The sounds of steel striking steel echoed through the tiny room of Noah's cabin in the underground district, each impact sharp enough to make Ethan's head throb, as if he were the one being hit instead of the iron slab clamped beneath his uncle's hammer. The noise bounced off stone walls and low ceilings, compressing the space even further. Ethan stood there silently, hands at his sides, watching without understanding what the machinery in front of Noah was meant to become. He hadn't asked. Not a single question since he appeared in the cabin, guided through the underground by Jasper and a handful of local humans who barely looked at him. He hadn't made a sound since.
A few more heavy bangs rang out before Noah finally stopped. He let out a rough breath and leaned back from the iron frame, shoulders tense, muscles stiff from hours of work. In one hand, he held a sheet of paper marked with tight, precise writing. Ethan tried to focus on it, squinting slightly even behind his glasses, but the distance and angle made it impossible to read. Noah still didn't seem to notice him. With his eyes closed, he reached out, grabbed a glass of water from a cluttered surface, and took a few quick steps across the floor as he drank it down in several short gulps.
When he lowered the glass, his eyes opened.
He froze.
Noah flinched hard, nearly dropping the glass as he sucked in a sharp breath, hand slamming against his chest to stop himself from choking. He set the glass down with more force than necessary, then straightened quickly, irritation flashing across his face as he stared at Ethan.
"For fuck's sake," Noah snapped. "You don't just stand there like that. You knock. It's called knocking. People appreciate it when you don't sneak into their house like a damn specter."
Ethan tilted his head slightly, brows knitting together. He paused, then spoke, voice calm and genuinely puzzled.
"Aren't you a god?" he asked. "Don't you have… something? A sense? An ability to feel people nearby?"
The question hit harder than the hammer ever could.
Noah stared at him for a moment, stunned, then let out a long, tired sigh. He stepped away from the machine, deliberately turning his back to it, and walked past Ethan without coming closer. He crossed the room and dropped onto a battered sofa riddled with holes and tears, the stuffing visible through the fabric. As he sat, he folded the note once and tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back up at Ethan.
Noah looked Ethan up and down slowly, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. The boy's outfit hadn't changed even a little since the last time he'd seen him in the upper parts of Menystria, wandering around on errands for Evodil. That memory surfaced uninvited. Ethan crouched on a rooftop, gently helping a shadow squirrel with a torn limb. Noah remembered approaching, already bored, only for the creature to vanish the moment it noticed him. His interest had died instantly. He'd walked away without another thought.
"What do you want," Noah asked flatly, leaning back into the sofa. "Because if you're here to ask about your life's purpose or some grand mission, I can't help you. If I knew mine, I wouldn't still be rotting in this hell hole. I'd be an omnipotent being by now." He waved a hand vaguely. "All power. No limitations. Unlike certain—"
Ethan cut in before he could spiral further.
"Evodil told me to socialize with my family," he said. "Then he kicked me out."
Noah blinked.
"I tried talking to James," Ethan continued. "He didn't look up from his paper. And then he went to the new pub. I wasn't invited inside. He said I'm too young to drink."
The room went quiet.
Noah's expression locked in place for a moment. Then it shifted. Anger, sharp and immediate. Confusion, setting in right after. Sadness, faint but unmistakable. Finally, his eyebrow crept upward so far it disappeared beneath his messy hair, his eyes narrowing as the pieces settled into place.
Of course.
Evodil had done it again. Handed off responsibility without asking. Dropped both the role of father and babysitter squarely onto him. And on top of that, left him with instructions to build whatever nightmare of a device sat half-finished in front of him.
Noah dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching on the bridge of his glasses as he pulled them off. Ethan took a small step forward.
"Are you feeling alri—"
The glass flew.
Ethan barely had time to react. He ducked instinctively, the motion sharp and fast, as the glass shattered against the wall behind him with a loud crack. Water splashed across stone and metal. Ethan stayed curled low on the floor for a second longer, then slowly looked back at the broken shards, then up at Noah, hands raised halfway in fear and confusion.
Noah stood up with a groan, pressing his palm against his face as if holding himself together. He exhaled through his fingers, then turned and walked back toward the machine.
"You're fast," he muttered. "That's something."
He crouched down beside the iron frame, picked up the hammer, and extended it toward Ethan, handle-first.
"So you're going to help," Noah said. "If I'm stuck building this mess, I might as well make you useful."
Ethan slowly looked back up at him from the small ball he'd curled into on the floor, then let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least the hammer wasn't coming at his head this time. He pushed himself upright, brushing dust from his clothes, a small smile forming despite everything. He was here to help. Any way he could. It still counted as socializing, and it still made the bond deeper. Or at least that was how Evodil had explained it, drawing from whatever counted as past experience for him.
He stepped forward and reached for the hammer.
He didn't see the small metal square resting directly in front of his other foot.
The smile vanished instantly. His eyes went blank as he stared at Noah for half a second too long before his foot clipped the metal. His balance vanished with it. He pitched forward and hit the floor face-first, the impact dull and sharp at the same time. The hammer slipped from his hand and dropped onto the back of his head. Ethan let out a sharp whine, curling slightly, suddenly looking far more like a frightened, unlucky child than a god who could see souls and feel the nature of beings around him.
Noah sighed.
He didn't move to help. He turned instead and lowered himself onto the floor near the machine, pulling the folded note from his pocket again. He unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning over the diagrams and scribbled instructions, noting every strange detail. When Evodil had handed it to him and vanished back to the surface, Noah had assumed it was some kind of weapon. Something they could use against Azraem.
It wasn't.
The designs showed a large, oddly shaped camera. Too large. Too complex. It had functions that made little sense for anything combat-related. A built-in flash. Mobility systems that allowed it to float freely without any visible power source, no battery, no external line. Something meant to operate in open space, where walls wouldn't interfere.
Useful, maybe. But only mildly. And only in very specific circumstances.
Why would he need a camera?
That was the question Noah kept asking himself, knowing there was no one to answer it. Everyone had their own role. Their own task. He wasn't the only one working for Evodil. Or with him. James and Jasper had their assignments. The civilians were buried in their own labor, rebuilding, mining, cutting down trees faster than they could ever hope to regrow them.
A quiet sigh reached his ears.
Noah glanced up as Ethan finally sat up, rubbing the back of his head with a wince. Noah didn't ask if he was hurt. He just pointed.
"Screws," he said, gesturing to a scattered pile. "Cables. Those metal plates. Bring them here."
He looked back down at the note, reading through it once. Then again.
After a moment, he folded it and stood up. Someone born less than a month ago was bound to have problems. Clumsiness included. They didn't have time for it, but ignoring it completely wouldn't get the machine built any faster.
With a resigned breath, Noah moved closer.
He supposed helping him would count as his first good deed of the day.
Noah pointed out every small thing Ethan did wrong. Every grip that was off. Every bolt turned a fraction too far. Every hesitation. He didn't correct any of it himself. He just told him how it should be done, flat and clipped, then watched as Ethan tried again and failed slightly differently each time. It didn't help. If anything, it made the boy worse. His hands trembled, shoulders tense, movements stiff and unsure, until he looked like a quivering mess just seconds before Noah's clock struck twelve.
The beeping was sharp and loud.
Noah slapped the clock without looking, silencing it instantly.
In the brief quiet that followed, Ethan finally spoke.
"Why are you so rude to me?" he asked. His voice was soft, not accusing. "You're usually so quiet with people. With… everyone else."
Noah didn't pause his work.
"My parents hated me," he said.
Ethan perked up immediately, leaning closer, eyes widening just a little. "I can listen," he said quickly. "If you want to talk about them. Evodil never said you three had parents."
Noah stopped.
Then, flatly, "I lied."
The hope drained from Ethan's face.
Noah sighed and brought the hammer down again, striking another set of bolts and driving them into the metal with practiced force. "I'm not rude," he said. "I'm annoyed."
Another hit.
"You're the opposite of what I thought Evodil was capable of."
Another.
"I thought he couldn't have anyone serving under him. That he couldn't grow close to anyone. That he couldn't be kind." He clenched his jaw. "I thought he couldn't have a son."
He didn't look at Ethan.
"And yet here you are," he continued. "Semi-alive. Alive enough. Standing there. Helping me."
The irritation was clear in his voice now, thinly restrained.
Ethan listened carefully. When Noah finished, he thought for a moment before speaking.
"Do you really think you knew Evodil as well as you thought," he asked, "or did you just believe the version of him you assumed was true?"
Noah froze.
The question hit harder than expected. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing, genuinely caught off guard. The kid was sharp. Too sharp for someone that young. And Noah was supposed to be the god of knowledge.
"…Maybe," he said after a moment. "That's possible."
Silence settled between them.
The sounds of the underground forest seeped into the cabin. Distant creaking. Low wind through roots and stone. The light above them buzzed faintly, its weak glow making the darkness beyond the walls feel deeper, heavier than the rest of Menystria.
After a minute, Noah waved a hand dismissively.
"That's enough," he said. "This isn't the time for emotions."
He nodded toward the machine, then glanced briefly at Ethan.
"We have work to do," Noah added. "And I have a kid to watch who nearly cracked his head open because he wasn't paying attention."
They continued to work, this time slower. Noah made sure of it. Slow enough that Ethan wouldn't accidentally smash his fingers with the hammer or drop a sharp nail straight onto his foot and start bleeding. The thought alone made Noah's jaw tighten. Accidents during work always spiraled in his head. He could handle most things. He could not handle Evodil scolding him over something that could have been avoided.
The machine was nearly finished. The exhaust system was set, and the main camera sat firmly in place, reinforced and aligned. Four smaller cameras were mounted along the underside and sides, each angled carefully. The casing was black, dotted with white specks like distant stars. Against Menystria's dark sky, it would blend in well enough. Almost invisible.
Noah walked to the other side of the room and opened the fridge. He filled a glass with cold water, dropped in a few ice cubes from the freezer, then brought it back and handed it to Ethan. He took a drink from his own glass as Ethan accepted it.
"Thanks," Ethan said.
Noah already felt it coming.
Ethan hesitated, then frowned slightly as he raised the glass. "I don't need to drink," he said. "I'm reanimated."
Noah sighed.
"You think I need to drink?" he replied. "I've got rocks where my organs should be. Food isn't keeping me alive. Curiosity does." He took another sip, then added, "If I don't eat or drink anything for over a week, though, it gets… wrong. Uncanny. I start throwing up."
Ethan stared at him.
The logic didn't add up. If he didn't have organs, how did that even work? Did he throw up stones? Wood? Gems? The images were disturbing. And somehow funny. The thought made him snort softly before he finally took a sip.
The water was cold. Refreshing. He didn't need it to survive, but it still felt good. He hummed quietly as he drank, a small, content sound that filled the room while the machine loomed behind them, almost complete.
They stood there in silence for a moment. Noah calmly set his glass of water down on one of the wall-mounted shelves, nudging it between a row of books and a small potted yellow marigold perched on top of a thick volume about botany of all things. Ethan stayed where he was, staring into his own glass, chewing on the ice he'd left floating inside. He didn't speak. The room filled with the quiet hum of the underground and the faint buzz of the light above them as Noah stretched his shoulders, already settling back into the rhythm of work.
Just as Noah opened his mouth to tell him to stop daydreaming and get back to it, Ethan spoke.
His voice was nervous. Careful. He took a deep breath first, steadying himself.
"Do you think we actually have a chance?" he asked. "At defeating that thing. Do you think Evodil is really going to survive the next time he meets it?" His grip tightened around the glass. "Do you think we're going to survive? Or… am I going to be forgotten if the next loop happens?"
Noah looked at him.
He was used to it by now. The way Ethan asked questions like this out of nowhere, dragging weighty thoughts out of a mind that was far too young to be carrying them. Noah didn't stare for long. He already knew what he was going to say. He'd thought about it enough times himself.
"We'll probably be alright," he said. "Maybe not all of us. But we won't lose this time. Not to that bastard."
Ethan hesitated, then asked again, quieter. "Do you think Evodil has a backup plan? Or is he just… certain this will work?"
Noah cut him off.
"I don't know his plan," he said plainly.
Then, for the first time that day, he smirked. He exhaled slowly, sounding tired even as he spoke again.
"And I'm pretty sure he doesn't have one," Noah added. "Not a real one. It's probably just everyone rushing at the creature at once." He glanced at the machine. "I mean, what else would he need a camera for? That's not exactly a weapon."
His expression dulled slightly.
He wasn't sure they could win. He didn't even know what Azraem truly was. He'd never seen it. Never confirmed it existed beyond Evodil's words. There was always the chance Evodil had finally gone insane for real.
But.
"If all of us are fighting it," Noah continued, "it doesn't stand much of a chance."
He paused, then added, more quietly, "We're weird. Chaotic. Mostly assholes."
He looked back at Ethan.
"But we're family," Noah said. "And you're part of that too now."
His voice didn't soften much, but the meaning was clear.
"We'll protect you," he finished. "No matter how useless you think you are."
Ethan stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, like he hadn't quite processed what he'd just heard. Awe settled over his face, raw and unguarded. Coming from the same uncle who had thrown a glass at his head not long ago, the words hit harder than expected. He nodded slowly, swallowing, his soul far too open to brush it off. One tear slipped free, tracing down his cheek before dropping onto the wooden floor beneath his shoes with a soft, barely audible sound.
Noah noticed.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Seeing Ethan like that, reacting so strongly to something that had barely felt like effort on his part, made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. Maybe even now, long after Ariela's disappearance, her kindness still clung to him in ways he didn't fully understand. Toward humanity. Toward people. Toward things that felt fragile.
Enough was enough.
Noah nodded toward the machine. "Alright," he said. "That's it. We're done talking."
He glanced at the clock mounted above one of the shelves. 1:43 AM.
"You've had enough bonding for one night," he added. "Go bother another family member."
He turned back to the machine, already mentally moving on. As he reached for the note again, he caught Ethan watching it with obvious curiosity. After a second of hesitation, Noah tilted it slightly so Ethan could see. The writing was dense, cramped, lines overlapping in places. Symbols mixed with rushed diagrams. Even Noah found it irritating to read. Evodil's handwriting was a crime in itself.
They went back to work.
The last bolts were hammered in, metal ringing softly instead of sharply now. Noah adjusted the ventilation channels, opening narrow gaps and reinforcing internal airflow so the main components wouldn't overheat once the machine was airborne. Ethan carefully fitted the cap over the main camera lens, sealing it tight to protect it from dust and debris during movement. Cables were secured and insulated, connections double-checked. Small LED nodes were slotted into place one by one, each lighting briefly before settling into a steady glow.
Noah tightened a final screw, then another, adjusting alignment by millimeters. He rerouted one cable just to keep it cleaner, even though it worked fine as it was. The machine didn't need the extra attention. It had been finished minutes ago.
But Noah wasn't the type to leave "good enough" alone.
As the minutes ticked by, Ethan finally sat down on the plush sofa, sinking into it with a quiet exhale. Noah was nearly finished, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, exhaustion settling into his posture after a full day of mental strain layered on top of physical labor. Whatever kindness Ethan had brought into the room had been thoroughly drained from him, like a vampire taking the last of someone's blood. Still, Noah looked marginally better than before, and the machine was finished. That had to count for something.
Noah straightened slowly after polishing the black metal casing, then gave it a light smack with the back of his knuckles. Solid. It didn't rattle. It wouldn't crack from a short fall or debris striking it mid-flight. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. Three full days of work, poured into something that was, in essence, a finished device that didn't even need batteries. The thought poked a small, uncomfortable hole in his ego.
He turned his attention to Ethan and sighed when he saw the state he was in. Slumped into the sofa, eyes half-lidded, barely holding himself upright. Noah stepped closer, realizing belatedly that the boy had probably done more actual work today than he had.
"Where are the others?" Noah asked.
Ethan jolted hard, almost slipping sideways before catching himself. He sat up quickly, blinking as he answered.
"The last time I saw James," he said, "he was in the citadel. I tried talking to him, but he didn't look up. He was writing."
Noah nodded faintly.
"He went to the new pub," Ethan continued. "The one in the shade city. I couldn't go inside. They said I'm too young." He frowned. "I didn't know there were rules like that here."
"There are," Noah replied. "You look seventeen. You're a few weeks old. That matters. People know your real age."
Ethan tilted his head, letting out a small sigh as another memory surfaced.
"I saw Jasper in there," he said. "Through the window. He was wearing… almost nothing. Leather pants. A weird top hat. And a mask. Like a clown." He hesitated. "There were women with him. They weren't wearing much either. He looked… hypnotized."
Noah stopped walking.
"You hallucinated," he said immediately.
He turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered under his breath, "I'm telling Evodil. I'm killing Jasper."