The factory trembled, its hum a beast’s st gasp as Elias gripped the chisel tight. Steam cloaked the night, thick with fate’s weight, the timers’ red glow a fading pulse in his mind. His breath hung short—the bst was near, a reckoning he’d staked all to see. Thomas stood close, eyes sharp, their bond a thread through the haze.

  “Now,” Elias rasped, thumb on the trigger. The ground bucked—a roar tore the dark, fmes cwing skyward, steel shrieking as it split. The engines fell, their iron reign rent, a wound no forge could mend. Pain seared his side, a shard’s bite, yet he stood, the bze a mirror to his will.

  The air cleared, smoke curling like ghosts of the crushed—his father, d, all who’d bled. Elias staggered, blood warm on his ribs, the chisel notched deep in his grasp—not craft’s tool now, but a mark of their stand, its edge their final cry. The factory y broken, a husk unbowed no more.

  Thomas caught him, steady as stone. “It’s done,” he said, voice rough with awe. Elias met his gaze, the field’s toll heavy—lives gone, yet a spark held. He saw his father’s gre, fierce in death, and felt the d’s hammer, cold no more—a fire they’d lit, beyond this ruin.

  His knees gave, breath a fading thread, the bze dimming in his eyes. “Carry it,” he gasped, hand weak on Thomas’s arm. The chisel slipped, its weight their vow—men who’d fought, unbent by steel. Thomas nodded, face set, a torch passed in the dark.

  Elias fell, the night cold, yet peace crept in—pain eased, the roar stilled. He’d struck for the crushed, for craft’s soul machines couldn’t cim. As shadows took him, Thomas stood tall, the fme alive in his grip. The st craftsman faded, but their will endured—a spark no iron could quench, bzing for hands yet to rise.