Chapter 59 – Volatile Currents

  Narrator Voice

  Dawn crept over Novastra like a cautious thief, the first light filtering in through the frost-laden trees. Raven led Seven back through the imposing barracks gates, their silhouettes framed against the burgeoning sky. They moved in silence, the crunch of snow beneath their boots punctuating the stillness that enveloped the early morning. A deep sense of kinship had grown between them—an unspoken bond forged by shared challenges and tribulations—but respect alone was insufficient armor against the perils beyond their sanctuary.

  Beyond the sturdy walls of Novastra lay a world as beautiful as it was treacherous, where the serene landscapes masked the dangers lurking beneath the surface. Congealing snowstorms masked both creatures and the haunting whispers of the untamed wilderness. The War Rabbit Guild had trained its recruits rigorously, instilling a sense of vigilance and caution rooted in a pragmatic understanding of survival. Yet for Seven, stripped of his past and pieced together like a puzzle made of scars and numbers, those lessons remained ghostly echoes—practical concepts yet to transform into visceral realities.

  The Wild Magical Beasts that roamed the desolate outskirts were a threat to anyone who dared venture too close. Tall and sinewy, their forms blended seamlessly with the jagged terrain, and their eyes gleamed with predatory instinct. But it was the whispers of graver entities that ignited a primal fear among Novastra’s inhabitants—the Neko Titans. These towering behemoths, standing sixty to ninety feet tall, carried an air of majestic menace. Their feline ears twitched, sharp and alert, above faces that bore an uncanny resemblance to humanity, while tails flicked like the whips of vengeful spirits. They roamed the land with a predatory grace, their colossal size matched only by the dense mana that clung to them, warping the very air and casting unsettling shadows across the snowy plains.

  To the people of Novastra, the Neko Titans were monsters woven from nightmare and folklore, endowed with voices that could stir the earth itself, their laughter resonating through the winds like a chilling prophecy. Their presence served as a grim reminder that safety was an illusion, a fragile facade threatened by the inescapable whims of fate. Indeed, even the mightiest of War Rabbits, their stature impressive at ten feet, would hardly rival the towering threats that lay in wait.

  Every morning, as the sun ascended over the horizon, the Guild instilled in its recruits an essential tenet: height does not dictate the battle's outcome—adaptation does. In the shadow of the Neko Titans, they honed their skills, learning to perceive their surroundings not as static threats but as dynamic elements of a constant struggle for survival. Each lesson was a brushstroke on the canvas of their training, painting a narrative of resilience, flexibility, and ingenuity. For Seven, those lessons were not merely about facing the looming giants—they were about finding his own strength within the frailty of his newly forged identity. In the heart of Novastra, amidst the clang of metal and the whispers of the wind, a path toward understanding was emerging, beckoning him onward into the uncharted territory of his future.

  Bloomreach 13, 200

  The First Arm

  The forge buzzed with energy, filled with the familiar scent of ozone and warm iron. Brinley Gearwhistle stood confidently on a stool, her goggles pushed back into her silver-streaked hair as she expertly adjusted the socket clamps on Seven’s prosthetic stump. The rhythmic hissing of sparks danced around her, blending with the enchanting hum of rune-lined steel in her little workshop.

  “This frame features reinforced channels,” she informed him with enthusiasm, tightening a bolt with precision. “And the runes are stronger, too! Remember, don’t unleash your mana like a boisterous tavern-goer rushing through the door! Imagine a calm river—gentle and controlled, not a dam bursting at the seams!”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Seven took a deep breath, centering himself as he focused on the new prosthetic. It clicked into place, and for a brief moment, everything felt right. His fingers flexed, and he balled a fist, striking the training dummy with a forceful blow that echoed through the room, splintering wood and sending shards scattered across the floor like confetti.

  But then, the arm faltered. A whine filled the air as it spasmed, the channels flaring dramatically bright. Smoke curled from the joints before the arm went lifeless in his socket.

  Seven stared at the drooping fingers, his disappointment palpable. “I barely touched it.”

  Brinley broke into a fervent exclamation as she swiftly unhooked the malfunctioning arm. “This isn’t just about control—your mana is wild! Think of it like trying to bottle a lightning storm in a tiny teacup!”

  A sense of emptiness settled back in as she placed the damaged prosthetic onto the bench. Seven instinctively rubbed at his bare shoulder, a hint of frustration etched on his features.

  Fast forward a week: it seemed the situation hadn’t improved.

  Today, Seven leaned against Brinley’s workbench in the engineering wing, yet another charred arm laid between them, the smell of burnt crystal still heavy in the air.

  “Is my mana really that unstable?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t even manage a normal arm?”

  Brinley rubbed her temples in thought before activating a floating diagnostic crystal above the bench. Its surface lit up with jagged spikes—chaotic and erratic.

  “Unstable is putting it lightly! Most people have a clear stream of mana, but you? You’re more like a lightning strike! There’s no frame out there that can handle that kind of power for long.”

  Seven grimaced, a mix of determination and frustration in his gaze. “So, what am I supposed to do? Fight half-blind?”

  Brinley paused, a spark of inspiration lighting up her expression as her ears perked up and a broad smile broke across her face. “Wait—what if instead of trying to suppress your power, we channel it?”

  Seven cocked his head curiously. “Channel it?”

  “Exactly! Like a capacitor!” She grabbed a sketch board and quickly began drawing runes. “We can create an Aether Core—an empty casing embedded in the arm. It’ll soak up the excess mana, allowing it to bleed out slowly and balance those wild spikes. Until you master your mana, this might be your best shot at using a bionic arm without it burning up!”

  From the other side of the room, Luro’s deep voice chimed in, his focus still on tuning the Nameless Wing Rifle. “Brinley’s onto something here. No frame can withstand raw voltage—if you need it to last, it must be built to handle the lightning!”

  Seven regarded Brinley with cautious optimism. “…And if it doesn’t work?”

  She flashed him a playful, crooked grin. “Then you’ll just have to punch another hole in my wall. Again!”

  With that, the atmosphere buzzed with new possibilities, and Seven felt a flicker of hope igniting once more.

  The door swung open, and in walked Miss Hopps, her striking red hair glowing warmly in the forge light. Her commanding presence instantly hushed the bustling workshop. With her keen crimson eyes, she surveyed the scene—Seven’s empty socket, Brinley’s scattered notes, and the charred remnants of a prosthetic.

  “Give me the update,” she requested with focused intent.

  Brinley quickly straightened up. “We encountered issues with the standard models. I suggest we integrate an empty Aether Core into the frame. This will redirect the excess mana instead of suppressing it.”

  “What's the timeline?” Hopps inquired, her tone steady.

  Brinley hesitated for a moment. “At the earliest, about a month. Yumi will have to craft the housing. I wish I could promise sooner.”

  Hopps clicked her tongue, contemplating the urgency. “The survival trials commence in just two months, and the matches against the veterans are approaching fast. We’re really up against it.” Her gaze shifted to Seven, unwavering. “You’ll continue your training—arm or no arm. Focus on mana control, endurance, and adaptability. If you collapse again, no prosthetic will save you.”

  Seven stood a bit taller under her intense gaze, his jaw set. “Understood.”

  Miss Hopps lingered for a moment before pivoting to leave. “Alright then. Let’s not waste the Guild’s time. Either of you.” The echo of her boots faded as the heavy door shut behind her.

  Brinley and Seven exchanged glances, the silence stretching between them until Brinley released a relieved breath, slumping onto her stool. “Well… no pressure.”

  Seven sighed, rubbing his temple. “So, it’s possible I won’t even have an arm before the trial.”

  Brinley shot him a playful grin. “No guarantees, but maybe you’ll learn to work with your mana instead of against it. You’re not broken, Seven—just a diamond in the rough.”

  He chuckled softly, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  She winked, adjusting her goggles. “Depends—do you like being compared to a lightning storm?”

  For the first time that day, a genuine smile threatened to break through Seven’s seriousness.