Aldric stumbled through the darkness. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air cold and stale against his skin. The old orphanage creaked around him, its shadows long and silent. Somewhere behind him, the broken clock ticked unevenly, its rhythm jarring against the pounding in his chest. He shoved against the door once more — the wood groaned beneath his weight, hinges shrieking as the lock finally gave way.


    He tumbled into the hallway, the floor cold beneath his bare feet. The air felt lighter out here, though the weight of what he’d just experienced pressed heavily against his mind. His hands trembled. That boy… Elias. The memories of his life clung to him like a second skin. The warmth of friendship, the cold sting of betrayal. The choking darkness. Aldric could almost feel the phantom fingers around his throat.


    As he stumbled forward, a soft light spilled through the narrow windows. Dawn. The sun crept over the horizon, its rays glimmering against the soot-stained glass of the clock tower. The orphanage stood silent, its children still asleep, oblivious to the strange resurrection that had taken place in the shadows.


    A distant sound broke the silence — the soft rumble of carriage wheels. Aldric turned toward the sound, eyes narrowed against the rising sun. Standing at the gates were a man and woman, their silhouettes framed by the morning light. He recognized them instantly, even without Elias’ memories.


    The couple. The ones who had adopted him.


    They greeted him with warmth and concern, though Aldric barely heard their words. He was still lost in the echoes of Elias’ past. For the first time, he felt the sharp sting of pain and betrayal from the other side. Until now, he had only ever caused pain — never felt it. A faint, unfamiliar sensation stirred within him. Regret. Not overwhelming, not absolute… but present.


    He let the couple take him, barely registering the ride through the city’s winding streets. They spoke softly to him, trying to comfort the fragile child they believed him to be. Aldric simply nodded, silent and distant. When they reached the train station, they explained he wouldn’t be coming home with them just yet.


    “There’s a place for you,” the man — his adoptive father — explained. “A school in the southern city. You’ll learn everything you need to survive in this world. We’ll visit whenever we can.”


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    Aldric didn’t argue. He didn’t care where they sent him. He only wanted to understand this new world, its smoke and steam, and perhaps… himself.


    ---


    The southern city was a different beast entirely. The sky was choked with smog, towering smokestacks spewing steam into the air. Gears turned endlessly in the factories, their rhythmic churning a constant backdrop to life. Technology ruled here. Machines powered everything — from transport to medicine — and those who mastered the craft were revered.


    In the sprawling halls of the Institute of Mechanical Arts, Aldric immersed himself in the study of machines. Prosthetics fascinated him most — the intricate clockwork mechanisms that could replace what the body had lost. He spent hours in the workshops, his hands stained with oil and soot, perfecting delicate joints and flawless metal plating. Each creation felt like a quiet rebellion against the fragile body he now inhabited. If his body was weak, he would master steel.


    But Aldric didn’t stop at machines. He pushed his body as hard as his mind, seeking out combat instructors. Guns became his obsession — not the bulky rifles of the city guards but sleek, efficient pistols. He learned to draw and fire faster than the eye could follow, each shot hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. In the alleys behind the workshops, he honed his aim, the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the night.


    Yet even that wasn’t enough.


    In the city’s underbelly, Aldric found another kind of teacher — a retired soldier who taught him the art of close combat. The man’s methods were brutal. Every lesson left him bruised and bleeding, but Aldric endured. He learned to move with precision, to strike without hesitation. His body became a weapon, each muscle trained to react without thought.


    But no matter how much he learned, the memories lingered. Elias’ memories. His betrayal. His death. Aldric buried himself in his studies, crafting new inventions and perfecting his pistols. The workshop became his sanctuary, the clang of metal and hiss of steam drowning out the whispers of the past.


    As the years passed, he built more than just machines. He built himself.


    He crafted twin pistols, sleek and deadly, each piece custom-made to fit his hands. Their barrels were engraved with intricate patterns, delicate scrollwork etched into the steel. They became an extension of him, a perfect counterbalance to his mechanical skill.


    His reputation grew, both in the workshop and in the alleyways. Some whispered about the cold-eyed boy who never missed a shot. Others marveled at his inventions — clockwork limbs that moved with the grace of flesh and bone. But no one got close. Aldric kept himself apart, a shadow moving through the smoke-filled streets.


    Letters from his adoptive parents arrived often. Occasionally, they visited, but Aldric kept his distance. He learned about their daughter — Clara. She was his age, though they had never met. The letters painted her as kind and clever, beloved by her parents. Aldric felt nothing. He wasn’t their son. He was a stranger in borrowed skin.


    By the time ten years had passed, Aldric had become a master of his craft. His prosthetic designs were leagues ahead of his peers, his pistols deadly works of art. He had become something new. Something dangerous.


    Then, the summons came. His education was complete. It was time to return.


    As the train rattled along the tracks, Aldric watched the smoke-filled horizon. The southern city faded behind him, the world stretching out into endless iron and steam. For the first time in a decade, he would face the home he’d never known.


    He didn’t feel excitement. Or fear. Only a cold, quiet resolve.


    The past had shaped him. The future waited.


    And Aldric would be ready.