Callisto

As the deep dark before dawn settled over the iron forest like a veil, a single star lighted on the burning city and its residents. Somewhere beyond the gaze of mortal minds, across abysses of wonder and chance, it rose, fell, and turned to dust – scattering itself like rust into the depths of the cosmos. But in its death throes it left its radiance to guide those who traversed the darkness of the earth, bound insatiably towards their own brand of light.

Unaware of the star above, Rain-Born trudged on towards the great tower of the Iron Forest, beating the soles of her feet against each remnant of life beneath her. She still cradled Jespar in her arms.

"Chief..." he said, and his voice was a mere echo of himself now. "I can't..."

"A little further," she groaned as she waded through more cadavers, spilling their rotted entrails into the small flesh between her toes as she kicked her way through them. "A little further."

She repeated that statement like a spell, even though she was no shaman. She had no command over the winds of the Deadlands or the right to give such commands. The thought was selfish, born entirely from her childish fears. These fears were new, and even as they resolved in her mind and she became increasingly aware that it was hopeless, still she trudged on, until she looked up and saw the entrance to the tower had appeared in front of her.

Unlike its exterior perimeter it was pristine and pure – unmarked by blemish or blood-spattered flesh. Its pearl-white entrance welcomed her with a revolving-door mouth which she passed through with only confusion. She let that same emotion wash over her like the washed out, uniform walls of the building's foyer – no paintings adorned the surfaces, no items of Old World design that she had seen within the other layered stories of their existence lined the hallway. There was nothing but the pallid white walls of this place that stretched towards a small desk at the end of this passageway. Above the desk hanged a simple analog clock, and below this item, sitting at the desk jotting down notes with inhuman patience and focus, was a man.

Her steps echoed on the cold floor of the interior, and she left bloody footprints with each new inch forward. Her vision was narrowed to nothing but that desk, and the odd, bespectacled human that sat there engaged in some menial task.

When she reached the desk, she realized he was unnaturally tall for a human being. Even Father-Mother in their prime never rose to this one's height. His long velvet suit was pristine and totally without blemish – and in fact, his aged skin similarly showed no wrinkles. His scent was one of strawberry, or was it lemon? Either way, it was something Rain-Born could not quite place. It was as though he was a being out-of-time and space itself – ripped from the void of nothingness and spewed into a time he did not belong in. He did not "fit" into the Deadlands at all. In that way, she realized, he was the same as Jespar.

His thin, graying hair was matched by an equally out-of-place handlebar mustache that twitched as she approached him, and she opened her mouth to utter words she didn't even recognize were hers.

"Ca – ca –"

He looked up, seemingly unhappy to be disturbed. He shuffled what appeared to be some papers in his hands and paid her no heed.

Her eyes went wild. "Callisto!"

He looked up, once, as though inspecting her with new eyes. He adjusted his monocle and returned to his work.

"Do you have an appointment?" he asked.

She simply looked at him, her breathing growing more and more raspy as she felt Jespar's own breathing still. She banged into the desk unconsciously, looking up at him in desperation.

He sneered. "A small jest, you understand", he said. "I saw your progress from within the viewing chamber above, of course. Quite exemplary. But that is to be expected of you. There have been many such displays recently. It all becomes rather dreary, you know."