I swing my legs off the bed, letting the mechanical leg bear me carefully. It whirs softly and settles on the floor. Each movement feels awkward at first—the balance, the rhythm—but it holds.
The kitchen smells like warm bread and broth. Lilia sets a bowl of stew in front of me. "Eat," she says. "You'll need it if you want to keep moving."
I dig in slowly. Henry sits across from me, arms crossed, watching with that steady, calculating gaze he always carries. "Eat fast. We've got work for you afterward. You'll need strength before you try moving that leg more seriously."
I finish half the bowl, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I'm ready," I say.
Lilia stands, gathering a small toolkit. "After you eat, we'll adjust the leg. A few tweaks, make sure it responds smoothly. Henry will help you with balance afterward."
"Balance," I repeat quietly. The word feels heavy, like a small challenge already.
Henry sets a wooden block on the floor. "Walk from here to that bench. Slow and steady.
Keep your shoulders loose."
I start, counting my steps silently. The leg clicks faintly with each movement. Lilia keeps a hand near my elbow, steadying me if I falter.
Halfway across the room, a cart rattles past—somebody else working in the back. I flinch, almost lose balance, but the mechanical leg adjusts. Lilia squeezes my arm lightly. "Good. Again."
I take another pass. This time, the steps feel a little smoother. The hydraulics hiss softly, but I can almost forget it's not mine. Henry watches, arms crossed, brow furrowed. He doesn't say anything, but when I finish a fifth pass, he nods once—subtle, but it counts.
"Not bad," he mutters. "We'll push you a bit more each day. Anything hurts—say so. Don't hide it."
I nod, catching my breath. The workshop smells of grease, oil, and the faint tang of iron. Sunlight filters through high windows, glinting off brass pipes and copper tubing. Steam rises from a few vents, curling lazily into the air, carrying the city's hum through the room.
Lilia wipes my palm with a rag, cleaning off the grime from my attempts at balance. "Tomorrow, we attach a stabilizer to the boot. Then we'll try carrying small loads. Step by step."
I glance toward the window. The city stretches out below, towers spiraling upward, smoke curling from chimneys, airships drifting between the buildings. A faint whistle sounds in the distance, a long, low sigh, and the streets bustle with people—some walking, some on vehicles powered by steam.
I shift my weight again, letting the leg carry me forward. Step by careful step. The more I move, the less I feel like I'm being pulled off balance. It's subtle, but progress.
Lilia picks up a small metal box from a shelf. "Try picking that up while walking to the bench. Nothing heavy yet. Just coordination."
I bend carefully, gripping the edges, and lift. The box feels solid, but not too heavy. I start across the room, steps slow and deliberate. The leg hisses softly with each bend, but I make it to the bench without tipping or losing the box.
Henry watches quietly, then mutters, "Not perfect, but you're learning."
Lilia smiles faintly, the first real expression that isn't measured or cautious. "Tomorrow, a heavier box. You'll manage."
We repeat the exercise a few more times, each pass slightly faster, slightly smoother.
Every time I wobble, Lilia steadies me. Every time I succeed, Henry doesn't praise loudly—just a grunt or a small nod.
—-
By late morning, sweat gathers at my hairline. The leg still hums beneath me, but it's no longer foreign. I can feel the rhythm of it now—the way it reacts, compensates, and supports me.
Henry finally claps his hands once. "Enough for today. We'll take it slower tomorrow."
Lilia sets down a towel and a fresh mug of water. "Drink. You've earned it."
I bend forward, sipping water, then glance at my leg. Steel and brass, wires and pistons, but moving exactly the way it should. It doesn't feel like a replacement anymore—not fully. It feels like part of me.
Henry claps me on the shoulder. "Kid, don't get cocky. That leg saves you. That's all it needs to do for now."
I nod. No words. Just the steady hiss of hydraulics and the quiet murmur of the workshop. Outside, the city breathes. Inside, I take another careful step forward.
—-
By late afternoon, the workshop quiets down. The hiss of steam softens, tools sit in their places, and the faint smell of oil and metal lingers in the air. I sit on a low stool, flexing the mechanical leg, testing small movements, feeling the joints respond.
Henry leans against the workbench, arms crossed. "Not bad for your first real day. You didn't collapse, and you didn't break anything important." He grunts, half-smile tugging at his mouth. "Could be worse."
I give a small shrug, still breathing a little hard. "Feels… different," I admit. "But it works. Better than I thought."
Lilia sets a small cup of tea in front of me. "You did well," she says while smiling at me.
I nod, taking a sip. The warmth spreads through my chest, a small comfort after the tension of the morning.
Henry grunts again. "Don't get used to praise, kid. We're not a nursery. But… keep moving like this, and you might survive around here."
Lilia watches me carefully, her expression softening slightly. "Tomorrow, we start earlier. The stabilizer goes on, and then we add some small boxes for coordination. You'll get stronger faster than you think."
I glance down at my leg, then back at both of them. The day has been long, and my muscles ache in ways I haven't felt in months, but I can feel something settling inside me. A rhythm, maybe. A routine.
Henry nods toward the doorway. "Go clean up. Dinner's not ready yet, but you'll want something when it is. Don't wander off."
I rise, letting the leg bear my weight without hesitation. It hums softly, steady now, almost like it's part of me. Lilia follows, guiding me toward the stairs, but lets me walk on my own.
As I reach the small room upstairs, the sunlight fading, I glance back at the workshop. The smell of metal and oil, the low hum of machinery—it feels quieter somehow, like it's waiting for me.
And for the first time since I woke up in this world, I feel… less like a stranger.