Soft glow of the sun casting a light warming yellowed parchment. Pencil dancing darkened tip gliding meticulously atop its rendering. Intricate patterns of interconnected lines and geometric shapes defining a blade’s design came to life.

A subtle curve to its sharp, black metallic blade etched with greatest care. The pencil’s path, tracing small oval openings against the blades forte and ricasso.

A vision of plasma igniting from head to maw crackling searing energy arcing crackling along its bladed edge. Hands shuffling, tugging another parchment resting hidden beneath blades.

An elongated barrel tapered to a subtle point sketched into form. Pencil flowing lightly across the page, tracing intricate etching melding with circuits underneath its casing, hands notating letters at the borders.

His chair creaked as he leaned back, surveying his work with a critical eye. The pencil’s gentle scratches against the parchment filled the air, punctuated by the occasional tapping of the short leg of the worn seat beneath him - rocking against the stacks of textbooks and scattered components around him.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as the final lines came to life. Sitting the schematics aside, faint pressed pencil marks still visible on the parchment. With a soft sigh, he pushed himself up from the creaking chair, his boots thudding against the worn floorboards as he made his way to the door.

The familiar sound of his father’s rough voice drifted up the stairs, muffled by the wooden barrier. “Mother said get changed for dinner, and come down.”

“Alright, I’ll be down in a bit.”

Turning back to his room, Asher’s fingers traced the faded black button-down hanging in the corner, the fabric softened by years of wear. He shrugged into the shirt, the material prickling against his skin. Dark, well-fitted trousers followed, the legs tucked into a pair of worn leather boots that lent a solid foundation to his steps.

Gathering the schematics, Asher moved into the hallway, the familiar creak of the stairs echoing under his feet as he descended. The scent of spices and herbs wafted through the air, guiding him towards the kitchen.

Elara stood at the counter, her brow furrowed in concentration as she chopped a bundle of fresh leafy greens. Asher paused in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the modest space - a small table occupied the center of the room, its surface scarred by years of use.

“Ah, there you are.” Elara’s lips curved in a warm smile, though Asher noticed a hint of unease in her eyes. “Set those down and come help me finish up, will you?”

Asher nodded, crossing the room to place the schematics on the table. The familiar ritual bringing a sense of calm with it’s practiced motions, arranging a mix scared brass cutlery and chipped ceramic plates.

A creak of the floor announced his father’s arrival, graying hair tousled with a goggle imprint pressed against the top of his head, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. “Phew, what a day. That Kavanagh fellow really knows how to test my skills.”

“Tsk,” Elara shook her head, her tone laced with a touch of exasperation. “And how many crystals did you lose this time, hmm? Don’t forget to include all the damaged tools either.”

Thomas raised his hands in a placating gesture, a sheepish grin on his face. “Now, now, my dear. It was a necessary sacrifice for the sake of progress.”

Asher’s lips quirked upward as he set the last plate, moving to his mother’s side to assist with the chopping. Thomas catching sight of the schematics on the table, his brow furrowing. “What’s this? A new side project? You haven’t finished your blade yet, have you?”

Asher paused, a green leaf still clutched between his fingers. “No. Axton and Trent finally placed an order.” His lips quirked in a wry smile. “I ensured they read and understood every word of the contract - with great specificity.”

Elara’s gaze shifted to her son, a thoughtful hum rumbling in her throat. “Hmm, how rare. What piqued your interest so much that you’ve already finished the schematics?”

Asher’s fingers tightened around the leaf, the veins standing out against his pale skin. “Well, their skills are rather...interesting. Axton’s in particular is quite challenging to work with.” He glanced towards the schematics, his brow creasing. “Trent’s is easier, but I don’t think we can enhance the range without sending it for inscriptions.”

Elara laid her knife down, wiping the green flecks from the blade. “Let me see.” She snatched the schematics from Thomas, eyes scanning the intricate designs. “A sonic gun? I see, a sonic skill.” Her lips pursed in thought.

“I’ve only worked on a few of these before.” Her long nail traced along the annotations and etchings. “Mhm, this is pretty good. There are some matrices that could be more effective, extending the range beyond a few feet while maintaining its potency.” She shook her head, a faint crease forming between her brows. “Too bad you can never give them something of this quality.”

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“Huh.” Asher’s brow knitting, confusion in his voice. “Why not?”

Thomas glanced between Asher and Elara, a weary sigh escaping him. “You’ve never really questioned their...antics in the shop, did you?”

Asher’s gaze dropped to the leaf in his hand, his thumb smoothing over the delicate edges. “Not really. I just figured they were always like that.”

The room fell silent, save for the soft sizzle of the pan and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Elara’s eyes narrowing, as she studied the schematics once more.

Asher’s brow creased, confusion etching deep lines across his forehead as he glanced between his parents. “What’d I miss?” The leafy green crunching in his hand as he squeezed.

Elara let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging slightly meeting Asher’s gaze.

Thomas stepped forward, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Honey, we didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly, regret lacing his tone. “We just wanted to protect him.”

Elara tensed, shrugging off Thomas’s embrace as she turned her attention to the table, with neatly arranged dishes. “Stop not now. Let’s eat. ”

Thomas’s gaze flickered towards Asher. “Alright, alright.” He let out a weary sigh. “Grab yours from the fridge, son. Let’s have a good family meal before the market closes. I need you to grab some exotics before Leerin leaves. Otherwise, I’ll have to hit the road to replace Mr. Kavanagh’s rifle.”

Time seemed to slow as Asher sipped from the container, the thick liquid coating his tongue with a tangy, sweet metallic flavor. He watched his parents move about the kitchen yet a sense of unease lingered in the air, a tension undispelled by the comforting aromas of their meal.

Silence stretched on, punctuated only by the soft clink of utensils against ceramic and the occasional scrape of a chair against the worn floorboards. Elara’s pressed lips into a thin line, her gaze fixed on her plate as she ate.

Thomas fidgeted restlessly his eyes flickering between his wife and son. Taking another sip from his cup eyes settling on Asher. “Son, I know you’ve always had your nose buried in books, chasing after us.” A faint, weary smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “But you need to understand - Dust Creek isn’t the peaceful place you thought it was.”

“What happened?” Asher’s tone flat as he continued. “I don’t understand. Everything has always been peaceful to me.”

Elara’s gaze softened, letting out a soft sigh. “Do you remember when we told you we adopted you? We weren’t originally from Dust Creek. We moved here after we found you in the garbage pile.” Her voice carried a somber weight; gaze growing distant as she spoke. "We'd been here a few months before the Blackwells showed up."

Thomas’s expression darkened, deepening the lines on his weathered face. “Your mother and I, we’d just scraped together enough to open our little shop. But those bastards, they demanded we work only for them.” He let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “We refused, of course. Couldn’t let them just push us around like that. So they...” Thomas’s jaw tightened.

Reaching across the table, Elara laid her hand over Thomas’s, her touch gentle but firm. “That’s when things really spiraled. The Blackwells stirred up trouble, accusing an inhuman merchant of smuggling in supplies without paying the town fees.” Her eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in her cheek. “We needed those materials to build our fabrication unit. Without them, my work as a skill engineer would be crippled.”

Thomas took a long… slow sip from his cup, his voice low and gruff. “It was all a lie, anyway. The man was only a currier for another bringing standard materials to us, but bastards sent us a message. Found his head in front of the house the next. Poor guy. Still makes me feel like shit.” Meeting Asher’s gaze, a weariness creeping into his eyes. “Now it’s an even split, but the Blackwells have the muscle to back them up. I’m sure you can see now why Dust Creek isn’t the peaceful place you thought it was.”

Asher’s stomach twisted into a knot. The rich, metallic taste of the crimson liquid in his cup suddenly turning sour. His fingers tightened around the ceramic. “I... I...”

A heavy silence settled over the small kitchen as his parents’ words sank in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for their struggle, the weight of the responsibility they had taken on to protect him.

Elara reached across the table, her slender fingers gently covering Asher’s hand. “Asher, dear, we didn’t want to burden you with this. We only wanted to give you a chance at a normal life, away from the troubles of Dust Creek.”

Thomas nodded, his weathered face softening with a weary smile. “Your mother’s right. We’ve fought tooth and nail to keep this place running. We didn’t want that for you, not when you were just a child.”

Asher lifted his gaze, meeting his parents’ eyes. “I understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not angry, just... surprised, I suppose.” He offered them a small, reassuring smile. “I’m grateful that you’ve done so much to protect me.”

Elara’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and she squeezed Asher’s hand affectionately. “We only want what’s best for you, my dear. This town may not be the peaceful haven we had hoped for, but we’ll continue to do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

Thomas reached across the table, ruffling Asher’s hair with a chuckle. “That’s right. And don’t you worry about those Blackwell brats. Your mother and I can handle them.” He winked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We may be a couple of old fools, but we’ve got a few tricks up our sleeves.”

Asher couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in the room dissipating. “I know doubt about that.” He glanced at the clock on the wall, his expression turning thoughtful. “Speaking of which, I should probably head to the market before it closes. Is there anything specific you need me to pick up?”

Elara nodded, retrieving a small, worn notebook from the counter. “Here’s the list. Stop by Leerin’s stall first. We need those exotics for the Kavanagh project.”

Asher took the notebook, scanning the items quickly. “Understood. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

As he made his way to the front door, Asher paused, turning back to his parents. “Thank you, both of you, for everything you’ve done.” He offered them a warm, genuine smile. “I know it hasn’t been easy, but I’m grateful to have you in my life.”

Elara’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she pulled Asher into a tight hug. “We love you, Asher. Never forget that.”

Thomas joined the embrace, his large hand resting on Asher’s shoulder. “That’s right, son. No matter what, you’ll always have a home with us.”

Asher felt a warm wash over him. “I am so grateful they found me that day, but a part of me still wonders - who threw me away?”

With a final nod, Asher stepped out into the fading light of the evening, the weight of his parents’ revelation still heavy on his mind, but tempered by the knowledge that he was not alone in this.