Carl stood triumphant over a fresh output from the Arcanite Fabricator: a sleek, smooth-sided cold box. He ran his fingers along the seams, marveling at the precision. Not a gap to be found. The latch snapped shut with a satisfying click, sealing tight as a drum.

  Perfect insulation. Latch is solid. So why…

  He yanked open the lid again, thrusting his hand inside. Warm air greeted his skin. Frowning, he closed it once more and waited, counting silently to sixty. When he checked again, the result was the same. Room temperature.

  "Why isn't it cold?!" Carl muttered, his triumphant grin fading into annoyed confusion. He tapped the sides, listening for… what, exactly? He wasn't sure. "This thing should work."

  He'd triple-checked the schematics. Every wire, every plate, every seal—all exactly to spec. He'd even improved the hinge design on the fly, replacing the fabricator's clunky default with a smoother, sturdier version of his own making.

  And yet, for all his efforts, the box remained stubbornly, infuriatingly warm.

  Carl stepped back, running a hand through his hair as he glared at the offending device. From everything he'd read in the fabricator manual—or at least, the parts Doc had translated for him, this was supposed to be an icebox. A marvel of engineering that could keep food fresh for days, even weeks, without the need for magic or salt or smoking.

  So why isn't it working?

  He circled the box, examining it from every angle. No obvious flaws. No missing pieces. Just a perfectly crafted container that refused to do the one thing it was designed for.

  Carl's mind raced with possibilities. Maybe the insulation wasn't thick enough? Or the seal wasn't quite airtight? Or maybe…

  Carl circled the cold box again, muttering under his breath as he inspected the seams for the dozenth time. He was so engrossed in his examination that he didn't notice Calen's quiet arrival in the doorway.

  The young bandit watched for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, almost gently, he spoke. "Is it supposed to be doing something?"

  Carl flinched, nearly dropping his tools. He spun around, eyes wide. "Calen! I didn't—I mean, yes, it's supposed to be cold. Inside. That's why it's called a cold box."

  He launched into a rapid-fire explanation, gesturing at the device as he spoke. "See, the manual said it should maintain a temperature far below ambient, even in warm environments. I followed the schematics exactly—well, except for the hinges, I improved those—but everything else is to spec. It should be working."

  Calen listened, his face a mask of calm. When Carl finally paused for breath, Calen stepped closer, examining the box with a critical eye. "So it's a cold box that doesn't get cold."

  Carl nodded miserably.

  Calen ran a finger along the smooth metal surface. "Does it have a power source?"

  Carl opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Horror dawned on his face as realization sank in. "I… I didn't…"

  He'd been so focused on the structure, the insulation, the perfect seal… he'd forgotten the one thing that mattered most. The power. Without it, his creation was just a fancy box, incapable of doing what it was designed for.

  Carl sagged against the workbench, his excitement draining away. How could he have overlooked something so basic? After all his careful planning, all his meticulous work…

  Carl sighed, now realizing the box needed power. He tried to do what made sense for this world. Rummaging through his inventory, he pulled out a broken piece of monster core. With careful movements, he placed it near the device, then against it, then under it.

  "Cores radiate power," he muttered, observing the cold box intently. "Why aren't you accepting it?"

  Nothing happened. No response. The box remained inert. Carl frowned, frustration and confusion etched on his face. He decided to activate his Cross-Construct Insight skill, focusing his mind on the stubborn device.

  Suddenly, understanding flooded through him. The cold box didn't accept power passively like other items. It wanted a direct, structured input. Not magic around it—but through it.

  Carl's eyes widened with realization. Of course! The box was designed for a specific power source, not the ambient energy of monster cores. He needed to find a way to channel that energy directly into the device, in a form it could recognize and use.

  He turned the box over, examining its base with renewed interest. There had to be a port or socket somewhere, a place where power could be fed in. His fingers traced the smooth metal, searching for any irregularity or hidden panel.

  Calen watched from the doorway, his head tilted slightly. "Did you figure it out?" he asked, his voice quiet but curious.

  Carl looked up, a smile spreading across his face. "Yes," he said, excitement building in his chest. "Yes, I think I did."

  He held up the box, pointing to a small indentation on its underside. "See this? I bet this is where the power goes. I just need to find a way to convert the core's energy into something the box can accept."

  Calen stepped closer, peering at the indentation. "Like a key fitting a lock," he murmured.

  Carl nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. He could build an adapter, maybe, or find a way to refine the core's energy into a more compatible form. It would take some trial and error, but he was confident he could make it work.

  He grinned at Calen, his earlier frustration forgotten. "Want to help me figure it out?"

  Calen blinked, surprise flickering across his face. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Sure," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Why not?"

  Together, they bent over the workbench, the cold box between them, and set to work.

  Carl hunched over the workbench, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Okay... adapter, converter, power guide—come on, brain. Help me out."

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then snapped them open, his voice firm. "Tinker's Instinct."

  As if triggered by the words, Carl's hands began to move with fluid precision, darting across the workbench and his inventory. He pulled out a cracked core fragment, twisted copper wiring, a metal socket frame, and a crystal ring—a leftover stabilizer from another project.

  Calen watched silently, handing Carl tools and parts before he even asked for them. The young bandit's eyes followed Carl's movements, curious.

  As he worked, Carl muttered under his breath. "It just needs to flow." His fingers deftly twisted the copper wiring around the core fragment, creating a makeshift housing. "If I can regulate and match the input draw..."

  The housing began to take shape, designed to let energy trickle from the core in a steady line. Carl fitted the crystal ring around the housing, using it to stabilize the flow.

  With a final twist of a screw, Carl leaned back, examining his handiwork. The makeshift battery gleamed under the workshop lights, its core pulsing softly.

  "Okay," Carl said, taking a deep breath. "Let's see if this works."

  He carefully wired the battery to the cold box's input point, his hands steady despite his racing heart. As he made the final connection, a soft hum began to build within the device.

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  For a moment, everything seemed to be working perfectly. Then, with a sharp snap, sparks flew from the connection point. Carl yelped, stumbling backward as his hair stood on end.

  Calen, still standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. "You're on fire," he said, his voice deadpan.

  Carl looked down at his sleeve, where a thin wisp of smoke was rising. He brushed at it frantically, but there was no actual flame, just a faint scorch mark.

  "That's fine," he said, trying to sound confident. "That means it's working. Probably."

  He stepped back to the workbench, examining the core housing. To his relief, the core itself seemed intact, still pulsing with energy.

  Carl's voice shifted, taking on a more serious tone. "I've only got two more of that size," he said, almost to himself. "Can't fry the next one."

  He bent over the battery again, adjusting a bracket and tightening a loop. His movements were more careful now, more deliberate.

  Calen stepped closer, peering over Carl's shoulder. "What are you going to do differently this time?" he asked.

  Carl glanced up. "I need to regulate the flow more precisely," he said, tapping the crystal ring. "This stabilizer helps, but it's not enough. I need something to act as a buffer, to smooth out the energy spikes."

  He rummaged through his inventory again, his mind racing. There had to be something he could use, some material or component that could handle the fluctuations.

  As he searched, Calen reached out and picked up a small, oddly shaped piece of metal from the workbench. "What about this?" he asked, holding it out to Carl.

  Carl took the piece, turning it over in his hands. It was a broken gear from an old clockwork mechanism, its teeth worn smooth on one side.

  Suddenly, an idea sparked in Carl's mind. The gear's shape, its ability to regulate motion... could it work for energy too?

  He looked up at Calen, a grin spreading across his face. "You know what? I think this might be exactly what we need."

  Carl carefully installed the worn gear into the battery housing, using it to brace the core fragment and regulate the energy flow. He adjusted the stabilizer ring's position, aligning it with the gear's teeth to create a smooth, uninterrupted circuit.

  "This time, no sparks," he muttered, tightening the housing with deft fingers. "Just flow."

  With the improved prototype complete, Carl wired it into the cold box once more. He held his breath as he made the final connection, his eyes fixed on the indicator light.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a brief flicker—and the light began to glow, steady and strong. A low, constant hum filled the air, the sound of power flowing smoothly from the battery to the box.

  The seal clicked shut, a soft hiss escaping as the internal pressure equalized. Carl stared at the box, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out and opened the lid.

  A curl of chilled air spilled out, caressing his face like a winter breeze. Carl exhaled, a laugh bubbling up from his chest. "It's cold," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "It's actually cold."

  He stepped back, a grin spreading from ear to ear. "Core Battery," he declared, giving his creation a name. "Mark One."

  Suddenly, Carl began to pace, his mind racing with possibilities. "If I can scale this—if we can store magic, not just use it…" He gestured wildly, his words tumbling out in an excited rush. "No need for casting. No need for runes. Just pure, controlled energy, available whenever we need it."

  He spun to face Calen, his eyes alight with the thrill of discovery. "Do you realize what this could mean? Reliable power, without relying on ambient magic or complex spells. It could change everything!"

  Calen, who had been watching quietly from the doorway, gave a small nod. Then, with a hint of a smile, he said, "Next time, try plugging it in first."

  Carl blinked, then laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. "Noted," he said, shaking his head. "Now help me write this down before I forget how it works."

  He grabbed a scrap of paper and a pencil, his hand already sketching diagrams and jotting notes. Calen stepped closer, peering over Carl's shoulder as he worked.

  Together, they huddled over the workbench, the glow of the Core Battery casting a soft light over their faces as they documented Carl's breakthrough. In that moment, the workshop felt alive with possibility, humming with the promise of a new era of magical engineering.

  Calen woke with the dawn, his mind already turning to the day's tasks. He dressed quickly, his movements precise and efficient, honed by years of necessity. The workshop called to him, a siren song of purpose and possibility that he couldn't ignore.

  As he stepped out into the morning light, Calen's eyes were drawn to a familiar figure in the distance. Doc stood in a clearing, his body moving through a series of fluid, precise motions. In his hands, a sword flashed and spun, the blade catching the sunlight like a mirror.

  Calen watched, transfixed, as Doc moved from one weapon to the next, his body flowing seamlessly from one stance to another. There was a grace to his movements, a deadly elegance that spoke of years of training and discipline. Every strike was perfect, every thrust calculated and precise.

  But something about it felt... off. A hesitation, subtle but persistent. Every few seconds, Doc would pause, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if listening to some inner voice. Then, with a shake of his head, he would switch to a different weapon, his movements growing more fluid and assured with each passing moment.

  Calen couldn't help but wonder what warrior class Doc belonged to. He had never seen anyone move like that before, with such a perfect blend of strength and precision. It was like watching a dance, a deadly ballet of steel and flesh. Before he knew what he was doing, Calen found himself moving closer, drawn to Doc like a moth to a flame. As he approached, Fish appeared at his side, her sleek black fur brushing against his leg in a silent greeting.

  Calen reached down to pet her, his fingers sinking into her soft, warm coat. At the sound of his approach, Doc stopped his training, turning to face him with a smile.

  "Morning, Calen," he said, his voice warm and friendly. "What brings you out here so early?"

  Calen hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say. He glanced at the sword in Doc's hand, the blade gleaming in the morning light.

  "I was just wondering," he said slowly, his voice hesitant. "What were you doing just now? With the weapons, I mean."

  Doc looked down at the sword, a thoughtful expression on his face. For a moment, he didn't speak, as if weighing his words carefully.

  "Training," he said finally, his voice soft and distant. "Just trying to find the right fit."

  Calen studied Doc thoughtfully, remembering how he had lost his magical blade during the fight with the fungal horror. It seemed Doc was trying to find a replacement weapon, but the sword in his hands didn't quite suit him. Calen could see it in the way Doc moved, the slight hesitation in his strikes.

  Before Calen could mention it, Doc turned to him with a curious look. "What brings you out here so early, Calen?"

  Calen shrugged, trying to appear casual. "I was just heading to the workshop. Carl and I have some projects to work on."

  Doc's face brightened at that. "Ah, the fabricator! How's that working out for you two?"

  Calen couldn't help but grin. "It's taking some getting used to, but it's a really remarkable magical device. We're learning a lot."

  Doc nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. "Glad to hear it. Well, I should get back to training. Have a good day, Calen."

  "You too, Doc." Calen turned to leave, but as he walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder. Doc had resumed his practice, but the sword still seemed wrong in his hands.

  An idea began to form in Calen's mind. Maybe he and Carl could fix Doc's old magical blade, the one that had been lost. It would be a challenge, but with the fabricator and their combined skills, anything was possible.

  Calen quickened his pace, eager to share his idea with Carl. Together, they might just be able to give Doc the weapon he truly needed.

  Calen arrived at the workshop just as Carl was setting up for the day. The small, cluttered space was already humming with energy, the fabricator glowing softly in the corner. Calen watched as Carl bustled about, his hands a blur of motion as he gathered tools and materials.

  "Hey, Carl," Calen said, his voice cutting through the gentle clatter of metal on metal. "I saw Doc outside earlier, practicing with a sword."

  Carl looked up, his eyes bright behind his round glasses. "Oh yeah? How'd he look?"

  Calen shrugged, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Pretty good, but... I don't know, the sword didn't seem right for him. It got me thinking..."

  He paused, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "Do you think there's any way we could fix Doc's old magical blade? The one he lost in the fight with the fungal horror?"

  At that, a slow smile spread across Carl's face. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into a corner of the workshop, rummaging through a pile of scrap metal and discarded parts. When he emerged, he was holding something wrapped in a soft cloth.

  "I've been working on it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. With a flourish, he pulled back the cloth, revealing the shattered remains of Doc's plasma blade. The once-sleek weapon was now a jagged mess of twisted metal and frayed wires, but even in its broken state, it still hummed with a faint, pulsing energy.

  Calen's eyes widened as he took in the sight. "You've been trying to repair it?"

  Carl nodded, his fingers tracing the edges of the broken blade. "Yeah, but it's slow going. This thing is unlike anything I've ever seen before. The energy matrix is so complex, so... alien."

  He looked up at Calen, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "But with the Core Battery working yesterday... I think we might actually have a path forward."

  Calen felt a surge of excitement rising in his chest. He knew how much the plasma blade meant to Doc, how lost he seemed without it. If they could repair it, give it back to him...

  "Let's do it," he said, his voice firm with determination. "Doc deserves to have his weapon back. And if anyone can fix it, it's us."

  Carl grinned, his face alight with the thrill of a new challenge. "Agreed. It won't be easy, but... I think we can do it. For Doc."

  Working in tandem, they bent over the workbench as they examined the shattered remains of the plasma blade. It would be a long project, Calen knew, filled with countless hours of trial and error. But as he looked at Carl's determined face, at the cold box humming softly on the table near them them, he felt a surge of hope.

  They would fix this blade, no matter how long it took. They would give Doc back the weapon he deserved, the one that was as much a part of him as his own arm. And in doing so, they would show him just how much he meant to them, to all of them.

  With a smile on his face and warmth in his heart, Calen picked up a tool and got to work.