The wind swept through the ruins, carrying with it the soft hiss of distant steam vents and the echo of waves crashing far below the cliffs. Gadriel and Kaelan stood in the shadow of a broken archway, the faint glow of the centurion's eyes lighting the stone around them.
Kaelan shifted slightly, the metal plates of his body grinding and clicking as they adjusted. He looked down at his hands—massive, an forged from an unknown metal—and then back toward Gadriel, who studied him with quiet satisfaction.
"So, Kaelan," Gadriel began, brushing dust from his sleeve. "As I told you before, I cured you of greyscale. But as I'm sure you've noticed, your body now… is quite different."
Kaelan turned his heavy head toward him, the rune on his chest still glowing faintly. "That much, I have gathered," he said, his voice hollow yet curious. "It feels… strange. I can move, I can think, but I do not feel the air or the ground beneath me."
"That's because your soul—or your life, as you might call it—is now bound to a machine of my own making," Gadriel explained. "You're no longer made of flesh and blood. Your new body is entirely metal. You no longer need to eat, drink, or sleep. And…" He hesitated, his tone softening slightly. "You can't do any of those things either. I'm sorry about that, but it's not something I can change."
Kaelan looked down at his armored hands again, flexing his fingers. The movement was slow, deliberate. "I see," he said quietly. "It's… a strange thought. To be alive, but not living as I once did."
Gadriel nodded. "I understand that feeling more than you'd think." He crossed his arms, his voice returning to a firmer tone. "Still, your new form has its benefits. You're far stronger than before—able to crush stone and lift weights that would break a man's spine. You can withstand heat, blade, and time itself far better than you ever could in flesh. And, as a bit of a bonus, you can emit blasts of superheated steam from within your body. Useful if something decides to attack you."
The centurion's head tilted slightly. "Steam…?"
"Try it," Gadriel said, stepping back and pointing toward a patch of ruined wall. "Focus on your chest—think of the heat building up inside, then let it out through your arm."
Kaelan paused. A faint hum began deep in his frame, growing louder until, with a sudden hiss, a jet of white-hot steam burst from a vent in his arm and struck the stone wall. The surface sizzled and cracked instantly.
Gadriel smirked. "Good. You learn fast."
Kaelan looked at the scorched stone, then back to Gadriel. "It seems I have… potential."
"You do," Gadriel agreed, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "But there's something else I need to tell you."
He circled around to Kaelan's back, tapping the metal plating near the shoulder blades. "You have two crystals set into your body—one for power, the other for control. The first is filled with my magicka; it gives your body energy and motion. If that one breaks, it's fine. I can always make another. But the second…" His hand rested over the other slot. "The second holds your soul. If that's destroyed, you'll be truly dead. Permanently."
Kaelan stood still for a long moment, the faint hiss of his inner workings the only sound. "I understand," he said finally, his tone solemn. "Then I shall guard it as if it were my heart."
"Good," Gadriel said, stepping back. "Now, that brings us to your choice."
Kaelan's glowing eyes turned toward him. "Choice?"
"Yes," Gadriel said, crossing his arms. "You have two paths. The first—you can leave. You're free to go wherever you wish. I won't stop you. But if you do, you'll likely be met with fear. People won't understand what you are. They'll see a walking machine, a monster from a forgotten age, and they'll try to destroy you. The second option—stay with me. Serve under me, learn from me, and I'll make sure your existence has purpose."
The metal giant was silent for a long time, the faint wind whistling through his joints. Then, slowly, Kaelan bowed his head. "Then from this day on," he said, voice echoing like a vow, "I will serve you, however you command… Lord Gadriel."
Gadriel sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alright, that's good to hear—but please, enough with the 'Lord' nonsense. I'm not some noble. Just call me Gadriel."
There was a brief pause, then a low creak as Kaelan nodded. "As you wish… Gadriel."
"That's better." Gadriel gave a small smile. "Now that that's settled, it's time for you to get used to your new body. Test your strength, your movement, your steam blasts—whatever you feel like. But stay near the camp. Don't wander off too far, understood?"
"Yes, Gadriel," Kaelan said firmly. "I will remain nearby."
"Good," Gadriel replied, slinging his pack over his shoulder. "I'll be gone for a while, exploring these ruins. Don't expect me back until sundown."
Kaelan inclined his head in silent understanding as Gadriel turned and walked away, his cloak brushing against the broken stones. The metal guardian watched him go, the glow of his eyes reflecting in the dim light before he turned to face the open courtyard.
For a long moment, Kaelan simply stood there, taking in the ruined world around him—the shattered towers, the rivers of broken glass, the echoes of a once-mighty civilization. He clenched his metal fist and whispered, almost to himself, "To live again… even like this… is still a gift."
He began to move, each step heavy yet sure, the sound of grinding gears filling the air. Behind him, Dust grazed calmly while the skeletal guards continued their silent vigil.
And deep in the ruins ahead, Gadriel disappeared into Valyria's shadowed streets—searching for what the centuries had buried.