The Flux of the World

Flux is what a fluxionist works with: the Flux Workbench, the Conduit, Confluence and devices draw it from the land around them. Where the flux runs full, work goes on; where it is drained, work stops. Everything in the world is a current that has set: stone flows over eons, wood over years, fire in moments, and the measure of how fast a thing changes, and into what, is its flux. Strata flows in stone, Ember in fire; by a river the flux is alive, in an abandoned mine it stands still.

Every patch of land holds its own store of flux. It never stands still: it seeps from full to empty, slowly, like water through sand. Rivers, valleys and old weirs are its beds, and along them it runs faster. Draw flux for a workshop on a dry steppe and it runs out; set it by a river and the neighbors will top it up. Where to work is the fluxionist's call.

Flux drawn roughly does not vanish — it stagnates. Stagnant flux is called murk: it does not seep to the neighbors but settles where it was spilled. A little murk is harmless. What a lot of it threatens is told in the entry "Murk and Mire."