It had been a tranquil evening, long past the midnight hour. The moons were shining bright, and the city of Kurayo was as it had always been. Repairs to the Albaret Estate had been completed, damaged items replaced, and the study restored. Unfortunately, the original doors could not be salvaged from the degree of damage they had suffered and the wallpaper had to be replaced with a new pattern. Only the occasional flap of the night-birds disturbed the quietness of the manor. Lord Albaret was reclining by the fire, listening to his servants play music with a glass of mulled wine in his hand. Then, in the twinkling of an eye a wind tore through the house howling like the shrieks of banshees and undead hounds. It rushed through the halls, down the stairs, to where Sylvain was–all while the mark on his neck burned with an intense ferocity.

The servants were up in arms, trying to hold it back, but they were tossed aside. In an instant a blurred figure grabbed him by the back of his collar and threw him over its shoulder before tearing open spatial distortion. Unable to resist or break free, the vampire lord was dragged in whilst kicking and screaming. He was dropped on the other side, onto a cold hard floor. The burning of his mark now abated, he covered his eyes as he was affronted by a blinding brightness. The sudden change in light level stung his eyes, having been used to the dimness of Kurayo. The portal closed, and the deity was now standing before him. Flipping out a pocket timepiece, she watched the seconds pass as he struggled to adjust. Cursing, he got up only to see who his kidnapper was. A pang of terror shot through his body as he grabbed his neck out of instinct.

"Hope you've enjoyed your three-month grace period, because the real pain starts now." She said, looking down at him. Clicking the timepiece shut, she pocketed it and crossed her arms. "Sylvain Albaret, lord and head of the Albaret House–today marks your first day of work at Antikythera. I will be giving you a brief summary of what we do here, a tour of the staff and employee areas, and review the terms of your contract. Any questions? No? Then let's get going." Thrown from a window only to be expected to hit the ground running, that was the feeling the vampire lord was experiencing right now. Standing, he noted how the entire interior seemed to be made from the same white stone from the floor to the ceiling. There were no visible sources of illumination, yet it was as bright as midday. It was so unnaturally pristine and monochrome, with a cold stiffness in the air. He had seen mausoleums more inviting than this.

Walking down the white marble corridor, she was soon leaving him behind. This hallway was likely enchanted, as both ends appeared to stretch on indefinitely. Given no other choice, he followed. "Welcome to Antikythera, the Machinarium." The Overseer stated as their heels clacked against the spotless marble floors. "As you probably aren't aware, we are now in Railoch, just north of the heart of the most storm-ridden region in all of the Himinn Pass. The only way out is through the front door, and that leads to a long path out into the thunder-struck valley."  In other words, there was no place to run. He was trapped here, out in the middle of southern Parvpora and miles away from his estate. As if entering the pass wasn't difficult enough, leaving it would be twice as hard. Entering a sparsely decorated area which acted as a meeting point for several paths, she made a turn down one of the many arched doorways. There was silence from his end, as he had nothing to say. What could he say? Moments earlier he had been unceremoniously seized from the comforts of his own home and dropped here, without a single word of consent. All he had was anger and outrage at this boorish level of treatment; even if his abductor was a god.

She had been waiting for a while. Unbeknownst to the vampire, the deity had been watching his progress after branding him with her mark. The brand meant they were now bound by blood, and unfortunately that meant he would be on the receiving end of a rather nasty string of misfortunes. Ever since her first visit to the manor, she began doing research on his background. Finding information was not easy, as the lord had been around for half a millennium. The most she could glean were vague entries of him being of noble blood and being the last living member of that family. This was likely due to his turning centuries back; therefore the rest of his relatives and family would be long-gone by now. Unable to dig further into the past, she began working forward towards the present.

Sylvain Albaret, firstborn of his generation, head of the Albaret household and family. The house's establishment began shortly after he was turned, and he relocated to Kurayo. Though not one of the most powerful vampire houses in the city, they held some degree of influence above the common blood-drinkers. In those several centuries of his life, he had not sired any children through natural means, and instead had several loyal servants who shared in his affliction of bloodlust. For all their strength and power, vampires themselves had many fundamental issues which rendered their merits less effective for a standard employee. The first and foremost was their 'drinking' problem. Although they were able to solely subsist on blood, this came as an insatiable thirst combined with various mind-altering effects. Rather than the fulfillment of a basic biological need, it was more like an addiction which they bore in heavy dependency. The results could be compared to that of wine, narcotics, and other strongly controlled contraband substances. Upon imparting her mark, she inflicted a curse which would gradually condition him to feed in moderation by removing the fundamental parts that made it pleasurable. These would manifest as severe symptoms of illness which included but were not limited to: nausea, vomiting from overconsumption, dizziness, headaches, lethargy, blurred vision, shortness of breath, and other psychosomatic anomalies. It was a form of behavioral reinforcement, positive punishment. The less he fed when it was unnecessary, the less his symptoms would flare up.

The second problem came with their attitudes. Many races considered the length of their lifespan to be equivalent to their social status like some sort of seniority badge. Thus, they would look down on those who were younger and assumed to be less experienced. As the old adage said, pride goeth before a fall–and those with an excess of pride would not accept instruction. Prideful workers were the most ineffective, which would be completely unacceptable for the Machinarium. This part of the process would be the most tedious, as breaking in a five-century-old member of the aristocracy would take quite a while. Simply rewriting the mindset of a fifty-year-old one would take at least a fraction of their current lifespan. Progress would be entirely dependent on how quickly they learned to bend and discard their useless pride.

Last but not least, the other trivial 'weaknesses' that came with the territory. Though to categorize such a diverse group of beings by their weaknesses would be discriminatory, there were certain ones which were often found among the general public–sensitivity to sunlight being the major common denominator. There was also the inherent weakness to holy and blessed paraphernalia–something which still needed testing–and the obvious methods of murder. Having superhuman speed and reflexes does not grant immunity to being incinerated or decapitation. And so, her mark was a double-edged sword: he would lose that which drove him to excess, but in turn gain resistance in areas he had been lacking. It was a fitting example of equivalent exchange.

Shiloh made no effort to change how her newly captured recruit felt about her. It was a natural response, after all. She had essentially staked out his house and absconded with him in the dead of night. Bringing him to the workshops, she approached a glass and steel door. Before it opened, a covered walkway began to unfold and assemble in midair, bridging the previously empty chasm to another door of the same likeness on the opposite side. "We'll begin our tour of the facility starting with the workshops. The workshops are the heart and soul of Antikythera. Everything within these walls is made or sent there. Mind the gap, and watch your step." 

He had been too clouded by his own thoughts to notice the strangeness of his surroundings, until they came to a door made of glass. On the other side was a great chasm, and there was no obvious way to cross. The deity approached nonetheless, and before his very eyes a bridge unfurled out of nowhere. Pieces attached to long metal arms moved into place, fitting together until the chasm was gone. Giving him a look that told him to follow, she opened the door and began to walk ahead. The newly formed walkway was covered and had several rows of windows reinforced with metal. It was quiet inside, but he could still hear the winds in the pass howl. The view provided showed many other grand towers, likely connected by walkways such as this one. The grey of Railoch's burnt and battered landscape grimly presented the reality of his situation. There was nothing else around for miles. On the other side, the sound of metal against metal, the roars of machinery, and the intense heat of the forge. The smells of iron being melted down to be purified were in the air and it permeated everything. What he didn't expect was the absence of firewood piles to fuel the furnaces. Occasionally there would be some coal for those shaping items on the anvils, but most of the machines here were powered by something else.

“The smelters and forge are where the bulk of our jobs are done. Whatever is made here first goes through a process where craftsmen draw up their plans and discuss with the others on functionality and efficiency. You’ll probably never hang around here, unless you feel like hammering out your frustrations with a mallet or something. You don’t look like an artisan.” She said, throwing a glance back at him as they walked through. Aside from being a workshop with a scale which would make the dwarves in Baltil green with envy, there was an ever-present metallic odor. Watching the workers, he took note that most of them were golems created from metal bearing a general humanoid shape. There were others walking about which resembled people, but it was clear that those with flesh and blood were in the minority. This detail was somewhat unsettling. Next came the showing of the less populated areas: the barracks for the workers, the infirmary—empty, the other recreational areas which seemed superfluous for a place so centered on construction. This place seemed more like a thriving city-state instead of a temple. Icons and religious ornamentation were surprisingly scarce. He had yet to see a single depiction of the deity herself within the walls of her own domain. Returning to the Marble Corridor again, she beckoned. “This way, this will be the last spot you’ll need to know about.” This new archway opened up into a grand cathedral, of the likes Sylvain had never seen in all of Revaliir. The sheer size and scale of it was many times greater than the quaint chapels and temples he had visited, and its solemn and melancholy air began to dredge up long-forgotten images of a monastery that had fallen centuries ago.

The stone seats and pews empty, the deity slowly strode down the aisles to an altar at the end. Kneeling before it, she clasped her hands together to touch her forehead to the cold stone surface. Following the gesture, she rose and stood off to the side watching him explore his new surroundings. Taking his time, he walked the perimeter of the arches and columns. Stained glass windows several feet tall depicted a menagerie of scenes as sunlight appeared to filter through from behind. Then it occurred to him. These windows were doing something completely impossible. He had seen the valley around these walls—grey and overcast without a single gap in the cloud cover for any sunlight to be shining through. If these windows were connected to the outside, then how…? Glancing at the deity sitting on the other side of the cathedral, he figured this was her doing as well. Nothing within these halls was as it seemed. 

The tour was over, and now it was time to get down to business. Opening the doors to the now-empty debate hall she had recently added to the recreational wings for her current and future staff, she pulled up a chair to one of the desks. That chair was explicitly for him, as she preferred to stand. Leaning against the podium behind her, she pulled out a parchment with a written contract and laid it on the table once he was seated. She had a quill somewhere in her pockets, but she wasn't taking it out until they reviewed the terms on the document first. The man crossed his arms, and looked expectantly at her. 

"Here's a copy of your contract. Upon signing it, you agree you will work for the Machinarium as an employee for the remainder of your existence and the conditions as follows. As an employee of Antikythera, you solemnly swear that you will make all actions and decisions as a representative of the Machinarium. You will follow the rules and regulations as decreed to the letter, and should you be found in fault of an infraction of said rules–agree to accept whatever disciplinary action is deemed reasonable and necessary upon being informed of them beforehand." Stopping, she looked back him. Motioning to the document with her hand she said: "Go on, there's no time limit here. Take all the time you need…as long as you read the fine print. I won't make you sign until you finish." When he showed distrust, she added. "Sure, you can flip over to the back too. There's nothing there, and no not even in invisible ink. That's just petty."

The response satisfied him enough, so the lord took his time to pore over the document. It was clear he wasn't very willing to essentially sign over the rest of his life, so she dropped a hint in case he got any funny ideas. "By the way, don't try to rip the document or burn it. I have more on file, all exact copies and unsigned." The corner of his mouth twitched, in what probably was a grimace. She had to be thorough; there wasn't any room for half-baked efforts for something important like this. As she was waiting, Shiloh thought over things a bit and realized she had forgotten to mention something. Since Lord Albaret would be the first officially 'hired' member of her staff, that meant he wasn't fully aware of the benefits that came with the position. The contract only mentioned his responsibilities and terms of agreement. She'd have to write up another stack of pamphlets for future hirings later. Figuring he had plenty of time to read through everything, she pulled out the quill and dipped it in ink. Laying beside the parchment, she crossed her arms to see what he would do.

If another person was in her position, this contract signing would just be an unnecessary formality. After all, her mark was already on him. Even if he refused to sign his name, he was still contractually bound regardless. But she didn't want to act like a robber baron strong-arming hapless innocents out of their assets without them even knowing. Although the vampire lord was under her by oath, she was a firm believer in informed consent. If this relationship of employer and subordinate was going to work, then both sides would need to acknowledge it to make it count. Plus, it was a way for her to make things clear as to remove any possibility of future litigation. 

He took the quill, signed, and ended it with a flourish. But before accepting the document, there was one last step that would quite literally 'seal the deal'. Taking out from her sleeve, she handed him a thin, sharp dagger. "What is this?" The man demanded, a hint of anger in his voice. "…I think it should be fairly obvious. A signature's a signature, but how am I going to have proof that you'll honor it? I'm not a fan of using wax and signets really. Not everyone has the money to buy themselves a personalized ring. All I need for you to do is prick your finger, and press it beside the ink." She explained, coolly. His brow darkened, it was clear that he was unwilling. But she didn't press him. When he saw that she wasn't going to move on her demands, he reached for the dagger.

A drop of fresh blood with the mark of his finger was pressed into the parchment beside his cursive handwriting. Upon doing so, the contract itself lit up–the words pulsating with eldritch energy. The paper rolled itself up and flew into her hand, and she tucked it away for safekeeping. The cut he had made for the drop of blood was no longer bleeding, and she took the dagger from him to slide it back into her sleeve. Reaching out to grasp his uninjured hand, she smiled looking him straight in the eyes. "Congratulations, Sir Albaret. Once again, welcome to the Machinarium. Come freely, go safely; and leave some of the happiness you bring." She could feel his hand close around hers in apprehension, the slight stiffness in his grasp despite the well-practiced smile he reciprocated with.

"Oh, yes I almost forgot–your room. You won't be seeing your estate in Kurayo for a while as you will need to know the Machinarium better. One of the benefits of being Antikytheran staff is room and board, all included." Leading him back to the barracks of the other employees, she ducked her head inside briefly before moving on. The hallway before them was empty, and the walls stretched endlessly with nothing on them. Turning to him, the deity abruptly asked. "So, what would you like? You know, in your room? It's going to be your home away from home, so you can choose whatever you want to go in it. Furnishings, decorations, curtains, the usual. It's one of the perks being a deity gives you; you can make whatever you want."

He was quite fed up with that demanding attitude of hers. "What do you think would suit me?" He asked, throwing the question back at her while crossing his arms. "That's why I'm asking you. If I choose, you're not going to be happy either way, aren't you? As long as it's not something ridiculous it's fine. You can make almost anything out of resin these days." She replied bluntly. Did she even know that was meant as an insult? Well if she was offering, then he wouldn't pass up the opportunity. He described to her a general layout of a grand wing, complete with a lounge and whatever luxuries that came to mind. Sparing no expense in his plans, he smirked to himself to see how the deity would handle such a tall order. She went quiet for a moment tapping her chin with a quill. "Would you like me to repeat the details for you? Simply ask and I'll remind you wherever you've left off." Sylvain said, giving a fake smile. "Nah, it's fine. I got the gist of it." The goddess answered, turning her neck from side to side as a soft cracking sound was heard. The lord was confused. "Are you sure?" 

Walking towards the empty wall of the corridor, she placed her hands on the stonework. "Yeah, I'm sure. This'll be easy." Moving her hands apart, the wall suddenly warped inward and the marble broke apart into sectioned fragments. Out of nothing, an empty space was created and it twisted into shape. In the matter of seconds, the floor solidified, the walls were set, the ceiling rose, and the pillars formed like rapidly growing stalagmites. A wash of color went through the room as wallpaper materialized, rugs and carpets grew from the marble floor, carved granite accents budded, and pieces of wood were rotating and assembling themselves. Silk curtains fell to the ground like a maiden brushing out her tresses, and within minutes a wing matching exactly what he had described had been brought into existence. Lastly, the opening of the spatial distortion hardened into the shape of a doorway and a carved slab of mahogany rose up to fit itself onto the hinges.

He had been rendered speechless, more at the sight of how quickly it had been built than its accuracy to his whims. She had taken a solid wall, and literally rearranged it to have a new structure. Just how much space was within these walls? No castle he had ever seen could be large enough to house an entire cathedral, or all of these things together at once. This wasn't a temple. This was an entire city! Turning the knob, she pushed it open with a sweep of her arm as if to make a grand flourish. "I took a few artistic liberties here and there. Hope you don't mind the gold leaf." There was already a lit candelabrum sitting on a table with a set of silverware, ready to be used. Looking at the timepiece pulled from her pockets, she was soon heading back down the hall to the rest of the Machinarium. "That'll be all for your duties today. If there's anything else that you need or want changed, pull an attendant aside and they'll call for me."

Alone with his thoughts, he entered the room she had designed for him. He ran his fingers along the edge of the mahogany door before locking it behind him. Drawing the curtains, he saw a view of the stormy skies and the grey-colored valley below. Upon touching the glass, he found some sort of repelling force pushing back. It was as he suspected; this was merely a simulacrum. This window did not truly open up to the outer wall. Behind was a set of armchairs in velvet, the exact same color and shape as those in his manor. What disturbed him most was how they were positioned the same way like they had been that fateful night. This goddess had an unusually detailed memory.

By the lit candelabrum was a folded pamphlet in the same parchment as the contract he had signed earlier. It was titled: 'Employee's Handbook'. Inside listed the various policies, procedures, benefits, and expectations demanded of all Antikytheran staff regardless of position. He tossed it back onto the table. He was in no mood for reading anything written by that deity. As he did so, a scrap of paper slid out. On it the words were written in ink: 'Week One Schedule: familiarize self with layout and departments, get to know other staff, assessment of shifts and future assignments'. Not even the second day and she was intent on putting him to work. With his inspection of his new living quarters done, Sylvain chose to make himself comfortable. 

Had he drifted off to sleep? As of late, due to the curse that bound him to that deity he was beset with fatigue on a regular basis. Rising from his seat, he was alarmed to find his surroundings drastically altered. Instead of his chambers, he was in the Machinarium's cathedral. No, that wasn't true. A second look brought forth glaring differences to light. The confessional booth was gone, and the rows of seats were too. None of the attendants were present. A hazy air was in the atmosphere, and it appeared less dim than before. Walking to where the door would have been, he found a wall. Was this another of the deity's tricks? The one other presence was a lone figure sitting with their back facing him. Approaching, he soon recognized that form. "Where is this? Answer me!" The person turned to him, but instead of her face he saw the same mask she had worn at their first meeting. "I've suffered your games long enough. Just who are you, and what did you do to me?" He was now shouting, his voice echoing off the walls.

The masked figure responded solemnly. "This is the Chapel, a place of reflection. Have you come here to pray? If you've come here, then you must be searching for something. Everyone who comes here comes of their own accord." "Then why are you here?" Exasperated, he wasn't sure what to believe anymore. "I came to listen. Do you hear it? The music; it only plays when everything is still." Lifting up her head, the masked one's gaze went to the ceiling above. The mural painted there showed the stages of a person obtaining enlightenment, then returning to others to continue the cycle. In the silence, Sylvain heard nothing. But then…there was a voice. At first it was quiet, barely audible. Notes of melancholy lilting to a gradual crescendo, then–a climax of a high note. The pause was then followed note after note of a poignant song, resonating stronger and louder until it filled the entire cathedral around them. Once the refrain ended, it would then continue as before. Who was the singer? It couldn't be her. It felt…familiar yet strange. The masked one was listening too, as the music washed over them both in that lone chapel. Closing his eyes, Sylvain was left with his thoughts.

When he opened them again, he found himself in his chambers. The candles had nearly burnt down, only flickering barely now. "…That accursed deity. What are you trying to do now?" Passing a hand over his face, he sighed. Tomorrow would be his second day here. He must be seeing things. When was the last time he had partaken in blood? 

"Lord Steward…" A voice projected through a sound-producing device. Silence followed. A buzzing noise was repeated rather insistently, followed by the same voice again. "Lord Steward, it is now the third hour past daybreak." Fumbling, Shiloh's left hand searched the mess in front of her on the table until it found the source of the noise. Pushing a button, she held it over her head. "Yeah…yeah. I'm awake Galatea. Give me ten more minutes…" The static and stiff silence made her add quickly: "–I mean five." "Understood." With the click, the transmission ended. Pushing herself off her desk, Shiloh stretched and yawned. Groggily she got up and went to wash her face. It was another day at the Machinarium. That meant blueprints to look over, maintenance to be done, and the scheduling of the entire automaton staff's routine check-up for repairs. Even though they were composed of resin and metal, their bodies weren't immune to wear and decay. They still required regular maintenance to run smoothly. It was much easier to do a few minor adjustments every so often compared to taking a single unit out of commission and placing them on standby until their parts were replaced.

Most of their systems involved highly sophisticated and precise machinery, so it wasn't like she could finish fabricating new pieces in a day. There were some things you just couldn't rush. Dressed and presentable, she left Serenitas. Reentering the Marble Corridor through a fold in space, she found Galatea waiting with a list of today's duties. They both gave each other a polite nod of acknowledgement, and went to work. Walking down the halls to the Workshops, the female automaton started from the first item. "I heard you brought back a new member to join our staff yesterday." Shiloh nodded, glancing at the progress of the production lines as they strode down the corridor. "You heard? Yeah, I've had my eye on him for a while now. I think he'd work well in the administrative positions, but I wanted you to assess him first."

"What are his credentials? I'm sure you've already reviewed his past history." Galatea replied, flipping through the documents in the stack. She summarized the main points in a few short sentences. "He's a long-standing member in an aristocratic society. Noble background, had a brief stint as a defender for a charitable cause before becoming an autocrat. There are a few behavioral and psychological issues that need to be worked out before he can be any use however." The last comment elicited a tone of disapproval from the automaton's end. "On a scale of one to ten, how severe is his case?" "I'd rank him a six. I've already been working on him for the past few months before officially hiring him." Counting on her hand, she confirmed her memory was correct. "Anyway, I've already reviewed the contract and benefits with him, in person and through given literature. For the first week we'll be giving him time to get his bearings before sending him his first assignment."

Giving an approving nod, Galatea proceeded to stamp a document and shuffled it behind the others. "Sounds reasonable. Do you wish for him to be supervised during his orientation period?" "Only if you want to. I'll be watching him anyway." She knew everybody was busy, and she wasn't forcing anyone to take the job if they weren't interested. With the paperwork done, the dark-haired automaton tucked them under her arm. "I believe I have some time available. I happen to be ahead of schedule this week." Shiloh gave a small grin. "Thanks, I'll leave him in your capable hands then. By the way he's a vampire, so if he tries anything just hold him down." Rotating her head, Galatea considered this bit of information. "So a blood-drinker, correct? How exactly do you plan to accommodate a vampire's additional needs if he is to reside in Antikythera? As of now, you are the only being with blood within these walls."

"…Oh, right. I completely forgot." That was a fairly important detail that'd slipped her mind. Since she was so used to having automatons as staff, she'd forgotten that non-constructs actually required things to sustain vital functions. As a deity she was an exception, as she found the limits of the human body were temporarily suspended upon obtaining her status as a deity. "I'll…figure something out. I'm sure I have something to fix that somewhere…" Returning to Serenitas, she began sorting through the various relics she had collected in her time before her ascension. She swore she had something involving blood in there. Finally, she found the item. It was an ornate, decorative chalice studded with garnets and bands of bloodstone inlaid in platinum and silver. Underneath the base was a piece of paper with a phrase written on it.

Now she remembered this one. When she first gained possession of it she thought it was too creepy for her taste, and put it in the vault. Now that she had a suitable person to shove–er…gift it to, she felt much better. Writing up a brief explanation on how to use the chalice, she dropped it off in Lord Albaret's room while he wasn't there. Maybe having it wasn't such a bad thing after all. Definitely saved her a load of trouble in the long-run.