Nymph looks at the little box in front of her and lets out a heavy sigh. Without a doubt, this strange record player is her parents' handiwork. Her sister had sent their parents a message, explaining the situation in Kazdel and telling them that Nymph joined Rhodes Island. Ever since then, they've been sending her all sorts of oddities: pens that can't write, whistles that don't whistle, decorative glass flowers..... and now this. Without inspecting it closely, Nymph takes the record that came with the record player and sets it on the turntable. The disc just spins and spins on top of the turntable without properly locking into place. Nymph fiddles with the device for a few minutes to no avail. It doesn't play a single note. She picks up the record, flips it over to check the other side, and measures its thickness with her finger. It is a bit thicker than usual, and there's no hole on the back... Hm? Nymph looks again. The back really has no spindle hole, but it does have a smooth lockplate. Could it be? She takes out a key and, half-doubting, prods at the keyhole. The tip of the key slides all the way in. A gentle turn, and she hears the mechanism click open. It really is a lock. Yet she doesn't feel any emotion from it. It seems this record isn't a vessel for any emotions, it's simply for decoration. She sets it back on the player. The key seems to serve as a spindle now, fixing the record in place. As she lowers the tonearm, the record begins to turn slowly. Nymph's room remains silent, but she feels it clearly, the emotion flowing from that key: the purest, truest love. Though it was born from the pain-filled ritual of the Djall, it's soft and warm, like... A knock at the door pulls Nymph from her reverie. She opens it to find two young Sarkaz she often sees roaming the streets. 'Are you roasting sweet potatoes, Nymph?' 'Are you warming cystymilk?' They're asking two different questions, but Nymph realizes they're asking them for the same reason. They can feel the warmth in the room, not from food, but from the record player her parents sent. Had her parents really done it? Shared a feeling unique to the Djall with every Sarkaz, maybe even— 'Feels like my grandma's sitting in a rocking chair knitting me a sweater,' says a Feline Rhodes Island field operator. Every Terran? Nymph pulls out the key and slots it into her own heart-lock. There are small differences, but the feelings they release are the same. No doubt, this gift can share emotions with others. So long as its owner is a Djall willing to do so, of course. The thought makes her sincerely grateful for her quirky, idea-spinning father and her deft-handed engineer mother. No one on the land understands their children better than a pair of Djall parents. After mulling it over, she takes the record player and a key with a flame motif and heads for Ermengarde's place. She has a bold idea—one involving the Soul Furnace.