I woke to a beam of sunlight directly attacking my face. Not gently illuminating. Not softly glowing. Attacking. I rolled over with a groan and squinted at the crooked clock nailed above my door. 12:32. For a moment, I simply stared at it, hoping the numbers would rearrange themselves into something more respectable. They did not.
“Oh no.”
I was out of bed in seconds, which would have been impressive if it hadn’t involved tripping over my boots and nearly headbutting the wall. Apprentices were not meant to wake at 12:32. Apprentices were meant to be awake before sunrise. Possibly before the sun had fully committed to existing. I dragged on yesterday’s shirt—backwards, I later realized—shoved my feet into my boots, and bolted outside.
Bramble Hollow was fully alive. Farmers shouted at chickens who pretended not to understand. Bakers hauled trays of bread from ovens. Mrs. Alder swept her porch with the focus of someone personally offended by dust. Several villagers watched me sprint past, and I could see it in their eyes: that was the “Master Durnan is going to end him” run.
The forge stood at the edge of town, smoke rising steadily from its chimney. I slowed before stepping inside, attempting to look as though I had been up for hours and had perhaps just returned from something impressive.
“Desmond, you're late. Again.”
Master Durnan didn’t even glance up from the anvil. He didn’t need to. He could probably sense tardiness the way hunting dogs scent fear.
“Sorry,” I said, offering what I hoped was a responsible expression.
“If I had a copper for every time you were late,” he rumbled, setting down his hammer, “I would retire. I would buy a cottage by the sea. I would name it Punctuality.”
“That seems a little extreme.”
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“And yet I keep you,” he continued, fixing me with a look. “Do you know why?”
“I have wondered.”
“It’s because you are the only person in this town besides me who cares how things work. You don’t just swing a hammer. You ask why the hammer works, why iron bends differently than steel. Why hinges fail.”
I couldn’t help smiling at that. Metal made sense to me. Heat it. Shape it. Repair it. Improve it. There was comfort in that logic.
The day passed in sparks and sweat. By the time Master Durnan dismissed me, the sun was dipping low behind the mountain beyond town. It stood quiet and gray as it always had. As I went for my usual walk up and around the mountain, I stumbled upon something new: a cave that I had not seen before, most likely because I was taking a new path today.
The cave was narrow and half-hidden behind brush. I would have missed it entirely if the light hadn’t struck the rock at just the right angle. Naturally, I went inside.
The air cooled immediately. My lantern cast trembling light along rough stone walls as the passage sloped downward. After several steps, I noticed something strange. The texture of the wall changed beneath my fingers. Too smooth. Too even. I scraped away a bit of hardened dirt and felt cold metal beneath it.
The passage opened suddenly into a vast chamber. My lantern barely reached the center, but it was enough.
Something enormous filled the space.
Layered plates like armour. Massive joints locked in place. Thick cables hanging slack. Gears the size of wagon wheels are visible through cracked sections of outer plating. Rust and mineral deposits coated everything. It was not a statue. It was not a building.
It was a machine.
A colossal one.
Half-buried in stone as though the mountain had tried to swallow it.
Near what I assumed was its head sat a circular piece of dark glass—an eye, perhaps—dull and lifeless. I stepped closer, heart pounding. It didn’t feel like something meant to be dismantled. It felt like something that had once moved, once served a purpose, and then been forgotten.
“Who made you?” I whispered.
The cave gave no answer. The machine remained silent.
I stood there a long while, staring up at it. I did not want to take it apart. I wanted to understand it.
