The sewer tunnels of Ashrift were the kind of place where light went to die.
Rusted pipes hummed faintly with mana flow, and the air reeked of oil, mold, and rusted dreams. But to Kance, it was perfect — quiet, hidden, alive with potential.
Seven years had passed since he woke in this city's underbelly.
Seven years of scavenging, scheming, and building.
The boy who once awoke in tattered clothes was no longer weak.
Now, at fifteen, Kance's eyes gleamed with a calculating light — sharp, deliberate, and full of something the slums had long forgotten: purpose.
And beside him, crouched on a pile of metal scrap, was Lyra Sol — still stubborn, still loud, still the one person in Ashrift who could make Kance look up from his work.
"Hey, genius," Lyra said, tossing him a broken mana conduit. "That's the last one from tonight's haul. I nearly lost my hand getting it from those thugs."
Kance caught it without looking. "You should've been more careful."
"Me? You're the one who told me to get it!" she shot back.
Kance only smirked. "And yet you succeeded."
Lyra rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. Their friendship wasn't like others — it was built on necessity, on long nights stealing from scrapyards and dodging guards, on whispered plans and near-death escapes.
It all began with her idea.
She had shown him her "hideout" years ago — a maze of sewers and old tunnels beneath Ashrift where she had stored stolen junk. To her, it was a secret stash.
To Kance, it was a laboratory waiting to happen.
He worked tirelessly there, piecing together old metal and mana cores, combining lost human science with the strange power of this world.
Lyra once joked, "You're like a god trying to fix a toy."
But to Kance, this wasn't a toy — it was survival. It was revenge.
Tonight, as the faint glow from his tools filled the room, Kance stared at the object before him — a towering metal frame suspended by thick chains. Wires glowed faintly blue, veins of mana pulsing through every part. It was incomplete, but alive.
His mech suit — his rebirth.
The AI's familiar monotone echoed inside his mind:
> Core Stabilization: 100%. Neural synchronization ready for testing.
Kance exhaled softly. "Finally."
He placed his hand on the cold metal. The faint vibration under his palm was the sound of a dream nearing completion.
Lyra watched quietly. "Seven years," she whispered. "You've been obsessed with that thing for seven years."
He didn't look at her. "It's more than a thing. It's proof."
"Proof of what?"
Kance's gaze hardened. "That even in a world of magic, science can still defy gods."
Lyra tilted her head. "You really hate them, huh?"
He paused, his hand still on the mech. "No… I don't hate them."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "I just plan to remind them they can bleed."
Their lives had become a rhythm — steal, build, test, repeat.
Lyra had taught him the art of vanishing — how to blend in with the crowd, how to distract, how to steal without being seen. At first, Kance found it barbaric.
But after a few close calls with the guards, he realized — survival required adaptation.
So he adapted.
Together they became infamous in the slums — two shadows who raided scrapyards and warehouses, stealing parts, mana shards, and old tech. They left no trace, no names, just whispers.
Until tonight.
"Lyra," Kance said suddenly, his tone sharp. "You're certain no one saw you?"
She looked offended. "Please. I've been doing this longer than you've been building your tin can."
Kance's eyes flicked toward a flickering mana lamp near the tunnel entrance. Its light stuttered once… twice. Then went dark.
Lyra's grin faded. "Wait… that's not—"
Thud.
The faint sound of boots echoed down the tunnel.
Not just one pair — many.
Lyra's voice dropped to a whisper. "No way… they tracked us?"
Kance straightened slowly, his mind racing. "Describe the guards again."
"You know, the usual—tough-looking idiots with fancy armor—"
But before she could finish, a blinding blue light filled the corridor.
Figures emerged — armored men bearing the sigil of the Ashrift Enforcement Division, their weapons humming with mana.
At their front stood a tall guard, his sheath glowing faintly with restrained energy. He smirked, looking between Kance and Lyra.
"Well, well. The little rats we've been hearing about," he said. "You've been quite busy."
Lyra instinctively stepped in front of Kance. "You got the wrong people!"
The guard chuckled. "Funny. Because the reports mentioned a girl with messy hair and a kid who talks like a scholar."
Kance's expression stayed calm, but his mind was already scanning every possible escape route. His AI whispered quietly inside his head:
> Suit activation possible. Warning: incomplete shell. Power output unstable.
Lyra hissed under her breath, "Kance, what now?"
He met her gaze — steady, unreadable. "We adapt."
The guards drew closer, their mana pressure filling the room like a storm. One of them unsheathed his sword, and blue light flared from its edge.
Kance's pulse quickened. The hum of his mech core echoed behind him like a heartbeat. Seven years of work, of stolen pieces, of silent nights — and now, this was their test.
The lead guard tilted his head mockingly. "Last words, thieves?"
Kance's lips curled into a faint smile. "Yes."
He turned slightly, eyes gleaming with cold precision. "You shouldn't have come here."
And with that, the air around the tunnel began to vibrate — the faint sound of metal awakening, the mech's eyes flickering to life with blinding light.
Lyra took a step back, her heart pounding. "You're not—wait—Kance!"
But Kance had already made his decision.
The sleeping dragon beneath Ashrift was about to roar.