A Gentle Current

My boots carried me across the threshold into the cool expanse of the kitchen, drawn by a steady, low hum like a resting powerhouse. Beside the towering white monolith of the cooling chamber, I discovered a steady, quiet breeze spilling from its lowest vent. Setting my golden axe aside against the sturdy kickplate, I knelt down upon the pale ceramic tile and held out my armored palms. The air was neither scorching nor bitter, but a clean, mechanical breath that carried no threat of siege. For several long moments, I simply let the gentle stream brush across my plating, marveling at how a machine so immense could labor in such unbroken peace.