In a dark passage, underneath layers of stone and gravel, a clump of feathers floated through as it diligently made its rounds.
Swish swish. Sweeping across broken metal bars and rusted chains, the bone handle swung delightedly while removing any trace of decay. It marked the path of its duty with neatly packed piles of refuse lining the walkway: a job for another tool to clean.
Not quite finished, it sped along the empty halls and barren cells, never wasting a single second.
More piles followed the tool's diligent work as the minutes passed.
Finally, after however many hours had been spent, the feather duster took a pause, giving what could only be an appreciative nod as it admired the shining metal and glittering walls.
Of course, the repair of chipped stone slabs and broken links of chains was beyond its capabilities. But much like those dust piles, they too would be remedied by another.
Upon clearing the lower level, a flash of white zipped through the halls and up the stairwell, where a hundred of its brethren relentlessly poured over the main rooms above.
The dainty duster sped through, paying no mind to their kin as it swerved around energetic paintbrushes, soaked cleaning rags, and a porcelain teapot that appeared lost in more ways than one.
After making it through a deluge of activity, it soon found itself in the eye of the storm.
Instead of swishing of feathers and bumbling of pots, silence ruled in the circular reception hall, where a peculiar spirit analyzed the new arrival.
'Lower level finished?'
After receiving a brief, respectful nod in response, Dagora mentally ticked off the task. With a whisk of a finger, a plain and small dustpan went off to begin their shift.
Seeing the attentive cleaning tool still waiting, Dagora paused before delegating a new task:
'Hum...Hm...You can help with discarding the broken pillars.'
For the briefest moment, it titled its bone handle to the side, as if unsure of the request before choosing to accept the mission.
Dagora watched it zoom away, then returned to its role as manager over the rigorous cleanup effort.
Around them, a withered aura emanated inside the room. Not from latent evil, nor was their ancient form the cause. The real culprit was pure fatigue.
After all the years of neglect, the castle had long fallen into a state of slow decay. Days had passed, none with a single break. And Dagora bore the greatest burden of the lot.
Whether it was spells or enchantments, all required a source of power when active.
Some could make use of ambient mana, at the cost of lower activations. Others used their wielder as their source.
As for the mishmash of tools and cleaning supplies working double duty, the energy requirements were on another level, far beyond Dagora's sustainable expenditure.
It was only due to his master's forethought that Dagora hadn't fizzled from incorporeal form to true non-existence. The growing gratitude drifted its attention to the items gifted from Alastor.
On the left, dull gray gems rested, their surfaces jagged like unpolished diamonds and forms the size of walnuts.
And to the right, lay the shattered remnants. The fragments somehow duller than their complete counterparts, as well as forming a taller pile.
Feeling the growing lethargy, Dagora softly grasped a plain jewel and watched as it crumbled away. As the gem let out a final crack, a wisp of something dark and intangible trickled out and merged with the castle spirit.
The weak aura surrounding Dagora abated ever so slightly as it let out a low utterance of thanks.
Though poor in quality and quantity, no source of energy went without gratefulness; not when given by its master.
However—now that Dagora looked, the pile had shrunken a decent amount.
Turning its gaze towards the depths of the castle, the idea of a refill grew with each passing second.
Of course, it didn't wish to bother the King. But what competent servant failed to bring a lack of resources to their Lord's attention?
Yes, being a good servant... Dagora's steps took a life of their own as they left the appointed area.
All it wanted to do was accomplish the Master's goal.
Dagora would never do such a thing just because it missed Alastor.
...
Alastor had been hard at work the past few days.
Not only did his abode require renovation, but he also lacked any decent information. These two problems caused plenty of vexation for the demon, leaving him in a state where comfort was foreign and elusive.
While the surrounding area matched his memory...Save for the lack of residents, the world beyond had changed in the time he was sealed away.
He assumed so, at least...
'Damned mutts...'
Alastor's violet eyes glimmered with mana as his outstretched hands hovered over a beastial corpse.
The creature resembled a cross between a rat and wolf, lacking the charm either could possess.
Cracked hairless skin, four paws with spade-like claws, and a gaping mouth full of teeth resembling that of a shark were the defining features of the Ravvi.
Yet none of them inspired any form of fear, not when they lay pale and lifeless on the cold floor.
What was frightful... was the sheer number of bodies that lay in heaps. Treated like scraps to be wrung of all value before being buried underneath ash and dust.
Dark streams seeped from the demonic beast's body, coalescing within the opened palm that carelessly tossed the newly created gem aside.
Alastor spent no time moving on to the next corpse, though frustration had begun to ebb in response to the time-consuming task.
'To think I believed these mindless creatures held any worth...at least they can be recycled.'
Upon his return, power had been an immediate concern. Most of the energy sources from before had broken down, and the empty treasury had left Alastor contemplating the meaning of 'poverty' for the first time in ages.
It was a blessing—small as it may be—that these creatures could provide a tangible benefit.
But try as he might, his angst failed to abate. It was easy to call it a fresh start, yet the number of problems facing him was not conducive to a clean slate.
The Compendium...That too required action. Yet...What could be done when the culprits were beyond his limited reach?
Still in contemplation, Alastor was awoken by his perception, feeling a presence and hearing a polite knock at the door.
With a nod, the hinges swung open, signaling the entry of Dagora as it slid into the room.
Alastor looked his servant up and down with a discerning eye, recognizing the signs of fatigue.
"Are you already low on soul gems?"
Dagora showed agreement with a slight nod.
"Hah...I knew these were of low quality, but to think they were worse than anticipated."
Alastor let out a 'tsk' in frustration, his impression of the Ravvi falling ever lower.
He gestured to his left, where a collection of gems lay. "Take the lot. They should hold you over until the renovation is over."
By then, he hoped to find a new source. It was only out of desperation that he chose this method.
After allowing the soul gems to be taken, Dagora remained in place with a lowered head and nervous glances in Alastor's direction.
Its mouth opened and closed, as if wanting to speak but lacking any words.
Alastor turned his head to look behind his shoulders, inquiring: "Is there anything else?"
A nearly imperceptible sigh met his question, followed by a shake of a head.
"Good. In that case, I will leave you to your task—"
Boom!
His words were interrupted by the sound of a collision before the heavy gates were thrown open, revealing a decrepit pillar being carried into the room.
A mass of gray and white was glued from the front to its end: thousands of dusters fighting to balance the weighty column on their form as they attempted to move the unusable piece of architecture.
Everyone—from duster to demon—froze at the sight of one another.
"...Dagora?" Alastor asked, his face a blank mask.
Once more, a sigh left the target of his questioning, this time with a bitter sense of helplessness.