323. Advice for A Machine

323. Advice for A Machine

Libraries weren’t anything Frost would call special.

Sure, they served a civil purpose, but she could not remember the last time she had visited one. She recalled an Earth during the height of its digital age. Libraries had long since moved online, where millions of books could be accessed with a device smaller than one’s palm.

This library, however, was gorgeous. She couldn’t stop herself from drooling at the boundless heights and the sheer

number

of books in this world. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t just pluck one out from the walls. Of course, she physically could but Anna specifically advised against it, warning that she might have the same condition placed upon her.

Basically, there was a possibility that whatever Frost read may be able to be stolen or take form in the world, much like how fairytales of other worlds were brought to life as Corrupted in Elysia due to Anna indulging in their tales.

Frost carefully etched this warning into the forefront of her mind.

In the meantime, Galia reminisced of an ancient Earth where physical libraries were precious. Books were as valuable as gold, both revered and feared by many in her time when people tried to rationalize their world. Galia thought it was funny in retrospect, how people will try to find meaning in the meaningless.

She referenced Act X as they moved through isles of fascinating bookshelves. A wonderland of walnut wood, knowledge and mind-bending twist and turns captivated them, all the while Nav held a hand by her chest.

Act X was an Atelier that preyed on the living’s innate fixation to find purpose. When a person was beaten down by the world and shown that there was no way out of the well, Heralds would appear on the summit of their despair like Angels, offering them a string of hope in the form of the Scripts.

So long as one could follow it, then the emptiness they felt would be filled with whatever commandments they were given. Before desires, ambitions, and identity; there existed one’s purpose, the foundation of one’s existence.

At least according to Beholder Marionette, in Galia’s words no less.

Frost couldn’t relate to it, but she was aware that there were people who allowed the idea of purpose to define them. On the other hand, Nav seemed to understand or at least resonate with Marionette’s philosophy.

A machine, after all, is created for a determined function.

Nav was no different.

As they arrived at a cozy hideout where a long, rectangular table resided carrying tea ware, sprawled books, and cushioned chairs the Arbiter turned to the confused Nav. She motherly sifted a hand through her hair like she was a distraught child.

Finally, as the group settled down in Anna’s warm sanctuary, taking seats and running through the books she laid down, the Arbiter finally answered Nav in private.

“My memories are still frayed. The purpose of your creation is unfortunately amongst those fragmented pieces of that life. Lailah means night. Night is what cradles the stars. Infer with that how you will.

“I was created to watch over Frost? I don’t understand.”

“Your name is Nav. Lailah is an old friend. What you decide to do is up to you. But old habits may be imposed upon you. Processes and a purpose belonging to a distant relic.” A tail moved to Nav’s chest. It drew circled around where it stung the most as a healing light engulfed them.

Velvety particles fell like snow. They cascaded over Nav’s skin as the agony subsided. It became warm. She imagined a furnace burning inside of her chest as she tried to understand the meaning of it. All she knew was that whenever she looked at Frost, Jury, or any of her friends her chest would burn up.

But it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

Galia, as she glared at a steaming cup of tea, sipped from a mug of coffee taken from her Dimensional Storage. After tasting its bitter yet irresistible flavors, she shut her eyes and directed a few words to Nav.

“It’s a process of discovery. A coffee bean begins like any other. But its brew can differ so greatly with the smallest adjustments. If you think of yourself as a machine despite your ability to question it, then you are damning yourself to remain as one. But this is just the babbling of someone who despises machines. They are inflexible.”

Nav fell into deep thought. A million calculations ran in her mind as she tried to fathom being a coffee bean. She took the advice literally, and it showed in her face. Her eyes became strained, her eyelids heavy with focus as all sound died out.

Until suddenly, she felt Frost’s hand guide her towards the table with them.

“It doesn’t change that you’re still Nav. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now. But I think making that distinction is the most important thing you can do.” Frost spoke from the heart, having been consumed by her identity as Sinder.

It caused a bizarre sensation to froth in her chest. It was akin to butterflies rummaging around. Again, it wasn’t unpleasant, and she wondered why such a sensation existed for someone that only had gears and –

“Putting too much thought will wear you down. I know you want to understand yourself better, but learning how to not get too fixated on the little things can help you move forward faster.” Jury chimed in, patting her lap as her chair screeched.

She pulled Nav down and embraced her from behind, her chin resting just above her head. A tail stroked her head in the meantime, her warmth and voice bringing peace to their precious Nav.

“Remember me? The Skewered Beast, and not knowing much else about the world outside of the Black Forest. You know, I’m not just a glutton. I heard you yell at me while I was inside of that crystal~” Jury teased, causing Frost to laugh a little. “I’ve been wondering what

I

want to do for a while now. I’ve just been following Frost, but I think I’m getting the gist of how to live properly. It might not occur to you now, soon, or later. But it’ll come. I’m sure of it.”

“

We’ll

make sure of it.” Frost reached out to pat her head affectionately.

“… I will do my best.” Nav’s eyes glistened.