Fornos stood quietly in the heart of the bay, a cavernous chamber filled with scattered blueprints, half-forged golem parts, glowing workbenches, and the distinct tang of metal shavings and alchemical oil. The rhythmic hiss of arcane welding tools echoed faintly in the background, as if the place itself never fully slept.
This wasn't just a workshop.
It was a crucible.
And here, in the shadows of forgotten ambition, the old man Konos lived, worked, and—until recently—feared for his place.
Fornos had come here straight from the family estate. His attire, though still sharp, bore the slight signs of long hours and restless planning. His gaze swept over the scattered chaos of the workspace before finally settling on the man curled near a table—Konos, hunched, white-haired, and unashamedly weeping.
"You're crying?" Fornos asked, tilting his head in faint disgust. "Seriously?"
The old man looked up, wiping his tears with trembling hands. "Young master... Are you perhaps not aware?"
"I'm aware of many things, Konos," Fornos replied coolly. "Including the fact that you started golem crafting at the advanced age of forty—an age most would consider late for experimentation, let alone mastery." He picked up a stray cog and flipped it in his hand. "Yet even that was enough to recruit a few rookies under you. Or has that changed?"
Konos lowered his gaze, voice tinged with embarrassment. "That's the problem. All the good ones have been poached by noble houses. The talent I'm left with... is garbage. Barely competent. Most can't even hold a stabilizer rod straight."
Fornos frowned. "Is that why the prototype golem frame isn't ready?"
"Yes," Konos admitted, ashamed.
Fornos gave a short exhale through his nose. "Did you at least upgrade Brassheart?"
At that, Konos's eyes lit up a bit. "Yes! Yes, I did. Please, come."
He led Fornos deeper into the bay, past racks of unfinished golem limbs and component bins. There, standing tall in a protective alcove, was Brassheart. The golem's outward appearance was unchanged—a sleek, bronze-plated humanoid with polished silver joints and emerald eyes—but Fornos could tell from the faint hum and the glow around its joints that something fundamental had shifted.
The core had been modified. The codex had been rewritten.
Konos held out a ring. It was matte black, etched with intricate carvings only visible when it caught the light at a certain angle.
"The new controller," Konos said proudly.
Fornos slid the ring onto his finger. Immediately, a wave of information surged into his mind. Not overwhelming, but intricate—a stream of data outlining Brassheart's systems, sub-routines, fail-safes, tactical overlays, and hidden compartments. It was like slipping into the mind of a soldier who had been trained to obey his every thought.
"Konos," he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. "You outdid yourself."
The old man let out a relieved, breathy chuckle. "So you do approve?"
"Yes," Fornos said, circling Brassheart. The golem responded with a fluid tilt of its head, as if acknowledging its operator. "He moves exactly as I want him to. Clean response times. No delay between intent and action. And the hidden weapons... beautiful work."
"Thank you," Konos said, bowing slightly.
Fornos turned toward him. "Tell me... among the useless lot you've inherited, is there anyone who can at least assemble parts properly? Someone with steady hands and a half-functioning brain?"
Konos scratched the back of his head. "That's the most basic criteria, young master. Only a few were worse than that. The rest... they can at least manage simple assembly and part casting."
"Good," Fornos said, already thinking ahead. "How many people would be required to construct a single golem?"
"If we're talking about a standard twenty-foot war golem—not like Brassheart, who's a personal-grade butler—then at least fifty people, minimum," Konos answered. "And that's assuming we're working with optimized processes and basic materials. No exotic alloys. No custom codices."
"We'll start with the cheap ones, then," Fornos said. "Nothing fancy. Simple limbs. Reinforced torso. No mana cannons or flight cores. Just raw function. Get me the top fifty of your rejects."
Konos blinked. "You want me to... organize them into a team?"
"Yes," Fornos replied. "But do it quietly. No announcements, no parading them around. Let them believe they're still being evaluated. I don't want word of this spreading until we've already made progress."
"Understood."
"I want a working frame in thirty days," Fornos continued. "It doesn't need to fight. It just needs to move, lift, and hold form under minor pressure. If it survives stress tests, we'll move forward."
"And if it doesn't?" Konos asked hesitantly.
"Then we'll bury it. And them with it," Fornos said coldly.
Konos gulped but nodded. He had worked with the Dag family long enough to know the stakes. And despite his fear, he also knew what this meant: Fornos hadn't abandoned golem research.
He was doubling down.
As Fornos walked away from Brassheart, he looked over the notes Konos had left scattered on a nearby table. Most were simple adjustments—core placement, stabilizer line routing—but a few were complex enough to hint at innovations even the nobles hadn't implemented yet.
"Have you considered putting a relay in the chest instead of the back?" Fornos asked.
Konos looked up, surprised. "What? That would require splitting the core functions and rerouting—"
"I know what it requires," Fornos cut in. "I want to see if it improves reaction speed. If you can implement it in the next design, do it. If not, we'll test it on a dummy."
Konos nodded slowly. "I'll try."
"You'll succeed," Fornos said flatly. "Or we'll find someone who can."
He didn't wait for a response. He turned, stepping out into the corridor beyond the workshop bay, where the air was slightly less saturated with the smell of metal and magic.
Behind him, Konos stood silently for a moment before clapping his hands and calling out for the apprentices.
The next phase had begun.
The world may have believed the Dag family had surrendered its claim in the arena of golemcraft, but in truth, they had simply gone underground.
Fornos wasn't building machines.
He was building weapons.
And soon, he'd unleash them.