The Narrative River was a wonder. Sailing its currents was like flying through the pages of a thousand different books at once. Whispers of forgotten epics brushed against the hull of the *Stardust Drifter*, and faint, ghostly images of heroes from dead worlds flickered in their wake. It was a beautiful, and slightly melancholy, journey.
It was also fast. The three-week journey to Cogsworld was shortened to three days.
As they emerged from the vibrant, story-filled currents of the river, they were met with a new, and deeply unsettling, sight.
The perfect, cold, and logical order of the Clockwork Legion's space.
Here, there were no chaotic nebulae or wandering world-fragments. There was only a perfect, crystalline lattice of interconnected, gear-shaped worlds, all orbiting a single, massive, and artificial sun. It was a celestial orrery of breathtaking, and terrifying, precision.
"This is it," Bran said, his voice a low, awestruck whisper. "The heart of the machine."
