The clang of steel echoed across the yard, a sharp counterpoint to the steady hum of mana-crystals and the hiss of pneumatic lines. Knights sparred in the main ring, their blunted blades striking in measured rhythm, while beyond them the engineers swarmed over the skeletal frame of a magitek exo-suit like ants tending to a wounded giant.
Lucy stood near the edge of the gallery, arms folded, eyes fixed on the same point they always were these days.
"He seems to be enjoying himself," she said quietly.
Bal, the broad-shouldered knight at her side, glanced toward her. "How can you tell? He's just… staring."
"It may seem so," Lucy replied, her tone warm but certain. "But I know."
Bal made a doubtful noise in his throat.
"It was really cute," Lucy added, smiling faintly, "when he first asked me to bring him here again."
Bal turned his head sharply. "You're saying that kid made a cute expression?" His brow furrowed. "Is your mind in the right place?"
"Yeah," Lucy said with a shrug. "I even recorded it in a crystal ball." She dug into the pocket of her apron and produced a small, smooth sphere that shimmered faintly in the sunlight.
Bal stared at it. "…Did you sleep with the Baron?"
"How rude!" Lucy's voice shot up as she smacked him on the shoulder.
"Ahh!" Bal stumbled back half a step, nearly colliding with the stone railing.
"I was a scholar before I came here," Lucy said, sniffing. "Crystal balls like these are standard equipment."
Bal rubbed his arm. "Did you really have to hit me with a mana-enhanced strike?"
"Your fault for being insensitive," Lucy said primly, turning her attention back to the yard.
Out in the dust and sunlight, Logos stood as still as a statue. The boy's black hair stirred faintly in the breeze, but otherwise he could have been carved from stone. His gaze was fixed on the Armatus frame and the engineers clambering over it, his dark eyes tracking every movement.
One of the engineers muttered something sharp and frustrated. Moments later, the suit's right arm twitched, then froze mid-motion. The rune-lines along its length stuttered, their glow flickering out of sync like a heartbeat skipping.
Logos tilted his head slightly.
Bal noticed. "What's he doing?"
Lucy shrugged, though her eyes had narrowed just a fraction. "Thinking."
The boy took a single step forward, still watching. His lips moved just enough to shape a word — too soft for even Lucy to hear — then stilled. His gaze sharpened, not in anger, but in that peculiar focus she had come to recognize: the way a craftsman looks at a flawed blade, or a painter at a canvas that refuses to cooperate.
Bal shifted uncomfortably. "Creepy little thing."
"Careful," Lucy warned without looking at him. "He listens more than people think."
As if in answer, Logos turned his head just enough to meet their eyes. It was not a child's glance — no trace of the pleading or pride a boy might show to a guardian. It was a brief, flat acknowledgment, as though they were simply part of the background noise. Then his attention slid back to the suit.
Bal exhaled slowly. "Does he… do that often?"
"Every day," Lucy said. "He stands there until I tell him it's time to leave. Sometimes I think he'd sleep here if I let him."
The engineers had moved on to the left knee joint, their tools ringing against rune-etched plates. Sweat streaked their faces, the summer heat clinging to the yard like a damp cloak. One man cursed loudly as a hinge-pin refused to budge, the blow of his hammer sparking off the stubborn metal.
Lucy's eyes drifted back to Logos. He hadn't moved except to track their work, his gaze following the arc of the tools, the flicker of each rune as the suit's internal mana lines adjusted.
Without thinking, she murmured, "If they ask him, he'll probably tell them what's wrong."
Bal turned his head slowly, staring at her as though she'd just sprouted horns. "He's six."
Lucy didn't reply. She just started walking toward the boy, her steps light against the packed dirt.
Bal called after her. "Don't tell me you're actually going to—"
"Lunch time, young master," Lucy interrupted as she reached Logos.
The boy blinked once, as though the words had to filter through layers of thought before reaching him. "Okay," he said simply.
She took his hand — not because he needed guidance, but because it was habit — and started toward the doors. He followed without resistance, though his head turned once more toward the suit, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
Bal watched them go, muttering under his breath, "I swear that kid's brain's wired wrong…"
Lucy didn't bother correcting him. She had long since decided that most people would never understand Logos — not the way she did.
Behind them, the sound of hammering resumed, followed by another muttered curse from the engineers. And somewhere in the quiet folds of Logos' mind, a mental blueprint shifted, slotting another piece into place.