Objects in motion tend to stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force.

So many people had argued that with him over the years, not understanding the bevy of nuance that existed in their world. People, at the hearts, were just well-meaning objects, and they tended to do whatever they had always done until someone forced them to do otherwise. Then there was a general outcry, and a scramble to defend what had been before without truly gauging the merit of the proposed change. The laws that governed all known bodies applied so beautifully to people that it was nearly ironic in its wonder.

More and more of his time was being pulled away by side projects, these days. Reviewing contracts. Approving tax rates. Assisting with land parcel development. Getting married. It was a wonder that he had time to think at all. Gone were the days-that-never-were of being able to blissfully sit carefree and think for hours on end. To mentally turn the world on its axis to examine a new idea or question an assumed reality. No, no, he was an honest man of this strange new faith in an old decayed city.

The tavern was noisy these days. Too noisy. His apprentices wanted for work, and he hadn’t time to direct them like he used to. So the other ones drank the day away, or caroused with the Hestrali strumpets about town while the youngest doodled in the corner. Jehanne had taken to them, at least, in her bright smiled way.

Such a smile.

An agitated puff of smoke left his lips and bounced off the confining wall opposite him. The one remaining room in his world that was firmly his, the quiet study at the top of the Metalli Guildhall. Below him, he could hear the work of hammers and saws, improved for efficiency by his own design. If he sat long enough, he even believed he could hear the bellow of Borso echoing off the halls. The old miner had proven to be an exceptional investment, but if the equally old Engineer was being honest, the Metalli hadn’t felt the same since Thorn had departed. She had been the… heart of them.

He sighs and turns the page of his weathered tome.

It was strange how long the winter had felt. The Cappacian beauty wrapped in his sheets, the warmth of her filling the room nearly to bursting. A genuine laugh before eyes hungry for answers latched onto him. She had a way of drawing him deeper and deeper into her wants. Before long, she’d have wrung every answer she could ever desire from him. What a blissful prison he had built. Soft and pale and witty. A small part of him wondered when this young lady would tire of so… grumpy a companion. Odd that his mind hadn’t turned towards its usual routes.

He cough a hurrumph of scented smoke into the room and turns another unread page.

It promised to be a busy Spring, he could already hear the clamor of the city as it slowly roused itself from the lethargy of Winter. Soon construction would begin. Soon he would find time to touch his quill to paper and allow the creations to flow. Soon the carefully set pieces would form the desires he wished.

The key to inertia was to account for the forces that would draw away energy, not to invest more energy. A smile touched his lips as his eyes turned to the book again. Another few hours of solitude wouldn’t harm anyone.