"Put your back into it, boys and girls!" a loud voice boomed, the sound echoing off the spacious stone walls of the warehouse. "Ten more minutes of hard work and we'll call it a job well done for today!"

Even if the leader of the project, Gearhead, had only been speaking to the Goons and provisional members working with him, everyone in the workshop heard his call.

His words had an air of energy to them. I wasn't part of his squad, yet I felt compelled to assist. He had a natural charisma to him, one that prompted those around him to really put in the effort for those last ten minutes.

Next to me, I could see Streiphen vibrate, his fists clenched and eyes locked on Gearhead's group. If not for his small frame, I felt as though he might have offered to help out with their project too.

As much as I felt the desire to prove myself and help out, I needed to perform my own good work. I needed to be recognised as an Anvil Caster, not just as a handywoman with a good Skill for performing manual labour. I had to find my niche, and that was what I'd come to this workshop to do.

"[I'm going to try and get to work too, Streiphen. Could you give me some space?]" I told him, speaking through my [Telepathy].

He looked up at me, his enamored observation at the workers temporarily broken. Some of the energy in his eyes burned away at my words, but he nodded.

"Oh... okay."

I hadn't wanted to accidentally hurt him. As I undid the latch on the side of my mech and sat down, the metal within me was gripped firmly by [Telekinesis]. Letting all of the metal flow from the confines of my compartment, parts and tools littered the floor before me. My mind's eye drifted over each and every object, committing them to short term memory.

When I let my mind go and the process began, I'd end up in a trance. I'd never really worked in such close proximity to others before, not like this, and I was worried that if Streiphen was too close, he'd be cut or bludgeoned by a stray lump of metal.

He sat a distance from me, eyes focused and locked onto me as an uneven ring of metal encircled my mech.

My mind was closed off to all distractions. I let my awareness drift from the world, allowing my subconscious alone to control both my [Telekinesis] and [Sensory Zone]. I could still hear the sound of work, the sound of banging metal and progress, all hanging at the edge of my consciousness. As much as I'd worried that noise would distract me, it was a pleasant sound, one that reminded me of my own work and what I'd accomplished. My body began to loosen and relax beneath my bronze shell.

"[Creative Process]," I spoke, my voice a whisper that I couldn't be certain even Streiphen had caught. They were words spoken for me, and me alone. They were mine.

With my eyes closed, I focused on nothing but the sound of steel ringing against steel. The heavy impact of one piece of metal shaping another. Creation, forging and progress. It was a beautiful sound; a consistent, reassuring thing that beckoned me forward.

With ginger, barefooted steps, I walked from the kitchen into a side room, one that was often too hot for my parents to bear for long periods of time. As I opened the door, a wave of heat licked at my face, burning my skin as I sucked in a breath, a mistake that forced me to turn away and cough. As I worked to force the heat from my lungs, the impact of metal on metal never stopped or slowed.

I took another deep breath, this one of cold, calm air. The air of the kitchen, a safe thing that stood as the point of transition between the casual world of a child, and the professional world of an adult. I stood at the threshold between those two worlds, hanging gingerly in the balance. Wanting to prove myself and learn the craft that my family had dedicated themselves to, I steeled myself, holding my breath and shutting my eyes as I stepped forward.

As fast as I could, I closed the door behind me, sealing myself into the forge. I couldn't afford to give my weaker self a chance to take over. I had to adjust, to brave the heat and learn the craft if I wanted to become an adult.

I took a deep breath, letting the burning heat of the forge into my body. I coughed once again, panting for breath as I planted an open palm on the warm wall to steady myself. My eyes opened, vision shaking as I adjusted. The sound of a hammer bending steel to its will helped to steady me, and I looked up.

My father was a normal Varani man. His body was completely covered with dark green scales, the colour of leaves hiding in the shade. His tail was far thicker than mine, standing erect and perfectly still, locked in concentration. The gills on his neck that I lacked were little more than thin slits, all shut tight as he held his breath. He wore nothing but a thin red shirt and a black apron to catch sparks. The handle of his hammer was gripped in a single webbed hand, swung down against the red hot blade he was forging.

Even without facing me, I could see the strain in his face. His jaw was locked closed, rigid and still. He didn't breathe as he worked, putting everything he had into every movement. Each swing was calculated and refined to perfection, shaping the blade into something masterful.

I didn't dare interrupt him. While he worked, I stood by the door, panting for breath as I acclimated to the heat of the forge.

I wasn't like my father.

He didn't pant like I panted. Instead, he held his breath as he worked, a skill he'd picked up to help combat the high heat of the forge. I couldn't do that.

He didn't drip with sweat like I did. His body soared in heat with no way to combat it, his scales becoming dry and flaky. His job was a dangerous one without a way to regulate heat, but he had refined it to an art form. I couldn't do that either.

I could breathe, and I could sweat to combat the heat. I was 'gifted' with these advantages in the forge, yet I knew I could never hope to match his skill. As gifted as I was in body, I was cursed in mind. The sight of my father's body, perfectly aligned, rigid and without distraction, was never something I could truly accomplish. Even with a [Silent Heart], I wasn't a pure Varani. I couldn't match his concentration and single-minded focus.

The hammer stopped swinging. My father released his dutiful hammer, running a single claw over the blade. He didn't have a Dwarf's gifted sense of touch for testing weapons, but his eyes were sharper than any blade.

He lifted the weapon's hilt, sticking the length of the blade back into the forge. Without turning towards me once, he stepped towards the window, opening it for air. He stuck his snout out through it, letting out a huff before sucking in all of the cool air he could. It wouldn't be enough to bring down his body temperature, but it was enough to let him tolerate the heat.

"Why have you come here, child?" he asked, voice quiet and distant from beyond the window's frame.

"To learn, father," I responded, walking towards him now that he wasn't focused on his craft. "I want to be a [Blacksmith], like you and mother."

"You will never be a [Blacksmith] like us, child," he told me. "You are not like us."

With a [Silent Heart], I forced the irrational knot within me away. I couldn't deal with them here, not while I was speaking to father.

"I know," I murmured. "I cannot be a [Blacksmith] like you, but I want to try."

"There is no try, child," he responded, his tone unyielding. "You will either do it, or you will not. If you choose to be a [Blacksmith], then I will teach you, and you will do it."

He was willing to teach me? I'd expected to meet more resistance than I had. The responses and arguments I'd prepared before coming here burnt up, the ashes drifting away as my mind turned to the present.

"I'll do it," I told him without hesitation. I'd felt proud of myself for the answer in the moment, but I felt like a fool for saying it so easily, later. "I will be a [Blacksmith]."

"Then you will do as I say, and it shall be so," he told me, leaving no room for argument. Even back then, I hadn't taken any comfort in the affirmation that I'd become a [Blacksmith]. The sheer confidence with which he'd said it. Even then, it had felt ominous. But feelings were poison, and I'd buried it with the rest.

"Pick up my hammer."

The words were an order, one that I obeyed without question. Walking back along the stone floor, I stood before his anvil. I picked up the wooden handle with my hands, lifting the tool that held a surprising amount of weight to it. I raised it up and down, trying to acclimate to the hammer's weight like I had to the heat.

My father took another long, deep breath, trapping a ball of cold air in his lungs as he stepped away from the window. Reaching into a woven basket by the wall, he raised a metal ingot. With a pair of metal pliers, he placed it into the forge to heat.

I watched as the flames licked at the metal, slowly changing its colour, the-

"Strike the anvil," my father said, having returned to the window. "You will practice now. Earn your right to shape metal in our forge. Show me."

I looked up into his face. It held none of the Human-like shape mine did. The bottom half of his face was elongated, like that of a Lizard. He had a snout, and fangs, and a larger jaw with which to bite, chew and consume. It looked almost nothing like mine. The only way people could tell that we were family at all was through the colour of our scales, and the red tattoo-like rings around our eyes.

"Show me," he said again, his tone heavier. My moment of hesitation had irritated him. I looked into his eyes, a deep emerald green just like my own. Despite the raging flames and the heat permeating his entire body, there wasn't a shred of warmth in his eyes.

"Yes, father," I replied, tearing my eyes from his. There was no metal ingot or blade for me to shape, but I did as he instructed. The metal swinging over my head nearly unbalanced me. I was only seven at the time.

Metal rang against metal, a weak, pitiful sound that was nothing but a painfully underwhelming echo of the sounds that had come before it.

My father said nothing.

I raised my arm again, trembling and weak. I swung, and the sound rang out, no different from the first.

I swung again.

And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

I found some semblance of a rhythm, but couldn't tell if I'd been doing anything right. I didn't have the unerring confidence of my parents, and my father had been silent this entire time.

Slow and steady, strike after strike. Doubt crept into my mind, but I kept my breathing steady, focusing my mind on keeping a [Silent Heart], hoping that-

"Stop."

The hammer slumped in my grip. My arm stopped mid swing, losing its power as the hammer's head passed by the right of the anvil. My panting grew heavier as sweat poured down my face, dripping with a splash onto the floor. My arm trembled, putting all the remaining power it had into keeping the hammer's handle locked within my curled fingers.

With another long, deep breath of the outside air, my father stepped through the workshop. He grabbed the handle of the prongs wrapped around the hot metal ingot, pulling it from the forge. No longer was it silver in colour, but a burning hot yellow and red. He planted it in front of me, leaving it atop the anvil. My eyes couldn't leave the metal. Like a Moth to a flame, I was entranced.

"Strike it," he ordered, having returned to the window.

My arm cried out in protest, but I didn't. He had given me a chance. I had told him I would become a [Blacksmith], and I had no intention of giving up.

With a heavy hand, I raised the hammer, bringing it down on the metal. The sound of metal ringing against metal told me I was doing something right. Once again, I tried to return to my rhythm, slowly shaping the metal as my body shook from the strain, gradually flattening the-

I screamed, dropping the hammer as I lurched backwards. I fell to the floor, one hand gripping the other. For a moment, I'd thought my hand had suddenly caught fire. An intense heat burned through two of my fingers, lancing pain up along my arm. I didn't have the strength to pull my hand away and see the damage. My strike had been off target, and my fingers had pressed against the red hot metal.

My father watched me fall. He didn't offer words of encouragement. He didn't come to help me up. He didn't even check to see if I was alright. These actions were pointless, and I had felt bad for expecting them.

"Endure the pain, child. Embrace the risk of the craft, and you will grow."

My mind swam with pain as the searing heat in my fingers continued to eat away at my concentration, tearing down the walls my [Silent Heart] had painstakingly crafted.

"Is... isn't this what apprentices do...? Grunt work? Can..." I winced, pulling myself up into a sitting position. "Can I work... work on a blade?"

"No," he responded without hesitation, not even a shred of concern in his voice. "You asked me to teach you, and you will become a [Blacksmith]. You are a grunt. Until you can perform this task well, this will be your job. I will not permit you to work on a blade until you have mastered this."

I'd seen what he wanted me to do. He wanted me to flatten out the metal to fold it, to refine the metal further and hammer out impurities. Even the thought had been painful, or perhaps that was just my imagination. I pulled myself to my feet, forcing my eyes to look away from the damaged digits.

"Pick up the hammer, child. Concentrate."

I did as I was told, the pain flaring up again as the burnt fingers moved to grip the blade. I was left panting and shivering, but I could hold it.

"You are being weak. Take a moment to steel yourself, and swing again."

I did as I was told, taking a long, deep breath of hot forge air, filling my lungs with a heat my father had been forced to adapt to work around. It was easier for me. He must have seen and acknowledged that, and knew what it meant.

"Swing."

I did as I was told, crying out as the head of the hammer slammed against the red hot metal. I felt it bend fractionally beneath my blow, but not nearly enough to matter. I had to keep swinging. Without a second of rest, I brought the head of the hammer down against the ingot again and again. My arms and fingers screamed for relief, but I pushed those treasonous thoughts away with a [Silent Heart].

The forge was dark, with only the light of the burning fire in front of me and the dying light of the afternoon sun providing guidance. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the anvil, distracting me from my work. I looked down into the metal to aim. With every strike, I saw a strained, stiff face and eyes wet with streaming tears in the reflection of the anvil. A sign of weakness. Impurities that I was hammering out of my system. Fixing and shaping myself, just like the metal before me.

"Can... Can I take a break...?" I whimpered, silently angry that my weakness had slipped out in front of father.

"No. With fatigue comes difficulty. With the potential for pain and harm comes risk. Only now will you truly begin to grow. Continue pushing yourself and surpass your limits. If this is the extent of your determination, you will not acquire Experience."

I swung the hammer against the bright hot metal, the sound deafening in my ears as I felt the pain in my hand intensify. I felt as though I was going to be sick.

"If you give up here, your hard work and determination will amount to nothing. When you are finished with that ingot, I will find you another task. Remember, child, that there is always something that needs doing. While your metal is cooling, attend to another task. Do not let your weaker half take over. If you give in and rest when there is more to do, then you have already surrendered to weakness. Follow your path as you build it."

With my eyes wide open and marred by tears, I focused on nothing but the sound of steel ringing against steel. The heavy impact of one piece of metal shaping another. Creation, forging and progress. It was a beautiful, dangerous sound, a consistent, never ending thing that guided me forward, and demanded everything of me.

"You must make this craft second nature. It shall become no different to thinking and breathing. You must flow with the actions you perform. Become one with your tool and master it. Ingrain it into your very being, make it an intrinsic part of who you are."

I swung, feeling-

A slap against the side of my mech. The impact left a sound ringing through me, one that caused my skin to roll, sweat pouring from my body. My [Sensory Zone] expanded outwards once again, regaining conscious control and awareness of my surroundings.

"Are you okay, Miss Yuri?!?" Streiphen called out in a panic, standing at the foot of my mech. His eyes looked skyward, up at the bronze shell covering my shivering form. Unlike every other time I'd looked at him, I couldn't see those starry pupils of his. Now, he was wearing a pair of dark blue goggles with thick bands going around the sides of his head. The 'eye' portion was a light blue glass, glowing with a greenish tinge barely visible beneath.

He hadn't been the one that had struck me. My sight turned to a red skinned hand with black nails as it pulled away from my metal.

"You were lookin' shaky, Homebound," Shambles said, her words slipping out around the lollipop in her mouth. The Darkling placed both hands on her hips, pinning the lab coat to her sides. "Your aura was goin' a little crazy. You doin' alright in there?"

The workshop filled my vision. My mind's eye darted around, hoping to find that I'd enchanted something. Instead, I found a lump of folded, refined metal. Like the vision, I'd been hammering out the impurities, my telekinetic grip tightly wound around a real, physical hammer.

"[I... I'm alright,]" I told them, feeling less than certain about it. "[You're both unharmed, aren't you?]"

With how deep I'd gotten into that vision, I could have lashed out by accident. My body and emotions were... disturbed. I let more of the workshop fill my vision, trying to ground myself through my [Telekinetic Field] over as much metal as I could. Gearhead's workers had finished and moved away. Tick Tock was gone, too.

"We're fine," Shambles told me, her brow raised. "Did you think we could've gotten hurt by what you were doin'?"

The question sounded dangerous. I didn't want to give any of our new workmates the impression that I was unstable.

"[No... But... My magic moves metal around. I wanted to make sure neither of you were struck by accident.]"

I'd put my metaphorical foot in my mouth, and worked myself into saying 'Yes, I move metal around, and can't consciously control where while I'm at work! But don't worry, my magic isn't unstable at all!'

If either of them had concerns about that, I could understand, but I couldn't let them see that weakness. While Shambles looked pensive, I worked to find something new to talk about. To divert attention away from my own blunder.

"[W-what are those goggles for, Streiphen? Are they new?]" I spluttered out, hoping I didn't sound nearly as nervous or erratic as I suspected.

Streiphen frowned, an action that made my heart sink. He reached up to his head, undoing a latch at the back as the sides pulled apart. Even as he pulled the lightly glowing goggles from his head, the shimmering green light around his eyes held firm. The edges moved and shimmered like a mirage or comet trail, unlike the flickering flame-like edges of Sigura's own aera.

"They're... umm... for training," he told me, still staring right at my helmet.

"Insight Goggles. They're an artefact used to teach new Casters how to use, y'know, [Insight]. They sort of prod a person's aura and senses, prompts 'em to retaliate and 'fix' the issue in their eyes," Shambles explained. "It's just for a Luster Art. I was showin' him how to use 'em after he asked me to help train, and he got concerned after he saw what was happening with you."

What was happening with me...? He saw something in my aura?

I activated my own [Insight], allowing it to flow through the space within my [Sensory Zone]. For the sake of clarity, I restricted the flow of extra aera to my own body, concentrating it around my mech and helmet. My... aera was the same as always, a deep metallic emerald colour with a very pale, greyish tint to it. But... even now, I could see what they meant.

The last time I'd used [Insight], the edges of my aura had been stiff. Unmoving, static and orderly. Now... they waved slightly, moving out of place as bulges pushed upwards from the coating of magical light around me. The sight was unnerving, and I elected to stop using [Insight], letting the concentrated aera disperse. Having it active wasn't helping to calm my nerves in the slightest.

"[Am... am I alright...?]" I heard myself say aloud, my worries leaking out into the world. No matter how much I might have wanted to pull the words back before they could do any harm, it was too late.

"Probably, yeah," Shambles told me, returning to her seat. With a push of her cloven feet against the smooth floor, she wheeled over to the pair of us. "Whatever your magic was doin', it changed your aura a little. I could tell you were lookin' a little stressed out. After I said that, your kid said he wanted to check on you."

Streiphen nodded firmly, an action oozing determination.

"Yeah! I... didn't know what was happening, but Miss Shambles told me you seemed upset."

"I said stressed," the Darkling clarified, looking towards Streiphen. "You're the one that read 'upset' from it."

"['Read'? What do you mean?]" I asked, feeling a pit forming within me.

"You know what 'Aera' is, right?" Shambles asked, pulling the cherry lollipop from her mouth. "It's the weird stuff your Soul generates to use magic, but it's also a representation of your identity. When you look at someone with [Insight], you'll get impressions. Feelings, ideas, even surface level motivations. It's a way for the mind to parse what they see in another person's Aera through their own. It can be a little jaded and inaccurate sometimes, but it can help you get a look at the sorta people you're talking to on first meeting."

My fears were confirmed, and I felt annoyance well up. Sigura hadn't been right at all. Even if I didn't have a face, or expression, or even recognisable body language, people could still read my fears and true emotions. I may be hard to read for the average person, but I didn't have a 'poker aura' to go along with that 'poker face'.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"[Is... is there any way to fix that?]" I asked her. "[I... I don't want people to know what I'm thinking or feeling.]"

The Darkling grinned, shaking her head. "If you get really good at using Luster Arts, there's a way to sort of hide it, but no. You could train your aura to be a little less wild when you're casting or caught off guard, but I wouldn't bother. Worst case scenario, your magical growth could get stunted. Just make sure you're confident in what you're doing and you'll be fine. Why don't you try and read me?"

'Read' her? With [Insight]? The thought sent a ripple over the surface of my skin.

"[N-no! I... I shouldn't. It wouldn't be right to intrude like-]"

"Don't be such a baby," Shambles said, leaning against the back of her chair. "It'll be fine. I'm an open book anyway, nothin' to hide."

"[You... you're sure?]" I asked, feeling as though I was being lured into breaking a social taboo.

"Positive," she assured me.

I searched in vain for anything in her body language that told me this was some sort of trap or test, but I found nothing. Was she...? No. Sigura had told me she was a more casual sort of person, and her ability to assess people was far better than mine. Even if I couldn't trust my ability to read her, I could trust Sigura's.

I allowed my [Insight] to expand, spreading out in her direction. The cloud of thickened aera deepened around the Darkling, and I worked to 'read' her like she'd read me, going against the warnings within that begged me to stop.

Shambles' aura was a deep red colour, a darker, fuller shade than her pale skin. The edges flowed like a gentle stream, an easy, simple movement that felt relaxing to watch. A symbol of the casual nature that Sigura had told me she'd had. I looked deeper.

All throughout her aura, I saw small black shapes. Not simple circles or squares, but shapes more complex than that. Small cartoonish bombs with lit fuses. Teddy bears. A Lion's head. A bridge. A book. A mask. None of the shapes stayed the same for long. Each one shifted and changed, moving like clay being molded in a person's hands. Even as I watched, the Lion's head transformed, molding itself into a smooth head, a familiar one. It was the head of the mech in the midst of construction, Aetherman.

It was a strange sight, a tapestry of chaotic, poorly defined shapes and ideas. It gave me a deep impression, one that told me Shambles was far from an orderly person, one that lived in the moment and jumped on whatever took her interest at the time. She was flighty, a-

"Well?" she asked, snapping me from my observations. It was only as my mind's eye moved up to her face that I noticed her aura was thickest around her head and horns. "Learn any dark secrets I should know about? I wanna hear what you saw."

I didn't want to put it in a way that sounded unflattering or offensive, but...

"[Chaotic. It was... relaxing, at the edges, but deeper within... nothing ever stayed the same. There was constant movement and change. It was impossible to keep track of.]"

The Darkling smiled, popping the candy back into her mouth.

"Well?" she asked again, turning her eyes back towards Streiphen. "Tell her what you saw."

The Chimera child looked sheepish, smiling as his eyes turned towards the ground.

"Umm... Studious... ex-explorative... willing to take risks and... brave..."

Shambles gestured towards him with a hand, grinning ear to ear.

"See? Nothin' to worry about. Reading someone's aera isn't a perfect science. We're lookin' at others through our own aera too, whenever [Insight] is used. Everythin' we read in others through it is coloured by perspective."

It... was a drastic shift. Streiphen saw things in her that I hadn't picked up on at all. All of the traits he saw in her were positive, while I only saw dangerous, negative ones. Was that a reflection of his optimism? What did that say about Streiphen? What did it say about me?

"So what got you all worked up, anyway?" Shambles asked, rising from her seat. She spun the chair around before sitting again, planting the front of her body against the back of the chair. She laid her chin on top, looking at me as she leaned forward, linking her hands together. "Any crazy magical consequences we should be worried about, Yuri?"

My body twitched with a wince. She knew my name. It wasn't that I didn't trust her, but we were supposed to go by Epithets, here. I knew that Streiphen had mentioned my name by reflex out of worry for me, and it wasn't his fault, but...

He hadn't seemed to notice the issue. I decided not to bring it up, even if I still saw Shambles' eyes glowing scarlet.

"[No... nothing so drastic. I just... had a vision. My magic relies on memories to craft new equipment,]" I told her.

Perhaps telling her that much wasn't a wise decision, but now that she knew my name, I had to try and bridge the gap between business and casual. Sigura had told me she'd be receptive to this sort of thing, and I was certain she was right. I just hoped I was doing this correctly.

The Darkling's eyes opened further, an action accompanied by the broadening of her bright smile.

"Memories? That sounds pretty cool. What kind of memories?" she asked, her tone taking on a note of interest.

I didn't want to go into detail. I didn't want to talk about this in general. Even the thought of it caused knots all over my body.

"[... Family,]" I answered vaguely. My eye was on the pair, moving from the pensive, curious Streiphen to the now more subdued, uncertain Shambles. She was still using [Insight]. What was she seeing in me right now, through those glowing crimson eyes?

"Yeah, I get it," Shambles nodded knowingly. She turned her head, leaning one cheek against the peak of her chair. "Family can be a pain."

A 'pain' was one way of phrasing it. Feelings were something I'd always worked to avoid. They were impurities that stood in the way of free thought. The biggest thing that separated me from my family and their work ethic. Even now, with no [Silent Heart] to fall back on, I had no idea what the swirl of emotions within me meant when I thought about my family. They were chaotic, unreliable, and did nothing but cause confusion.

"[... Yes,]" I said, my voice little more than a whispered croak.

Shambles' eyes were still on me, no doubt watching my aura intently. What was she seeing through those lenses of hers? Through her perspective?

"Maybe I've pushed a little too much," Shambles spoke aloud, closing her eyes as her cheek pressed against the seat. "It ain't fair for me to be asking so many questions like that. Adventurers don't ask about each other's pasts as a rule, and criminals definitely don't, either. If I've upset you or anything by breaking these unspoken rules, then... sorry."

Streiphen looked away, eyes cast down towards the ground. The air felt warmer now, heavier.

"I think it's only fair that I share too, right?" Shambles said, her voice piercing through the somber fog hanging over us. My mind's eye shot to her in worry.

"[Y-you don't have to-]"

"I want to," the Darkling responded firmly.

I was curious about my new coworkers, but I knew the rules. Asking about other people's pasts was practically taboo among adventurers. For criminals? People who risked their lives against the law, their competition and those that despised them? Information like that must be...

"Don't tell the Don I said any of this to a pair of provs either, alright?" she grinned. "It'll be our little secret."

It was a secret I felt apprehensive about keeping. I... If I agreed, was I complicit in breaking social conventions? She was willing to share, but... The thought that we needed to hide this from the Don worried me.

"[A-alright. We'll keep it a secret,]" I told her, words sneaking out past the fear bubbling within me. This was a way to learn about my contemporaries; other Casters just like me, and someone I'd be living and working with for the foreseeable future. My curiosity overpowered my sense of worry. This... would be the basis of a good working relationship, I hoped. Streiphen nodded fiercely, planting both open hands over his mouth as he did so. An unspoken promise.

"My name's Shafu Anadaria," the Darkling told us, grinning so widely that her fangs poked down over her bottom lip. "I figured since I already knew your name, Yuri, that was a good place to start."

Unable to formulate a response that wouldn't betray my worry any more than my aura likely was, I simply nodded.

"And... um, I'm Streiphen!" the Chimera told her. The muscle of my form winced and wrinkled at the comment, but he was in the right. This was an equal exchange. An almost... casual conversation. This was the right way to proceed, wasn't it?

"Nice to meet you both," she said, nodding to Streiphen and I in turn. "Now that we all know each other's names, guess we're even in that department, huh?"

Before I had a chance to respond, her eyes locked on me once again, and her voice grew a little quieter.

"What do you know about Darklings, Yuri?"

Darklings. Everything I knew about them came from comics and hearsay, neither of which were very... reliable sources. Rumors tended to be much more unflattering than the comics. That they were a monstrous folk descended from Demons, with a 'violence in their blood' that they couldn't suppress.

"[N-not much,]" I lied, not wanting to paint her in an unfair light without getting to know her. "[Only bits and pieces from rumour and myths.]"

The Darkling snickered at that response. That hadn't been what I was hoping for by taking the diplomatic path through, but I figured it was better than anger.

"Those 'rumours' are probably true, or at least have a grain of truth in 'em if you've heard some of the really grisly stuff," she smiled, shrugging a little as she sat up further in her seat.

"It's true that we're descended from Demons, but we don't just come from Zeradonia. Sometimes, Demons possessing hosts end up having kids. In the early days, those kids were just a little different to others like 'em. A tail here, a horn or two there, or even just a bit of magic that appeared earlier than others. Over the generations, those traits became more prominent, instead of dying out. As tough as Scander is, it feels predictable. Zeradonia is a real dangerous place. We had to stick together, y'know?"

Streiphen approached me as Shambles- Shafu spoke. He sat at the front of my mech, leaning back against the cold metal.

"So we all started founding 'Houses' like the Drow. Every Darkling House has its own specialty, a magic 'gift' from our old demonic ancestors. Oh, and if you've heard that rumour about us being bloodthirsty, that's true too. We get these... urges, I guess? Our stress and emotion builds up, and we've just gotta let it out sometimes. We can't bottle stuff up nearly as good as Humans can. Most of us don't just go around killing though. We let it out slowly over time. Hunting, fighting in a ring, that sort of thing."

Shafu didn't strike me as the [Hunter] or [Ring Fighter] sort of type, and-

"Do you fight people like that, Miss Shafu?" Streiphen asked, the look in his eyes tinged with disappointment. I wondered, could she have read his feelings through his aura alone?

"Nah, I just like breaking things," the Darkling grinned. She kicked one hoof against the floor, an action that caused her chair to begin slowly spinning in circles. "Most of the stuff I build doesn't last long. House Anadaria's little talent is 'Chaos'. Most of my family have way scarier magic than I do, but I just build a lot of different things that break quickly. I'm pretty tame, as far as Darklings go, but... I'm getting off track."

If what I'd seen in her aura was any indication, 'getting off track' sounded like second nature to her. It helped me feel a little better about my current lack of organisation. Some of the folds and knots throughout my body smoothed out. We were just... having a conversation.

"My parents were really stressful to be around. They wanted me to follow in a, uh... family business, and I didn't want anything to do with it. So I gathered all my things and just... left."

"You left? Just like that?" Streiphen asked, his expression confused, head tilted to the side.

"Just like that," Shafu nodded. "I had a few bits and pieces to get in order first, like getting mail addresses for some friends back home to keep in touch, but yeah. I just left. Zeradonia's real big on people doing what they want and making their own choices, so I made my choice to get out of there. I hitched some rides further east, heading through Muscaria and into Rengrasia. Joined up with a magic college and had a real blast."

The scarlet glow in the Darkling's eyes dimmed and broke apart, splintering into flakes of light that vanished as they rose into the air. That glow was replaced by a mischievous twinkle.

"Lot of the college bigwigs had a real problem with me joining, too. They kept getting in my way, even if I had the skill to get in. I had to get to know some of the students. One of the more influential ones took a shine to me, and helped to pull some strings with students and staff to get me in. I wasn't a good student, but I'm pretty talented with magic."

A magic college. The idea that I was effectively self taught made me feel a tinge of inadequacy. This was the level that I was trying to reach, even without formal training. My curiosity was the one thing keeping me from falling down into a depressive spiral, a feeling that won over all else.

"[Because of your gift?]" I asked, hoping that I wasn't pushing the boundaries too much by asking. "['Chaos'?]"

"Yeah, partially," the Darkling nodded. "I'm just a quick learner, too. I'm better with practical learning, but I couldn't stick out a class for shit. Lectures and paperwork kill any sort of motivation I get. I can't really force a [Creative Process] like other [Inventors] and [Tinkerers]. Might be a Subcon, but I have to wait for the inspiration to come to me, first. That's why I hang around the workshop and just watch people do their thing. When something interests me, that's when inspiration strikes and I can actually get stuff done."

My body rolled and shivered at the thought. That sounded like an awful Subcon to have. To be bound by unpredictable whims and completely unable to create a work schedule? How could she even relax like this when she had such an inconsistent ability? What if she never got inspiration again?

"[I... can't say I envy your abilities, Shambles,]" I spoke honestly.

The Darkling responded with a laugh, sticking out a hoof to stop the spinning of her chair.

"Yeah, didn't think you would. I can tell you're not that sort of person. You're the type that loves organisin' your stuff. Making lists, goals you set for a day or week, and stuff like that, right? I couldn't stand working an' livin' like that, Yuri."

Her arms hung low around the back of the chair. She lifted her head up, planting her chin down, eyes attentive and twinkling once again.

"So what about you? You said your specialty is 'memories', right? How does that work?"

"[Well... it...]" I stuttered out, not really sure of it myself. I knew that I had visions of memories whenever I worked, but was that really my 'specialty'? "[I don't know. I draw on past experiences whenever I work, and create an artefact related to the memory I call on. It isn't a consistent process, but I'm... still learning.]"

Shafu nodded slowly, drinking in everything I was saying. It felt rewarding, knowing that a Caster far more experienced than myself was hearing me out. The idea made me feel safe. If anyone would be able to figure out a way for me to improve or learn more about my own abilities, it was another Anvil Caster. Someone in the same field as me, with the same Class, was bound to have some excellent insight.

"What was that last memory about? The one that got your aura going wild? Somethin' about your family?" Shafu asked.

Streiphen's head turned, starry eyes drifting from the Darkling to me. I hadn't told Streiphen, or any of the others bar Sigura, about me. They didn't know anything about my background, or who I was before... all of this. How much should I say? Should I say anything at all?

"[Yes... I... was remembering the first time I was allowed to work at an anvil. My father taught me the smithing trade, but I never got the [Blacksmith] Class.]"

The thought made something bubble up within me, an emotion that frightened me, one that threatened the stability of my logical mind. I didn't have a [Silent Heart] to shield myself anymore, either.

"Your dad, huh?" the Darkling asked. "If you don't mind me askin', what were you before turning into a Chimera? I don't have a frame of reference for what you and your folks were, and I haven't seen what you look like either."

I didn't want her to see, either. I'd... adjusted to my appearance, but that didn't mean I expected others to do the same. She sounded like an experienced Caster, but I didn't know what she'd think of me if she... she saw. But she wanted to help, and one of the feelings within me dug its claws in deep, growing in size.

"[I wasn't the same as my parents,]" I responded, my voice tainted with a drop of bitter venom. With my [Telekinesis], I lifted the bronze helmet off of my body.

The unflappable Darkling's eyes widened with shock, naturally, at the sight of an enormous, sweaty, pulsating brain sitting atop a cobbled together mech suit.

"[My mother and father were Varani. I wasn't. I was only a Halfblood.]"

Maybe Shambles didn't think I saw her shiver behind the chair. I did.

"A genetic quirk?" the woman asked tactfully, avoiding the other obvious conclusions one could draw from that revelation. I didn't know whether to feel better or worse that she hadn't commented on my current state. Even if my logical mind didn't know how I should feel, my heart had other ideas. A [Witch's] cauldron worth of bubbling emotions festered within me, growing in a way that left me worried as to where they'd go.

"[Yes,]" I told her, my voice louder. "[There wasn't a surrogate, or an unfaithful night, or adoption. It was just an unlucky genetic curse. Maybe there was a Human in my family tree, or maybe the Gods despised my parents, or me. I don't know.]"

"A 'curse'?" Shambles asked, her voice a little more... hollow? Something about it was different. "Did somethin' happen between you and your folks? Because of... that?"

"[We were just too different. They...]"

My mind was jumbled and hazy. It wasn't in a good space to decrypt and decipher the confusing mess that was my emotional state, even at the best of times. Now? With both my head and heart confused and lost? I didn't have a hope of figuring myself out. All I could do was push forward.

"[They didn't have emotions, and I was cursed with them. I was better equipped to work the forge, and they didn't want me to waste that potential, but we were just too different. I could withstand the heat, but I didn't have that single minded determination that they did. They expected me to go to the forge and work, day in and day out, until the day I died!]"

My voice grew in volume. I didn't know who else was in here to listen. I didn't care.

"[They were full Varani. They didn't understand sarcasm, they didn't experience boredom, they didn't feel anything. They couldn't understand me, and I can't understand them. I tried to make it work. I tried really, really hard to bridge the gap, but... There's just... there was just... t-too much distance between us! We couldn't...]"

Emotions flushed out of my form alongside the words. It was cathartic, opening that dam even for just a moment, but guilt, shock and anxiety filled in the holes that anger and indignation had left. Even if the conversation had been moving from business to casual, this was too much. I'd... unloaded something I hadn't even realised I'd had onto this woman, and onto a child. I'd made a stupid mistake, and now...

Shambles was smiling. Her eyes were glowing again, both a deep crimson. I felt naked.

"[Stop! Don't... could you please stop doing that?]" I asked. It wasn't something I was sure was right to say, but correct conduct felt like the least important thing to me at the moment. It was a scary thought to have, but I didn't have much energy left in me for fear.

"Sorry, sorry, bad habit of mine," the Darkling said, her voice not carrying a single tinge of remorse. "When you started unloading like that, your aura started shaking like crazy, y'know?"

"[Is... is that normal?]" I asked her, hoping I was right. It made sense that a representation of my identity would get so... active during a conversation like that. Hopefully it wouldn't influence my work.

"Yeah, but it's usually a good thing for people like you. Do you let it all out like that... often?"

'People like me'? What did that mean? What was she trying to say about me? "[No,]" I responded with a curt, firm tone. "[No, I don't. What does that have to do with anything?]"

Should I have been acting like that with a coworker? No. But right now, I felt indignant and annoyed. I'd spoken my feelings and ruined the atmosphere. I'd damaged our working relationship, and it felt like she was making light of me. Streiphen seemed utterly stunned. The sight of his wide eyes and mouth hanging open left me feeling more ashamed than ever. I... I could take the reactions of Shambles, but it was harder coming from Streiphen.

"You're being pretty honest with yourself," Shambles responded with a smile, rocking forward and back on her chair. "You should try working again, Yuri. With your magic. Do it with your heart, too. I'll keep watch and tell you how it goes after."

What...? With my heart? The idea of being watched by Shambles' [Insight] while I worked made me feel somewhat uncomfortable, but a bigger part of me wanted to know what would happen. Even if parts of me had begun to find this conversation grating, others wanted to learn from her, to find out what she'd seen and how I could grow from it.

As annoying as this experience had gotten, I still wanted to be useful. To learn. To grow.

"[F-fine. I'll try,]" I told her. My [Sensory Zone] retracted back towards me, pulling Shambles' grin and Streiphen's shock out of sight.

"[Creative Process]."

Knowing I was being watched with [Insight] made it harder to get into the 'zone', but I was eager to let my mind wander and drift away from all the social damage I'd done. While I still had some level of agency before the trance hit, I tried to guide my mind's eye. The first memory I gravitated towards was the one I'd been working on before, with my father. That was the last memory I wanted to work through with my 'heart', and I pulled away.

Instead, I sought a memory close to one I'd experienced before. The previous day, I'd thought of the Street Snail that had invaded my workshop. Now-

I was back in the workshop. Walking down the steps towards the basement felt cathartic, as though I was leaving the drama and worries of the surface behind. I'd always kept the stone floor of the workshop clean, which was always a relief to come down to. I didn't do it for my parents. The basement was too stuffy for them, and they didn't care about what I did with it. As long as I kept my work down here and out of the way, they said I could do anything I wanted with it.

The room I slept in upstairs was a mess, but it didn't feel like my room. Compared to my room back home, within our old house in Lucan, it couldn't come close to feeling the same. Maybe that was why I'd chosen to use the basement and not my own room for work. Being inside it felt like being in a prison, locked away and separated from the place I wanted to be and the people I wanted to be with. I'd tried to transform it into a spot that truly felt like home, but I suspected not even the world's best [Tinkerers] or [Inventors] could have managed that.

I organised the basement for my own sake. In the land above my safe haven, I didn't have any control. My parents were stifling yet distant. When we were apart, I felt lonely and disconnected. When we were together, I felt trapped and controlled. They wanted me to keep up the family business and work the forges. They tried to use the only good part about my curse to their advantage. That was the only difference between us they could understand.

I'd bought a fan with some of the money I'd saved up from my adventuring work with Sigura's group. The heater was a nice touch to the workshop, but whenever I got lost in my work, the heat would dry out my scales. By the time I came out of my trance, they'd already be starting to flake off. I'd tried bringing basins of water down to the basement, to try and make things work, but I couldn't douse myself in the middle of a [Creative Process].

The fan was the solution to that, something that would work in tandem with the heater to keep the room at a warm temperature while keeping me from getting so hot I started to dry out. Back then, it had seemed stupid and counterintuitive. I'd been embarrassed with myself after the purchase, so much so that I'd kept it a secret from my parents, not wanting them to judge or chastise my mistake.

Focusing on keeping a certain flow of Aera into the heater was difficult while in a trance. The deeper I went into my work, the more Aera I used. That made the room hotter and hotter until it became unbearable. As much as I'd been worried about the decision to buy that fan, I felt as though it was a smart decision, looking back on it.

The fan was an artefact too. The more energy I poured into the heater during my work, the more went into the fan, too. The potency of both rose and fell with the shift in my creative musings. They'd balanced each other out.

It was only after I'd bought the fan that I'd been able to make my 'Heat Gauntlet'. I'd written it off as a fluke at the time, and was still thinking about trying to get my money back for the fan, convincing myself I didn't really need it, and that I could do the same with practice.

But I was glad I hadn't.

I still missed the gauntlet, but I didn't know what I could do about it now. Had Chimera destroyed it? Kept it? Had it been left in the woods on the day we'd been captured? I didn't know. Maybe in the future-

The vision lifted from my mind. The pulsing of my body and rivers of sweat running from my pores helped to pry my consciousness from the depths. For a few seconds, I laid atop my mech, no helmet to hide my form, exposing me to the cool, comfortable air of the workshop.

I felt refreshed. Not perfect, but better. Those strong feelings that had altered my thoughts and actions had become a little less hard to bear. I'd poured them into my work, instead of into my words.

Then, I felt a light breeze, one that helped to cool down my warm body. I felt myself relax at its gentle touch, wondering what I'd done or who was around me. Would it have been strange to ask for a bath or basin of water? I was feeling dehydrated despite how much clearer my mind felt. I could go for a drink right about now.

After simply laying there and recovering for a few moments, as though I'd just woken up from a lazy weekend nap, I began to 'open my eyes'. My [Sensory Zone] expanded slowly, casually, as I took in my mech and the world around me. Metal flooded through my awareness, my [Telekinesis] flowing through everything around me as I flexed my influence through the mech I called my body.

Streiphen was still sitting in front of me. The look in his eyes had changed from shock to wonder. I'd completely forgotten to ask him to step away. I was just glad to see that he hadn't been hit by any stray metal while I was in my trance.

Next to me was a rectangular metal box with a circular hole on top. Joy and satisfaction ran through my body, an emotion I put no effort into suppressing. The breeze I was feeling didn't come from the room's ventilation, but from a set of clean metal propellers within the 'box'. There were two fans, one at either side of my mech, both propped up by metal rods to direct their cool flow at my main body.

There was a surprising amount of force behind them, too. The breeze was mild and cool, but even now, I could feel the runes embedded within them. I could push them much harder if I wanted to. They weren't being controlled by mere [Telekinesis], either. The runes I'd used were something else, something that allowed for a simple, basic motion. Efficient.

"[I'm back...]" I said sheepishly. My voice carried a note of fatigue that I hadn't expected, but that I didn't feel ashamed about. I had done good work.

"You work quickly, huh? That was only... what, fifteen or twenty minutes?" Shambles asked with a smile. "You weren't out for long."

Did other Anvils work for longer than that? I didn't have any frame of reference.

"[I... I think that's a regular amount of time for me. It differs from session to session, but I've never worked with a memory for any longer than an hour at a time.]" I told the Darkling, experimentally pouring more aera through the fans.

The propellor blades within began to speed up, sending a gust of air through the thin metal grate over it. The red ribbon wrapped around my form whipped wildly in the wind. Even without being in the line of fire, Streiphen's long air was sent in all directions as he planted both hands on his head. Flecks of sweat flew from my body in the gale, landing on the floor.

A wince rippled through the surface of my form. I pulled the energy from the fans, reducing the wild gust to a calm breeze. I watched as Shambles' crimson eyes widened. She ducked behind her chair as a glob smacked against the back.

"[Sorry!]" I called out. "[I... I just wanted to test how much force these fans could handle.]"

Once the sound of whipping winds quietened, she peeked over the top of her chair, shoulders hunching up at the sight of the thick sweat dripping down along it.

"Yeah... I get it, but... you're gonna need to clean this up," she said, looking up towards me with a dry expression.

"That was amazing!" Streiphen exclaimed, a complete contrast to the Darkling. I figured that part of his positive impression could be owed to the fact that he hadn't come under fire from my bodily fluids.

"[T-thank you,]" I responded sheepishly, the compartment on the side of my mech opening. I pulled the massive metal hand from within, flexing the awkward fingers as I reached for one of many towels near the base of the Aetherman mech. At least I didn't need to risk breaking towels. "[And... thank you for the advice, Shambles.]"

"No prob'," the Darkling said, keeping her hooves off the floor until I'd swept the towel over the surface. With my [Sensory Zone] taking in every detail, I didn't miss a single bit.

Still, I nearly pushed Shambles off her chair with the force of the metal hand. Her fingers gripped the chair more tightly as I adjusted my strength, wiping the back clean with the towel without tipping her over.

"[Sorry... I'm not good at knowing how much force to use with the hand yet.]"

The Darkling nodded, getting to her feet once I'd cleaned up the floor. She wandered over to one of my fans, eyes still glowing bright red. "That just needs practice. If you train with it, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Ding!

Streiphen peeked around a leg of my mech as my own awareness turned. There were only a few people in here, with Gearhead speaking with Gamechanger at the foot of the mech. Both were sitting on benches, drinking from personalised mugs. Shambles decided not to disturb the pair, standing up to head over, pressing her hand against the plastic panel next to the entrance.

The doors parted, revealing Sigura.

"Homebound! Stardust! You two doing alright?" she called out, her voice echoing against the walls of the workshop. She gave Shambles a nod of thanks, stepping past the shorter woman as she approached us.

"We're okay!" Streiphen called back. "Where's Mr. Moonshine?"

Sigura rolled her eyes, giving the Chimera child a shrug.

"He needed some alone time, so he went for a walk. Can't say I blame him, I'm bored too. The Don hasn't given us any new work. I just want to get out of here and do something."

Streiphen nodded in firm agreement, a sentiment I echoed. Even recon would be better than sitting around. We needed to prove ourselves, and relaxing here wasn't going to get us anywhere.

"What've you two been up to anyway?" Sigura asked idly.

"Miss... um, Homebound made more cool things!" Streiphen responded with a smile, hopping over my mech's leg.

"Oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Without thinking about it, my [Telekinesis] worked through the metal. I turned the fan closest to Sigura, directing the cool breeze in her direction. A light shiver ran through her body as she smiled.

"You made fans?" she asked with a grin, her wild mane of hair lifting upwards in the wind. "You gonna use those to make sure the people we're fighting don't get too sweaty, Home?"

Feeling a small amount of that earlier indignation return, I poured more aera into the artefact. I felt a grin within my mind as the speed of the propellers increased. Sigura's eyes widened as she lowered herself to all fours. The gale whipped at her hair and clothes, the force of the wind so strong that it nearly pushed her off her feet. I kept the grip of my [Telekinesis] firm on the chunks of scattered metal, not allowing them to be shot forward. Her nails dug into the stone floor, giving her enough of a grip to avoid being blown away.

"[They'll be useful,]" I told her, a tinge of uncharacteristic smugness in my voice.

The wind died down as I pulled energy from the fans. Sigura's expression was one of shock. She got up off her hands and feet, brushing at her clothes and smoothing down her hair.

"Alright... I stand corrected. That'll be useful," she said, glancing at the fans, and then back to me. "You two done playing around with your toys?"

[Telekinesis] flowed through my mech. My 'legs' curled and shifted, pulling me to my feet. I gave Sigura a nod, beginning to clean up my assorted metal and tools.

"[For now, yes. I need to figure out how to fit these fans onto my mech before I try anything else.]"

Sigura ran her eyes over my form, eyes pensive. Then, she smiled, her eyes brightening as though she'd had an idea.

"You should take a break for a bit, Home. I've got a good idea of what to do, too. The Cat Adept said we'd be getting paid for our work soon. We should go out and get some new clothes. We can look for parts and artefacts while we're out there."

A shopping trip...? Thoughts of the market place came to mind. It was a soothing memory, but the thought of wandering through an open area like that now, while my body was like this...

"[I'm... not sure, Sunburst. We don't need any extra clothes, and there are plenty of parts to work with here. We should save our money for essentials,]" I responded with uncertainty.

"We're getting personal pay and some coin stored for 'business expenses' too, Home," she assured me. "We can afford to splash out a little on parts and threads without worrying about going hungry. 'Sides, I need you around to keep track of everything. You're better at organising and making sure we have those essentials, right?"

I wasn't convinced. If we needed essentials, couldn't we just ask or hire one of the Goons to do a shopping run? Was that part of their contract...?

"[Buying clothes doesn't count as a 'business expense', Sunburst,]" I responded dryly.

"Sure it does," Sigura smirked, a smile that flashed her fangs. "If we get to browse and choose our own clothes, that helps with outward expression, right? Magic and identity and all that crap? That counts, doesn't it?"

She looked over her shoulder towards Shambles, who was walking back towards her desk. With a grin that matched Sigura's own, she nodded.

"Sounds like a business expense to me," the Darkling chirped.

Somehow, I had my doubts that Shambles was a reliable opinion for this sort of thing. Part of me wanted to go, if it wouldn't interfere with getting the essentials, but I didn't want to overstep my boundaries.

"[Gearhead?]" I called out, sending my [Telepathy] further across the workshop. The massive Human turned his head, helmet dotted with holes facing towards me. "[Would the Don consider buying clothes a 'business expense'?]"

I felt silly for asking. Shambles' tail drooped, her expression sagging a little as she collapsed back into her chair. Both hooves pushed against the ground, sending her chair flying back towards her table. She pulled a new lollipop free from a box within her drawer, popping it into her mouth.

"My word means nothin' now, huh?" she murmured, a sound only I caught.

"Of course!" Gearhead boomed back. "Don't go overboard with it, and I'm sure the Don won't have any objections!"

Gamechanger looked back towards me, giving a nod of confirmation that left me feeling a little less conflicted. While it justified the absurd idea of a criminally funded shopping trip, I felt a little cheated. 'Clothes' being considered a 'business expense' sounded strange to me, but if senior members approved of it, then...

"[I suppose it's alright then... I'll come with you,]" I told her, a mixed note of anticipation and defeat in my tone.

Sigura laughed at that, patting the side of my mech. Streiphen's hands clenched, arms shooting into the air as he smiled brightly.

"Shopping trip!" he exclaimed.

"Shopping trip," Sigura echoed, nodding as a snicker escaped her lips.

For now, I'd leave the fans here. I didn't have a place for them on my mech that I'd be able to use, but I'd figure something out. I hadn't gotten around to changing the appearance of my mech yet, but I'd made... progress. I'd learned more about my magic, crafted a new weapon, gotten a potentially positive relationship with one of our coworkers, and was... feeling a little better. Useful, stable, and a little more in-tune with myself.

Honest.

"[Shopping trip,]" I nodded, closing my metal compartment as I began to follow my two friends to the workshop's entrance.