Sicarius watched the warehouse with the cold patience of a bear trap.

  Perched again on the same rusted crane, body cloaked in stillness, she watched her target work diligently. Pigeons roosted inches from her boots. Tactically, they were a liability. Emotionally, she was beginning to like them. They were quiet company during these long hours of observation.

  Emil Braxtown might have fooled a passerby with his straight clothes, neatly parted hair, and polished expression, but not her. She saw every tight muscle, every jumpy twitch, every nervous glance over his shoulder like he could feel guilt itself stalking him.

  Sica touched her wrist, activating the thin silver rune wrapped there.

  “Target continuing work routine,” she whispered.

  …

  On the warehouse floor, Emil performed his professional duties.

  It felt different now. Less and more meaningful at the same time.

  Before, he’d liked the job for its routine. The simplicity of following a structure from bell to bell. Now, every moment was conscious. Every movement had to be weighed: don’t mess up, but don’t look like you’re trying not to mess up. He flinched at dropped equipment, sure that the next loud crash would be the one that ended his life.

  If the Guild found out what he was doing, what he was hiding in his apartment, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t live to see another day.

  Hours later, when the shift change bell finally rang and Emil was allowed to leave, another scene was already unfolding across town.

  …

  The moment the door shut behind him that morning, Luna had taken inventory of her situation.

  She had hit Level 8 overnight on a wave of math and mania while riding their combined regen of 2.05 mana per second. Their intertwined regen worked hard while being boosted by Potent Product, Mana Efficiency, and Lucky Penny all leading to fantastic gains.

  Now, with Emil off to work, she was back to the solo grind.

  At least she was Level 8 now leading to a new solo regen record of 1.2 mana per second. It made the loop feel less like counting grains of sand placed into a swimming pool and more like a particularly boring treadmill. She still felt like she was going nowhere in that she had no physical pile of coins to show for her efforts, but her metaphysical muscles were certainly growing hour to hour.

  Regenerate mana.

  Form stone coin.

  Eat stone coin.

  +1.1 XP.

  Repeat.

  …

  By the time Emil trudged up the narrow tavern stairs that evening, he felt like a man climbing to his own execution.

  His muscles ached from pretending to be normal all day.

  His mana channels twitched from resisting every instinct to rush home and dump his entire pool straight into Luna to speed up the torture that his nerves were enduring.

  His emotions were fried from the constant feeling that the ground was going to open up and swallow him at any moment.

  He slipped his key into the lock, stepped inside, and was immediately bombarded with mental noise.

  “EMIIIIILLLL. NOT A SINGLE LEVEL WHILE YOU WERE AT WORK!”

  Luna’s voice didn’t help the storm in his head.

  “That follows our predictions,” Emil said, shutting the door and leaning his back against it. “You have to be close to seventy percent of the way to Level 9, though.”

  “Well yeah, but you don’t get credit for partial levels in this system,” she complained. “Which is dumb. Someone should do something about that.”

  She grumbled a bit more, before perking up.

  “Are we still going to check out magic mechanics today? I need a change of pace after printing over two thousand coins.”

  “Yes,” Emil confirmed matter of factly. “We’ll continue with the plan.”

  “YES. Finally. Someone who can crack me open and give me legs.”

  “Or at least a more compact shell with a handle or something,” Emil said hopefully.

  “Or a jetpack. Maybe some kind of drone system…”

  Luna kept brainstorming as Emil grabbed his spare satchel and began packing.

  “Let’s focus,” he cut in gently.

  He tucked Luna’s bulky casing carefully into the bag. He stuffed the opening with a spare throw blanket. It was about as subtle as they were going to get while transporting the watermelon sized metal machine.

  “First time out on the town that wasn’t being stolen away in the middle of the night,” Luna said, buzzing with anticipation. “Can we get cheesy pretzels?”

  “It’s literally just two blocks to the artificer’s guild branch,” Emil said, exasperated. “And you can’t eat.”

  “Maybe not yet,” Luna countered. “I am going to ask the artificer for a snack hole.”

  “That probably costs extra,” Emil mused, playing along despite how utterly spent he felt.

  …

  Outside, dusk had begun to settle over Braxtown. Lamps were lighting and shadows were lengthening. On the roof opposite the tavern, Sica had repositioned in anticipation for some action.

  She crouched on the smooth times, cloak blending with the deepening dark. Her enhanced vision tracked every movement through the thin curtains. Emil moving around the room frantically packing the device into a satchel and scrambling to try to disguise the package.

  He was talking to it. Again. Mouth barely moving, expression shifting like someone having an ongoing argument with a voice only he could hear.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  He was finally moving the device.

  But why now?

  She shook the thought. Her job wasn’t to ask why.

  She tapped her communication bracelet.

  “Update: target carrying the device,” she murmured. “Item is magically active. Output has become stronger and more erratic compared to last check in.”

  The device’s mana signature was louder than it had been days ago. Stronger. Sharper. It barely felt like a tool anymore. It felt like a person mid panic attack.

  “Continue surveillance. No engagement,” came the tiny, buzzing reply.

  Sica’s jaw tightened.

  It was still possible Emil was just crazy and talking to himself… but if that concentrator was actually talking back? If it was sentient? Sapient?

  That changed things.

  Further, if this idiot boy had bonded with it and was assisting in its illegal leveling, then this wasn’t a simple contraband case.

  This was potential Guild treason level stupidity.

  Exactly the kind that got entire districts cratered.

  She moved silently along the rooftops, tailing him toward the part of town where the Artificers’ Guild maintained a few permanent shops.

  …

  Braxtown’s artificer row was a long, narrow street smelling faintly of hot metal, spell fumes, and overcharged mana coils. Shop signs glowed in layered runes:

  ALL-FORM REPAIRS — LICENSED & AUDITED

  FULLY CERTIFIED MANA-CRAFTING

  NO I DO NOT DO COMPANION CONSTRUCTS, STOP ASKING

  Emil ducked into the first shop and approached the securely gated counter.

  A burly dwarf with goggles peered up through the sliding window.

  “What’s the job?” he asked.

  “I— I have a device I need modified. Made portable,” Emil said.

  The dwarf nodded. “Sure. What kind?”

  Emil hesitated, then lifted the satchel flap just enough to reveal a gleam of Luna’s casing.

  The dwarf’s face changed instantly.

  His smile died.

  His stance shifted.

  His eyes sharpened like he was staring at an armed explosive.

  “…You’ve let it level,” he whispered.

  “Um,” Emil tried, “hypothetically—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The dwarf slid the window panel shut like a guillotine.

  The sign flipped to:

  CLOSED

  (DO NOT WAIT)

  “You just lost a valuable customer, buddy. I’m never shopping here again!” Luna shouted after him.

  He could not, of course, hear her through the closed window. Or the metal concentrator casing. Or the fact that Luna’s “voice” was purely telepathic.

  They tried the next shop.

  A lean elf with six monocles stacked on one eye stood behind a marble counter, hands busy with a complicated lattice of glass and gold wire.

  “Hello, I—” Emil began.

  “No,” the elf said.

  “But—”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even heard—”

  “I SAID NO, human.”

  The elf didn’t even have the decency to slam a window. He simply turned his back and continued working until Emil, defeated, stepped back into the street.

  The third shop was run by a half-orc woman with glowing sigil tattoos winding up her arms. She was elbow deep in a device made of whirring gears when Emil approached.

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  “Name,” she grunted, not looking up.

  “Emil Braxt—”

  “Nope.”

  An invisible force wrapped around his chest and gently but firmly pushed him out through the door, depositing him on the street like a politely rejected package.

  “Are you seeing this discrimination?” Luna hissed. “I am a delightful machine. I am friendly, and nice, and considerate, and friendly.”

  Emil could feel her getting antsy again, her mana pattern fidgeting inside the shell.

  “Why is everyone so rude?!”

  “Because,” Emil whispered, “if anyone gets caught illegally modifying Guild hardware—”

  “Yes yes, death, dismemberment, bureaucracy, whatever,” she cut in. She paused, changing her tone to a more conspiratorial flavor. “…Try the shady one.”

  Emil blinked. “What shady one?”

  “You know,” she said. “The shady one. The one with a broken sign and a stray dog out front.”

  “Where are you seeing that?” Emil asked. She’d never been able to see outside the shell before.

  “I don’t need to see it to know it’s there,” she said confidently. “Supply and demand. War on drugs and all that.”

  She was right.

  At the very end of the row sat a dim storefront with a single rusted placard:

  ARTIFICER

  “…Absolutely not,” Emil said.

  “Absolutely YES,” Luna countered.

  Emil stood at the mouth of the dim storefront like a man staring into a cave rumored to contain either treasure, death, or… something worse, a salesman that knew you had no other option.

  The predicted dog lay on the shop's stoop chewing what looked like a gear made of bone. The scene was dominated by the pools of dripping slobber mixed with some kind of reddish grease that the gear was expelling.

  Luna whispered, “This is exactly the place where miracles happen.”

  “Or murders,” Emil muttered.

  “We can work with that,” Luna said.

  Emil cautiously navigated the pools of gunk in order to gently push the door open.

  It creaked loudly and grindingly. Like the door itself wanted them to leave.

  Inside, the shop was a cramped cathedral of junk. It proudly exhibited half finished devices of all manners, scattered glowing runes, coils of brass tubing, floating orbs, a roiling lightning storm in a jar, and even something that looked suspiciously like a mana cannon casually leaned against the counter as if it were a spare broom.

  Behind this counter sat a man.

  Or at least… a man shaped arrangement of chaos.

  White hair stuck out in every direction providing a sunburst frame for his facial accessory of an enormous pair of glasses which held uncountable different pairs of lenses that shuffled autonomously.

  The body of the man was draped in a long leather apron, stained with scorch marks, ink, and… bite marks?

  He was currently hunched over a tiny hovering cube, muttering to himself.

  He didn’t look up asa nervous Emil inched towards the chaos.

  “Uh… excuse me?” Emil ventured.

  The artificer lifted one finger.

  “Shh.”

  He twisted the cube. It made a delighted twip! sound and shot into a drawer that slammed shut behind it.

  Only then did the man turn.

  His eyes, magnified through shifting lenses, locked instantly onto the satchel.

  Onto Luna.

  His pupils dilated. He inhaled sharply through his teeth.

  “…Oh-ho-ho. Oh my. Oh my stars. YOU.”

  Emil’s stomach dropped.

  “Me?” he croaked.

  “Not you,” the artificer said dismissively, waving a hand. “HER.”

  Emil stiffened.

  Luna perked up. “Wait, can he—?”

  “Oh yes,” the artificer said out loud, eyes gleaming. “I can witness you, dear.”

  There was a click in Luna’s telepathic field, effortless, like two magnets snapping together.

  Their mental channels aligned instantly.

  “OH MY GOD YOU CAN HEAR ME HELLO HI,” Luna blasted.

  “YES INDEED MA’AM, HELLO TO YOU!” he yelled back, matching her tone.

  Emil sputtered. “How can you hear her?”

  “Oh,” the artificer growled while he leaned in conspiratorially. “You’ve heard of magic, correct? Fantastical thing. Pretty freakin’ sweet if you ask me.” The baritone flowing voice finished with a raucous laugh.

  “No!” Emil choked. “I mean yes, I’ve heard of magic, I just…”

  He cut himself off, reset, and tried again. “We need your help.”

  The artificer leaned even further over the counter, nearly tipping.

  “And what brings the little miss into my shop today?” he asked directly to Luna.

  Luna practically vibrated. She’d had so much time to daydream about a new body. Legs, wheels, wings, cup holders, but now, put on the spot, the words jammed in her metaphorical throat.

  What she wanted was simple.

  “I would like to be freed of this shell, please,” she said, voice tighter than usual.

  The artificer clapped his hands. “Excellent!”

  Emil rubbed his face. “Wait, wait, wait. Before anything, are you even allowed to modify a concentrator?”

  The artificer blinked.

  “Allowed?” he echoed.

  “Yes!” Emil squeaked. “The Guild, there are permits, and rules, and…”

  “Oh no no no,” the artificer said, shaking his head so violently his lenses clacked. “You seem to be misguided in what you think you are asking for.”

  “Is that so?” Emil asked, confused but hopeful.

  “Of course,” the artificer said cheerfully. “We won’t be modifying a concentrator, no sir, that’s illegal.” He punctuated the statement with a wink.

  “We will be heroically righting a wrongful deed done to a fair damsel!” The man impassionately explained.

  We will be fighting against one of the worst scourges of this realm….”

  The man’s feet were off the ground at this point as he reached over to tap the concentrators metal housing with a fingernail.

  Tink-tink—”…Slavery!”

  Emil froze.

  Luna gasped.

  “That’s what I have been saying!” she cried triumphantly. “You can’t just trap people in metal balls for free labor!

  “I didn’t trap her!” Emil flailed in response to the artificers glare. “She’s not…she’s a Nothing…she just…”

  The artificer put a hand up.

  “Boy. Son. My lad.”

  His voice went grave.

  “You are in possession of a sapient, disembodied soul forcibly bound into a mana condenser.”

  “I didn’t force—!”

  “Slavery,” the artificer this time whispered seriously. “Kidnapping. Soul imprisonment. Call it what you want.”

  “See, Emil?!” Luna shouted. “ILLEGAL. A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION!”

  “I didn’t do it!” Emil cried helplessly.

  “No,” Luna said, softer, “but your dad did…”

  Emil froze.

  “Luna…”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said quickly. “I just want out of this goddamn coffin.”

  The artificer rubbed his hands together.

  “Well! Fortunately for you both, I am a deeply moral man.”

  Emil blinked. “You are?”

  “Morally opposed to the Guild and their practices, yes.”

  “Ah.”

  “As fate may have it,” the artificer went on, sliding open a drawer full of tiny glowing implements, “I consider their stance on soul binding to be morally bankrupt. I’ve actually written numerous opinion pieces on the topic. Who are we to deny a soul a chance at a proper life?”

  Luna squealed.

  Emil continued to sweat.

  “So here is my offer,” the artificer continued. “Parts and labor.”

  “Parts and… wait, only parts and labor?” Emil stammered.

  “No bribes?” Luna asked.

  “No permits?” Emil added.

  “No paperwork?” Luna gasped.

  “No Guild fees?” Emil whispered like saying it too loudly might summon a lawyer.

  “Yes,” the artificer said. “Just the cost of the materials and enough to keep the lights on.” He pointed up at the light orb floating above them.

  Emil stared.

  Luna whispered reverently, “Miracles Emil…”

  “Why?” Emil asked faintly. “Why would you take this risk? Why help us? Why make it so cheap?”

  The artificer leaned forward, placing a hand on Luna’s casing.

  His voice softened.

  “Because I know how it feels to be trapped. Suppressed. Not allowed to take a single step without some unmovable force bearing down on you.”

  For the first time since arriving in this world, Luna felt seen.

  The artificer straightened. His voice brightened again.

  “So! Shall we begin? I’ll need her full specs, her mana signatures, her class sheet, her preferred mobility type…”

  A flicker passed over his face.

  He froze.

  His eyes drifted toward the window.

  “…We are being watched,” he murmured.

  Emil’s blood ran cold.

  Through their connection, Luna felt the flavor of the spell he cast, like Beme’s Faerie Fire, but sharper, older. It flared outward, then latched onto the silhouette of a woman perched on a rooftop across the street.

  The artificer exhaled sharply.

  “Well then,” he said. “That complicates things.”

  He snapped his fingers.

  The shop door shuddered shut.

  Runes flared around the frame.

  A translucent shield shimmered into place over the windows.

  “Let’s talk runes,” he said, moving to clear the workbench.

  He proceeded to ignore the now blazingly bright spy on the opposite roof.

  Emil very much did not.

  “Are we not going to address the murder assassin?!,” Emil hissed, taking in the plethora of highlighted knives strapped to the cloaked rogue's form.

  “Not right now,” the artificer said, disregarding Emil’s worry. “They were surely watching you before you came in, and they will still be watching after you leave. The difference is that when you leave, you’ll probably be on the “To murder” list instead of the “To surveil” list. Now…money.”

  “Money,” Luna echoed faintly. “Yes. Money. Freedom money.”

  The artificer snapped his fingers again. A chalkboard on the wall flipped around to reveal a chaos of numbers and diagrams. He erased them all with a series of aggressive swipes of his sleeve.

  “Name’s Calder, by the way,” he added. “Master Artificer, twice removed. Officially, most of the Guild thinks I died in an explosion. Those who need to know, know that’s not the case. They leave me alone, mostly.”

  “Emil Braxtown,” Emil said automatically.

  Calder’s eyebrow twitched.

  “Oh,” he said. “You’re the oldest boy. This is starting to make more sense.”

  Luna radiated a silent yikes.

  Calder shook it off. “Right. Budget. You are going to want to start with a basic portable concentrator shell. Nothing fancy. No legs, no arms, no tea making attachment…”

  “I would like to register a complaint,” Luna said.

  “…but,” Calder continued, “there are a couple mobility options to consider. Let’s go with an integrated float ring. Definitely built in shock absorption. Protections against hostile attempts to force movement” Calder sketched out plans and monetary figures onto the board as he listed his ideas.

  “The dream is coming together,” Luna muttered.

  Calder eventually had a complex but sloppy chalk sketch of a roughly inscribed cylinder with a raised ring of rune covered material around the middle.

  “Materials,” he muttered. “High tolerance alloy… integrated runes for longevity…soul safe conduction lattice so we don’t cook the young lady…”

  He scribbled down figures: Gold, silver, copper.

  “So,” Emil asked weakly, “what are we looking at? Price wise?”

  Calder underlined the total and turned the board.

  “Materials cost: twelve silver,” he said. “Call it an even ten if I can keep the concentrator she’s currently attached to. I’m very fond of messing with Guild regulated devices.”

  “Ten…” Emil choked. “Ten silver?!”

  “That’s only a thousand dollars, Emil,” Luna said.

  “Dollars, huh?” Calder asked with a knowing smile. His face shifted again, curious. “You were expecting…?”

  “Seventy to eighty silver minimum,” Emil admitted. “Plus permit fees, plus bribes, plus… execution.”

  “Yes, that tracks,” Calder said cheerfully. “The difference is that others are cowards, and I am not.”

  He tapped lightly on the chalk board punctuating his designs.

  “My terms,” he said. “You pay what you can up front. The rest when you can. Call it a loan between friends.”

  “I… I only have four silver on hand,” Emil said. “But the rest we can get in the next few days.”

  “That’s fine,” Calder said. “Four silver down, six on the ledger.”

  “That is very agreeable,” Emil said. “Where do we sign?”

  “Sign?” Calder mused. “Do you think we put things down in writing around here?”

  “I suppose not,” Emil said sheepishly.

  “You’re sure you’re serious?” Luna asked, quieter now. This stranger was clearly putting his neck on the line for them. For her.

  Calder fixed her casing with a flat look.

  “Young lady, I have seen souls rendered into fuel,” he said. “I have seen the condensed consciousness of hundreds chipped and shaved and fed into war machines as ammunition. I am very serious.”

  Luna went quiet again.

  Emil swallowed.

  “Thank you for this,” Luna said finally. “It means a lot.”

  “My pleasure!” Calder clapped once. “In that case, operation Get the Tinkering Done Before Daddy’s Hit Squad Gets Here is a go.”

  “Do not call it that,” Emil begged.

  “Too late, it’s in the log,” Calder said, already scribbling something into a notebook.

  “You just said…” Emil began, then gave up.

  “Set her on the bench,” Calder instructed. “Put your hand on the casing. You two grind some cash and I’ll scrounge parts and start etching. If your tail tries anything cute, my wards will make her regret it.”

  “Your wards can stop her?” Emil asked.

  Calder considered this. Then he flashed a quick pulse of mana toward them, manually triggering their notifications.

  Calder Mojid

  Class: War Artificer — Lv. 32

  “Oh,” Luna breathed, awestruck.

  “Oh,” Emil echoed, with the hollow dread of a man who finally understood just how high the stakes really were.

  Calder grinned, showing an assortment of metal and ivory teeth.

  “I’m not going to kill a likely member of the Rogue Guild,” he said lightly, “but I can shut her out of my shop until we’re done here.”

  He slapped the workbench before running through a mental checklist.

  “Now. Gear on the table. Mana link active. Coins flowing. Let’s get to work.”