The elevator shaft ascended slowly, gears turning with a low, grinding echo from above.
A single dim, old mining lamp illuminated the otherwise pitch-black shaft, casting long shadows.
In the silence, Clara and Svarog felt the growing weightlessness as they were lifted upward.
“…I feel a little scared,”
Clara murmured, pressing herself closer to Svarog than she ever had in the Underworld.
Though she had decided on her own to visit the Overworld, leaving the place she knew best and stepping into this vast, unknown machine felt unsettling, as if she were being swallowed up and carried somewhere far beyond her reach.
“No need to worry. Estimated arrival at the terrace is in ten minutes. We’ll enter the Administrative District through a disused heating duct in the Outlying Zone—then we can begin tracking the bard.”
“…Um, Mr. Svarog, have you been to the Overworld before? You seem to know the paths up there pretty well!”
“I once spent some time in the Overworld,” Svarog replied. “I retain data on its architecture and layout. As long as the city’s structure hasn’t changed much, we don’t need to fear getting lost.”
In fact, Svarog had not returned to the Overworld for a long time. As a relic of the ancient era, he had been placed into the Underworld by the wise Aleksandra, the second Supreme Guardian, where he’d gone dormant for centuries until he reawakened in a world vastly different from the one he had once known.
The ruling Guardian had changed from the wise Aleksandra to Cocolia, the eighteenth in succession.
Svarog took no particular interest in power shifts. He simply logged the information and continued to follow his original directive: preservation.
Until that day.
When he found a small human child—an abandoned girl, Clara—in the junkyard southeast of Boulder Town.
She had been in poor mental condition at the time, reluctant to communicate and clearly avoiding human contact.
In fact, when Svarog attempted to converse with her, Clara burst into tears.
For three hours and seven minutes.
His initial conclusion had been to bring the girl back to the base, observe her, and gather further information to create an appropriate response plan.
But that single choice changed him.
Raising Clara, letting her grow among the machines, brought out something deeper within him.
While he’d considered himself a “teacher,” Clara came to see him as “family.”
As her teacher, he had unwittingly learned from her what it meant to have “feelings.”
Once, he had held his calculations as absolute. No one could sway Svarog from his logical conclusions.
Yet, through Clara’s warmth and the bard’s unexpected influence, Svarog began to see that his approach had limits.
Although he had been methodically correct, he began to consider whether people could indeed achieve a “happy” future.
His simulations on Belobog’s fate had always shown inevitable decline, merely differing in how long the Underworld and Overworld would last. Attempts to alter this conclusion always proved futile.
But that conclusion had recently been overturned.
The bard, with his inscrutable ways, had come on his own to the Mechanic Settlement, won people over with his music, and finally, without hesitation, became Clara’s “family.”
Svarog couldn’t deny that he had felt “resistance” toward the bard, suspecting that spending too much time around him might lead Clara astray, perhaps even encouraging her to pick up his bad drinking habits.
Thus, when he had probed the bard’s intentions that day, he hadn’t hesitated to display “hostility.”
But the bard passed his test, fulfilled his promises, and demonstrated a “saving grace” of his own.
A weight lifted, Svarog was able to devote even more of his attention to Clara.
During this time, Clara had also caught the attention of Belobog’s Guardian successor, Bronya Rand, which would benefit her future in the city.
At that point, Svarog couldn’t help but contemplate something.
Perhaps—one day, Clara would leave him.
A child grows up, builds social connections beyond family. She would have close friends, perhaps even a partner, and maybe one day start a family of her own.
When that time came, what would be left for him?
Though the question came suddenly, and Clara was still young, Svarog was a robot.
Properly maintained, he would outlive any human by many years. He would see her grow from a girl to a young woman, then a mother, and finally, he would watch her grow old, leaving only a flower on a cold stone.
The thought had brought his logic system to a standstill for a moment.
Yet, in worrying about her future, he found a strange emotion taking shape.
It was fulfillment.
He wanted to do all he could to make sure Clara’s life was complete.
So, if there was something she wished to do or struggled to decide upon, he would help her to follow her heart.
Even if it was something the old Svarog would never have done.
As his thoughts drifted, they arrived.
A beam of warm light streamed into the elevator shaft, casting away the shadows and illuminating both their faces.
Clara shielded her eyes with her small hands, blinking her ruby-like eyes as they adjusted to the brightness.
“Oh… we’re here already. It feels like a dream.”
Seeing her childlike wonder, Svarog stepped out of the elevator, kneeling and gesturing for her to sit on his arm.
“There should still be many buildings intact out there. We can move forward and explore along the way.”
“Is it the sunlight?” Clara blinked, puzzled. “Mr. Svarog, you seem… so gentle right now.”
She didn’t resist, settling onto his large hand with ease, her small feet barely covering any space on his palm.
“According to my calculations, children leaving their familiar surroundings may feel nervous or anxious. In severe cases, this could lead to adverse effects such as stomach pain.
“Therefore, I believe that until Clara is accustomed to the Overworld, it is my duty as family to provide support.”
Svarog lifted Clara securely onto his arm and took his first step outside to explore.
They began with the abandoned pipeline system. There wasn’t much to say about it—it was part of Belobog’s outdated greenhouse heating system, significant more as a relic than for practical use.
Its reverse radiation accounted for only 5.2% of the city’s longwave radiation emissions.
In facing the prolonged ice age, people relied more on Geomarrow heaters in their homes.
And perhaps… on a force that somehow maintained a stable temperature in Belobog.
For now, Svarog could only speculate that this was due to interference from another realm.
Or, to put it more plainly, a “miracle” from Qlipoth.
Today, however, the temperature in the Overworld felt… off.
Perhaps it wasn’t perceptible to most, but as a special model created with ancient Architect technology, Svarog could detect that the surrounding temperature was slowly, almost imperceptibly, draining outward.
He raised his head toward the ceiling, where a transparent rupture in the deep blue sky exposed a crimson Fragmentum seed, pulsing steadily.
“Is that a star?”
Clara looked up from his arm, asking in a soft, curious voice.
Svarog paused, then answered,
“It is not. The stars are farther away. That one is merely a cold toy, conjured by the Fragmentum.”
—
T/N: Very cute
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