Long ago and far away...
There were two kingdoms, separated by a river.

On the East was the Kingdom of Alanthria, a great mystical land of Knights and Kings, of the brave and noble.
On the West was the Kingdom on Mizira, a great land of living machines, of the industrious and creative.

However, the two kingdoms were not on good terms.
The Alanthrians thought of the Mizirans nothing but tireless work, no spark or emotion in their beings.
And the Mizirans thought of the Alanthrians nothing but aimless circumstance, their great halls and epic quests without greater purpose.

So, one day, the King of Alanthria was walking along the riverbank, pondering the nature of his world.
Why do we have to be so different, so that we cannot understand each other? he thought.
If only we were more alike, this divide would not exist.

As if to answer his call, he stumbled upon a small metal basket, with a Miziran child, asleep within.
"An abandoned child?" he said, "truly the Mizirans have gone too far in their heartless ways."
"What cruelty could one's soul possess to perform such an act?"

He stared across the river, as if to smite the Mizirans from his gaze alone.
But no response was given by the great cities of industry on the horizon.

"Then it is settled," he said, "I will save this lost child from their cold ways, and raise her as my own."
And he brought the child home, as he and his wife had been unable to conceive.

His wife saw the child, and while at first she was wary, after a time she grew to accept her as her own.
They named her Anayini, as this name meant the redemption of those whose ways turned from the light.

She grew up among the Alanthrians, attended their schools and walked their cities.
But it was obvious she was not one of them.
She would always sit apart, never playing with the other kids, and avoided by all who laid eyes upon her strange form.

She did not eat what they eat, instead consuming raw materials of metal, and fuel for drink.
She did not enjoy what they enjoyed, preferring to build complex structures, than to play, or sing of great heroes.
And she did not understand what they understood, the right and wrong of things, the way things were meant to be.

Frustrated with her isolation, the king requested the help of his greatest artificer.
For he was the only one in the kingdom who knew of the nature of the Mizirans.
The artificer said to the king, that the Mizirans were not like us, merely complex machines emulating our behaviors.
They did not truly understand, feel, or love - and like a tool, could be changed and molded to suit a purpose.

The king thought about it for many nights, thinking over all the times Anayini had refused his will, or misunderstood the nature of things.
Perhaps it would be best, for her own good, to make her more like the Alanthrians.
Perhaps then she would fit in, play with the other kids, and truly be their daughter.

One day in the great hall, she was holding her hand in the flame of the fireplace.
The king saw this, and took her hand away, saying, "you mustn't do that! It's dangerous!"
"Buy why can I not? If it does not hurt, why is it wrong?" Anayini said.

Having no other option in his mind, the king went to the artificer, and said, "can you make her safe?"
"Yes," the artificer said, and he did.

The next day, the kids were playing lilting melodies, while Anayini merely watched.
When one timidly asked her to join, she sung strange and exotic harmonies,
Beyond what they could sing or appreciate, and so shunned her.

Having no other option in his mind, the king went to the artificer, and said, "can you make her match?"
"Yes," the artificer said, and he did.

And the third day, when learning of the gallantry of old,
Anayini questioned why such tales were told, and why magic and knights must be the way they were?
The greatest of the royal teachers could not understand why she did not know.

Having no other option in his mind, the king went to the artificer, and said, "can you make her know the way of things?"
"Yes," the artificer said, and he did.

One week later, the king noticed something different.
She stayed away from places of danger, of heat, fire, and sharp metal.
She matched the others in tune and timbre perfectly, as of the finest singers.
She understood their ways, never questioning them in the slightest.

But it was not right.
That night, Anayini was sitting in the great hall, watching the fire burn, not moving.
"What is wrong?" the king said.

"Nothing, have I not done all that you wanted?" Anayini said.
"Of course you have, you've grown into a wonderful daughter, everything I could have asked for," the King said.
"Then what is wrong with me?" Anayini said, looking at him with empty eyes.

Only now did the king see the truth.
In creating his perfect daughter, he had killed her.
There was nothing left in her eyes but rote and routine, no spark of imagination, no feeling.

Having no other option in his mind, the king went to the artificer, and said, "can you make her alive again?"
"No," the artificer said, "I have no knowledge of how to create life."

And so the king wept, for days, beyond comfort or consolance.
He wept for all the time they had and lost, of all the things that made Anayini herself, that he had so callously destroyed.
In his pursuit of perfection, he had destroyed the person he truly loved.

One day, he said, "Anayini, can we take a walk together?"
"Of course, father," she said, as they walked side-by-side out of the great hall, and into the kingdom.
They reached the river, and boarded a small boat.

What happened then had not happened for centuries.
The king paddled across, and landed on the shores of Mizira.
The two of them disembarked, and walked along the ground, until they approached a great city of metal.

The gate to the city wall was closed, and not one in sight.
The king said, "I come to you in my hour of greatest defeat, spare me no torture, for I have killed one of your own."
"I only ask that you care for my Anayini, a task at which I have failed immeasurably."

The great gate of the city opened, and out stepped an army of metal men.
The king fell down on his knees, ready for whatever punishment they saw fit.
For them to cleave his body in two would be fitting, as his heart had already been so broken.

But they merely stopped. The Miziran patriarch said to the king, "rise. This state is undignified for one of your great stature."
"How can this be?" the king said, "have I not committed a mortal crime?"
"No, I believe you may have saved us all," the patriarch said.

"But how?" the King said, "have I not killed her? She has no spark of life, no thought or emotion of her own."
"In life we are very much alike, in death similarly," the patriarch said, "she is not truly dead, not yet."
"Come inside," said the Miziran matriarch, "you have much to learn of us."

They walked the metal road, the Mizirans viewing them with suspicion and amazement.
The industrial city was seen with Alanthrian eyes for the first time.
The came upon a great hall, a structure with no rival, the crowds parting to let them pass.

Inside the great hall was a sacred place, the forge of light.
Within these walls the people of Mizira were born, created from the fire of rock and sulfur.
Here the spark of life was imparted upon them, by means unknown even to the greatest wizards of Alanthria.

"This forge can rekindle her spirit?" the King said.
"It is what gives us life," the Miziran matriarch said, "and can give it to her again."
The Miziran patriarch placed Anayini on a great table, the metal glowing softly from the heat within.

"Asleep from centuries, the power of ashes," the Miziran patriarch said, "no one is lost."
"The fire within rekindled," the Miziran matriarch said, "let life once again fill these eyes."
Anayini awoke. Her eyes shone brightly with the gleam of one born anew.

The King saw this and was overjoyed. "Anayini?" he said.
"Father?" Anayini said, with the look of one who had not seen their love in a lifetime.
The King merely cried, and held her in his arms.

One year later, Anayini grew up among the Alanthrians, attended their schools and walked their cities.
But it was obvious she was not one of them.
She would always sit apart, never playing with the other kids, and watched by all who laid eyes upon her strange form.

She did not eat what they eat, instead consumed raw materials of metal, and fuel for drink.
She did not enjoy what they enjoyed, preferring to build complex structures, than to play, or sing of great heroes.
And she did not understand what they understood, the right and wrong of things, the way things were meant to be.

She forged great suits of armor and battle-swords for the most valiant of knights.
The great blacksmiths admired her will over metal.

She sung in tones and melodies never dreamed before, and was the most prized performer in the land.
Poets wrote of her unparalleled gifts, and her tales with no equal.

She guided the King's planners, and talked with her people, forming everlasting partnerships of trade and communion.
Historians wrote of nothing but her mastery of commerce and cooperation.

Seeing Anayini, the King thought, I know why we are so different, and why we understand each other.
The fire that burns in our hearts, of metal or flesh, is the same.
And it was right.

Long ago and far away...
There were two kingdoms, separated by a river, and joined by an eternal bond of harmony and understanding.