Fierce bolts of lightning streaked through the sky, lancing toward massive metallic structures. These structures line the pathways winding through the lands towards the Machinarium and, likely, provide ample sources of power. A lone figure approached the symbol carved from white jade. Placing a hand on it, the man was ported to a stairway leading to a door of metal and stone.

Kale stepped through the hingeless gate, the slabs fusing together once more after he’d stepped through. By now, the entry hall and its marvels had lost their former intrigue with how often he visited Shiloh’s workshops. He quickly passed through this room and beyond into the corridor of marble beyond. He had some time to idle away while he waited and decided to meander a bit. He’d found his way to one of the workshops, finding threads and cloth left out from some prior work. Kale glanced to his clothes, torn and ripped from an encounter with a few rather large creatures.

A grimace crossed his face, deciding this was as good a time as any to attempt some repairs on his sleeve. Kale frowned and looked about the room to ensure he was alone before removing the shirt. He’d tried sewing clothing before while wearing them, but it had proven difficult. Stabbing himself with a needle was not something he enjoyed. All across Kale’s torso were spiderweb-like scars, much like might be found on someone who’d survived a substantial strike from a bold of lightning. These scars seemed to reach out from his right shoulder across his chest before fading as they closed on his heart. His right arm was a dark metallic blue; the joints of the arm and hand shaped like round balls.

This was a strange sensation to Kale; for all intents and purposes, he could feel the tactile sensations of objects he picked up and feel various pressures put upon the arm. He hadn’t attempted to sew yet with this new limb, but Shiloh had promised this arm would be able to do everything his real arm could and so far she’d been right. With a sigh, Kale began his work to mend the sleeve.

Antikythera had become her home. It was a strange thing to say, the Archangel had never even considered the Golden City as 'home' before, and yet, since she had essentially informed Shiloh that she would be remaining permanently, she had found herself content in her place. Shiloh had created a room for her, all her own, and while Artiya'il had no need to sleep, she liked that she had a place that she could lay claim to and call her own. Well. Her own except for the fact that Metatron was also living there with her.
Of all her siblings, Metatron was the one she tolerated most, in a way she actually enjoyed her sister's company… if Artiya'il ever enjoyed anything. She had tasked her sister with recording and portraying those within herself, the souls of the lost and the grieved, for she wished to see them every day in all of their beauty. 

The Archangel tilted her head slightly, feeling the presence of one riddled with grief. Arti was in tune with every living soul who suffered the weight of it, though some called to her more than others. Standing up from the armchair, she cast a glance at her sister who was too busy sketching to notice that her sister was on the move. Rolling her eyes, Artiya'il left her room, quietly closing the door behind her before she followed the pull in her heart to the workshops. 

As she found her 'prey', Artiya'il stopped, lingering in the doorway to the workshop for the moment, observing the man silently before stepping inside. Finding a seat she sat opposite the man, storm coloured eyes taking in his appearance, her gaze lingering on his arm for a moment before she looked back at his face once more. "Greetings, my name is Artiya'il, Champion to the Goddess Shiloh. May I be of service?"

Kale had made great progress, especially considering that it was the first time he’d used this arm for such a delicate task. He’d finally reached the final set of stitches when a voice spoke up and ripped him from his concentration. With a wince and a sharp inhale, the needle passed through the fabric and into his finger; blood welled up in an instant and stained the white fabric while sparks danced across the spreading stain. “Gods dammi’,” he exclaimed in frustration, bringing the finger to his mouth and with it a stinging tingle as the sparks danced on his tongue.

He looked up to the newcomer that had introduced herself, still holding his pricked finger to his mouth. The woman was, rather obviously, an angel. “Ah,” he said a tad embarrassed hiding his hand behind his back, “I mean, uh.. Hello. You can call me Kale. I was hoping to speak with Shiloh about some adjustments to this arm, but nothing quite so formal as to summon her about. Minor tinkerings, is all.”

Icy blue eyes glanced across the angel and took in her features. The woman’s eyes were a stormy gray, a slight dullness to them. Wings and hair of purest white graced a lithe form; at first glance the word ‘frail’ came swiftly to Kale’s mind, but was replaced as his gaze made another pass over what was lean muscle. The icy blue eyes faltered and turned away, the intent to avoid her gaze admittedly rather obvious. “So,” he said trying to move the conversation beyond, “Shiloh’s chosen a Champion for herself, has she? It’s about time, if you ask me. She reminds me a lot of myself, to tell the truth. That said, I sure hope she takes better care of herself than I; she may be a goddess but that doesn’t mean pushing herself can’t catch up to her in a big way.” With that, Kale steeled his resolve and allowed himself to look the woman’s way once more and offer his best attempt at a warm smile.

Artiya'il raised an eyebrow, her gaze following his hand as he made to hide it from her. She nodded her head to him slightly, as he introduced himself to her, head tilting slightly as he spoke, her eyes flickering to the arm in question. Without a word she reached across, picking up the shirt and the needle, elegant fingers deftly finishing the stitches Kale had been so close to completing.  "My Lady is busy currently, however I shall convey your request once she is free," she replied, her tone never changing. 

"Truthfully, I gave Lady Shiloh very little choice in the matter," Artiya'il snorted. "I performed my duty to her, in regards to the grief she carried, and decided that she could not be trusted to look after herself without proper supervision. I heard other Deities had a Champion, it seemed an appropriate position if I was going to stay." Well there was no arguing with that really was there? 
She watched the man more carefully, her eyesight might have been failing her, but Arti was as sharp as she ever had been. "You are very alike in some ways, the grief you cling to weighs as heavily on your heart as it did on hers," Artiya'il said softly, her eyes almost blank as she looked through him. "You use it as an excuse for acting recklessly, do you hope that in such actions you too might die? To join those you have lost?" She asked, blinking and looking into his ice blue gaze. 

Placing his shirt on the table, she stood up, moving to stand directly in front of Kale, looking down at the man. "I believe it's time you let me take that grief from you Kale, it is not coincidence that finds you in my presence. You have allowed your sorrow to harm you for too long, now it is time for me to take that away." 

Artiya’il picked up the work where Kale had left it, finishing the last stitches required with skill and ease. As they talked, Kale pulled a flask from a small gateway and began to drink from it. He smirked and let out a laugh as the angel spoke of how she came to be the goddess’ champion; they were very alike, indeed. “Sounds about right,” he said with a grin, “It probably would’ve taken much the same were to convince me were I in her position.” He took another drink from the canteen as Artiya’il said, though in a more wordy fashion, the same thought he’d just had himself.

Water spewed from the man’s mouth in shock and surprise when his reckless tendencies were dragged out into the light. He stammered a moment, trying to start a rebuttal, “I-I’m not sure what you’re saying. I’ve… Always been reckless. Why would grief drive me any further?”

The angel had placed Kale’s shirt on the table and positioned herself directly in front of him. “Take my grief,” he asked, “What do you mean take my grief? Would you take the memories as well? What would stop my grief from returning with the memories still there?” He paused a moment before adding, “Besides, I’ve dealt with my grief. I don’t set myself up to with that intention anymore.” With that, the flask in his hand vanished and another took its place. He took a nervous sip of its contents; an alcohol of some time given the smell.

The woman, he now realized, was far too close for his comfort at the moment and he slipped to the side as he grabbed the now repaired shirt. He slipped it back on and took another few steps away. “Still, I admit to having had more than my fair share of troubles, but what else would you expect when you don’t age? The longer a life is lived the more one sees. Why should my troubles bother you so,” Kale asked without hostility or malice. Instead, his tone was perhaps touched with a hint of sorrow as memories and people lost resurfaced after being so long buried. “It’s natural to grieve, isn’t it?”

She snorted. "Grief is an emotion we all suffer, some thrive on it, grow from it, others are consumed by it. Some, like yourself, are driven by it into further grief. There is recklessness, and there is self-destructiveness. The former, when driven by grief, turns into the latter. Which is exactly what you do, you use your grief as an excuse for putting yourself into situations where you might die, as though somehow this will redeem you, as though you might find forgiveness from the lost through it. Utter nonsense of course, but you're not the first, and you will not be the last," Artiya'il answered simply, shrugging at him. 

"The memories are your own. I only take the pain, the grief that consumes, and only from those I judge as worthy of my ability. The whole world grieves after all, but I do not devour the grief of every being - only those I have judged and who require my talent," there was no arrogance in her words, it was mere fact, and Shiloh would have backed up her words had she been there - since Shiloh had already been at the receiving end of Artiya'il's abilities. Again she snorted as she plucked the flask from his fingers, holding it up in front of him. "If there is one thing that you cannot do to me, Kale, it is lie in regards to grief. I have lived millennia, I have had the smartest men and women, the slyest, the best liars all tell me such tales, and not one of them could hide what I could see. If the Lady Shiloh could not deny me, do you really believe that you can?" 

The Archangel put the flask on the desk, rolling her eyes at him. "It is natural to grieve, but it is you who calls to me, whether you realise it or otherwise. I feel the grief within every living being, none of you can hide from me anymore than I can block you out. You would keep your memories, but the thought of them would not cause you that ache any longer - that is what I do. I devour the pain, I take that which could destroy you internally, and leave you only with the good parts that came before."