PROLOGUE
That hum—that was my lullaby. The buzz of plasma cutters, the hiss of hydraulic valves, the rattle of a loose panel begging to be tightened. In Sector 7, the scrapyard of old Artifacts, this was the symphony I knew best.
And me, Kaelan? I was the conductor of that symphony.
"Kaelan! The blue one—its knee's busted. Fix it fast! Pilot Liana's got practice this afternoon!" Rourke, the boss, yelled from the balcony, his voice rough from smoke and shouting.
I just waved him off, my hands still buried deep in the chest panel of a Javelin model. Same problem as always: the Aura connector corroded from overuse. That girl must've pushed it too hard again, dancing around in an eight-ton machine like it was just another limb.
That was the difference. For them, Artifacts were extensions of themselves. For me? They were machines. Complex, beautiful machines, sure—but still machines. I could understand every bolt, every circuit, but I could never make them breathe.
Boots creaked on the metal grating above me before I even looked up. Lena. The young overseer from Aethelgard Academy. She always showed up standing ramrod straight, hands folded neatly behind her back, her sharp green eyes scanning everything like a hawk searching for prey.
"Progress report, Kaelan?" Her voice was flat, mechanical, like she was reading lines off a script.
"Javelin Model-4. Aura connector's worn out. Needs replacement. Two more hours," I said without raising my head. I didn't need to look—I already knew she'd be wearing that perfect, unreadable mask of hers. It was the kind of mask that made me uneasy. What was behind it?
She nodded once, crisp and sharp, then walked down the aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her glance at each Artifact standing there like forgotten giants. I knew exactly what she was thinking. Waste of time. A boy messing with junk.
But to me, this wasn't junk. Every silent Artifact carried a story. Every scratch was a battle, every curve a trace of someone's dream. If only I had Aura. If only I could hear their whispers.
Suddenly, my quiet symphony shattered. The main gate screeched open, announcing the arrival of the trainee pilots. Laughter echoed through the dusty hangar—light, confident, the kind of sound that didn't belong to people like me.
One of them, a blonde girl with her hair tied high—Kora, that was her name—strode up to her Artifact, a sleek Stormdancer built for speed and precision. She didn't bother with ladders. She just pressed her palm against its chest plate. Almost instantly, the Artifact's eyes lit up with a calm, steady blue glow. Its frame shuddered softly, then moved with grace, lowering itself as if welcoming her completely.
No harsh clanking, no ugly grinding of gears. Just a smooth hiss and a calm blue light.
That old tightness settled in my chest again. It wasn't jealousy—not anymore. I'd felt that too many times already. This was something else, something heavier. A quiet acceptance of separation. A glass wall between me and the world I wanted.
I turned away, the taste bitter in my mouth. Back to my silent kingdom. Back to these mute machines. Back to a life where a king wears no crown.