From the introduction: You are a dying Archaon of an ancient Empire; a construct built as a servitor to indulge societies long since gone. The population of that vast Empire is microscopic dust scattered by solar winds. The whisper of their knowledge has been forgotten even by you. Why did you forget it? What lies within the gaps of your otherwise perfect memory? What happened so that you survived the downfall? Now, after eons of unfaltering service, you are also failing. Your fuel is running low, and there is nothing of its like to replace it. Soon you will power down for an eternal rest you cannot avoid. But you still have one last task. Left from your ancient creators, you have put it off until now. It gives you purpose. And yet... You have a choice. To continue your slow decay, conserving your fuel to extend your services, knowing that in time it too will run out and you will fail. Or to go out in a blaze of glory, righting old wrongs left unbalanced far too long. Will you levitate by the virtue of your inner lightness, or fall to the hidden secret you keep bottled up inside? Will your purpose change? Or will you change as your seek to remember what you lost?