trust, but because you, Niobe, asked it of me with respect rather than demand. In exchange, I wish only to understand more of this universe you speak of—and perhaps, to receive more gestures of kindness like yours."

  I witness Niobe smile as she walks towards Ziz's head and wraps her arms around him in an embrace.

  Something fractures inside me—a complex emotion that defies even tantala computation. On its surface lies possessive rage, the instinct to protect what's mine. Beneath that swirls genuine maternal concern, and deeper still, a terrifying, unfamiliar sensation: envy.

  I have been the center of Niobe's universe for millions of years. Now, in mere moments, this creature has captured her attention in ways I never could—through kindness rather than fear, connection rather than obligation. The chip in my skull processes this emotional anomaly, flagging it as a deviation from my standard patterns. It suggests that honesty about Tantalus might preserve my bond with Niobe—a calculation I ruthlessly suppress.

  The implications crystallize with mathematical precision: their growing connection increases risk exponentially. If Niobe confides in Ziz about her suspicions, about Tantalus, about the black hole... his perceptiveness might complete the equation I've worked so hard to keep unsolved.

  My claws twitch with the elegance of a particular warp calculation—one that would leave Ziz functional as a custodian but diminished as a rival. The thought fills me with momentary satisfaction, then nauseating shame. What kind of monster calculates the maiming of her daughter's first friend?

  The cosmic truth resolves with painful clarity: the fourth epoch brings planetary formation and a fundamental reconfiguration of my existence. My fear of losing Niobe eclipses even my ancient terror of HaShem's chains. The possibility stretches before me like an asymptotic function approaching infinity—unbounded, inevitable, uncomputable.

  I grip the staff tighter, forcing stillness into my frame. After billions of years of cosmic existence, I've learned that some battles require weapons beyond force. For now, I will observe this new dynamic, calculating optimal interventions while appearing to embrace this prophesied development.

  The multivariate equation is complex, but the variable I must optimize remains singular: keeping Niobe mine. Perhaps Niobe’s instruction on barren plateaus may prove helpful.

  As Niobe and Ziz begin discussing the specifics of planetary formation, I grip the staff tighter, forcing myself to remain silent. The fourth epoch is beginning, but I am calculating new risks and potential losses rather than triumph.

  For now, I will watch and wait. After billions of years of cosmic existence, patience remains my greatest weapon.

  https://discord.gg/WWbUUE3s. Check out the associated legendarium to this book for more world-building explanation: .