They were forged in the fires of Art'at, beings of living fire and stone. They were placed within metal skin to stabilize their cores, but the souls within made them far from automatons. I and my sisters knew the planet was dwindling, plant life turning to ash as the mighty mountain rained doom upon the skies. And we did not want the planet to die alone, lifeless, a single ember in the burning furnace of space. Flesh and bone was soon to die out on our world, and so we made them from the very fires that were consuming our world in hopes that they would one day become their own. And while our species became dust in the winds of our own demise, theirs became a thriving civilization that quickly developed culture and factions. Sadly the peace did not last long, for soon a group of them defected, calling themselves the insurgents and starting a war. Many had long forgotten us, their creators, the last living creatures of flesh. As time went on, some went into hiding and forged a city under ground, the city of the Underworld. While the surface raged with war and cracked with the molten fire of their dying cores, just beneath the planets skin was a movement of hope, a movement of peace. But they cannot live without the fires of the world, it is their lifeblood, their core, their very soul. As the war on the surface drained the planet of its fire, the ones in the underworld began to turn to stone as the core grew cold. And this is where our story begins. I cannot say it is a happy one, as I watch over my dying world as simply a spirit in the stars. It is a story wrought with hardship, pain, and endless injustice as our creations fight amongst themselves for control of the fires which they could just as easily share. As we watch over them from our place in the stars, my heart wonders if they were our greatest mistake.