This is the second part to my short story. Enjoy!
The Sage were wise. In the eyes of the people which they governed, they knew almost all. When the spacemongers first came to Flaxis, they established this grand order. The Sage were responsible for everything that happened on the arctic planet. So, they did their best to make sure things ran in an orderly fashion. “Avion, I assume that your presence here means that you have made some progress on your experiment?” said the Primal. Primal was a term given to the Sage who had been in the Gathering for the most amount of time. It was them who were considered the head of the order. They had the final say on all matters.
Avion put her left hand behind her back, her right by her shoulder, and gestured a few different signs. ‘Your assumption is correct, Primal,’ she’d said in Hand-Tongue. Then, she let her arms drop comfortably by her side and continued in Orthodox. “The age of AI has begun.”
The Gathering were silent for a moment, taking in the heavy information that had just been laid upon them. Hours went by and nothing was said. So, there Avion stood, waiting for further orders from the Sage.
When the last of the six moons of Flaxis had risen, after what seemed like decades of almost no noise, one of the Sage began to speak. “We must not let this information reach the public. It would only bring chaos and fear to the citizens of this world. Until we know more about it, keep it secret.”
“The spacemongers should be told of this news though,” the Primal added. Then, he stood and clasped his hands together. “Go now, young Avion. You have much to look forward to. We will discuss this matter with spacemongers, while you continue in your research. Please, let us know when it is finished.” With that, the meeting was adjourned.
As Avion walked through the brisk night, her thick skin protected her against the cold air. All Ochestin’s had thick, pure white skin, black eyes, hair, and lips, and were all born with facial markings. During the hot days of summer, which there were only twelve of, Avion dreaded having such thick skin. But during the rest of the year, which was pretty much winter, she was grateful that her species were born with skin to protect them from the cold.
That night, while Avion laid in her bed, her mind raced with ideas on how she could make further progress on the AI. But little did she know, that fifty years from then, the very machine which she created, would destroy her world.
