The rhythmic ping of hammer on metal filled Clarik's smithy as he and I worked on our separate projects. I was shaping the steel skeleton for my new form while he hammered out various items for the farmers of Weath. After a few hours work, I'd pause to create some more pure steel for Clarik's farming tools. The pace was meditative, allowing my mind to drift while my hands stayed busy.

  "No Eyes!" Mallie's cheerful voice rang out as she bounded into the workshop, her bow slung across her back. "You won't believe what happened today!"

  I set down some bits of reshaped steel. Tell me.

  "Got my first deer!" She beamed, practically bouncing. "Right through the eye, clean shot. Master Hunter Jace said he hadn't seen aim that precise in years."

  Impressive shot, I projected, genuinely proud of her achievement.

  "The tracking part was harder though." She wrinkled her nose. "Jace keeps trying to teach me about reading broken twigs and deer droppings, but I just can't seem to get it. The other Hunters make fun of me since they don't have to learn all that stuff 'cause they have Hunter abilities. They say my Archer class is better for combat than hunting."

  "Still," Clarik chimed in from his forge, "a clean kill's nothing to sneeze at. That's good eating for the village."

  Mallie nodded eagerly. "The Butcher's already working on it. Said the pelt's in good condition too! Barely any blood on it since I got the eye shot. The Leathersmith might even make something special from it."

  How is the experience gain? I asked, knowing she'd been concerned about advancing without monster fights.

  "Slower than in the Hellzone," she admitted. "But steady. Each deer gives me a little. Plus," she grinned, "Jace says there's been bear signs in the north woods. That would be worth some real experience points."

  Be careful, I projected automatically, then caught myself as she rolled her eyes.

  "I know, I know. No solo hunting, especially for big game." She hopped onto a workbench, swinging her legs. "But it's nice, you know? Having something useful to do. Something that helps people without having to..." She trailed off, but I knew she was thinking of the violence at Qordos.

  Yes, I agreed. Peaceful work. Is good work.

  We settled into comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of metalwork. Mallie watched as I continued crafting my new skeleton, occasionally asking questions about the process. The afternoon light streamed through the smithy windows, casting long shadows across the floor. In moments like these, the fears and suspicions of the villagers seemed far away.

  But it wasn't just my new body that I had been working on.

  While Mallie practiced her archery outside, I turned my attention to my combat frame. The basic structure had served well enough during our escape from Qordos, but experience had shown several weaknesses that needed addressing.

  I lifted open the chest plate, examining the connection points. Would you hand me that coil. Of steel wire? I projected to Clarik, who was organizing his tools nearby.

  "Here." He passed it over. "Better than the copper stuff you've been using, that's for certain. Won't snap under strain."

  I threaded the wire through the joint mechanisms, replacing the older copper strands. The difference was immediate, with each movement becoming sharper, more precise. Where before there had been a slight delay between thought and action, now the response was nearly instantaneous.

  The armor plates came next. I'd salvaged additional steel from Clarik's scrap pile, reinforcing the frame at key stress points. The added weight would slow me down, but the protection was worth the trade-off. I'd learned from fighting Chanos that speed alone wasn't always enough.

  "Clever design with these hinges," Clarik noted as I installed the new chest plate access. "Makes it easier to get in and out of?"

  I nodded, testing the swing of the front panel. The reinforced hinges allowed the chest to open smoothly, like a cabinet door. No more awkward wiggling to position myself inside the frame.

  Old design was inefficient, I projected. This way I can respond. Faster if body is damaged. Or if I need to switch forms quickly.

  I worked methodically through each limb, strengthening joints and adding armor plating. The legs received extra attention. I'd noticed they tended to buckle under heavy impacts. By the time I finished, the combat frame looked bulkier, more imposing, but the improved engineering meant every movement remained fluid and controlled.

  Standing up, I tested the modifications. The added weight was noticeable, but the enhanced steel wire compensated, allowing for powerful, precise strikes. I executed a series of movements, the four arms moving in perfect coordination. Yes, this would serve much better if trouble came to Weath again.

  I stood in front of a bronze mirror I had made a few days ago, examining my newest creation. The combat frame that had served me so well in the Hellzone was now hunched in the corner of Clarik's smithy like a discarded suit of armor. The new body I wore was different, a marriage of function and beauty that reflected who I might have been.

  The proportions were designed to match my remaining arm perfectly, suggesting I had once been quite tall. At over six feet, I towered above my previous mechanical body, though not as high as that first crude five-legged construct I'd built from battlefield scraps. I kept the frame lean, following the delicate lines of my sole surviving limb.

  Without memories of my gender, I chose an androgynous form. No curves or muscles to suggest male or female, just clean lines and smooth surfaces throughout. The steel skeleton and complex machinery disappeared beneath white porcelain plates, each piece carefully shaped to mimic human anatomy. I had incorporated the blue floral patterns from Sarah Goodmak's crockery, creating flowing designs that traced across my new body like painted veins.

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  I raised an arm, watching the porcelain plates slide smoothly over one another. The engineering was precise, each joint moving with fluid grace while maintaining the aesthetic illusion of skin. The combat form had been purely functional, but this body was art. Perhaps it would help the villagers see me as something more than just a monster.

  My reflection stared back at me, still eyeless, still bearing those ragged red wounds at my true body's edges; but now it was housed in something that looked almost human. It was beautiful, in its own way.

  I lifted the final piece of my transformation: a mask of pristine white porcelain. The surface gleamed in the smithy's lamplight, delicate blue flowers blooming along its edges like frost on a winter morning. I'd spent hours perfecting every detail, ensuring the curvature would shield my ruined face without appearing too artificial.

  I lifted the featureless mask to my face, remembering my earlier attempts. The first version had included painted eyes, deep blue irises surrounded by white, matching the porcelain's color scheme. But something about those false eyes had been deeply disturbing. They stared without life, without movement, a mockery of sight that only emphasized my otherworldly nature.

  The second attempt incorporated glass eyes, salvaged from a broken doll in the general store. Those were even worse. The glassy sheen caught lamplight in unsettling ways, making them appear to move and shift when they shouldn't. Several of Clarik's apprentices had actually backed away when I tested that version.

  "Those eyes make you look like some kind of possessed statue," Clarik had said, shuddering. "Like something that shouldn't be alive but is."

  He was right. The artificial eyes drew attention to what I lacked, making me appear more monstrous than my current eyeless state. The people had already given me a name that acknowledged my condition: No Eyes. Fighting against that identity only made me seem like I was trying to hide something sinister.

  So this final mask was different. A graceful sweep of pure white porcelain, decorated only with the same delicate blue flowers that adorned the rest of my new form. No attempt at false humanity, just clean, simple elegance. The smooth surface reflected my acceptance of what I was, while its artistry showed what I aspired to be.

  My fingers traced the steel reinforcement I'd layered within. The metal was thin but strong, providing protection for the vulnerable red flesh where my eyes should have been. The mask would cover from my hairline to just below my nose, leaving my mouth exposed.

  As I brought the mask to my face, it responded like all my mechanical parts did, drawn to the ragged, red edges of my true form. The porcelain settled against my skin with a familiar sensation, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, simply becoming part of me. No straps or bindings were necessary; it adhered as naturally as the rest of my constructed body.

  The connection was instant. Like my mechanical limbs, the mask integrated with my awareness. I could feel its smooth surface as if it were my own skin, sense the flow of a breeze against the porcelain. Through Integration, these crafted parts truly became extensions of myself.

  I turned back to the mirror. The mask transformed my appearance, replacing the horror of my eyeless face with something eerily beautiful. The blue patterns seemed to shift in the light, creating the illusion of expression where there was none. Perhaps now I could walk through Weath without causing children to hide behind their mothers.

  The smithy door creaked open as Clarik and Mallie entered. I turned from the mirror to face them, curious about their reaction to my transformation. Clarik's mouth fell open, his usual stream of smithing commentary completely silenced.

  Mallie had no such restraint. She burst into delighted laughter, clapping her hands together. "Oh! You look beautiful! Like one of those fancy statues in the temple, but alive!"

  Clarik cleared his throat. "It's... impressive work. But, uh..." He scratched his beard. "You might want to consider wearing some clothes. You look rather... naked."

  This set Mallie off again, her gap-toothed grin wider than ever. I looked down at my porcelain-plated form. While the plates covered everything completely, I supposed the human-like proportions did create a certain... unclothed impression.

  "Wait here," Clarik said, hurrying out of the smithy. He returned moments later with a bundle of clothing: a brown linen shirt, worn pants, and a pair of scuffed boots. "These are extras of mine. Should do for now."

  I pulled on the clothes, the fabric feeling strange against my porcelain plates. Turning back to the mirror, I had to agree with Mallie's grimace. Clarik's clothes hung off my frame like sails in a dead wind. The shirt's shoulders extended well past my own, and I had to roll the pants several times just to see my feet. The man was a few inches taller than me in my new form, and broader to boot; of course his clothes would ill suit me.

  "You look awful," Mallie announced with characteristic directness. Her face brightened. "Oh! I could ask Ma if you could have some of her old dresses! They'd fit much better than Clarik's things."

  I shook my head. No thank you.

  "But why not?" Mallie's lower lip jutted out in a pout. "You'd look so pretty in a dress. The blue one with the lace trim would match your porcelain perfectly."

  Neither like nor dislike dresses, I projected through Mind Speech. Clothes are clothes.

  "Then what's the problem?" She crossed her arms, green eyes narrowing at me in that stubborn way that meant she wouldn't let this go easily.

  Your mother already hates me. Views me as a threat. I adjusted Clarik's oversized shirt, trying to keep it from sliding off one shoulder. Wearing her old clothes would only. Make things worse.

  Mallie's expression darkened at the mention of Katherin. She'd witnessed enough of her mother's cold shoulders and sharp comments directed my way. Just yesterday, Katherin had made a point of steering some of the neighborhood children away when I passed by their home.

  "Ma's being stupid about this," Mallie muttered, kicking at a loose nail on the smithy floor. "You saved us. You helped us escape. You're protecting the village now."

  Your mother loves you. She wants to keep you. Safe. I touched Mallie's shoulder with my porcelain hand. From her perspective. I am a monster who involved her daughter. In violence.

  "But-"

  She is not entirely wrong. About that last part.

  Mallie's shoulders slumped. "I guess." She sighed, the sound full of pre-teen exasperation. "Fine. No dresses. But we have to find you something better than Clarik's old work clothes. You look like a scarecrow."

  I turned back to the mirror, studying Clarik's ill-fitting clothes. The fabric itself was fine; the sturdy cotton and well-tanned leather would serve well enough. The problem lay solely in the size.

  My Assembly ability hummed to life as I focused on the cloth. The fabric began to shift and reform, excess material dropping away as the shirt contracted around my porcelain frame. Threads unwove and rewove themselves, creating clean seams that followed my new body's proportions. The shoulders drew in, the sleeves shortened, and the loose billowing chest became fitted without being tight.

  The pants underwent a similar transformation, length shortening as the waist drew in. Excess fabric fell away in neat strips, leaving properly fitted trousers. The boots were last, leather reshaping itself as unnecessary material peeled away. The laces shortened and realigned, creating footwear that matched my feet perfectly.

  I reached up and gathered my long black hair, which had remained one of my few unchanged features. Taking a strip of excess cloth, I bound it back into a neat tail that hung between my shoulder blades. The simple action exposed the graceful lines of my neck, completing the transformation.

  Mallie circled me with an appraising eye. "Much better! Now you actually look like a person instead of someone playing dress-up with their father's clothes."

  Looking in the mirror, I had to agree. The fitted clothing gave my mechanical form a more natural appearance. Combined with the porcelain plates and mask, I could almost pass for human at first glance. Only my unnaturally smooth movements and the blue floral patterns flowing across the white surfaces hinted at my true nature.

  Not to mention my dental features.

  I gave the reflection in the bronze mirror a smile, revealing the sharp, jagged rows of white. I definitely would not be smiling too often, for everyone's sake.