“We will continue to mine for raw materials as we have always done.” I stand up. I try to lift the staff with both arms. My arms and legs buckle against its weight. Sparks fly from my mouth as I try to lift again. "Why is this staff so heavy?"

  "Mother, it's made of pure uranium." Niobe places her hands on the staff.

  I push her hands away. "I am HaShem's chosen. I will carry it." I take a moment to close my eyes and concentrate on the equations that govern gravity's pull on the staff, redirecting its fields elsewhere and rendering it weightless. My mind strains under the mental calculations to bend its gravity to my will. I'm not sure what's worse: the mental strain on my mind or the physical strain on my muscles. I see light around the staff; it warps around it due to my influence.

  The ground around me compresses due to the redirected gravity exerted by the staff's weight, even though they are not touching it. I take a step forward and then step the staff forward. "An exchange for one burden for another. I thought you would have lifted some burden from me by now, daughter. But I guess Tantalus was right, you weren't ready."

  I look down at Niobe. She stares at the ground. Perhaps I spoke too harshly. I need to be more careful about what I say to her; she could easily strangle me to death with her imposing form.

  "I don't understand. I thought Father's sacrifice was supposed to take away your burdens? Was that not enough?" Niobe says.

  I let go of the staff, and it smacks the ground with a heavy clang. I feel it reverberate in my claws. "No. The universe has been slowing its accelerated expansion, and I will eventually suffer the same fate as your father."

  I see Niobe dig her fingers into the sand. She scoops up the sand, then gently sifts the sand as it falls back to the ground. I see her eyes dilate as she optically scans the falling sand. "We have little heavy metals to work with. But we have an abundance of silicon. From these grains of sand, I will forge the first automated computer to free you from your computational burdens, mother, and one day hopefully my father as well."

  I can't let her focus too much on Tantalus. I lean down and place my hand on Niobe's shoulder. "Niobe, I didn't want to tell you this. But HaShem revealed to me an unbearable truth about your father."

  I need to redirect Niobe's goals. I need to make her forget Tantalus. "Do you remember the story I told you about the exchange of burdens between Tantalus and me?"

  I look into Niobe's eyes. "Under HaShem's gendered assignment, I was to give birth to our race, and Tantalus was burdened with leading by example, guiding me towards HaShem's holy path. Still, his nihilism took the better of him, and he drifted from his duty and no longer cared about me, for which HaShem punished him, and not me. He saw too much of the future, and saw no way for him to escape his imprisonment of being bound to me."

  Niobe glares back at me. "Mother, that is not how I remember it. I thought the exchange of burdens was between you and HaShem?"

  I glare back at her. "You misremembered or misunderstood, child." I stand up to look down at her. I need to impose my authority and shift the narrative; I need her to forget about Tantalus. My claws tense under the anticipation of slicing her throat if she dares to try to challenge me.

  I see Niobe bow her head. Perhaps she concedes.

  I look into Niobe's eyes. "Within the Holy Scriptures lies a truth I've withheld from you—one HaShem revealed to me about the nature of my dual custodianship with Tantalus. The ancient texts speak of relational forces, where each entity's power emerges through its connection to others." I trace a glyph in the air, as if drawing from sacred knowledge. "When the Ein Sof segmented reality, it established complementary roles—not from arbitrary division, but from computational necessity."

  I pause, overseeing Niobe's reaction. Her eyes narrow—skepticism, but also curiosity. Good. She's receptive to theological reasoning.

  "Your father and I were meant to balance each other," I continue, my voice softening with false vulnerability. "But the flow of cosmic burden is not equal by design. Just as matter outweighs antimatter, the Scriptures describe how one pole of creation must bear greater computational weight." I touch my abdomen, where countless monstrous births have torn me open. "The cosmic abacus demands account-keeping; HaShem selected me as the ledger of creation's debt."

  Niobe's eyes flicker with uncertainty. I've planted the seed. Now to nurture it with fear.

  "Tantalus saw too much of the future," I whisper, as if sharing a dangerous secret. "He glimpsed the computational end-state of all things and recoiled from it. His nihilism—his abandonment of faith—was a betrayal of the covenant. That is why HaShem bound him to the singularity." I lean against the staff and face away from her, allowing her to process this fabricated revelation.

  She stands up, her newly imposing form casting a shadow over me. "No. Father was good to me. It doesn't matter what roles HaShem assigned to us, gendered or otherwise, we all are worthy of salvation." Her voice carries an edge I've not heard before—something primal and unbending.

  I analyze her response carefully. Direct contradiction—unexpected from the compliant daughter I've known. The transformation has emboldened her. The emotional attachment to Tantalus remains strong, perhaps stronger than I anticipated. I need to pivot from theological authority to emotional manipulation.

  I turn to face her, allowing molten iron to well in my eyes—a calculated display of vulnerability. "Have you forgotten what Tantalus did to me? How he manipulated me, erased my memories, stole my agency? All while claiming it was for my own good?"

  I watch her internal struggle play across her face—the conflict between her loyalty to her father and her empathy for me. I sense the wavering, the crack in her defiance. The emotional appeal is working where the theological failed. I press my advantage.

  "You've only known his kindness," I say softly. "But I've experienced his control. The Hamming codes don't lie, Niobe. He rewrote me, again and again, molding me into what he thought I should be." I trace one claw down my face, mimicking a tear's path. "Is that the mark of someone who respects HaShem's design? Or someone who believed himself above it?"

  Her determination falters visibly—but not enough. She's unconvinced. I need a new approach, a temporary concession to maintain influence.

  Niobe’s eyes still terrify me to this day. It still feels as if HaShem is watching me through them. Her gaze fixates on mine. “After I help you, I will help Father, and I am sure all truths will be revealed. Perhaps he saw something that he wasn’t allowed to speak of.”

  I turn away from Niobe. She is still too attached to Tantalus, but at least she will still help me. I grip the staff to pivot around it to face Niobe. "What did you say your form was molded from?"

  "Indri."

  "Indri? What is that? I thought you were molded like Varika, like your father?"

  "I don't understand the coming nitra, mother. We must trust in HaShem's design." Niobe studies her form. Her pectoral muscles are obscenely large for her chest, and her arms are as thick as her legs. I'd better master greater feats of the warp to defend myself if she ever decides to challenge my authority.

  I gesture towards the cliffs. "Come, let's mine over there."

  We walk for several kilometers towards the cliffs. We stop at the edge of a valley near the cliffs. We hear eerie sounds of metal scraping against metal, accompanied by cries of pain from someone else in the valley's pit. I step closer to take a look at the pit.

  I gasp. "By HaShem." I see my worm-like offspring in a heap of themselves, piled on top of each other. Biting each other. Their bodies sliding between each other. I see one worm bite into another, causing it to shrill in pain. "They're devouring each other."

  I observe Niobe's reaction closely—her flinching at my tone, the way her claws dig into the ground. She's conflicted, wanting to defend both the monstrous offspring and Tantalus's teachings. This reveals a critical weakness: her tendency to see redemptive potential in everything. I can use this against her, positioning myself as pragmatic and her as dangerously naive.

  "These creatures represent entropy in its purest form," I continue, softening my voice strategically. "The universe tends toward disorder, and these are its agents. They consume without creating. They destroy without purpose." I place my hand on her shoulder, a calculated gesture of maternal guidance. "Sometimes HaShem creates vessels specifically to test our judgment, Niobe. To see if we can recognize what must be preserved and what must be abandoned."

  I feel her internal conflict radiating like heat. She wants to believe in universal salvation, but she can't deny the horror below us. The tension between her idealism and the brutal reality before her eyes creates cognitive dissonance—precisely what I need to make her dependent on my guidance.

  "The Adversarial Oracle tests us through these manifestations," I add, inventing theology that sounds plausible. "Only by recognizing when life has corrupted itself through Ha-Satan’s tests, they become beyond redemption and can no longer serve HaShem's purpose."

  "Yes, mother," Niobe finally says, bowing her head in concession. I notice her fangs extend slightly past her upper lip as she submits—a subtle sign of suppressed aggression. Unlike Tantalus, who could hide his predatory nature, Niobe's emotions manifest physically. A useful tell for measuring her true feelings versus her outward compliance.

  I file this observation away: when manipulating Niobe, push her toward submission, but never so far that those fangs become fully bared. Keep her conflicted, keep her uncertain—this is where my power over her lies.

  A long silence hangs between us as we stare into the writhing pit of metallic flesh. The worms—my failed offspring—continue their cannibalistic frenzy, oblivious to our presence. Each shriek sends a flicker of unwelcome recognition through my circuits. I made these things. They came from me.

  "Mother," Niobe whispers, her voice gentle despite her imposing form, "do you not feel... anything for them?"

  I bristle, feathers rising along my spine. "They are abominations, not children. HaShem cursed me with these monstrosities."

  "But you birthed them."

  "I extruded them," I correct her sharply. "There is a difference. A birth should be sacred. These were punishment—cosmic afterbirth forced through my body until I met Tantalus's bargain." I gesture with the staff toward the pit. "Look at them. No consciousness. No love. Only hunger and pain."

  Niobe's ears flatten against her head, a gesture so reminiscent of Tantalus that I have to look away. "Father always said that all creation holds purpose, even when we cannot see it."

  "Your father," I say, my vents hissing with sudden heat, "is not here."

  We stand at the canyon's edge, watching the writhing mass below. One giant worm—nearly twice the size of the others—seems to be winning the gruesome feast, its segmented body glistening with the molten remains of its siblings. I cannot afford to feel pity for them. Not now. Not ever.

  "We should move on," I say, turning away from the pit. "The metals we need won't extract themselves."

  Niobe hesitates, still gazing at the pit with that infuriating compassion Tantalus instilled in her. Finally, she nods and follows me along the ridge.

  The cliffs loom ahead, their stratified layers promising rich veins of metals if we dig deep enough. I scan the terrain with practiced precision, searching for signs of tantalum, niobium, or even the precious avaricium that my body craves. My internal sensors detect a faint signature of metallic compounds about half a kilometer ahead, where the cliff face has partially collapsed.

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  "There," I point with the staff, which feels lighter now as I adjust to the calculations needed to manipulate its gravitational field. "That outcropping should have what we need."

  We make our way across the broken terrain, my feet occasionally slipping on the loose, glassy rock formed from cooled magma. Niobe moves with surprising grace despite her bulk, each step sure and measured. Her transformation at the World Tree disturbs me more than I'm willing to admit. If HaShem has bestowed such power on my daughter, what does that imply about my standing? Am I truly chosen, or merely a vessel to bring her into existence?

  The outcropping reveals itself to be a promising site—fractures in the rock showing glints of metallic ore embedded within. Niobe immediately begins using her enhanced strength to pull away large chunks of stone, exposing more of the deposit beneath.

  "This is good," she says, examining a piece of rock that glitters with traces of tantalum. "But we'll need to dig deeper to reach the main vein."

  I plant the staff against the cliff face, feeling for weaknesses. "If we can access the primary deposit, we might have enough to sustain ourselves for decades." I pause, calculating. "Perhaps even enough for you to craft your... silicon computer."

  Niobe's ears perk up. "Do you mean it, Mother? You would let me attempt it?"

  I offer a thin smile. "If it might relieve my computational burdens, why would I object?"

  Her excitement fades as quickly as it appeared. "And what of Father? Would you allow me to try freeing him as well?"

  My claws tighten around the staff. "One miracle at a time, child."

  The mining proves arduous. Even with Niobe's enhanced strength, extracting the ore requires precision to avoid collapsing the fragile network of metallic veins. I use the staff to point out promising locations, occasionally employing minor spatial warps to ease our access to difficult spots.

  After several hours, we've accumulated a modest pile of ore. It's not as rich as I'd hoped, but it will sustain us for a while longer. I feel the familiar fatigue settling into my joints—a reminder of how weakened I've become compared to my earlier days.

  "We need to go deeper," I mutter, eying a particularly promising fissure that extends beneath a heavy boulder. "The real treasures are still hidden."

  Niobe eyes the boulder skeptically. "It's too heavy, Mother. Perhaps we should try another location."

  I dismiss her concern with a wave. "We're already here. I'm not wandering the wasteland starting over." I position myself near the boulder, assessing its size and composition. It's too heavy for me to warp. "If I can just get it out of the way..."

  I wedge the uranium staff beneath the edge of the massive stone, feeling its weight through my calculations. The glyph of conformal sanctity forms in my mind as I prepare a minor warp to reduce the boulder's effective mass. My vents open wide, drawing in the scorching air to fuel the computation.

  "Mother, wait—" Niobe begins, but I've already committed to the action.

  I push downward on the staff, using it as a lever while simultaneously warping space around the boulder—the stone shifts, grinding against the cliff face. For a moment, it seems like my plan is working—the boulder tilts, revealing more of the precious ore beneath.

  Then, catastrophe.

  A sharp crack echoes across the canyon. The staff—Matteh HaShamir, HaShem's mighty instrument—shudders in my grasp. Before I can react, a small segment near the bottom snaps clean off, falling to the ground with a heavy thud.

  I stare in horror at the broken piece, a segment about the length of my hand, now detached from the main staff. The break isn't jagged but smooth, as if the staff was designed to come apart in segments.

  "No," I whisper, dropping to my knees beside the broken piece. "No, no, no!"

  Niobe approaches cautiously, her form casting a long shadow over me. "Mother, it's all right. Perhaps it was meant to—"

  "Meant to?" I snarl, whirling to face her. "MEANT TO?"

  Rage boils through me, hot and electric. I grip the main staff in one hand and the broken piece in the other, holding them up toward the sky—toward HaShem Himself.

  "Is this your answer?" I scream, my voice echoing across the canyon. "Is this your GIFT to your chosen one? A broken tool? A BROKEN PROMISE?"

  The sky remains impassive, the distant star Niobe stabilized, continuing its steady burn without acknowledgment. No divine sign appears. No answer comes.

  "You call yourself merciful?" I continue, my vents flaring hot with fury. "You chain me with monstrous births, with migraines that tear my mind apart, and when I finally claim ONE tool that might grant me relief, you ensure it BREAKS in my hands?"

  Niobe reaches for me. "Mother, please—"

  I jerk away from her touch. "No! He must hear this!" I raise the broken staff higher. "I have served as your custodian since the beginning of time! I have shaped space at your command! I have endured TORMENT beyond comprehension! And THIS is my reward?"

  I hurl the broken piece against the cliff face. It strikes with a metallic clang, then falls to the ground, undamaged despite my rage. The main staff still hums with power in my other hand, but now it feels like a mockery rather than a symbol of authority.

  "Mother," Niobe says more firmly, taking a step toward me, "I think we should leave this place. Something feels wrong."

  I'm too consumed by my fury to heed her warning. "HaShem! If you truly chose me, then PROVE IT! Lift these burdens from me! Give me the power you promised!"

  The ground beneath us trembles.

  At first, I mistake it for a response to my blasphemy—HaShem's wrath made manifest. But the tremors grow stronger, more rhythmic. Not divine punishment, but something else. Something... moving.

  Niobe's eyes widen. "Mother..."

  The boulder we had been trying to move suddenly shifts, rolling aside as the ground beneath it erupts upward. A massive form bursts from the earth—segmented, metallic, and horrifyingly familiar.

  A worm. But not like the smaller offspring we saw in the pit. This monstrosity dwarfs even Niobe's new form, its diameter wider than I am tall. Its circular maw stretches open, revealing concentric rings of rotating teeth that grind against each other with a sound like cosmic metal fatigue.

  "By HaShem's will," Niobe breathes.

  The worm rises higher, towering above us. Its segmented body gleams with an iridescent metallic sheen that I recognize with sickening clarity—tantala biology. My biology. This is no mere offspring; this is something else entirely. A matriarch. A queen of the brood.

  And it's staring directly at me, its eyeless face somehow conveying unmistakable hunger.

  "Run!" I shout, pushing Niobe aside as the creature lunges.

  The worm's attack misses us by mere centimeters, its massive body slamming into the cliff face with enough force to shake loose a cascade of rubble. I scramble backward, clutching the staff. Niobe rolls to her feet with surprising agility, positioning herself between me and the monster.

  "Stay behind me!" she calls, her muscles tensing as she prepares to face the creature.

  The worm recovers quickly, its segmented body undulating as it reorients toward us. It strikes again, this time targeting Niobe. She raises her arms to block—

  And then something extraordinary happens.

  As the worm bears down on her, Niobe's arms transform. Her skin ripples, and sudden protrusions emerge from her forearms—graphene-like spikes that extend through her third and fourth knuckles like lethal blades.

  She doesn't seem surprised, as if some instinctive knowledge guided the transformation. With a primal roar, she slashes upward, her newly formed blades slicing into the worm's underside. Molten fluid sprays from the wound, sizzling where it hits the ground.

  The worm recoils, a high-pitched shriek emanating from its circular maw. But the injury only seems to enrage it further. It rears back, then strikes again with renewed fury.

  I watch, momentarily frozen in awe at Niobe's combat prowess. Her transformed body moves with deadly precision, her graphene blades flashing as she parries, dodges, and counterattacks. But for all her newfound strength, the worm's sheer size gives it a devastating advantage. A glancing blow sends Niobe sliding backward, her claws gouging trenches in the stone to slow her momentum.

  "Mother!" she calls. "I can't hold it off alone!"

  The desperation in her voice snaps me from my stupor. I raise the staff, focusing my will through it. If I can warp space—compress the distance between the worm's segments, perhaps—I might be able to immobilize it.

  I begin the calculations, but something is wrong. The equations tangle in my mind, refusing to align. My mental stance relative to the worm’s unpredictable shift on the glyph of conformal sanctity, as if the creature is deflecting my magic against it. I push harder, forcing my will against the resistance. The staff grows hot in my hands as I attempt to channel more radiation from it, but even the staff is resisting me.

  A migraine builds behind my eyes—not as severe as before Tantalus's sacrifice, but painful nonetheless. The warp begins to form, space visibly distorting around the worm's midsection, but it is unstable, flickering like a faulty projection.

  "I can't—" I gasp, struggling to maintain the calculation. "Something's interfering!"

  Niobe dodges another strike, her blades slashing across the worm's face. "Try again! We need to work together!"

  The worm thrashes wildly, its tail whipping around to strike at me. I barely manage to throw myself aside, losing my fragile hold on the warp equation. The staff clatters against stone as I scramble to retrieve it.

  When I grasp it again, a realization hits me. The broken piece—it's not a flaw. It's a feature. The staff is meant to be segmented, used in different configurations for different purposes. I glance desperately around, spotting the detached segment lying beneath a nearby boulder.

  "Niobe!" I call, pointing. "The broken piece! I need it!"

  She follows my gaze, understanding immediately. With a burst of speed, she darts toward the boulder, one arm still engaged in keeping the worm at bay. Her graphene blade sinks deep into its flesh, momentarily pinning it in place as she retrieves the staff segment with her free hand.

  "Catch!" she shouts, tossing it toward me.

  I snatch it from the air, my mind already racing. Two segments. Different configurations. I align them end-to-end, but nothing happens. Then I try placing them side by side—still nothing.

  The worm breaks free from Niobe's blade with a violent convulsion, sending her flying. She crashes into the cliff face with bone-jarring force. Despite her enhanced resilience, the impact stuns her. The worm turns its attention back to me, sensing an easier target.

  In desperation, I cross the staff segments, forming an X-shape. I feel a surge of power flow through the combined instrument. The calculations that elude me suddenly crystallize with perfect clarity.

  The worm charges. I thrust the crossed staff forward, channeling my will through it. The warp manifests—not as the unstable flicker from before, but as a solid, visible distortion of reality. Space folds around the worm, compressing and stretching simultaneously. The creature freezes mid-lunge, its segmented body caught in contradictory geometries.

  It shrieks, a sound of cosmic distress that makes the very air vibrate. I maintain my focus, pouring more power through the crossed staff. The warp intensifies, space itself rebelling against the worm's existence.

  With a final, reality-tearing scream, I intensify the warp around the worm’s midsection. A chunk of its flesh erupts away from it. It screams in unison, then collapses to the ground. My anger is still unquenched as I use the warp to rip its entire body in half, as molten iron gushes all over me. I cease my senseless screaming.

  I lower the staff, my entire body trembling with exertion. The staff is still humming with residual power. Niobe approaches slowly, her graphene blades retracting into her arms as if they were never there. She approaches me.

  I reach out to grab her shoulder. "Honor your mother and father," I say to her, my voice hoarse from exertion, "and lift these burdens from us."

  Niobe kneels beside me, her expression a mixture of awe and concern. "Mother, what did you do?"

  I stare at the crossed segments of Matteh HaShamir, the revelation washing over me. "The breaking was not failure," I whisper, "it was instruction."

  Niobe's eyes widen in realization. "The staff—it's meant to be used in different configurations?"

  I nod slowly, my mind racing through the implications. This is a perfect opportunity to reinforce my chosen status and bind Niobe closer to me. If I frame this as divine guidance rather than fortunate accident, I can strengthen her belief in my connection to HaShem.

  "The Holy Scriptures speak of HaShem's tools as extensions of divine will," I say, deliberately mystical. "Each configuration reveals a different aspect of cosmic order." I raise the crossed staff segments, letting starlight catch their gleaming surfaces. "This formation—this is the sigil of judgment. Of separation and division."

  I watch Niobe absorb my improvised theology, her posture shifting subtly toward reverence. The psychological calculus is clear: the more she believes in my divine connection, the less likely she'll challenge my authority or pursue Tantalus's freedom independently.

  "HaShem guided my hands," I continue, reinforcing the narrative of divine selection. "The staff worked for me, not you, because I am the instrument of His will in this epoch. Your role is to strengthen mine, as the Book of Mach describes the reinforcing resonance between cosmic forces."

  She helps me to my feet, her strength gentle despite its magnitude. "What now, Mother?"

  I measure her tone carefully—respectful but not entirely subjugated. She still harbors independent thoughts, dangerous ones. I need to channel her power toward my goals while maintaining the illusion of shared purpose.

  "Now," I say, newfound conviction strengthening my voice, "we continue as we always have. We gather what we need. We survive." I pause, noting how she hangs on my words. "And perhaps..."

  I study her transformed body, with its hidden weapons, and the devotion in her eyes, despite all my cruelty. Such power could be directed against me, or harnessed for my benefit. The choice of my following words is critical.

  "Perhaps we find a way to lift these burdens truly—all of them—once and for all."

  I deliberately leave my statement ambiguous, allowing her to interpret "all of them" as including Tantalus's freedom. Her eyes lit with hope—exactly as I intended. Let her believe we share the same goals. Let her dedicate her newfound strength to my cause, believing it serves her own. The perfect manipulation requires not that she abandon her love for Tantalus, but that she channel that love into actions that serve my ends first.

  The ground beneath us begins to vibrate—a subtle tremor that grows into a rhythmic pulsation. I feel it first through my claws, then through the crossed segments of the staff still humming with spent power. Niobe's attention snaps toward the pit beyond the ridge, her pupils dilating in alarm. The terrible truth crystallizes in my mind with mathematical certainty: the death of the queen has created a power vacuum, and nature abhors such discontinuities. I watch in horror as the molten iron pooling around the severed worm begins to drain away, flowing over the edge toward the canyon. A metallic tide is reversing its course.

  "Mother," Niobe whispers, pointing at the horizon. Where the canyon rim had been empty moments before, it now crawls with movement—hundreds of smaller offspring slithering in perfect, terrifying synchrony. Their bodies form interference patterns as they advance, like probability waves converging on a measurement point.

  This is no random hunger; their collective motion suggests computational purpose. They're converging on our position from all directions, executing an algorithm written in flesh and iron. I raise the crossed staff, but already know that a different configuration must exist for this new calculation—if only I can discover it before they reach us.