Vol 1 - Ch 24 - The Inglorious Revolution

The smell of motor oil and 1980s rock came to mind whenever Caelan thought of Gramps. That lingering memory has lasted since childhood.

According to Gramps, Caelan had been watching him work before he could even walk. The young boy would focus on the dismantling of engines as if watching a stupid kid's cartoon. When he learned how to walk, Gramps would ask for his assistance.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

The young man stood at the threshold, staring at the dust-coated garage. Years untouched. Like Gramps left it. Like Caelan refused to deal with it.

All the tools in their place, beer in the fridge, and unfinished projects. His old cologne still clung to the air. Being inside tightened his chest, the start of a dizzy spell about to hit.

You’ve put this off long enough. The dust won’t bury itself.

With a sigh, he stepped into the room.

“Caelan! Do you know which box I packed my books in?”

He got out of the room like a startled cat. “You mean the elf porn or the ones for sane people? Cause I refuse to go near the first ones!”

“Both! And I’ll have you know it’s fairy porn, you philistine!”

He bolted from the room like a startled cat. Fingers lingered on the doorknob. A second longer. Then, he shut it.

Next time, I promise.

-----

For weeks after Aunt Ye’s returned, Caelan focused on improving himself.

On the first night, Doc brought him to the basement. Caelan couldn't help but notice group painting had disappeared. No doubt lying among the piles of clutter all around it. But that didn't matter, only how Doc pressed a hidden switch behind a bookcase.

The laboratory of a mad scientist was an apt description of what Caelan saw. A variety of chemical scents assaulted his senses. Tables overflowed with alchemical tools: glass flasks stacked in precarious towers, blackened tongs, and humming contraptions. Caelan’s mind raced—how had Doc kept all this hidden from the army? Couldn’t have been easy, all things considered.

Doc closed the hidden door, the bluish lamps the only light available. “So, I’ll assume you know the basics of how Essence works.” With a grunt, he sat down at a large chair.

“Yes sir—” He caught Doc’s glare and cleared his throat. “Six elements, each with unique properties. Most people can manage simple tasks with theirs, like powering electronics. Awakened can attune their essence to an element, gaining extra properties.”

Doc puffed from his nostrils. “Looks like you ain’t a total waste of space.”

Caelan gave him a smirk in return. “Your words warm my heart, boss.”

“Get a coat, it works better.” With a sigh, Doc pulled a blackboard from behind the chair.

“Alchemy ain't like Aethertec,” Doc grumbled. “The former slaps new tricks onto something—like strappin’ wheels to a tree to make it roll. Alchemy? That changes the tree itself. Make it float on its own, turn it to stone. Whole different beast.”

In short, alchemy was an explosive. One mistake and you lose either your live or a limb. He made sure to pay very close attention to all safety precautions.

“You throw crap in, add Essence, and pray it doesn't blow your face off.” Doc picked a container from the closest desk. “Lignum is just wood mixed with a few substances and Ignis and Morus essences. You change the ratio of elements and you get a rubber imitation.”

So that’s how they make fantasy plastic.

Doc’s chair groaned under his weight. “Before we start, lemme ask you something. You said you wanted to kill an Unspoken. For that, you could have asked me to prepare things for you. Instead, you asked to learn alchemy and improve on aethertec. Why?”

One look at him and Caelan knew no bullshit would work. Doc had seen firsthand the devastation his knowledge could cause. With one sigh, the young man looked into his eyes. “I have other objectives to achieve. And every bit of data I gather will even my odds.” He looked away, feeling his face going hot. “Plus, I… like making things. Used to take apart all sorts of things as a kid, only to try to put them back together. Mostly failed at it for a long time, though.”

The professor grumbled under his breath. “Good. But there are three conditions.” He raised one finger up. “You can’t ever divulge anything I teach you to others.”

“Never planned to.” Doc remained quiet, still like a statue. Caelan straightened his back. “I swear I won’t.”

The second finger raised. "You must never create weapons of mass destruction. No matter for who or what cause.”

Caelan tensed up at the condition. Several future events would need it for an easier victory. Still, he could make do without using chemical warfare. “I swear.”

The final finger went up. “I’ll only teach you non-lethal methods to handle people.”

“What?” Caelan’s mouth went dry. “What’s the point of second condition, then?”

“Unless you have less than two brain cells, you can learn on your own.” Doc leaned forward a bit. “I want to avoid tempting you with that knowledge. Will help in making that weapon of yours, but won’t show you how, understood?”

Caelan took a deep breath, letting his mind cool down. “Alright, I can work with that.”

“Alright.” With a nod to the head, Doc signaled to the instruments. “You can begin then.”

The displaced settled into a routine for the next two weeks. Mornings, he worked at the clinic. Afternoons, he improved his aethertec skills with Nashoba or Doc. Nights, devoted to alchemy. Doc ran a spartan course, designed to make him quit.

None of that bothered him. If anything, it felt like a vacation compared to his special forces training.

For the weapon’s actual construction, he enlisted Nashoba’s help. “You know, this isn’t half-bad at all,” said Caelan as he inspected the workshop.

Unlike the rest of the house, Nashoba kept his workshop in perfect order. No clutter, and every tool and piece of machinery spotless and well-arranged. "You can find and repurpose all sorts of things if ya lucky enough." He slapped one of the machines, eyes shining. "Even got myself a 3D printer."

You could call it a mess of repurposed parts, with its wiring tangled like vines. “You sure that thing works?”

“Hey! Don’t say that in front of a lady!”

He placed both hands at its sides, as it to cover its ears. “And she may not look the prettiest, but she gets the job done.” With a chuckle, Nashoba pointed to the rolled paper Caelan carried. “Whatcha got there?”

Design unveiled over the table, Nashoba’s eyes went wide as plates. “A weapon, requiring no physical excellence nor essence control. A perfect fit for me, wouldn’t you think?”

"What a beauty!" With a frown, the zoakri picked up a pencil and began taking notes on the drawings. "We gonna need Doc to make the materials. And I'll go old school for some of these metal bits."

“You think it’s doable?”

With a few taps of the pencil, Nashoba nodded. “I made bows before. Shouldn’t be too different. Only thing is…”

“Yes?”

Nashoba turned to Caelan, raising an eyebrow. “Why do ya need that? Can’t you use a bow?”

An expected question. “This can pack as much power, if not more, than most bows. Without needing too much physical strength or years of training.”

Eyes narrowed, Nashoba’s ears stood on attention. “And the reason ya want it made?”

Caelan had spent a long time thinking on the best excuse to give him. “With the way things are nowadays, I would rather feel as safe as possible. Wouldn’t you?”

"I guess…" One last look at the drawing before a grin appeared. "Meh, who cares? Let's go build cool shit."

In the garden area, Nashoba also had many blacksmithing tools. “You’d be surprised how often folks need good tools. And I make mine from scraps, so I get a good penny outta it.”

As Caelan scanned the area, his gaze landed on the black spires looming in the distance—the Emanators, standing about fifty meters from the house. When asked, Nashoba explained they kept the Hollow away from the cultivated areas.

“Keeps sending a noise those things dislike. Makes them uncomfortable, I think.”

Caelan looked at the flimsy fence connecting them all. “What happens if it turns off?”

Nashoba shrugged. “You hide or run.”

The casual tone sent shivers down Caelan’s spine.

As for Doc, he focused the “education” on practical things Caelan would need. For the crossbow, how to use runes to make its parts studier and its damage higher. And how to make proper aethertec bombs, unlike his makeshift ones.

The first test came five days into the process. Made to check if it could send a projectile away. The cord snapped with a vicious whip, slicing beneath his eye. If not for the goggles, he’d be learning to aim one-eyed. Never forget the proper safety gear.

They made the second prototype with a Kevlar-like material for the string. It worked, but far weaker than it should have. Back to the drawing board, they played around with the shapes of the limbs and many other ideas.

Each failure did little to cull Caelan’s determination. Meanwhile, Nashoba looked like a kid on Christmas Eve with each setback. He would go late into the night brainstorming ideas for improvements. Only stopped to help people who knocked on the door for his help.

Watching him felt like seeing a magician at work. Only ever took twenty minutes, at best, to figure out where the issue resided. Then, after a few more minutes Nashoba gave back the now working object.

On some days, he left Caelan alone to work the forge outside. The rhythmic beating of the metal served to count the time. Sometimes the displaced watched him melt the scrapped metal and reshape it. There was something hypnotic about the way he turned cold bars into all manner of tools.

They bid farewell to a middle-aged couple as they left with a new set of hoes. “Lots of people come here.”

“They know I do good work here,” said Nashoba, with a stuffed chest.

At his feet sat a box of vegetables—payment for his work. “You could have charged more for it, couldn’t you?”

The zoakri turned at him in utter confusion. “Why would I do that?”

The subject didn’t get pressed any further.

Three weeks later, the crossbow was complete. With a 160-pound draw weight, it matched the punch of an English war bow—but in a compact, modernized frame built for efficiency and speed. A classic weapon, modernized with that world’s magic.

With Doc’s guidance, Caelan handled strange composites—light as air, yet stronger than steel. The closest equivalent to glass fiber in this world. Nashoba assisted with the steel and aluminum pieces. All hammered by hand (and a power hammer here and there).

With how annoying it is to get these, it’s a miracle the empire let it all sit in piles of trash.

For the tests, they rigged an essence battery to the weapon with cables. Had to check if it could operate before thinking about the portability. Without exploding the entire thing, of course.

He loaded the bolt, pressed the stock against his shoulder, and took aim. Steady, calculated, like lining up a headshot. They made an iron sight to begin with, more than enough for the former soldier. Holding his breath, he placed a finger on the trigger.

One move of the finger had the runes on the limbs glow. They acted as force incrementors to increase draw weight. The bolt cut through the air like a whispered promise, slamming into the wood with a dull thunk. It didn’t only pierce—it buried itself deep, refusing to budge. Then, some light emanated from within the machine, as the string got pulled back on its own.

“It worked!” Arms raised Nashoba jumped in for a hug. “Come on, let me give it a shot!”

Once the battery ran out after the seventh shot, back to the designer’s room. The artisan had a portable dimensional pocket system to store arrows in mind. Not to mention ways to make portable batteries. His enthusiasm so contagious that even Caelan kept bouncing ideas back and forth.

In all his life, the displaced never met someone like that. Who enjoyed the process of creating things from scratch. At least since Gramps…

The memory got buried away. No time for it now, he had to finish the crossbow. And once he dealt with the figure, things could at last be right.

Just wait, you bastard!