The next morning, Emberlight felt different.
Maybe it was him. Maybe it was the city.
But the air itself seemed to listen.
Gizmo sat in the square outside Bendrak's shop, tinkering with a broken clock
someone had tossed away. Each tick he repaired was like a heartbeat rejoining
a melody.
"You're getting restless," Bendrak said from the doorway, folding his arms.
Gizmo didn't look up. "Restless is my default state."
The dwarf snorted. "Then you'll fit right in with the rest of us doomed
geniuses."
They shared a silence only craftsmen understood — one made of respect and
exasperation.
Later that day, Gizmo followed the hum again.
It led him beneath the Foundry Quarter — through tunnels that smelled of heat
and old stone.
He carried his tools, the Orb casting soft light ahead. The further he went, the
louder the resonance grew. It wasn't just machinery; it was alive.
He found a door sealed by rune-slag, the same spiral pattern he'd seen in the
mountain. His pulse quickened.
"Déjà vu, old friend," he whispered to the Orb.
He pressed his bracer to the door. The runes pulsed, recognizing him. A hiss of
air. The lock released.
Inside was an abandoned forge — smaller than the mountain's, but built in
imitation of it. Runes cracked with neglect. Tools lay rusting.
And on the far wall, etched into bronze, a symbol he hadn't seen since his
nightmares: the spiral inside the eye.
His fingers twitched. The Orb flared once, uncertain.
He stepped closer. "They built this here," he murmured. "Someone
remembered."
Something stirred behind him.
A noise — soft, deliberate.
He spun, wrench in hand.
From the shadows stepped Kaelira, her cloak drawn back, runic sword at her
side.
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
"Neither should you," he countered.
Her eyes flicked to the Orb. "That thing shouldn't exist."
He smiled faintly. "And yet here we are."
The silence between them crackled with tension — curiosity, suspicion,
something more primal. The air smelled of oil and ozone.
She tilted her head. "You're not afraid."
"Of you?" He shrugged. "You seem competent. If you wanted me dead, I'd
already be art."
She blinked. "You think this is a game?"
"Everything's a game," he said. "I just prefer to play smart."
The Orb pulsed again — brighter now, responding to her sword's faint hum.
Two instruments in the same key.
Kaelira stepped closer. "Where did you get it?"
He hesitated. "A mountain. A forge. A very bad idea."
She studied him, eyes sharp but not cruel. "You sound like Thalos."
Gizmo's heart skipped. "You knew him?"
"I studied under him," she said softly. "Before the Guild silenced his work."
He stared. The world tilted.
Then a sound ripped through the silence — metal tearing, walls groaning. The
forge shuddered. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Something was coming awake.
They turned together as the old machinery flared back to life — gears
grinding, runes screaming.
A figure unfolded from the corner, all rust and magic and hate: a half-sentient
golem, eyes burning with Shaper fire.
"Not friendly," Gizmo said.
Kaelira raised her sword. "Good. I need practice."
The fight was a dance of sparks and motion.
She darted between its blows, runes flaring. Gizmo scrambled to rewire fallen
conduits, redirecting power lines toward the golem's chest. The Orb lit up,
humming like a tuning fork.
"On my mark!" he shouted.
"Now!" she answered.
He slammed a lever. The conduit exploded in a burst of blue light. The golem
froze mid-step, then shattered — shards of brass falling like rain.
When the echoes faded, they stood in the silence of their own making.
Kaelira sheathed her sword. "You improvise well."
"Occupational hazard," Gizmo said, wiping soot from his goggles. "You swing
a mean sword."
She smirked. "Comes with tuition."
He extended a hand. "Gizmo."
"Kaelira."
The Orb pulsed between them like a shared heartbeat.
For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone.
(End of Chapter Three)