The library was a testament to ancient craftsmanship. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, their stone surfaces carved with intricate patterns that caught what little light filtered through narrow windows. Bookshelves lined the walls, some still standing proud, others collapsed into piles of stone and parchment. The air hung heavy with the scent of aged paper and leather bindings.

  In the center of the room stood a massive stone table, its surface worn smooth by countless hands over centuries. Edda, Ironha, and Marron were gathered around it, their faces illuminated by several small oil lamps. They leaned over a collection of weathered tomes, so engrossed they didn't notice Doc's arrival.

  "Found something interesting?" Doc asked, approaching the table.

  All three heads snapped up simultaneously. Marron's hand instinctively moved to cover the page they'd been examining.

  "Doc," Edda straightened, her aristocratic bearing evident even in her simple clothes. "We didn't hear you return."

  "Just got back," Doc replied, glancing at the books spread across the table. "You three seem dedicated. Been at this a while?"

  Ironha brushed a strand of silver hair from her face. "Since dawn. These texts are... unusual."

  "Unusual how?" Doc moved closer, examining the faded illustrations visible on the nearest page—intricate diagrams of what appeared to be energy flows through architectural structures.

  Marron gestured expansively. "They're older than anything I've encountered in my travels. Possibly ancient, if the binding techniques are any indication."

  "The language is unlike any current dialect," Edda added, tracing her finger along lines of angular script. "I studied old texts during my... previous life, but this is beyond my knowledge."

  Doc leaned closer, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar characters. The writing system appeared to use a non-linear arrangement, with symbols flowing in spiraling patterns rather than straight lines.

  Preliminary analysis suggests a logographic writing system with approximately 340 distinct characters, Lux observed privately. With sufficient samples and contextual reference points, I could potentially develop a translation matrix.

  "Can you read any of it?" Doc asked, keeping his voice casual.

  Ironha shook her head. "Not directly. But the illustrations provide context." She pointed to a detailed drawing of what appeared to be a gateway structure, remarkably similar to the dormant portal they'd discovered in another section of the temple.

  "We're piecing together meaning through the diagrams," Marron explained, his merchant's eyes bright with the excitement of discovery. "Like traders learning to barter in foreign lands without knowing the language."

  Edda studied Doc's face carefully. "What about you, Doc? Could you decipher any of this?"

  Doc kept his expression neutral as he examined the text. "Maybe, with time. Pattern recognition is... something I've worked with before."

  The three exchanged glances, clearly surprised by his response.

  Careful, Lux cautioned. That statement borders on revealing technological capabilities beyond this world's framework.

  Edda looked like she wanted to press further, but instead nodded slowly. "Well, any insights would be welcome. These texts might explain the temple's purpose—and possibly how to activate the gateway."

  "What brings you to the library, anyway?" Marron asked, changing the subject. "Looking for something specific?"

  "Actually, yes." Doc straightened, relieved at the shift in conversation. "I need materials for drafting—parchment, charcoal, anything I can use to draw up plans. It's time I built myself a new arm."

  "I knew you said you would be building yourself an arm," Ironha said, her silver eyes widening, "but I didn't think it would be so soon. You've only just returned."

  Doc shrugged his left shoulder. "No point delaying. One-armed explorers tend to explore less efficiently."

  Ironha hesitated, then asked, "Would it be possible for me to... observe the process? As a healer, I've never seen anything like what you're proposing."

  Doc considered this request. Having a local healer present might actually prove useful. He had no idea how this world's magic system might interfere with his technology. What if the ambient magical energy affected the neural interfaces? Or if his body rejected the prosthetic due to some metaphysical incompatibility?

  "You're welcome to join," he said. "I just need to draft the blueprint first. Carl and Dulric will probably help with the actual construction."

  Marron looked up from the ancient text, his merchant's curiosity piqued. "Is replacing a limb... common where you're from?"

  The question triggered a cascade of memories. Doc recalled the gleaming medical centers on Nexus Prime, where bionic enhancements were as routine as dental work. His colleague Soren had replaced both perfectly healthy arms with cutting-edge prosthetics that enhanced his dexterity for microsurgery. His own mother had opted for ocular implants at hundredth and twenty, not out of necessity but for the enhanced spectrum vision that came with them.

  Careful, Lux cautioned. Revealing too much about advanced bionics might raise uncomfortable questions.

  Doc grimaced. "Yes, it's... not unheard of." He kept his answer deliberately vague, hoping they wouldn't press further.

  Edda studied him with those perceptive eyes of hers—the ones that seemed to catch every micro expression. After a moment, she simply nodded. "I'll find you what you need for drafting. The temple archives should have suitable materials."

  "Thank you," Doc said, relieved at her discretion.

  As Edda disappeared into the shadowy recesses of the library, Marron returned his attention to the ancient texts. "While you work on your... arm project, we'll continue trying to decipher these. The gateway may be our best chance of leaving the Vale."

  "I'll help with both if I can," Doc offered, genuinely interested in the mysterious portal. It represented the kind of anomaly he'd been sent to study in the first place—before everything went sideways.

  Ironha gathered her healing supplies. "I should check on Mazoga and the others first. They're still recovering from the battle even though they don't show it. I'll find you when you begin your work."

  Doc nodded, watching her leave. The library fell quiet again, with only Marron's occasional page-turning breaking the silence.

  Their acceptance of your prosthetic plans is noteworthy, Lux observed privately. On many worlds, such technology would be viewed with suspicion or religious objection.

  "They've seen enough of what I can do," Doc subvocalized. "At this point, a mechanical arm probably seems tame by comparison."

  Perhaps. Or perhaps this world's magic system has prepared them to accept what might otherwise seem impossible.

  Doc smiled faintly. "Either way, I'm not complaining."

  Edda returned, arms laden with an assortment of parchment, charcoal sticks, and what appeared to be thin wooden boards.

  "These should serve your needs," she said, placing the materials on the table. "The scribes who once inhabited this temple left behind quite a collection of writing implements."

  Doc examined the supplies. The parchment was surprisingly well-preserved, with only slight yellowing at the edges. The charcoal sticks were wrapped in thin strips of leather to prevent staining hands.

  "This is perfect. Thank you," Doc said, gathering the materials. "Is there a quiet place I could set up? I'll need space and decent lighting."

  Edda nodded. "The eastern chamber past the meditation hall remains largely untouched. It has high windows that catch the morning light, and no one has claimed it yet. The stone tables there should provide a suitable work surface."

  "Appreciate it," Doc said, tucking the supplies under his arm.

  The eastern chamber was exactly as Edda had described. Sunlight streamed through narrow windows, casting long rectangles of light across the stone floor. Several large tables stood in the center, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of use.

  Doc set down his supplies and retrieved the fabrication module they'd salvaged from the shuttle wreckage. The compact device looked incongruous against the ancient stone—a sleek black box with subtle blue indicator lights along its edge.

  "Let's see what we're working with," Doc murmured, activating the unit.

  A holographic interface flickered to life above the device, illuminating Doc's face with soft blue light.

  Arcanite Fabrication Kit – Model 7X now online, Lux reported. Power reserves at 64%. Material storage compartment contains sufficient base elements for small to medium projects.

  "Run a diagnostic on the blueprint library," Doc instructed. "What prosthetic options survived the crash?"

  Scanning blueprint repository... 73% of prosthetic designs remain intact. Would you like me to display available options?

  "List categories first."

  Categories include: Basic Utility, Enhanced Dexterity, Specialized Function, Combat-Ready, and Exploratory Models.

  Doc considered his options. "I need something versatile. What do you recommend?"

  Given our current situation and resource limitations, I recommend the Exploratory Series, Model E-17. It offers excellent dexterity, integrated tool functions, and adaptable interfaces that could potentially interact with this world's energy systems.

  "Display the E-17 specs."

  The hologram shifted, revealing detailed schematics of a forearm prosthetic. Doc leaned forward, studying the design with intense concentration. He began sketching on the parchment, adapting the blueprint to account for the materials they had available.

  Time melted away as Doc worked. He modified power configurations, adjusted neural interface protocols, and redesigned energy distribution pathways. The fabricator would handle most of the precision work, but Doc needed to ensure the design was optimized for this world's unique conditions.

  "We'll need to account for potential magical interference," Doc muttered. "The neural interfaces might be affected by ambient energy fields."

  I recommend incorporating a crystalline buffer similar to the one we observed in the Silvan artifacts, Lux suggested. It could stabilize the connection.

  Doc nodded, adding the modification to his design. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice the soft footsteps approaching behind him.

  "By the ancestors," Carl's voice suddenly broke the silence. "Is that what I think it is?"

  Doc startled, turning to find Carl, Ironha, and Dulric standing just inside the doorway, staring at the holographic display with expressions ranging from awe to suspicion.

  "How long have you been standing there?" Doc asked.

  "Long enough," Dulric rumbled, his eyes fixed on the floating schematics.

  Doc stared at the three figures in the doorway, his mind racing to calculate the best response. The holographic display of his arm schematics floated in the air between them, casting an ethereal blue glow across their stunned faces.

  Carl stepped forward first, his oversized glasses reflecting the light as he circled the fabricator with reverent steps. "I've never seen an enchanted item like this before," he breathed, hands hovering near but not touching the device. "The precision of the light constructs, the way they maintain form without a constant mana source..."

  "Nor have I," Ironha added, her silver eyes wide with wonder.

  Dulric grunted, arms crossed over his barrel chest. "No smith's enchantment I've ever seen could manage this. Not even master-tier work."

  Doc watched them carefully, trying to gauge how much he should share. The fabricator was undeniably alien technology—far beyond this world's medieval-magical framework. He needed to redirect their assumptions, fast.

  Carl suddenly bent closer to the base of the device. "Wait—there's a maker's mark here." His finger hovered over the embossed Arcanite Corporation logo on the fabricator's casing. "Arcanite? Like... my class?"

  Doc froze. He'd forgotten about the corporate branding on the equipment. The coincidence was jarring—somehow Carl had evolved into an "Arcanite Engineer" after analyzing Doc's weapon, and now he'd discovered the actual name of the technology's manufacturer.

  "This was created by Arcanite Engineers like me?" Carl looked up, eyes shining with excitement and validation.

  Problematic coincidence, Lux noted privately. Recommend partial truth strategy to maintain cover.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Doc cleared his throat. "Most of my tools were created by Arcanite, yes." It wasn't a lie—just a careful omission of the fact that Arcanite was an interstellar megacorporation from another world entirely.

  "So there's a whole guild of them somewhere?" Ironha asked, her analytical mind clearly working through the implications.

  "I knew it," Carl whispered, almost to himself. "I knew I wasn't the only one who saw the patterns."

  Doc deliberately let the misunderstanding stand. Better they think Arcanite was some distant guild of mysterious engineers than suspect the truth.

  "Interesting company you keep," Dulric rumbled, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Never mentioned this guild before."

  "It's... complicated," Doc replied, offering a half-shrug with his remaining arm. "But right now, I'm more concerned with this." He gestured toward the schematics. "I could use your perspectives on the design."

  The diversion worked. All three leaned forward to study the floating blueprint.

  "It's beautiful," Carl murmured, adjusting his glasses. "The way these channels interlock... it's like they're designed to carry both physical force and energy simultaneously."

  Ironha circled the display, her healer's eyes narrowed in concentration. "The connection point concerns me," she said, pointing to where the prosthetic would meet Doc's severed arm. "Even with your... unusual healing abilities, some of the pathways need proper alignment."

  "That's where I was hoping your skills might help," Doc admitted. "The interface needs to bridge between the prosthetic and my system."

  Dulric moved closer, his thick finger tracing the outline of the arm's exterior plating. "These segments are too thin. Won't hold up to impact."

  "I was limited by the materials we salvaged," Doc explained.

  "Use monster material," Dulric said flatly. "I've still got sections of the Ravageboar hide. Lighter than metal, stronger than steel when properly treated."

  Carl was practically vibrating with excitement. "If we integrate Dulric's materials with your design, and then I apply my Arcanite skill principles to the energy flow..." He turned to Ironha. "And if you could map the neural pathways using your analytical healing..."

  Ironha nodded slowly. "It could work. I've never attempted something like this, but the principles are similar to magically reconnecting severed tendons."

  Doc watched as the three of them began discussing modifications, their different perspectives highlighting gaps in his design he hadn't considered. Carl's Arcanite Engineer skills allowed him to intuitively understand the energy distribution systems, suggesting modifications that would enhance efficiency. Ironha's Analytical Healer perspective provided crucial insights on how to better integrate the prosthetic with Doc's biological systems.

  They're adapting the design in ways I hadn't anticipated, Lux observed privately. The integration of their world's principles with our technology could yield unexpected benefits.

  "This might actually work better than my original plan," Doc admitted quietly.

  Dulric stood back, watching the strange "forge" Doc had set up in the eastern chamber. No fire. No anvil. No hammers or tongs. Just pulsing lights and floating diagrams hanging in the air like smoke without substance. Everything about it was wrong.

  And yet... not.

  Something stirred in his chest. Not understanding—he was far from that—but recognition. The tools were foreign, alien even, but the intent behind them was as familiar as his own heartbeat. Creation. Shaping. Making broken things whole.

  Carl darted around the glowing schematics, fingers tracing energy pathways Dulric couldn't begin to comprehend. Ironha murmured something about "neural mapping" and "sensory feedback loops." Their words washed over him like meaningless noise.

  Dulric stepped past them all and laid a calloused hand on the Ravageboar hide he'd brought. The material responded to his touch, his Hidebound Ingenuity skill awakening like an old friend. The hide's properties revealed themselves to his senses—its tension points, its natural resistance to impact, its ability to disperse force across its surface.

  No tools needed. His hands became the forge.

  He worked the material like a potter at the wheel, fingers pressing and molding, coaxing forth qualities that lay dormant within—bracing against pressure, flexibility without weakness. The hide darkened under his ministrations, gaining a subtle metallic sheen where his thumbs pressed hardest.

  When he reached for the scraps of metal Carl had salvaged from his and Doc run to Doc's old camp, his Scrapshaper skill activated almost instinctively. The flaws in the alloy revealed themselves to him—stress points, molecular weaknesses, impurities. His fingers pressed and twisted, smoothing away imperfections, reinforcing critical junctions. The metal warmed beneath his touch, becoming malleable despite the room's cool temperature.

  "That's... that's not possible," he heard Doc whisper.

  Dulric ignored him. He didn't understand the complex schematics Carl muttered over, or the magical theory Ironha wove into her work. Didn't need to.

  He understood intent.

  This was a tool meant to keep a man whole, to bring him back from the brink. That, Dulric understood more than any magic or science. The arm taking shape wasn't just metal and hide—it was dignity restored, capability returned, wholeness given back.

  "The joint needs reinforcement here," he said, his first words since they'd begun. He pressed a thumb against the elbow mechanism, feeling where pressure would concentrate during combat.

  Doc looked surprised. "You're right. The stress calculations show—"

  "Don't need calculations." Dulric cut him off. "Been forging weapons and armor thirty years. Know where things break."

  He pulled a small pouch from his belt, extracting a handful of crystalline fragments harvested from the fallen fungal monsters. Working them into the joint, he hummed a low, steady note—an old forge-song from the mountains. The crystals fused with the surrounding materials, creating a lattice of support that glowed faintly blue.

  As the prosthetic began to take form—pieced together from wolfbone struts, reinforced hide, Silvan crystals, and alien alloy—Dulric felt something click into place inside him. Like hammer meeting anvil. Like truth found in a finished blade.

  This wasn't just a new arm.

  This was a new kind of forging. A new kind of work.

  The feeling grew in his chest—a warm, steady hum. Not just the satisfaction of craft well done, but something deeper. A calling recognized. Not just a blacksmith. Not just a fighter. But something forged between.

  Didn't need a title to know it. But the world was about to give him one anyway.

  The world went quiet around Dulric. The chatter of Carl's excited theories, Ironha's healing incantations, even Doc's measured observations—all faded to a distant hum as something profound stirred within him.

  His hands moved with purpose across the half-formed prosthetic, feeling each component not as separate materials but as parts of a unified whole. The alien alloy sang beneath his fingertips, resonating with the Ravageboar hide in ways that defied traditional smithing knowledge. They weren't just compatible—they were meant to be joined, their properties enhancing one another in a dance of strength and flexibility.

  Heat bloomed in his chest, spreading outward to his arms and hands. Not the familiar warmth of the forge, but something deeper—a fundamental rewriting of what he understood about his craft.

  This is more than smithing. More than scrapping. This is... communion.

  A sudden pressure built behind his eyes as knowledge flooded his consciousness. Dulric saw patterns in the materials that had always been invisible to him—how the microscopic structure of monster hide could interlock with metallic lattices, how energy could flow through the seams of a properly joined creation, how intention itself could be worked into the very fiber of what he built.

  His vision blurred, replaced by images of armor that breathed with its wearer, weapons that responded to emotion, shields that anticipated blows before they landed. Not through enchantment or runes, but through the fundamental harmony of materials understood at their deepest level.

  "Dulric?" Carl's voice penetrated the fog. "Are you alright? You're... glowing."

  Indeed, a faint amber light emanated from Dulric's hands where they touched the prosthetic components. The light pulsed with his heartbeat, flowing into the materials and binding them together in ways no hammer or anvil ever could.

  Level up.

  Level up.

  Level up.

  The notifications came in rapid succession, but they felt different from the incremental gains he'd experienced before. This wasn't addition—it was transformation.

  Class Evolution: Blacksmith (Fighter Variant) → Techforged Smith

  The words appeared in his mind with absolute clarity, bringing with them understanding that settled into his bones like molten metal cooling into its final, perfect form.

  When Dulric finally looked up, his eyes held a new depth—flecks of amber light dancing in their depths like sparks from a forge. "I see it now," he said, his voice deeper and more resonant than before. "Not just what things are, but what they could become together."

  He lifted the prosthetic arm, which now appeared more complete than it had moments before. The seams between materials had all but vanished, replaced by flowing transitions that made the entire limb look like a single, unified creation.

  "The arm will channel your strength, not just replace it," Dulric explained to Doc, surprised by the certainty in his own voice. "The hide remembers how to resist impact. The metal knows how to distribute force. Together, they'll learn from you."

  Carl gaped at him. "That's... that's exactly what I was trying to calculate with the resonance equations, but you just... did it."

  Dulric nodded, understanding now what had happened. His old skills—Scrapshaper, Hammerline Memory, Stubborn Iron—hadn't disappeared. They'd evolved, deepened, become part of something greater. Where once he could shape scrap into functional items, now he could forge harmony between materials that should never have met. Where once his muscle memory served only repetition, now it could innovate within tradition.

  He felt the strength of his new class settling into him—not just an increase in power, but a fundamental shift in perspective. The world around him was no longer divided into what was forged and what was found, what was crafted and what was given. Everything was material. Everything had potential. Everything could be made stronger through proper union.

  "Techforged Smith," he murmured, tasting the words.

  Doc looked at him curiously. "What was that?"

  "My new class," Dulric replied simply, turning back to the arm with renewed purpose. "Now let's finish what we started."

  Doc stared at Dulric, the words "Techforged Smith" echoing in his mind. Something uncomfortable twisted in his gut. The dwarf's transformation had happened right before his eyes—triggered by exposure to technology that should never have existed in this world.

  Another one, Doc thought. First Carl's Arcanite Engineer evolution, then Ironha's Analytical Healer, and now this.

  "Lux, we're changing this world's fundamental systems," Doc subvocalized.

  "Correct," Lux replied through their neural link. "The integration of scientific principles with their magical framework appears to create hybrid classes previously nonexistent in their system. However, there is insufficient data to determine long-term consequences."

  "Should we be concerned?"

  "There is nothing to do about it now," Lux answered pragmatically. "And from all observable metrics, the arm is nearly ready for integration."

  Doc shook himself out of his momentary ethical crisis. The philosophical implications would have to wait. Right now, he needed his arm back.

  "It's... remarkable," Doc said aloud, approaching the workbench where the prosthetic lay. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

  The limb before him barely resembled the standard E-17 schematics he'd started with. The integration of Ravageboar hide with the metallic components created something that looked almost organic—sleek, functional, with a subtle pattern of energy pathways visible beneath the surface.

  "We're ready when you are," Ironha said, gathering her healing supplies. "I'll monitor your vitals during the attachment process."

  Doc nodded, rolling up what remained of his right sleeve. The clean cauterization line below his elbow had healed remarkably well, thanks to the combination of his nanites and Ironha's magic.

  "Lux, run pre-integration diagnostics," Doc subvocalized.

  "Neural interface active. Nanite density at attachment site optimal. Prosthetic power cell at 100% capacity. All systems nominal."

  Doc took a deep breath. "Let's begin."

  He sat in the chair they'd prepared, positioning his arm on the table. Carl hovered nearby, eyes wide with anticipation. Dulric stood back, arms crossed, his new amber-flecked eyes watching intently.

  "This will feel... unusual," Doc warned them, though he was really preparing himself.

  From his remaining MANTIS gauntlet, Doc extracted a thin application tool. He carefully applied a layer of nanite-infused gel to the prosthetic's connection port, then to his own arm.

  "Neural mapping sequence initiated," Lux announced privately.

  Doc felt the familiar cold tingle as the nanites began creating the microscopic bridges between his nervous system and the prosthetic's interface. Unlike standard military-grade prosthetics back home, this hybrid creation would require a more nuanced approach.

  "Nanite activity at 27% completion. Detecting unusual energy patterns in the prosthetic materials."

  Doc winced as the first neural connections sparked to life. "That's... different."

  "What's happening?" Ironha asked, her hands hovering near his shoulder, monitoring his body's responses.

  "The integration is proceeding faster than expected," Doc explained through gritted teeth. "The materials are... responsive."

  Indeed, the prosthetic seemed to be actively participating in the process. The amber-colored energy that had emanated from Dulric's hands during its creation now pulsed faintly at the connection point, meeting the blue glow of Doc's nanites.

  "Nanite integration at 63%. Warning: detecting unknown energy signatures interfacing with nanite protocols."

  Doc felt sweat beading on his forehead. The sensation was unlike any prosthetic attachment he'd experienced or studied. Rather than the nanites simply creating bridges, there seemed to be a negotiation happening—an exchange between his technology and whatever Dulric had imbued into the materials.

  "It's working with you," Dulric observed quietly. "Not just accepting commands."

  With a final surge of energy that made Doc gasp, the prosthetic sealed itself to his arm. The seam between flesh and technology vanished completely, leaving only a barely perceptible transition line.

  "Integration complete," Lux announced. "All neural pathways established. Motor function available at 94% capacity, sensory function at 89% capacity. Both values exceeding standard prosthetic benchmarks."

  Doc flexed his new fingers experimentally. The response was instantaneous—no lag, no mechanical delay. He could feel texture when he pressed his fingertips against the table. Temperature. Pressure.

  But there was something else. Something unexpected.

  As he moved his new hand through the air, he felt... resistance. Not physical resistance, but something else—as if his fingers were brushing against invisible currents that filled the room.

  "Interesting," Doc murmured, watching as faint traces of blue-violet energy briefly shimmered along his metallic fingertips when he made a grasping motion.

  "Lux, are you seeing this?"

  "Affirmative. The prosthetic appears to be interacting with the ambient energy fields we've been detecting since arrival. Collecting data for analysis."

  Doc kept his expression neutral, not wanting to draw attention to this unexpected development. But inside, his scientific curiosity was already racing with possibilities.

  Doc watched as Carl reluctantly closed his notebook, still scribbling final observations as Ironha ushered him toward the door.

  "You need rest," she insisted, her newly analytical gaze sweeping over Doc. "Both of you do. The arm will still be there tomorrow."

  Dulric had already departed, the dwarf exhausted from his transformation. The amber light that had flowed through his hands during the forging had faded, but something in his eyes remained changed—a deeper understanding of materials and methods that hadn't existed hours before.

  "I'll be along shortly," Doc promised. "Just want to run a few more calibration tests."

  Ironha hesitated, then nodded. "Don't push too hard. Your body is still adapting."

  When the door finally closed behind them, Doc exhaled deeply. The chamber fell into silence, broken only by the soft hum of the remaining fabrication equipment. The dancing holographic schematics cast blue-white shadows across the stone walls, their light dimming as power conservation protocols engaged.

  "Finally," he murmured, flexing his new arm in the half-light. "Lux, full diagnostic."

  "All systems functioning within optimal parameters," Lux replied. "Neural integration is stabilizing at 97% efficiency—3% above projected outcomes."

  Doc turned his palm upward, watching as the fingers responded with perfect precision. He made a fist, then spread his fingers wide, marveling at the seamless translation of thought to movement. Unlike standard military prosthetics, there was no telltale mechanical whir, no microsecond delay. The arm moved as if it had always been part of him.

  "The material integration is... unexpected," he said, running his original hand along the surface where metal met hide. The transition was flawless—Dulric's work had somehow bound the disparate materials into a unified whole.

  "The Ravageboar hide contains trace amounts of the energy signatures we've been detecting throughout this world," Lux noted. "Combined with Dulric's evolutionary skill application, it appears to have created a conductive matrix for ambient energy fields."

  Doc passed his prosthetic hand through the air, feeling again that strange resistance—like moving through invisible currents. When he focused his attention, faint ripples of blue-violet energy traced along his metallic fingertips.

  "It's sensing something," Doc whispered. "Not just pressure or temperature, but... whatever this is."

  He reached toward the holographic schematics, and to his surprise, the light bent slightly toward his fingers, as if drawn to them. The sensation wasn't entirely unfamiliar—it reminded him of the strange pull he'd felt when the Sylvan had first connected with his mind.

  "Remarkable," he breathed. "A prosthetic that interfaces with both technology and whatever energy system governs this world's magic."

  The quiet padding of paws interrupted his thoughts. Fish slipped into the room, her amber eyes gleaming in the dim light. She approached cautiously, nose twitching as she examined his new appendage.

  Doc held perfectly still as she sniffed along the length of the prosthetic, her whiskers brushing against the metal and hide. After a thorough inspection, Fish gave a dismissive snort and flopped down at his feet, curling into a comfortable ball as if nothing had changed.

  "Approval from our shadow-lurking mascot," Lux observed dryly. "High praise indeed."

  Doc chuckled, reaching down with his original hand to scratch behind Fish's ears. She leaned into his touch, eyes half-closing in contentment.

  "At least someone's not overthinking this," he said softly.

  He leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the high stone ceiling of the temple. Moonlight filtered through narrow windows, casting pale silver beams across ancient carvings. In the quiet, with Fish's warmth against his legs and the gentle hum of his new arm, Doc felt a strange peace settle over him.

  "You know, Lux," he said with a faint smile, "for a man who lost an arm fighting a sentient fungus on an impossible planet, I think I'm coming out ahead in the trade."