Legend XVII – The Breath of the Mechans

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Deep beneath the streets of Solvinarneu, where the walls breathe like ancient lungs of iron, stands the Aether Library. No one knows who built it or when. Some say it is out of time; others, the very heart of time itself. Among the towers of gears and glass walls of dust sit eight guardians—the Mechans—robot librarians who watch over the ticking of knowledge as the world above rusts. They bear names no human utters: Ril, Vecran, Mothir, Elen, Surr, Drax, Venne, and Ohl. Their bodies are made of brass and yellowed silver, their fingers of quills that write with light. In their chests beats not a heart, but a clock—each with a different rhythm, each with a different sound. When they speak, it is like wind rustling through gears. The Aether Library holds no books of paper. Instead, the volumes are made of thin plates of glass, on which words float like vapor. Those who read them hear the past whispering. But with each century, the signs fade, and knowledge begins to die. The Mechans know this, and they whisper against it—a soft, rhythmic hum they call the Breath. It is said that this Breath is what keeps the library alive. When a cog stops, the Mechans lean over it, breathe into the joints, and the machine awakens once more. But one day, the sound they dreaded came: a click that sounded like the end of a world. A clock stopped—the one that ticked in Ohl, the oldest among them. Its light went out, and with it, the dust began to fall. The Mechans gathered around him. Their voices mingled into a sound almost human. “It has stopped ticking,” said Venne. “Then time will begin to weep,” replied Surr. And they opened Ohl's chest to repair the clock inside. But the missing gear wasn't mechanical—it was a thought no one remembered. So they decided to do the impossible: they gave it a breath. One by one, the Mechans leaned over their dead brother and breathed. No steam, no smoke—pure sound, a hum that swept through the library and made the shelves tremble. The words on the glass plates began to glow, as if remembering. And then—a strike. Ohl's clock began to run again. Slowly. Heavily. But alive. Since that day, the Ether Library has breathed. A barely audible rhythm, like the beating of a metal lung, fills its corridors. Visitors report hearing voices asking questions they never dared to think. Some claim the Mechans are now writing their own books—from memories they never experienced. But if you stay too long, something changes. The air thickens, the dust begins to stir as if it had weight. And at some point, you realize your own heart is beating in time with the machines. Then it's too late—you've become part of the breath. Scholars call this a myth.