"Get down."

Entering the royal garden, Damien pressed his hand onto Hephaestus's shoulder, forcing the Prince into a crouch behind a massive stone gargoyle.

Behind them, Isabelle and the others followed suit, masking their figure behind the stone statue

In an instant, the will Armament shimmering over Damien's skin expanded slightly, wrapping around the group like a camouflage blanket.

It didn't make them invisible, but it twisted the light and sound around them, blending them into the smog.

They were perched on a high-maintenance catwalk overlooking the Royal Foundry.

But it didn't look like a foundry anymore. It looked like a graveyard for giants.

Below them, suspended by massive chains and surrounded by scaffolding, were three colossal, humanoid metal frames.

They stood fifty feet tall, made of gleaming mithril and black iron.

Giant Mechanical Golems. Mechas.

"By the Gods…" Leona whispered, her eyes wide. "What are those?"

"Project Guardian," Hephaestus whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of pride and horror.

"My life's work. They were supposed to be protectors… defenders of the mountain. But they aren't finished. The Neural Link cores aren't installed."

"Quiet," Damien hissed. "Someone is coming."

Below, on the factory floor, a group of figures walked beneath the towering legs of the central mech.

Two wore the crimson-trimmed robes of the Twilight Association. One was a high-ranking Dwarven General with eyes that glowed with a faint, unnatural green light, a thrall.

"Report," the Twilight Cultist rasped. "The Master grows impatient. When will the Titans walk?"

"We are stalled," the General replied, his voice flat and robotic.

"The chassis are complete. The weapon systems are online. But the synchronisation rate is 0%. Without the Neural Link, they are just statues."

"Can't your engineers bypass it?"

"We tried," the General said. "Three engineers burned their brains out trying to hotwire the core. The encryption is too complex. Only the Chief Artificer understands the architecture."

The Cultist slammed his staff against the metal railing.

"The Prince," he spat. "We need Hephaestus."

"He has been elusive," the General admitted.

"But he cannot hide forever. The Regent has ordered a city-wide sweep. We do not need him willing. We just need his mind."

"Capture him," the Cultist ordered.

"Drag him back here. Chain him to the control interface. Flay him if you have to, but force him to finish the calibration. The Iron Legion launches in three days. These Guardians must lead the vanguard."

"If we have these Titans," the Cultist looked up at the looming metal giant with a greedy hunger,

"we will not just conquer the Human Empire. We will crush the Holy Church and the Dragons alike."

On the catwalk, Hephaestus was hyperventilating.

He slumped against the wall, clutching his wrench to his chest.

"They… they want to twist it," Hephaestus gasped.

"They want to turn my Guardians into slaughter machines. If those things launch… nothing can stop them. A single Guardian has the firepower of a 6th Order Mage."

Damien looked at the massive machines. He saw the potential.

In the original novel, these machines, even especially the future version with all kinds of upgrades made them truly a force to be reckoned with

'This is the power I need,' Damien thought. 'The power to fight armies.'

"Hephaestus," Damien grabbed the Prince's shoulder, shaking him out of his panic. "Listen to me. They can't finish them without you. That gives us leverage."

"Leverage?" Hephaestus looked at him with wild eyes. "

They are going to lobotomize me and turn me into a battery! I have to destroy the blueprints! I have to blow up the factory!"

He reached for the detonator on his belt.

"Don't be an idiot," Damien stopped his hand.

"If you blow it up, they will just rebuild it eventually. And they will kill everyone in the city to punish you."

"Then what do I do?" Hephaestus cried softly.

"I can't go back to my workshop. They'll be waiting. I can't go to the palace."

Hephaestus looked at the unfinished Gundams. He felt the weight of his own genius crushing him. He needed guidance.

He needed someone who understood the soul of a machine better than he did.

Then, he remembered.

"There is… one person," Hephaestus muttered, a desperate hope lighting his eyes.

"My father's oldest friend. The former Royal Artificer."

"Former?" Damien asked.

"Grandmaster Brokk," Hephaestus nodded.

"He was the one who taught me the basics of Golemancy. My Uncle fired him the day he took power. Thrain called him a 'senile relic' and kicked him out of the Guild."

"Brokk lives in the Scrapyard District now. In an old, dilapidated clock tower. He… he always told me that if the gears ever stopped turning, I should come to him."

Hephaestus looked at Damien.

"He hates the Regent. He hates the Cult. And he has a hidden forge that isn't on the city grid. If we can get there, we can hide. And maybe… maybe he can help us figure out how to steal the Guardians back."

Damien smirked.

A disgruntled, exiled genius living in a scrapyard? That was a classic RPG trope. And usually, those NPCs gave the best upgrades.

"Lead the way, Prince," Damien said, standing up and pulling his cloak tight.

"Let's go pay this relic a visit."

….....

[The Scrapyard District]

If the Industrial District was a prison, the Scrapyard was a mechanical graveyard.

Mountains of rusted gears, broken pipes, and discarded golem parts towered over the narrow, muddy streets like metal skeletons.

The smog here was so thick you could taste the rust.

It was dark, silent, and eerie.

Hephaestus led them through the maze of junk to a leaning, dilapidated tower made of mismatched metal plates and stone.

A massive, broken clock face hung from the top, frozen at midnight.

"This is it," Hephaestus whispered. "The Old Clocktower."

There were no guards. No lights. Just a heavy iron door with no handle and no keyhole.

Hephaestus walked up to it. But he didn't knock.

Instead, he pulled out his wrench and tapped a specific, rhythmic code on a rusted bolt head near the frame.

Clank. Clank-clank. Clank.

Silence.

Then, a hidden panel slid open in the centre of the door. A single, mechanical eye, a literal camera lens glowing with blue mana, extended out on a brass stalk.

It whirred, focusing on Hephaestus.

"Who disturbs my rust?" a grumpy, gravelly voice echoed from a hidden speaker.

"I don't buy scrap after dark. Piss off."

"Master Brokk!" Hephaestus hissed, looking over his shoulder nervously.

"It's me! Hephaestus!"

The eye zoomed in, the lens aperture contracting.

"The Prince?" The voice scoffed, dripping with sarcasm.

"What are you doing in the trash heap, boy? Did you finally realize that the Regent's 'New Order' is just a fancy word for tyranny? Or did you break your toy again?"

"Uncle Thrain is trying to capture me!" Hephaestus blurted out, his voice cracking.

"They want to force me to finish the Guardian Project! They want to use the Titans for war!"

The mechanical eye paused. It swivelled instantly to Damien, Leona, and the others standing in the shadows.

"And you brought… humans?" The voice dropped an octave, becoming dangerous.

"You brought outsiders to my sanctuary? Are you trying to get me killed, boy?"

"They're Voss!" Hephaestus shouted, playing his trump card.

"It's Theron's son! He saved me!"

Silence.

The mechanical eye extended further, hovering inches from Damien's face.

A beam of blue light scanned him, analyzing his bone structure, his mana signature, and his silver hair.

"Theron's spawn?" The voice muttered, sounding grudgingly impressed.

"He has the same arrogant eyes. And… hmph. He smells like trouble."

CLUNK. HISS.

The sound of heavy pneumatic locks disengaging echoed from inside the door.

Gears ground together as the massive slab of iron slowly swung inward, revealing a warm, cluttered workshop filled with the ticking of a thousand clocks.

"Get in," Brokk's voice grumbled.

"Before you let the smog in, also wipe your feet. I just swept the oil."

Damien stepped inside, looking around at the walls covered in blueprints and half-finished automatons.

"Charming fellow," Damien noted.

"He's the best smith in the world," Hephaestus said, stepping inside and sighing in relief.

"And right now… he's the only one who can help us hack the Guardian Project."

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