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Imagine a universe where light and dark, life and death, up and down — everything that makes reality work — is regulated by a great and mysterious mechanical mechanism at the very center of the cosmos.
And imagine that this mechanism, over the eons, has collected so much dust and debris and rogue planets and other intergalactic detritus that it is actually capable of supporting life.
The indestructible mechanisms of the planet are still working. Driven by the very mass of the Universe itself, they are not impeded by mere oceans, or stone, or people tossing their sandwich wrappings into the epicyclic gears.
Cities are built on great turning plates. People ride the gears like ants living in a giant clock. Magic works, but who needs it? Everywhere you turn, vast amounts of mechanical energy are available for free. Just wrap a few drive belts around a rotating godstone formation and you can power an entire sawmill.
People of three different species — Human, Kin, and Ur — live here, work here, love here, and die here. Gyre was created by the gods. Its mechanism — its purpose — is indestructible, inviolate; unchangable by any mere mortal existing upon its surface.
Or so everyone believed.