Allik sighed, rolling his eyes, an odd expression to see from one in a mask. “Gods,” he whispered to her. “Very temperamental. Anyway, the Sovereign came about ten years after the Ice Death happened, yah? Silly name, but you’ve got to call it something. The land was beautiful and warm, and then it froze.”

Marasi glanced toward Waxillium, frowning. He shrugged. “Froze?” she said. “I don’t recall hearing of freezing.”

“It’s frozen right now!” Allik said, shivering. “You had it here too, you must have. Over three centuries ago, the Ice Death came.”

“The Catacendre?” Waxillium said. “Harmony remade the world. Saved it.”

“Froze it,” Allik said, shaking his head. “The land was soft and warm, and now it is harsh and broken and frozen.”

“Harmony…” Marasi whispered. “Allik’s from the South, Waxillium. Haven’t you read the old books? The people from the Final Empire never went in that direction. The oceans boiled, supposedly, if you got too close to the equator.”

“The people who lived down south adapted,” Waxillium said softly. “No Ashmounts to fill the sky with ash, to cool it…”

“So, the world nearly ended,” Allik continued. “And the Sovereign, he came and he saved us. Taught us this.” He gestured toward the armband he wore, with the medallion, then paused. “Well, not this one in particular. This one.” He reached into his desk and took out the other medallion he’d worn, the one he’d taken out of the safe back in the warehouse. He put it on, swapping it for the language one, and sighed in contentment.

Marasi watched him, then raised her hand as if to touch his, and he nodded, allowing it. His skin grew warmer even as she sat there. “Heat,” she said, glancing toward Waxillium. “This medallion stores heat. That’s a property of Feruchemy, right?”

Waxillium nodded. “The most archetypal. In the ancient days, my Terris ancestors dwelled in the highlands, often traveling through snow-filled mountain passes. The ability to store their heat, then draw upon it, allowed them to survive where nobody else could.”

Allik sat, basking in his warmth for a time, before—with obvious reluctance—pulling off his medallion and swapping it quickly for the one that somehow allowed him to speak to them.

“Without these,” he said, holding up the first medallion, “we’d be dead. Gone. All five peoples extinct, yah?”

Marasi nodded. “And he taught you this? The Sovereign?”

“Sure did. Saved us, bless him. Taught us that the Metalborn were pieces of God, each one of them, though we didn’t have any of those at first. He gave us devices, and started the Firemothers and Firefathers, who live to fill these medallions so the rest of us may leave our homes and survive in this too-cold world. After he left, we used his gifts to figure out the rest, like these that make us fly.”