The dim hallway Kite and Felix stepped into was unlike the rest of the ship—it was narrower, more secluded, with walls paneled in aged brass and patches of dark oak. Faint pipes ran overhead, hissing with quiet steam, and tiny bulbs flickered along the ceiling, casting an amber glow that gave the corridor an almost secretive warmth.

  Symbols—half technical, half arcane—were etched faintly into the walls, pulsing now and again with subtle energy. It felt like stepping into the ribcage of some great mechanical beast.

  Kite’s wide green eyes scanned the surroundings with awe. “Whoa,” he muttered, spinning slowly in place. “This part of the ship looks like… a secret lab or something.”

  Felix smirked beside him, already fishing through the pocket of his vest. “Close. But cooler.”

  He held up a peculiar device between his fingers: the key. It was small, yet intricate—shaped like a cogwheel with three shifting layers that rotated independently, each layer engraved with tiny glowing runes. A crystalline shard pulsed faintly at its center like a miniature heartbeat.

  Kite leaned closer, eyebrows raising. “What is that?”

  Felix grinned and turned toward the large metal door at the end of the hall. “This, my friend, is the only key to paradise.”

  With a dramatic flourish, he inserted the device into the panel. The door let out a hiss of releasing pressure before the metal groaned and began to shift.

  It split into dozens of mechanical segments, sliding and folding inward like puzzle pieces until the entrance fully opened, revealing a room far larger than Kite expected.

  They stepped inside—and Kite’s jaw dropped. The workshop was colossal, a cavernous chamber humming with the mechanical heartbeat of invention.

  Conveyor belts snaked through the room like veins, some transporting scraps, others lined with half-built automata. Dozens of mechanical arms hung from the ceiling, steam-powered and rune-inscribed, each delicately adjusting gears, soldering wires, or gripping tools.

  Dusty tomes and blueprints were piled on cluttered tables, their pages yellowed and curling at the edges, filled with diagrams of inventions both brilliant and bizarre. Tiny robotic creatures—mouse-sized beetles with brass wings, glowing eyes, and purring gears—scurried across the floor and zipped through the air, chirping in binary tones as they completed minor tasks.

  Some darted past Kite’s worn shoes, others flew loops overhead. “This is insane!” Kite blurted, dashing ahead into the chaos. “It’s like a steampunk jungle gym!”

  Felix chuckled and made his way to a large central workbench. He stretched with a yawn, cracking his neck before unrolling a blueprint across the tabletop. The parchment was stained with oil and ink, its corners held down with metal bolts.

  On the blueprint was the detailed schematic of a canine automaton—sleek and angular, yet warm and noble in its design. The mechanical dog had gear-driven joints, flexible brass plating, and a soft, fur-like texture woven between the seams. Its tail was segmented, shaped like a whip with a lantern-like glow at the tip.

  Most striking of all was the glowing core embedded in its chest—an orb of raw arcane energy surrounded by interlocking rings. Felix’s expression softened as he stared at the image, the glint in his eye dimming slightly with something closer to sorrow.

  Behind him, Kite raced across the room with the nimbleness of a spider, creating small dust clouds with every step. His hands brushing over strange contraptions: a metal glove that sparked when he touched it, a pair of boots with rotating heels, and a small globe that floated upward when he tapped it, spinning with stars inside.

  “This place is so freaking magical,” he breathed. “I feel like a wizard’s gonna pop out at any second!”

  Felix kept his eyes on the schematic, smiling faintly. “Hey, slow down, tornado,” he finally called out.

  Kite froze, blinking, then jogged over to the workbench. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the drawing.

  Felix turned to face him, fingers tracing the lines of the blueprint. “It’s a dog. Or… it will be.”

  Kite tilted his head curiously. “Why? Is it for something?”

  Felix opened a drawer and pulled out a dull, metallic orb—the same shape as the core in the blueprint, but cold and lifeless. “This,” he said, lifting it slightly, “is a core. Every mechanical creature has one. It’s like… a heart. But also a soul, if the machine’s lucky.”

  Kite’s expression shifted into something more thoughtful. “So… if it has a soul, does that mean it’s alive?”

  Felix nodded slowly. “Some say yes. Most say no. But I think… if something can feel, remember, maybe even dream—then yeah. It’s alive.”

  Kite looked at the blueprint again. “Does this dog… mean something to you then?”

  Felix was silent for a long moment. Then he exhaled. “When Bastion mentioned the snowstorm earlier…” He paused, gripping the edge of the workbench. “He wasn’t wrong.”

  Kite nodded, recalling. “Sounded bad.”

  Felix looked down at the blueprint, his voice quieter now. “It was worse than bad. The storm wiped out almost my whole clan. Just me and a few others made it out.”

  Kite didn’t speak. He just listened.

  Felix’s gaze darkened. “I had an exo-suit. I survived the cold. But my dog didn’t.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the memory weighed more than he could bear. “He froze to death in my arms before anyone found me.”

  Kite looked down at the glowing heart in the blueprint, his chest tightening. Felix reached out, resting his hand on the page. “So I’m building him again. Not just for me… but for him. If there’s even a chance his soul’s still out there, maybe I can bring it home.”

  Kite stared, the usual spark in his eyes dulled by the ache in his heart. “…I’m gonna help you,” he said suddenly, voice firm.

  Felix blinked. “What?”

  Kite met his gaze with a small smile. “I don’t know how any of this works. But I’ll help! We’ll bring him back.”

  Felix’s lips parted, stunned. Then slowly, a smile bloomed. Felix chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head as he gave Kite a half-smirk. “Okay, okay, slow down. I don’t even know where to start.”

  But Kite was already gone—springing into the air with a nimble hop and landing near a towering bookcase across the room. Dust puffed from the floor beneath his worn down shoes as he skidded to a stop. “Don’t worry! I’m a quick learner,” he grinned, already rifling through the aged tomes lining the crooked shelves.

  The bookcase groaned as he tugged out volumes, muttering the names to himself. “Enchantments for Engineers… nope. Pyrotech Alchemy? Sounds flammable. A beginner’s Guide to Summoning Pocket Realms… huh, that’s weird.”

  Dust exploded into the air as he yanked a thick book free, sending him coughing and stumbling back. He landed squarely on his feet with a grunt, eyes watering from the sudden cloud.

  Felix walked over, dusting his gloves. “You alright?”

  “Yeah—” Kite started, but his voice trailed off as he finally looked down at the book in his hands. It was wrong.

  The book pulsed faintly in his grasp, cold despite the warmth of the workshop. Its cover was pitch black, made of some leathery material that looked far too organic. Veins of violet ink pulsed just beneath its surface like arteries, and a faint mist—dark and sour—leaked from its edges.

  A jagged symbol carved into the center of the cover resembled a cracked spiral eye, and the title hovered ominously just above it, shaped from curling tendrils of black smoke: “The Withering Vein: Studies in Anti-Magic and Qi Corruption.”

  Kite shuddered as a chill rippled across his skin. “This thing’s alive…” he whispered, voice barely audible.

  Felix’s eyes widened slightly as he gently took the book from him. “Yeesh. Should’ve warned you—some of these books bite back,” he said, sliding the tome back onto the shelf with a thud. “Be more careful. Magic and curiosity don’t always mix well.”

  Kite kept staring, the crawling sensation still lingering under his skin. “Anti-magic… is that what I think it is?”

  Felix hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Anti-magic’s the bad stuff. It’s a twisted force—feeds on qi, drains it, poisons it.”

  Kite blinked. “Qi?” He leaned back against a moving conveyor belt, the metallic rattle of gears and chugging trinkets humming beneath his weight as enchanted objects rolled past—little orbs with tiny wings, mechanical birds chirping soft binary tunes, even a bronze crab that clicked its claws with every step. "Is that some kind of magic too?"

  Felix chuckled as he turned back toward the shelf. “Not quite the same as magic. Qi’s what flows through all living things. It’s life itself—some call it vital energy, others call it breath or spirit. But most of us call it life force.” He grabbed a worn, thick book from another shelf and blew the dust from its spine.

  Kite tilted his head, watching curiously. “So people with powers… are they just born special?”

  Felix paused at the question, tapping the book’s cover. “Kind of. Every living being has qi, but not everyone awakens to it. Some go their whole lives without even feeling it. Others…” He smiled sheepishly and pointed at a large moving portrait of sorcerers grinning on the wall. “Get lucky.”

  He handed Kite the book. The cover was ancient but warm to the touch, bound in faded sky-blue leather and inlaid with silver thread shaped like wind patterns spiraling into a glowing sun sigil. The title shimmered in elegant gold ink: “The Breath of Worlds: An Introduction to Qi, Sorcery, and the Soul.”

  Kite held the book like it was made of glass. “I want powers too…” he muttered softly. “Is there a way to… I don’t know, unlock it?”

  Felix’s smile faded into something more somber. He folded his arms. “It’s not that easy. If it didn’t awaken naturally at birth… then yeah. You’d probably need to be pushed to the edge. A life-or-death situation. A lot of sorcerers first awaken their power when they’re about to die.”

  Kite’s eyes widened in intrigue. “Like… on the verge?”

  Felix nodded slowly. “Yeah. And let’s just say… that kind of awakening tends to leave scars.” Felix paused for a moment as his gaze shifted to the ground. “Those who do awaken tend to live very hard lives.” He added on quietly.

  Kite went quiet, staring down at the glowing sun emblem on the cover. His thumb brushed across it slowly as his thoughts turned inward. Ray must have lived a pretty rough life then…

  Felix caught the change in Kite’s expression and stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you’re smart. Maybe you won’t need to awaken. Maybe you’ll build something no one’s ever seen.”

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  Kite looked up. A quiet smile crept back onto his lips. “Yeah… I’ll just build cool gadgets instead.”

  Felix grinned and gestured toward the workbench. “Then let’s get started. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  They walked side by side back toward the table, dust kicking beneath their boots, laughter mixing into the warm hum of the workshop. But Kite’s gaze flicked back one last time—to the dark shelf where The Withering Vein sat waiting in shadow.

  All the time in the world to plan… Kite thought to himself And though his smile remained, a faint flicker of coldness passed behind his now hardened gaze.

  The workshop was quiet now, save for the occasional hiss of steam and the low ticking of ancient gears winding somewhere in the walls. The twin moons poured silver light through a tall arched window, bathing the room in a soft, ghostly glow that caught the metallic edges of the tools, the brass arms suspended from the ceiling, and the scattered piles of half-finished mechanisms.

  On the workbench, a mechanical canine lay partially complete—its form both elegant and mechanical, like a knight sculpted from brass and light. Gear-driven joints peeked from beneath layered, fur-textured plating that shimmered like spun copper in the moonlight. A flexible tail, segmented like a spine, curled gently at the edge of the table. Its tip glowed faintly, a lantern-like orb pulsing with warmth, casting an amber shimmer across the floor.

  Most striking of all was the glowing arcane core embedded in its chest—unfinished, flickering softly with latent energy. Interlocking rings hovered protectively around it like a gyroscope, whispering ancient energy through the air.

  Felix sat slumped in a stool beside it, his arms crossed over blueprints, his head resting on the edge of the bench. A quiet sigh slipped from his lips as he slept, the faintest of smiles curving his face.

  In his dreams, he was running again—barefoot across grassy fields beside a shaggy, barking blur of fur. The blue sky was clear, and laughter rang from voices long gone. His clan was whole. His home was warm. His dog was alive.

  Across the room, in the dim corner where the soft moonlight barely reached, Kite sat silently in a creaking chair. His arms rested on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the small object glowing in his hand.

  The device-key pulsed gently—an intricate little thing no larger than a cookie, shaped like a cogwheel with three constantly shifting layers. Each layer bore micro-etched runes that shimmered faintly with orange light, rotating independently like clockwork in a slow, hypnotic dance.

  At its center sat a shard of orange crystal, glowing softly like a miniature heart, its light illuminating Kite’s cheeks and casting ominous faint shadows over his brow.

  His green eyes glinted with that same orange hue, reflecting the key’s eerie glow. His expression was unreadable—thoughtful, perhaps, but hiding something deeper… something colder.

  Then—movement in the corner of his eye. Kite turned his head slowly, and his breath caught as two ghostly figures manifested from the shadows like memories given form.

  Anansi sat cross-legged atop the workbench beside him, her obsidian skin catching the moonlight like silk. Her many golden eyes shimmered beneath her hood, her braided web-hair swaying softly in some unseen breeze. Her smile, sly and sharp, twitched with unspoken amusement.

  Shango stepped forward from the darker end of the room, his massive form looming with the presence of thunder itself. His eyes glowed hot-white beneath his red warrior locks, his muscular frame cloaked in the shadow of his towering presence. His double-headed axe hovered behind him like a silent sentinel, its crimson lightning crackling faintly with contained fury.

  Kite gave them a smirk, leaning back slightly in his chair as he looked at Shango. “Finally warmed up to me yet, big guy?”

  Shango’s brow furrowed, his arms folding tightly across his chest. He didn’t answer immediately, but his disapproving scowl said enough. Anansi, meanwhile, chuckled with musical mischief, her many golden eyes sparkling.

  The thunder god turned his attention to Felix, watching him sleep at the workbench with a flicker of something like pity in his gaze. “Trickery is a dishonorable tactic,” he said gravely, “especially against those who have done no wrong.”

  Kite’s expression hardened slightly. He turned his eyes back to Felix—softly snoring, lost in dreams—and after a pause, he murmured, “He still sits here… while slaves rot in cages just beneath his feet. Maybe he didn’t put them there, but he lets it happen. That makes him guilty too.”

  Shango said nothing. Anansi tilted her head, her smirk growing with slight pride as her fingers twirled glowing silk between them. “You lean into the web far more naturally than the hammer,” she said with a purr of pride. “You understand how to bend the world instead of break it.”

  Shango scoffed. “Trickery is for the weak and the afraid.”

  Anansi raised a brow. “Says the one whose last champion exploded in a blaze of rage,” she teased with a mocking pout. “Remind me again—how many civilizations did he take out before his heart burst?”

  Shango’s nostrils flared. “He died like a warrior,” he growled. “Yours lost their mind to illusions.”

  “Mine simply wasn’t worthy,” Anansi replied softly, and though she smiled, something in her tone trembled—a faint echo of sadness buried beneath the mischief.

  Shango grunted in irritation and turned away, crimson sparks rolling across his shoulders. Kite chuckled, rising from his chair and dusting off his pants.

  “I could listen to you two bicker forever,” he said, walking over to a bucket filled with metal scraps and gears. “But I’ve got more important things to do. Like making some actual firepower.”

  Anansi perked up, her voice velvet-sweet. “Poison needles,” she offered slyly. “Silent. Deadly. Very you.”

  Shango straightened, puffing his chest. “Armor,” he declared. “A suit of enchanted plating—fire and lightning in every strike. And an axe. A true warrior’s weapon.”

  He turned to his hovering axe with a smirk of pride, its head flickering with arcs of ember and spark. “Like mine.”

  Kite paused at the scrap bin, hand resting on the edge as he thought. But then he shook his head slowly. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone,” he said quietly. “I just want to protect myself… and the people I care about.”

  Anansi let out a groan of disappointment, all six of her eyes rolling in dramatic unison. Shango crossed his arms again, clearly unimpressed.

  “You’ll never be strong if you hold back,” Shango muttered.

  “You’ll never survive if you don’t adapt,” Anansi shot back with a hint if disappointment in her voice.

  Kite didn’t respond. He just stood there in the moonlight, shadows flickering across his face, the faint hum of the twin moons casting long beams across the workshop floor. Behind him, the canine automaton’s core pulsed faintly—slow and steady, like a heartbeat in slumber.

  And high above, past gears and lanterns and suspended clockwork limbs, the silver light of the moons fell across the ancient book still tucked away in the shelf… waiting. The twin moons above filtered softly through the high arched window, their pale silver glow bathing the steampunk workshop in a quiet, dreamlike ambiance. The brass limbs hanging from the ceiling creaked faintly in the silence, shifting slightly with each lazy turn of the gears.

  Shadows stretched long across the floor, and the air was thick with the scent of oil, iron, and something older—magic. Kite stood still, his silhouette ghostly white in the moonlight, his slightly glowing eyes locked on the shelf where the cursed book rested. Its presence was impossible to ignore.

  The book pulsed darkly, cold despite the subtle warmth lingering in the workshop. Its pitch-black cover seemed made from leather far too organic—too alive. Veins of violet ink throbbed like arteries beneath the surface, slowly pumping some ancient, malevolent essence through its skin. From its edges leaked a sour mist, like whispers and rotted breath mingling in the dark.

  Its aura bled shadow into the air, extending in faint tendrils of dark smoke—reaching, tasting, almost yearning for the boy who watched it. The tendrils slithered lazily through the air, barely missing the glow of the moons, but hungrily drawn toward the faint, mortal pulse that was Kite.

  Kite exhaled slowly. “Anti-magic…” he whispered, barely louder than the ticking clockwork. “If I could harness it… I could take down any sorcerer. No matter how strong.”

  Shango and Anansi now stood in silence behind him, their spectral forms flickering in the pale moonlight. Kite lowered his gaze, opening his hand in front of him, studying the faint lines of his palm like they might hold the answers.

  “But…” he murmured. “Would it even be right? To use something so… wrong?”

  Anansi tilted her head, her many golden eyes gleaming dimly in the dark. “Perhaps,” she said, her voice as soft and dangerous as silk thread drawn across a blade, “the ends justify the means. You’re just a boy, after all. A mortal one. Playing in a world of gods and sorcerers.”

  Kite’s jaw tightened slightly at her words, the faintest furrow drawing across his brow as he tensed. Shango stepped forward then, his shadow falling over Kite like a looming mountain.

  “Anti-magic is a weapon of cowardice,” he rumbled. “To strip another of their gift… is to rob them of purpose. Power is not evil. It is a gift. A test. Face your obstacles, boy. Face them head-on, or remain unchanged. Remain weak.”

  His booming words echoed like thunder in the workshop. Anansi let out a scoff, but it lacked its usual bite. “Spoken like a hammer,” she muttered. “But… even hammers crack sometimes.”

  Kite didn’t respond right away. He simply stood in the moonlight, his small form radiant and pale—his hair silvered by the glow, his jacket flaring gently in the draft that whispered through the rafters. He looked like some angel out of place… standing at the edge of a black abyss that beckoned.

  The tendrils crept closer. And then—Kite stepped back. He clenched his fists, eyes closed for a moment as if drawing from some inner reservoir of certainty. The tendrils froze, inches away from his feet. The aura hissed.

  “I’ll do this my own way,” Kite whispered, and with that, he turned his back to the shadows. He strode across the room and dropped to a knee beside the scrap bucket.

  He reached in, his hands sifting through bits of rusted metal, frayed wires, and half-built gadget parts. The sound of clinking steel and ticking gears returned to the room—a humble sound, filled with purpose.

  Behind him, Shango stood still. His great arms folded across his chest again, but more loosely now. His white-hot eyes narrowed slightly, and after a long, contemplative moment, the faintest hint of a proud smile touched his lips—brief, but unmistakable.

  Anansi watched silently too, her many eyes unreadable. She sighed softly through her nose, her lips twitching at the edges. The two gods—opposites in every way—stood united in quiet admiration, if only for a breath, as they watched a boy refuse the darkness and choose his own path… not with fury, not with trickery, but with steady hands and a stubborn heart.

  The night had wrapped the workshop in silence, save for the gentle ticking of enchanted gears and the occasional creak of the ship’s wooden hull adjusting to the wind. Twin moons hung high above, their glow filtering through the tall arched window like spilled silver. That pale light painted long shadows across the cluttered floor, kissing the steel edges of forgotten gadgets and half-built wonders.

  Kite walked softly beneath that glow, arms filled with a mess of scrap metal, twisted wires, cracked lenses, and dusty gears. The moonlight made his jacket gleam faintly, his tousled brown curls lit in a soft silver hue. He stepped up to a small workbench tucked snug against the wall below the window.

  With a slow exhale, he dropped the pieces gently onto the bench—clink, clatter, creak. His hands hovered for a second before he leaned forward, bracing himself on the table. The boy’s green eyes scanned the mess, then drifted to the room around him.

  He searched for Inspiration. His gaze danced over strange inventions on shelves—hovering compasses and whispering music boxes, tools that sparked with dormant enchantment, little mechanical birds that chirped when the wind brushed past. Each invention was strange, beautiful… but none felt right.

  Kite’s brows furrowed. “No… not that. Not that either…” he muttered, pacing back and forth. Every spark of an idea burned out just as fast.

  Then—something tugged at his attention. A flicker of movement. Subtle. Soft.

  A single thread of glowing silk drifted lazily past his eyes. Kite blinked, his eyes following its shimmer up toward the moonlit window. There, nestled in the corner of the wooden frame, a pale spider sat.

  It was delicate, elegant. All white, with faint grey markings like soft smoke along its legs and back. Its eyes were small, round, and a ghostly white, like distant moons themselves. And around it was a woven web—a glimmering cradle of silk, where several tiny white baby spiders rested beside it.

  Kite stared, mesmerized. “It’s protecting them…” he whispered. His breath fogged slightly in the moonlight. “It looks… peaceful.”

  A small smile tugged at his lips, soft and genuine. His eyes warmed with something genuine—wonder.

  Inspired, Kite quickly reached for a tool. And then he began.

  Sparks hissed quietly in the stillness. The sound of delicate clockwork ticked softly as he bent over the bench, focused entirely. He rummaged through parts, sorting brass from bronze, stripping wire casings with gentle tugs.

  He shaped the limbs with a jeweler’s precision, every movement calculated yet full of boyish eagerness. As he worked, he glanced up often—watching the spider and her children as they slept, their threads swaying faintly in the breeze.

  Using a magnifying lens on an adjustable arm, he engraved faint grey markings into the spider’s snow-white plating, echoing the graceful designs on its living counterpart. The mechanical legs were thin and flexible, jointed like real limbs, with soft rubber tips for smooth movement.

  He gave it eight faintly glowing white eyes, tiny points of light, each flickering subtly like fireflies caught in snowfall. The body was rounded and light, with a soft sheen—not polished, but humble, like it was made to belong. To be loved

  The abdomen was shaped like a tiny bell, and inside it ticked a faint rhythm—powered by a hidden core no larger than a pebble. Its eerie glow a ghastly white.

  After nearly an hour of meticulous, focused work, Kite finally sat back, breathless. Sweat glistened on his brow. “Done,” he whispered.

  The spider slowly stirred. Its white eyes flickered—once… twice… then locked on Kite. He watched in silence, heart thumping with anticipation. The little automaton twitched its legs. It turned, glancing around in both confusion and curiosity at the strange mechanical world it had been born into.

  Then, slowly, it turned its gaze back to Kite. Kite smiled as he outstretched a hand. The spider hesitated—but then one of its legs gently tapped his outstretched hand.

  And with a twitchy sort of wobble, it clumsily crawled onto his palm. Kite giggled softly, breath catching in his throat. “You’re…” he whispered, “adorable.”

  The spider clicked faintly, glowing eyes narrowing as it examined its creator. Then it began to climb. Up Kite’s wrist, across his forearm, skittering gently along the sleeve of his jacket. Kite held his arm still, lifting it toward the window, toward the twin moons.

  “You’ll be my eyes… and ears,” he murmured, voice filled with quiet awe and reverence. His eyes becoming watery as though he were gazing upon a loved one. The spider stopped atop his shoulder. Listening intently.

  “My silent protector…” he smiled gently, cupping the little creature in his palm again, “my light in the darkness.”

  The spider’s glowing white eyes met his. And for a long moment, they simply looked at each other. Creator and creation. A promise unspoken.

  “…I’ll name you…” Kite said with a softness he hadn’t known he could speak in, as though naming something precious from another lifetime. “Salti.”

  The little spider blinked once. Then nestled its legs beneath its body, sitting peacefully in the center of Kite’s palm—content, as if she had waited a long time to hear that name.