The rhythmic clanging of Blacksmith Clarik's hammer filled the smithy as I worked, carefully assembling the inner framework of my new form. Wood shavings and bits of porcelain littered the workbench where I'd laid out my materials.

  "Still can't believe you're building yourself out of teacups," Clarik said between strikes. His broad shoulders flexed as he shaped a plow blade on his anvil. Unlike the other villagers, he showed no discomfort at my presence.

  Need delicate materials. For joints and plating. I projected, fitting together thin wooden strips that would form the base structure. Porcelain ideal for purpose.

  "If you say so." He paused his work to wipe sweat from his brow. "Though you'll need something stronger for the bones of it. Wood won't hold up long term."

  I nodded, examining the framework taking shape. Steel would be perfect. But rare out here.

  "I've got some stock." Clarik gestured toward his material pile. "Could spare a few bars."

  No. I kept working, carefully splitting a teacup to form finger joints. You need it more. For tools.

  "Least I could do, after what you did for Henrik's boys." He returned to his hammering. "My cousin's a stubborn arse, treating you like he does after what you did for him. But I'm not. You saved his children, hell, his whole family!"

  Was right thing to do. I attached the porcelain pieces, testing the joint's movement. Besides, enjoying working. Here. Good to have company.

  "Ha! Most folk would say I'm poor company. I just grunt and hammer all day."

  Better than fear. Or hatred.

  Clarik's hammering slowed. "Give them some time. They're good, honest folk, deep down. They'll come around once they see past all the metal and gears."

  It is why. I'm building this. I held up the partially completed hand, its white porcelain fingers gleaming in the forge light.

  More human, in appearance. Less frightening.

  "Smart thinking." He nodded approvingly. "Though shame you have to change yourself just to make others comfortable."

  I shrugged my shoulders, the gears in the joints of my right limb whirring softly.

  Small price. To pay. For acceptance.

  The hammer's rhythm resumed, mixing with the quiet clicks and scrapes of my own work. We fell into comfortable silence, each focused on our respective crafts. The afternoon light filtered through the smithy's windows, catching dust motes and highlighting the growing pile of transformed tableware taking shape under my hands.

  "I could try smelting some steel now, if you want," Clarik offered, gesturing to his furnace. "Got plenty of coal."

  I paused in my work, an idea forming. What if Assembly could do it?

  Clarik raised an eyebrow as I gathered some iron ore and coal from his stores. Placing them on the workbench, I focused my ability on the materials. At first, I tried simply willing them to combine, to fuse into steel through pure magic. The result was disappointing as it was just a messy clump of ore and coal stuck together.

  I let out a sigh. There had to be a better way. I began thinking about the actual process of creating steel. The knowledge surfaced with surprising clarity, though I couldn't tell if it came from my fractured memories or from Assembly itself.

  Iron ore needed extreme heat in a blast furnace, producing high-carbon iron. Then that iron would be melted, exposed to oxygen to remove the excess carbon. Only then would you get proper steel.

  As I focused on these steps, I felt Assembly responding differently. The clumped materials began to glow, first a dull red, then brighter. Heat was building within them, though no flame ever touched them.

  Fascinating.

  I concentrated harder, willing more heat into the mixture. The glow intensified as carbon began bonding with iron at the molecular level. More heat, more pressure; the materials started to liquefy, transforming before my eyes.

  Soon a sphere of molten metal floated above the workbench, glowing a fierce red-orange. It hung there, defying gravity, completely under my control through Assembly.

  "By the Twelve..." Clarik breathed, hammer forgotten in his slack grip. "Never seen anything like that. No furnace, no flame. Just pure magic!"

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Not magic. Not exactly, I projected, though I wasn't entirely sure what to call this new application of Assembly. More like... willing process to happen. Understanding it completely.

  The blacksmith circled the floating molten steel, careful to keep his distance from the intense heat. "Whatever it is, it's remarkable. You're remarkable."

  I focused intently on the floating sphere of molten metal, willing oxygen from the surrounding air to flow into it. Through Assembly, I could somehow sense the carbon molecules breaking their bonds, burning away as they met the incoming oxygen. The steel was purifying itself before my eyes, becoming stronger, more refined.

  A harsh cough broke my concentration. Clarik had doubled over, one hand braced against his workbench while the other clutched at his chest.

  What's wrong? I projected, keeping the molten orb stable but turning my attention to him.

  "Air..." he wheezed, face reddening. "Getting... hard to breathe..."

  Horror struck me as I realized what was happening. In my fascination with the metallurgical process, I'd been pulling too much oxygen from my surroundings. I immediately reduced the flow, allowing the atmospheric balance to normalize.

  Clarik straightened slowly, taking deep breaths. "That's better," he said, still sounding winded. "Felt like being up in the high mountains for a moment there."

  I'm sorry, I projected quickly. Didn't mean. To hurt you.

  "No harm done," he assured me, waving off my concern. "Just warn me next time you plan to steal all the air."

  But his words made me pause. Why hadn't I noticed the drop in oxygen? I still had lungs in what remained of my original body; at least I thought I did. I still needed to breathe... didn't I?

  I focused on my own breathing pattern and realized with a start that I couldn't find one. My chest neither rose nor fell. My body, what was left of it, seemed to have no need for air at all.

  When did I stop breathing? I knew that during my so-called "birth," I had gasped for air like a newborn infant upon emerging from the earth. Yet sometime between then and now, I stopped doing so. I didn't even notice. Was my breathing just a false reaction caused by my memories, like my urge to drink had been?

  Clarik, I projected hesitantly. Have you ever. Seen me breathe?

  He frowned, studying me. "Come to think of it... no. But surely you must? Everything needs to breathe."

  I shook my head slowly. Apparently not everything.

  The molten steel still hung in the air between us, its glow slightly dimmed now that I'd reduced the oxygen flow. Another reminder that I was something other than human, despite my memories suggesting otherwise.

  I resumed the experiment, this time maintaining careful control over the oxygen flow. The molten sphere hung suspended, its glow steady and controlled. Through Assembly, I could sense the carbon molecules breaking down at a measured pace, the metal purifying itself gradually.

  "How does it feel?" Clarik asked, keeping a safer distance this time. "Being able to do that?"

  Natural, I projected. Like remembering. Rather than learning.

  The sphere's color shifted subtly as impurities burned away. I guided the process with growing confidence, maintaining the delicate balance of heat and oxygen. The metal responded to my will as if it were an extension of myself.

  Finally, I sensed the transformation was complete. I released my hold on the heat, and watched as it dissipated at an impossible rate. The sphere's glow faded rapidly, its surface solidifying into a perfect metallic ball that dropped onto the workbench with a solid thunk.

  Clarik approached cautiously, picking up the steel sphere and turning it in his calloused hands. His eyes widened as he examined it, running expert fingers across its surface.

  "This is..." He shook his head in amazement. "This is perfect steel. Better than anything I've ever forged. The quality, the purity..."

  Before he could finish, a familiar blue box appeared before my eyes:

  I stared at the notification, processing what this meant for my capabilities. The knowledge that had guided me through creating steel hadn't come from old memories after all; it was Assembly evolving, growing stronger.

  Would you like more steel? I projected to Clarik, gesturing at the perfect sphere he still held. Can make as much. As you need.

  His eyes lit up, but he tried to maintain a casual demeanor. "Wouldn't want to impose. You're busy with your own work."

  Not imposing. I gathered more iron ore and coal from his stores. You've given me space here. Let me repay kindness.

  "Well, if you're offering..." He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Could use about twenty pounds. Got several plows to forge, and Henrik's boys need new tools for spring planting."

  I nodded and began the process again. This time, I created multiple smaller spheres of molten steel, carefully controlling the oxygen flow to avoid another incident. The glowing orbs hung in the air like miniature suns, casting dancing shadows across the smithy walls.

  "Remarkable," Clarik muttered, watching the steel purify itself. "Simply remarkable."

  Takes less coal this way, I noted as I worked. More efficient than furnace.

  "Aye, and faster too. What would take me days, you do in minutes." He paused, then added quickly, "Not that I'm complaining about the competition, mind you. This is a gift."

  I let out an amused chime-like laugh. Not here to steal your trade. Just want to help.

  The steel spheres cooled one by one, dropping onto the workbench with satisfying thuds. Clarik examined each piece with expert eyes, nodding approvingly at their quality.

  "Perfect, every single one." He gathered the steel into his arms like precious gems. "This'll keep me busy for weeks. The farmers won't believe the quality of their new tools."

  Happy to help, I projected, already turning back to my porcelain work. Least I could do.

  "You know," he said, carefully stacking the steel spheres near his forge, "you've got a way of proving yourself without meaning to. First saving those kids, now this." He gestured at the steel and gave me a smile. "Actions speak louder than words, or mind speech, in your case."

  Hope my actions will convince Weath. That I am not a monster. To be feared.

  Clarik reached out and patted my metal back. "I'm sure you'll win them all to your side, in the end."

  I smiled back, though this time I made sure to keep my lips closed so as I didn't flash my sharp teeth at him.