After overcoming the flickering heat and the smell of burnt metal, Lorien finally lifted his soldering iron. He examined his newest invention from above, with Professor Arin Zenith standing right behind him.

  “I can see the improvement in the craftsmanship, especially in the aesthetic aspect…” the man muttered, twirling his long moustache.

  “You told me the board is very picky when evaluating students’ inventions, so I wouldn’t like to leave anything to luck.”

  Lorien’s ashen eyes stood sharp within the dim workshop light.

  “Regardless of what the board says, you should be proud of yourself. You have done quite well for someone so young, and you still have a long path ahead of you.”

  Lorien only nodded faintly at his mentor’s advice.

  The Engineering and Mechanics Board was a committee formed by three specialists who evaluated student prototypes to potentially support their development and even fund their serialization. However, the standards for approval were strict, resulting in many students spending years attempting to succeed—some never making it through whole.

  As for Lorien, he was about to become the youngest person ever to stand before the board. Still, he sought more than condescension.

  Several weeks after his encounter with Laplace, Lorien waited alongside some of his peers outside one of the main auditoriums. They were noticeably older and held their gadgets with hints of pride mixed with insecurity. Lorien sat with his prototype in his arms, his usual messy hair pulled back, his foot tapping constantly against the floor.

  Students gradually vacated the corridor until he remained the last. Only then did he stand, ready to face his three judges.

  He studied them as soon as he entered: a refined man wearing a top hat, the one connected to industry and factories; a woman with golden hair pulled back and thin glasses, a representative of the university’s administration; and lastly, a colleague of Professor Zenith who actively worked on investigations at the university.

  To Lorien, they resembled a three-headed dragon he had to confront if he wished to succeed.

  The board members studied him in return. Though they knew of him, they were still surprised by his youth.

  Standing beneath the auditorium light, Lorien tried to steady himself with controlled breathing, though the pressure threatened to swallow him.

  To his surprise, the woman with glasses spoke first.

  “Are you Lorien Heeler, correct?” she read from a paper, raising an eyebrow. “Fourteen years of age?”

  “That is… correct.”

  The man in the top hat leaned back with mild amusement, while the other leaned forward with interest.

  “You are Arin’s pupil. I have heard a great deal about you.”

  Lorien scratched the back of his head, searching for an appropriate response. “I hope that does not influence the examination…”

  The man chuckled, crossing his arms. “I assure you it will not.”

  Prompted to begin, Lorien placed the covered machinery on the table and removed the blanket.

  With one swift motion, the cloth fell aside, and the light gleamed against polished brass surfaces. The device had the shape of an arm—similar to his previous prosthesis designs—but functioned more as an exoskeleton than a replacement limb.

  The board members immediately noticed the craftsmanship.

  “Are you certain you received no assistance?” the man in the top hat asked, only for the investigator to interject. “Professor Arin Zenith can attest to that.”

  “Well then,” the woman adjusted her glasses, “you describe this as equipment designed for industrial use. Could you elaborate?”

  Lorien nodded and stepped closer to his invention.

  “The underground docks require workers to solder and construct structures over open voids, which can lead to accidents such as falling.”

  The industry representative chuckled, interrupting him. “I can assure you that is unlikely, though unfortunately not impossible.”

  Lorien remained firm. “Mobility around the shipyards is also an issue… at least from what I have heard. For those reasons, I designed this device.”

  He secured the metal arm over his right arm, adjusting it carefully.

  “The structure holds the arm firmly while minimizing strain on the joints. This system of valves, powered by a small combustion chamber, allows propulsion or retraction of this extendable component in multiple directions.”

  “In the manner of a grappling device?” the investigator asked.

  “Very much like one. The claw can extend significantly, assisting with climbing or crossing distances safely. It may also serve as a safety anchor at heights and, if activated at the right moment, prevent a fall.”

  “It appears somewhat impractical compared to existing safety tools,” the woman noted. “But I must ask—does it function?”

  “It does… I would demonstrate, but I would need to anchor to the ceiling—”

  “It is better if you do not—” she began, only to be interrupted by her colleague.

  “Engineering is not merely about creation, but also repair. Proceed, so long as you are confident in its safety.”

  Lorien swallowed and raised his arm. Pressing a trigger with his index finger activated the valves, which hissed sharply as the claw shot upward and embedded itself into the wooden ceiling. With additional pressure from his other fingers, he propelled himself two meters upward, then lowered himself smoothly.

  Releasing the trigger retracted the mechanism, allowing him to descend with controlled acrobatics—without danger.

  Despite his frailty, the execution was flawless, the result of extensive personal testing.

  The woman with glasses showed clear approval, as did the investigator. The man in the top hat remained cautious, though visibly impressed.

  Two against one, Lorien allowed himself a flicker of hope.

  “I appreciate the demonstration,” Zenith’s colleague began, “but a few concerns arise. The combustion chamber is resourceful, yet limited. How many uses does it allow before fuel depletion?”

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  “Only a few for now…” Lorien admitted quietly.

  “That limitation could be addressed with a battery and motor system,” the investigator suggested.

  “Which would increase cost significantly,” the man in the top hat countered. “It may not be viable for workers when cheaper safety alternatives already exist.”

  In truth, both arguments held weight.

  “There is also the matter of safety,” the woman added. “A combustion chamber within an arm could be catastrophic if it malfunctioned.”

  These were concerns Lorien himself had considered.

  “I can conduct further tests and improve safety measures… I would simply require proper resources…”

  The board exchanged uncertain looks.

  “Despite these concerns, you have presented a functional and inventive prototype,” the woman concluded. “Given your age, you have ample time to refine your ideas. In a few years, I am confident we can provide the support you seek.”

  Lorien’s gaze lowered slowly.

  In a few years…

  He concealed his disappointment and offered a respectful nod. “Thank you for… having me today.”

  The orange sun hovered above golden clouds, its warm light filtering through the faculty corridor. Lorien carried his invention in his arms, wrapped once more in cloth, his thoughts distant.

  After a deep breath, he opened his bag to store the mechanism. Yet his eyes remained fixed on the brass cube resting within.

  The birds pecked at their chests and wings as they stood against the rising currents. As usual, Lorien walked along the main street of the east port district, following the whistling winds. The avenue clung to the city’s edge like a ribbon of stone, humming faintly with the machinery beneath it. Beyond it, the world opened into a staggering view.

  Unlike the crammed tunnels and passageways of the underworld, the main avenue was wide enough for entire tides of pedestrians to sweep through. Iron poles stood at measured intervals along the cobbled stretch, and the occasional gondola shuttle hung from cables, tracing the air between distant rooftops.

  Lorien moved through the crowd with his eyes lowered, listening to the half-murmured echoes growing in his mind. Even so, Laplace’s words lingered clearly.

  The shadow had not appeared since, yet Lorien remembered that he would be watched closely. Though Laplace was absent, Lorien felt the weight of a presence upon him—subtle, untraceable, but slightly persistent to the point he considered it obsessive.

  After a while, he reached the alleyway that concealed the entrance to Low Liceas. This time, he remained above the surface, wanting only solitude—distance from the restless city. He stood on the damp cobblestones, staring at the rusted bolts and fragments in his left hand, and the brass cube in his right.

  After Larissa’s interruption, the shadow had spoken further about the “power to change the world” and how it might be enacted.

  “I’m still not sure how that is even supposed to work…” he muttered, inspecting the cube’s surface as though its secret might reveal itself naturally.

  “Not even I am aware of all its intricacies,” Laplace had confessed. “But if anyone can make it work, it would be none other than you.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Lorien had asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked up at the tall figure, only to be met with a grin.

  “How can you not?”

  Demons—if such beings existed—belonged to fables and sermons spun by the Church to keep people obedient. Yet he had been visited, and persuaded, by one.

  The power to turn rust into gold…

  Such a notion mocked logic itself. If anyone could turn waste into wealth, misery and famine would not exist. Yet poverty endured everywhere—even beneath the supposed gaze of gods.

  Lorien laid five rusted fragments along the wet, obscure floor and stepped back to examine them.

  This is stupid… What am I even trying to do?

  Yet the thought of abandoning the attempt—of leaving Laplace’s claim untested—kept him anchored in place. His curiosity had been stirred, along with his quiet insecurity about not knowing the deeper truth of the world.

  Still, he had no idea how to enact a miracle. He tried asking for it, as if the Vault—whose name he could barely pronounce—would obey his wish; but his plea dissolved into the wind.

  He shook the cube, pressed it to the ground, fidgeted with its strange contraptions, but nothing happened. Only his arm grew heavy with fatigue.

  The pigeons perched above tilted their heads, as if pitying him.

  Lorien frowned, irritated by Laplace’s deliberate vagueness. The implication that he alone could achieve such a feat felt absurd—almost laughable. In the end, he was only a human teenager, no sturdier than anyone walking the nearby streets. The idea of accomplishing the impossible seemed like a cruel joke.

  Yet he remembered his other self. The presence, the composure, the weight carried in those dimmed ashen eyes. The white sparks that manifested around him spoke of experience and burden alike. There had been something different—something undeniably special.

  Then, like a sudden flash of insight, Lorien recalled the demon’s words.

  Assimilation…

  If he were to become like that other self, could he possess what was necessary to realize his unformed ambitions?

  The horned devil turned away, concealing what had been an open expression, while hollow, knowing eyes lingered on Lorien’s realization with quiet obsession.

  Almost instinctively, the silver-eyed boy straightened, mimicking the stance of his other self. He held the Nebuchadnezzar’s Vault with similar resolve.

  “The power to change the world…” he repeated distantly, as if walking through sleep.

  But what would I truly do with such power? What do I actually want to change?

  For the first time, he confronted the question fully. It was not the magnitude of the power that overwhelmed him, but the emptiness within his own answer.

  If any dream could become real—any desire made manifest—what would it cost? What would it demand? Most people carried their ambitions near the surface: ideals, resentments, longings—selfless or selfish alike. Everyone had something.

  Lorien, however, lacked clarity. His heart, despite his discipline, lacked sufficient desire. His mind recoiled from the premise itself, unable to project a future. He faced an inner void as dark as the universal night.

  Strangely, he recognized that emptiness. It resembled the one that had preceded the vision. Though it faintly echoed Laplace’s shadow, he understood it as his own.

  In a way, it had been the world he chose to inhabit—a world of passivity, which he tried to counter with action. Yet routine and time had dulled him, softening his presence.

  Through earnest reflection, Lorien realized that any genuine change would have to emerge from that inner void—not from the abundance outside.

  With fragile clarity, he allowed his mind to drift into that darkness. Time blurred. Eventually, familiar shapes emerged—the five fragments lying ahead.

  To his surprise, he now perceived them in extraordinary detail, beyond the limits of ordinary sight. The vision mesmerized him. Beneath the rusted shells, intricate lattices unfolded—structures so fine they approached invisibility, yet shifted with quiet order.

  A faint shimmer passed through them now and then—subtle as breath. Though he knew it was not conscious, the only word that came to mind for such coherence was life.

  It was all there, within him—as if waiting to be remembered differently.

  Lorien lowered his head and tightened his grip on the cube.

  Maybe I still don’t know what I truly want… but I can attempt this small miracle.

  He followed the demon’s instruction, envisioning the fragments without rust—transformed into pure, glittering gold. The act felt uneventful, like recalling a childhood memory. The only difficulty lay in maintaining focus amid the mental turbulence.

  He expected nothing to occur, only hearing the low hum of the distant echoes.

  “For you to become the realization of my will.”

  Once he opened his eyes, the world would remain unchanged.

  But his eyelids lifted slowly—then widened in stunned disbelief.

  White sparks danced around him, swirling gently through the air. They encircled not only his body, but also the five fragments on the ground. Their forms wavered, dissolved, and transformed into clusters of golden dust.

  Lorien stared in awe. Somehow, without much understanding, he had altered the world around him.

  He glanced about to ensure no one had witnessed it. Only the startled pigeons took flight, scattering into the sky.

  Yet the miracle had not manifested as he imagined. The scraps had lost their shape, reduced to delicate, shimmering ash.

  Before he could step closer, a sudden gust of wind rushed through the alley, lifting the golden particles into the air. The dust scattered like a glittering storm, reflecting the light like a thousand fireflies.

  Lorien watched in silent wonder, instinctively trying to gather what little remained on the damp floor.

  The rest drifted upward, carried away by the wind, vanishing into the sky—as though nothing had just unfold.