Albert stood motionless, the acrid scent of the orange steam still clinging to his leather duster. He looked from the cooling pipes to the two small figures, then back to the wrench the Dwarf still held with casual, practiced strength. The precision they had displayed was not the fluke of a gifted child; it was the ingrained instinct of a master technician.
"The thermal conductivity of your bypass was... statistically improbable for an amateur," Albert murmured. He stepped toward a sleek, brass-trimmed pedestal and activated a Pneumatic Scanner. A hum filled the room as a curtain of soft blue light swept across the laboratory floor toward the trio.
"Stay still," Albert commanded, his clinical tone returning. "I need to calibrate the atmospheric sensors after that leak."
The blue light washed over the Dwarf, the Gnome, and the Halfling. On a glass screen floating near Albert's shoulder, three-dimensional skeletal and biological maps began to bloom. Albert's eyes widened behind his spectacles as the data scrolled by at a frantic pace.
"Bone density... four times the human average. Myocardial walls reinforced with a mineral-rich lattice. And the cranial structure—" Albert paused, his finger tracing the Gnome's scan. "The sensory lobes are vastly overdeveloped. This isn't a human mutation. This is a stable, distinct evolutionary branch."
He looked up from the screen, his face pale with the realization of a monumental scientific error. He had spent two days treating the local population like a biological footnote.
"You aren't humans," Albert stated, his voice devoid of its previous condescension. He slowly retracted the plates of his Machined Gauntlet and lowered his head in a stiff, formal bow. "My sincere apologies. I have operated under the assumption that the human genome was the sole sentient blueprint in this dimension. I mistook your stature for immaturity and your unique physiology for a medical anomaly. It was a failure of my own observation."
The Dwarf blinked, his grip on the wrench loosening. He hadn't expected the "Metal Sage" to admit he was wrong, let alone with such clinical humility.
"Well," the Dwarf grunted, though his chest remained puffed out. "At least you've got eyes in that head of yours. I'm Gromm Iron-Gully, and these are my associates."
Albert straightened, his mind already racing to rewrite his Taxonomic Records. "Mr. Iron-Gully. My name is Albert Whitelight. Now that we have established that you are not, in fact, unruly children—why have you come to my laboratory? And why were you attempting to dismantle my ventilation system?"
The Gnome stepped forward, his eyes still darting toward the glowing Vacuum Tubes along the walls. "We heard the tales at the human settlement," he squeaked. "The Elves spoke of a man who breathes steam and carries a tube of thunder. We are the builders of the North, Albert Whitelight. We didn't come to steal; we came to see if the rumors of the Iron Miracle were true."
The Halfling stepped out from behind the Dwarf's legs, looking up at the sprawling, labyrinthine ceiling. "And we wanted to know if you were planning on staying. A castle like this... it changes things in the Unclaimed North."
******
Albert stood before a shimmering glass slate, the blue light of the periodic table reflecting in his spectacles. Gromm Iron-Gully, however, was leaning against a steel workbench, his thick fingers tracing the scars on his own leather apron as he spoke.
"You speak of 'elements,' lanky, but you haven't felt the mountain breathe," Gromm grunted. "In the Iron-Gully, we hunt the Meteorite. It's iron, aye—looks like it, smells like it—but it has a spirit in it that no common ore possesses. It cuts through ghosts because it remembers the cold of the stars. And then there's Dimeritium. It's iron too, but it's a cursed version of it. It's iron with a grudge, Albert Whitelight. It chokes the very air out of a sorcerer's lungs. No amount of your 'science' can explain why one piece of iron hates magic while the other loves the sky."
Albert listened with clinical patience, his Goggled Helmet clicking as it recorded the Dwarf's biological reactions.
"I see," Albert replied, his voice calm and precise. "You have identified two distinct allotropic variations of the same element. You call it 'spirit' and 'grudge,' Mr. Iron-Gully, but I call it Molecular Re-alignment. Your Meteorite is still iron, but its journey through the void has forced its atoms into a hyper-dense lattice—that is why it affects specters. And your Dimeritium? It is iron that has been subjected to a unique gravitational or energetic pressure, causing it to vibrate at a frequency that interferes with bio-electrical fields. It isn't a 'curse.' It is Interference."
Gromm snorted, crossing his massive arms. "Big words. But a blade of common iron still breaks against a troll's hide where Meteorite holds."
"Then let us improve upon the common," Albert said.
He didn't reach for the rare, expensive "special" irons Gromm prized. Instead, he pulled a lever on a pressurized hopper. A precise mixture of common iron ore, powdered chromium, and a handful of dull grey pellets fell into the crucible of his Induction Forge.
"Chromium and Nickel," Albert explained as the machine began to hum—a deep, chest-thumping vibration. "I am going to take your 'common iron' and force its atoms to cooperate with these new partners. We are going to create Structural Perfection without needing the stars to fall."
Instead of a rhythmic hammer, Albert used Electromagnetic Pulses. The forge glowed with a blinding, white-blue light, heating the metal from the inside out at a molecular level. Within minutes, the cooling vents hissed, releasing a cloud of sterile nitrogen.
Albert reached into the chamber with his Machined Gauntlet and pulled out a small, rectangular ingot. It was a Stainless Steel Alloy, polished to a mirror finish.
He handed the ingot to Gromm. The Dwarf took it, expecting the heavy, clumsy weight of raw iron. Instead, his eyes widened. It was balanced, cold, and possessed a luster that seemed to drink the light. Gromm pulled a dagger of the finest dwarven steel from his belt and struck the ingot with all his might.
The dagger's tip snapped off like a dry twig. The ingot didn't even have a scratch.
"No Meteorite?" Gromm whispered, his voice cracking as he traced the perfect surface. "No 'special' iron? Just... common dirt and this 'Nickel'?"
"Exactly," Albert said. "By introducing these other elements from the 114 I've cataloged, I've reinforced the iron's own structure. It will never rust, it is harder than your best tempered blades, and it requires no 'spirit' to maintain. It is the victory of logic over myth."
Gromm stared at the broken dagger, then at the "Iron Miracle" in his hand. He looked at the 114 symbols on Albert's wall. For the first time, he realized that iron wasn't just a metal with a soul—it was a building block in a much larger, much more powerful universe.