The Awkwardness of Brass and Crystal

 The silence that followed Lyra’s revelation was thick enough to be bottled and sold as a high-grade sedative. Kaelen, who just moments before had been a flustered, soot-covered shopkeeper, was now an alchemist transfixed. His gaze was locked onto the clockwork heart, his brown eyes wide with a mixture of awe, academic fervor, and a healthy dose of terror. The purple smoke from his earlier mishap still clung to the corners of the room, but the air between them crackled with a new, intense energy.
“An Aether-Kinetic Core,” Kaelen breathed, the words a reverent whisper. He took a half-step closer, his hand still hovering in the air as if afraid a sudden movement might shatter the delicate marvel. “I’ve only ever seen diagrams. Theoretical models from Professor Valerius’s controversial papers on bio-arcane integration. They were suppressed by the Alchemist Guild twenty years ago. To see a functioning—well, *mostly* functioning—prototype…” He trailed off, his mind clearly racing a thousand miles a minute.
Lyra felt a strange mix of vulnerability and impatience. She was used to people staring at her, but their gazes were usually for the uniform, the sword, the symbol of the Aether Knights. This was different. Kaelen wasn’t looking at *her*; he was looking *through* her, at the mechanism that kept her alive. It was a clinical, intensely focused stare that was somehow more unnerving than any hostile glare she had ever faced. She resisted the urge to cover herself.
“Can you fix it?” she asked, her voice cutting through his academic trance. The question was blunt, direct. It was the only thing that mattered.
Kaelen blinked, his focus shifting from the core to her face. He seemed to register her discomfort for the first time. “Ah, right. Yes. Sorry.” He flushed, taking a step back and running a hand through his already messy hair, leaving a new streak of soot. “Fix it. That’s the question, isn’t it? This isn’t like re-corking a potion or polishing a scrying orb. This is… this is like trying to repair a hummingbird’s wing with blacksmith’s tools while it’s still in flight.”
“I have been told you are the best,” Lyra stated, though hearing his analogy did little to boost her confidence.
“The best at what, exactly? Causing minor alchemical detonations? Being on a first-name basis with the city’s magical containment unit?” he muttered under his breath before speaking up. “I specialize in theory and delicate material composition. In principle, yes, I might be able to help. But I need to examine it. Closely.” He gestured towards a large, sturdy-looking chair in the corner, the one he used for his own long hours of study. “Please. You’ll need to be comfortable. And I’ll need light. Lots of light.”
Lyra hesitated for a second before giving a curt nod. She walked over to the chair and sat, her posture still ramrod straight, as if she were in a military briefing rather than a cluttered alchemy shop. Kaelen, meanwhile, scurried around the room with a newfound purpose. He adjusted several large, multi-faceted crystals suspended from the ceiling. With a few muttered words and a precise tap on each, they began to glow, casting bright, clean beams of light that converged on Lyra’s chest.
He then wheeled over a strange contraption: a stand holding a series of magnifying lenses of varying sizes, all attached to articulated arms. He positioned it beside her, his movements surprisingly deft. “Alright,” he said, his voice now all business. “I’m going to get very close. I won’t touch it. Not yet. I just need to observe the mechanism’s cycle.”
He leaned in, peering through the largest of the lenses. His face was inches from her chest. Lyra’s breath hitched. The situation was profoundly awkward. She was an Aether Knight, trained to keep people at a distance, to project an aura of untouchable authority. Now, this strange, soot-covered man was examining the most vulnerable part of her with the intensity of a jeweler inspecting a diamond. She could smell the faint, lingering scent of lavender and ozone on him. She focused on a point on the far wall, a crack in the plaster that looked vaguely like a map of the southern continent. She would be stone. She would be professional.
“Fascinating,” Kaelen murmured, oblivious to her internal struggle. “The gear train is based on a celestial model. Each rotation corresponds to a planetary alignment, but miniaturized and accelerated. It’s not just keeping time; it’s mapping a cosmic rhythm to regulate Aether flow.” He gently swung another, smaller lens into place. “The fracture in the main crystal… it’s causing a harmonic dissonance. A micro-leakage of raw Aether with every pulse. That’s what’s causing your power fluctuations. The energy isn’t being properly… harmonized before it’s released into your system.”
From her perch on a bookshelf, Rin watched the scene with amusement. *“He’s like a child with a new toy,”* she sent to Kaelen. *“Try not to drool on the Knight, Master.”*
Kaelen’s ears turned red, but he didn’t look up. *“This is serious, Rin,”* he shot back mentally. *“This is the most elegant and dangerous piece of alchemy I’ve ever seen.”*
“The involuntary discharge of energy you mentioned,” Kaelen said aloud, looking at Lyra. “During your fight. It was a failsafe. The core detected a critical energy spike—probably from the strain of combat—and vented the excess to prevent a catastrophic overload. The problem is, each vent like that weakens the crystal further. It’s a vicious cycle.”
Lyra was impressed despite herself. In ten minutes, he had diagnosed the problem with more accuracy than the Citadel’s best artificers had in years. They had only ever treated the symptoms, the energy loss. Kaelen was looking at the fundamental cause.
“So, the crystal needs to be repaired or replaced,” she stated.
Kaelen finally pulled back from the lenses, a grim expression on his face. “Replaced? Impossible. A crystal like that, attuned to a specific person’s life force and integrated with such a complex array… it’s more unique than a fingerprint. It can’t be replicated. It has to be repaired.” He began to pace, his earlier awkwardness replaced by the frantic energy of a mind grappling with an immense problem.
“Repairing a harmonic fracture in a soul-bound Aether crystal isn’t a matter of glue and polish,” he rambled, gesturing wildly. “You can’t just apply a healing salve. That would be like trying to fix a broken bell by painting over the crack. The sound, the resonance, would still be wrong. We need to… we need to persuade the crystal to heal itself. We need to find a catalyst, a material that resonates at the exact same frequency as the crystal’s original, undamaged state, and introduce it in a binding medium.”
He stopped pacing and looked at her, his eyes alight with a feverish brilliance. “It’s a long shot. A very, very long shot. But it’s the only shot we have.”
“What do you need?” Lyra asked, her hope, which had been flickering, now burning a little brighter.
“Materials,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Rare ones. First, I need a binding agent. Something that can hold a catalyst in a liquid state without corrupting its resonance. The sap of the Weeping Willow of the Sunken Grotto would be perfect, but that’s halfway across the continent. The nectar of a Moonpetal flower would also work, but they only bloom on a full moon. Hmm.” He tapped his chin. “Wait. There’s another option. Simpler. Messier.” He rummaged through a pile of scrolls. “Aha! The secretion of a Marsh Lurker. It’s viscous, magically inert, and… well, it smells awful. But it’s obtainable.”
“And the catalyst?” Lyra pressed.
Kaelen’s grin widened. “That’s the fun part. The core is called an Aether-Kinetic Core, but the design notes I read theorized it was powered by a specific spectrum of Aether—Starlight Aether. The purest form. So, to heal it, we need something saturated with that energy. We need Starlight Moss.”
Lyra’s blood ran cold. “Starlight Moss only grows in the Whispering Woods. No one goes there. The woods are… alive. And they don’t like visitors.”
“Precisely!” Kaelen exclaimed, completely missing the ominous tone of her voice. “Which means there’s probably plenty of it! It’s perfect!”
Lyra stared at him. This man, this brilliant, chaotic, socially inept alchemist, was cheerfully proposing a trip to one of the most dangerous locations on the outskirts of Aethelburg as if it were a walk in the park. She had faced down armed thugs, investigated dark conspiracies, and patrolled the highest, most dangerous spires of the city. But the thought of escorting this… liability… through the Whispering Woods filled her with a unique kind of dread.
“I see,” she said, her voice flat. “When do we leave?”
Kaelen, who had already turned to his workbench and was sketching out a plan for a specialized containment unit for the moss, looked up. “Leave? Oh! Right. We. You and me. Yes. Well, I’ll need to prepare a few things. Neutralizing potions for acidic flora, distraction charms for territorial fauna, a packed lunch… How about dawn? Yes, dawn is a very adventurous time of day.”
Lyra stood up, re-buttoning her tunic. The clockwork heart in her chest continued its flawed, syncopated rhythm. For the first time in a long time, however, it wasn’t just a countdown to her demise. It was the ticking of a clock starting a new, uncertain, and incredibly strange chapter of her life.
“Dawn,” she agreed. She turned and walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. “Alchemist,” she said, without looking back.
“Kaelen,” he corrected gently.
“Kaelen,” she repeated. “Try not to blow yourself up before morning.”
The bell on the door jingled as she left. Kaelen stood alone in his shop, a goofy smile on his face. “Did you hear that, Rin?” he said to the cat. “She’s worried about me.”
Rin yawned, her twin tails twitching. *“She’s worried about her only chance of survival being a walking disaster. There’s a difference, Master.”*