As Kael descended into the workshop, a familiar symphony rose to greet him—the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel, the wheeze of tired bellows, the rasp of metal scraped across stone.
Swords hung from wall pegs like coiled serpents, shields leaned against soot-stained walls, scarred by wars long past. Machinery parts littered the floor like the fossilized remains of mechanical beasts.
At the heart of it all sat Master Gareth, hunched beside the forge, his gnarled hands guiding the hammer with the grace of someone who had done this dance since boyhood.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
But Lucien—inhabiting Kael's body—saw it differently. Back on the outer continents, where abyssal energy surged like blood through veins of the world, magic fueled everything.
Candles lit themselves. Stones floated on command. Mountains moved when enough wills demanded it.
But here... here was a world starved. The abyssal current ran thin—barely more than a whisper in the wind. Yet the people had not broken. Clever, stubborn, desperate—they had found another path.
They called it "science."
The age of industrialization. Crude. Inefficient.
And utterly fascinating.
"Oi!" Master Gareth's voice cracked like a whip."What're you gawkin' at, boy? This metal won't forge itself!"
Lucien turned toward him, gaze lingering with almost predatory interest.
The man reeked of smoke and age, a tobacco pipe clenched between yellowed teeth. His clothes were patched, worn, and stained by decades of sweat and soot. Yet a faint shimmer of abyssal energy clung to him like dying embers—Initiate rank. Barely first tier.
Pathetic.
In Lucien's past life, children surpassed that before their tenth name day. Either this continent was truly cursed... or this old man was just another relic clinging to the forge fire.
"Achoo!" Gareth sneezed violently, then squinted at Lucien with bloodshot eyes.
"What's gotten into you, lad? You look…" He frowned. "Different."
He wasn't wrong.
The boy Kael had always dragged his feet to this place like a prisoner marching to his own execution—sullen, bitter, half-asleep.
But now?
There was a spark in those eyes. Curiosity, maybe.
"Are you feeling well?" Gareth asked, a flicker of concern threading through his gruffness.
"Coming," Lucien said, the word flat but focused—stripped of Kael's usual resentment.
He moved to the bellows, letting muscle memory do the work. The wind whooshed into the flames, stoking the forge into a white-hot roar. He watched with rapt attention as metal softened, glowing like the heart of a dying star.
Master Gareth poured the molten ore into its mold with practiced ease.
"Perfect. Now, as I've told you a hundred times—hammer it till it remembers what it's meant to be."
Lucien nodded and pulled on the heavy gloves. The metal hissed as he lifted it, setting it on the anvil. The hammer in his hand felt different from a sword—heavier, slower, but no less lethal.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Each strike rang like a verse in an ancient song. As he fell into the rhythm, Gareth resumed his usual muttering.
"When Elara gets back, you'll go with her to the market.
"Need more brass and steel... and watch yourself out there." His tone darkened. "Bandits are getting bold lately. Not that it matters—Elara's got a safety revolver strong enough to drop a peak Adept if she feels like it."
Elara.
The name stirred memories—Kael's, not Lucien's. Brilliant with magitech.
Twenty years old. Accepted into the Royal Academy. Gareth's only daughter, and the reason he worked his bones into dust.
"Alright," Lucien replied, though inside, he smiled. An excellent opportunity to explore the city's secrets.
Chime.
The workshop door swung open, the bell above it jingling with mock cheer—jarring against the sudden stillness that seized the air.
"Welcome, welcome, dear customer!" Gareth called out automatically, slipping on his well-practiced merchant grin.
"This Smithy offers the finest—"
"Iron Division."
The two words landed with weight, flat and authoritative.
Gareth's smile vanished.
A squad stepped through the threshold—uniformed, armed, and wearing that familiar expression shared by men who knew the law backed their every move.
Lucien's hammer froze mid-swing.
Police.
His mind raced. No way they'd come for him... right? This continent wasn't even connected to the major outer seas, and certainly not to—
"I'm Captain Darius." The leader stepped forward—broad as a warhorse, with eyes like frost-bitten steel. "Our sensors detected unusual movements in this area last night. We're conducting an investigation."
Master Gareth went white as fresh snow.
"Unusual movements? You don't mean... has some abyssal horror breached the city?" His voice cracked with terror.
"Sun God protect us all!"
Lucien slowly turned to face them, his enhanced senses cataloging threats.
Five peak Initiates, and their captain... initial Adept rank.
Respectable, for this energy-starved continent.
Sensors.
Probably detected the Carrion Kronos...
Inside, Lucien laughed with dark amusement.
The old smith wasn't entirely wrong—an abyssal horror had indeed breached their city. It was just hiding behind an innocent face, wearing the skin of a reluctant apprentice, hammering metal like any other day.
"Just routine questions," Captain Darius continued, his gaze sweeping the workshop with professional thoroughness.
"We'll need to speak with everyone present during the incident window."
Gareth's hands shook as he set down his tools.
"Of course, Captain. Whatever you need. We're law-abiding citizens here, nothing but honest work and—"
"Relax, old man." Darius's tone softened slightly. "We're not here to arrest anyone. Just gathering information."
Yet, Lucien thought, meeting the captain's eyes with Kael's familiar sullen stare.
###
POWER SYSTEM
Humans:
Mortal → Initiate → Adept → Master → Sage → Heavenly → Immortal → Divine
(with Initial/Middle/Upper/Peak sub-ranks)
Abyssal Creatures:
Beast → Tainted → Hollow → Fallen → Abomination → Eldritch → Unspeakable → Unfathomable
(with Surface/Shallow/Deep/Abyssal sub-ranks)
###