The Ember-Grid Metropolis. Year 1400, Iron Age.
The Black Market Quarter was a labyrinth of brass and shadows, a stark contrast to the rigid order of North Kiln. Here, steam hissed from improvised pipes, and the air was thick with the scent of cheap spirits, stale tobacco, and desperation. The Church's influence was weaker, often bought off with bribes, turning a blind eye to the unregulated cacophony.
Kai-Lin pushed through the bustling crowds, his senses assaulted by the sheer chaos. Street vendors hawked bootleg steam components, illicit elixirs, and information. He clutched his small coin purse, keenly aware of the lurking pickpockets. His contact, a former classmate named Roric, had given him an address: "The Rusty Cog," a repair shop rumored to hire "unlicensed talent."
The shop was tucked away in a grimy alley, its front sign a rusted, half-broken gear that creaked ominously in the wind. Inside, the noise was deafening—the clang of hammers, the whine of grinding metal, and the roar of a monstrous boiler at the back. The air was hot, oily, and alive with the smell of iron.
A burly man with a soot-stained apron and a perpetually scowl sat behind a counter littered with broken gauges and gears. He had a patch over one eye. "What do you want, kid?" he grumbled, his voice like gravel.
"Kai-Lin Finch. Looking for work," Kai-Lin said, trying to project confidence. "Engineer, Royal Institute graduate."
The man grunted, sizing him up. "Royal Institute, eh? You got a Copper Connection?" he sneered, the question a tired joke in this part of town.
"No," Kai-Lin admitted, his jaw tight.
"Good. Don't need no Church dogs here." The man squinted, a flicker of something in his good eye—perhaps a grudging respect. "You look like you can handle a wrench. Name's Grime. You start now. See that broken pressure valve? Fix it. If you manage not to blow yourself up, you're hired. Pay's low, hours are long. But you eat."
Kai-Lin felt a jolt of relief. He nodded, grabbing the tools Grime tossed his way. He plunged into the chaos, the familiar weight of a wrench in his hand a comforting presence. This wasn't the dignified career he'd imagined, but it was a start. He needed this. For Lily.
As he worked, his hand brushed the hidden pocket where the small, crystalline gear lay. Its faint warmth was a subtle thrum against his thigh, a quiet, unsettling secret in the heart of the brass labyrinth.