Aras wandered through the narrow alleys of Silverhaven, where the air was filled with the scent of oil, iron, and burning coal. The city's older district had an almost forgotten charm, its cobblestone streets cracked by time and steam vents hissing from beneath the ground. As he turned a corner, he heard a rhythmic clanging — the sound of metal striking metal with purposeful precision.
Drawn by curiosity, he followed the sound until he reached a worn-down workshop with faded brass pipes snaking along its stone walls. Above the heavy wooden door hung a weathered sign:
"Master Orrik – Technology and Clean Work."
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of heated metal and burnt dust. Tools of strange design hung from every wall. At the workbench stood a short, elderly man — soot-smudged face, fiery grey hair sticking out from under his goggles, and a hammer still smoking from recent use.
Without turning around, the old man grumbled,
"Kid, either you're buying something, or you're walking back out. My time's not cheap."
Aras stepped closer, eyes scanning the intricate mechanisms cluttering the tables.
"These devices… They fascinate me. How do these steam-driven machines even work?"
Orrik let out a scoffing laugh but, catching the sincerity in Aras's eyes, paused. He set his tool down with a sigh and turned around, his expression shifting from annoyance to mild interest.
"Look, boy. That's not just any steam engine. Inside it lies a Thermal Crystal, an invention of the old elven engineers. It converts heat into pure electrical current."
Aras blinked, astonished.
"You mean... technology and magic can work together?"
Orrik nodded solemnly and reached for a worn parchment from a drawer behind him. The sketch showed an elaborate machine glowing with arcane lines.
"Of course they can. Long ago, elves and dwarves worked side by side to build wonders. But now…" He lowered his voice. "Now everyone just wants to turn them into weapons."
He walked to a locked chest and retrieved a small iron box, placing it gently into Aras's hands.
"To open this, you'll need magic. If you've got elven blood in you… it should respond."
The moment Aras touched it, he felt a strange warmth spread through his fingertips. The box clicked and slowly opened, revealing a soft blue light that shimmered like liquid starlight.
Orrik's eyes widened.
"So… you are the son of Elira Yashira."
Aras froze.
"You know my mother?"
"Of course I do! We used to…" Orrik stopped abruptly and turned toward the window. Night had fallen, shadows creeping into the room.
"It's late. Go home, boy. Come back tomorrow, and I'll show you how the Crystal Pulse Generator works."
The sky was navy blue and dotted with early stars as Aras walked home, his thoughts racing. The streets of Silverhaven now seemed alive with secrets. As he reached the doorstep, Elira opened the door, eyes narrowing.
"Where were you? And why is your face covered in soot?"
Aras hesitated, about to speak of Orrik and the blue light, but Elira cut in sharply.
"Orrik… it's best you stay away from him. He—"
A loud knock shook the door. A voice shouted from outside:
"By order of the Consulate! All technological inventions are to be confiscated!"