A thousand years ago, my people had a land of their own. They lived, and they loved, and they thrived. They were ruled over by the Sun Queen, but then things changed. Our land was taken from us, and we scattered to the eight winds in search of a new home. The Asoriyans had taken in my people with aloof bemusement - sequestered away in their little corner of the city that nobody was using anyways. And then they forgot about us.

Until we made glass.

We made glass cups, glass knives. Glass necklaces, glass retorts. Glass. Glass. Glass. The glass mania was growing. Even glass beads began to be traded in market. The finest glass, of course, was the rubyglass, for gold and tin must be used to make it – minerals not common at market, and I know that the Elders have a special recipe for the glass that’s to be made ruby. Silver and copper are used to produce lesser reds. And Iron – iron makes a bluegreen glass. Cheap as dirt, so that’s the one they trust the youngers like myself to make. Can’t waste the copper, silver, or tin on youngers.

Speaking of copper and silver – that’s actually what I’m off to the market to get. Thirty bars of silver, a hundred of the copper. If I can get one, a bar of gold, and use the rest for iron. On the way, I stopped by a kitchen node, and bought some stuffed bread with the bronze coinage, overpriced, but I didn’t care. The Elders didn’t have to know about that, and our district had become quite wealthy. And I was hungry damnit.

Out in the thoroughfares, there were no women. The Nayrang, or ‘Nayiranitans’ as the Asoriyans like to call them, put the kibosh on that. But some had built underground tunnels in Asor, to get from Node to Node. The old Crusader General had quite a few riots under his belt, dad told me, and when one finally killed him, suddenly the new guy seemed less concerned about women travelling through tunnels to get from node to node, or to travel in men’s clothes in the streets.

I finally met the metalsmith, a curt tiger of a man named Geri. His mother-in-law worked the true forge, but of course his matriarch made him the face of the business. For safety, and compliance, but not without annoyance.

“Alanital, you’ve come,” said the smith. My name is Alanthal. But Asoriyans cannot pronounce things well.

“Geri. Nice to see you too,” I said, “So, do you have the normal order ready?”

“Yes,” he said, brief as brief as can be, and then departed to go and give the pallet and delivery slaves. Strong-backed ones, with a cart.

“Payment,” said Geri.

“No beating around the bush, I see,” I said, as I dug through my purse.

“No,” said Geri, watching me.

So we finished our exchange, and I lead the delivery slaves back to the Athala District. I met with my master in glassmaking, who said to me, “You’re finally back, are you?”

“Yes, sir,”

“Good. Start preparing the bars for storage.”

I keep wondering what amounts of the metals they use to make the glass, but I’m not allowed to know. It’s a secret for the masters, and perhaps one day I’ll know them. But secrets are secrets, and ours protect my people – but one day, I shall have perfect clarity.

Asorian Glassmaking. It’s very secretive.