The days in the factory blurred together. Elias’s hands, once adept in the art of fine woodworking, now felt rough from the constant labour at the lathe. The machines’ rhythm was hypnotic, yet hollow. Each piece he crafted was a mere echo of the last, a far cry from the handcrafted furniture he had once taken so much pride in.

He observed the other workers, moving like automatons. Their eyes were dull, their actions mechanical, and their attention fixed solely on the task at hand. Elias could not help but wonder how long it would take before he too became numb to the endless monotony.

One afternoon, as he worked, he overheard two men speaking. “These machines don’t care for what we make,” one said, his voice tired. “They’ll keep running, and we’ll keep working. Soon, there’ll be no need for us.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The words struck Elias with force. He knew the machines—precise and unyielding—were the future. His craft, once admired for its artistry, now seemed redundant. His skill, his passion, mattered little; the factory cared only for how quickly the machines could produce.

That night, as Elias lay in bed, his thoughts returned to the shop he had lost. The scent of wood shavings, the sound of the chisel shaping the grain—it all felt like a distant memory. His family’s legacy, built through generations of careful, loving work, had been sold, the shutters of the shop now permanently closed. Though it seemed impossible to return to that life, a spark of hope still lingered within him.

Elias was not ready to surrender. Though the world around him was cold and mechanical, he still believed in craftsmanship. There had to be a way to make the world see its value once again. The machines were taking over, but Elias would not let them win without a fight.