The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering as the oil lamp on the desk cast a warm, steady glow. In the center of the room, surrounded by neatly arranged tools and scattered blueprints, sat Fornos Dag. His sleeves were rolled up, and his slender fingers meticulously adjusted the inner workings of his brass golem, Brassheart.
The construct was seated before him, its outer plating opened up like the petals of a metal flower, revealing a complex array of gears and levers. Brassheart's core pulsed faintly with a soft, rhythmic hum, a sign that the golem was still partially active despite being in maintenance mode.
Fornos leaned closer, his brow furrowed with concentration. He tightened a small bolt, then tested the movement of a gear with a light nudge. Satisfied with the result, he paused to observe the mechanical innards.
Golem movement technology came in three distinct forms: Gears, Macular, and Spheroid.
Gears were the oldest and most reliable form, used in early-generation golems. They involved intricate, interlocking mechanisms that allowed for precise and consistent movement. While not as smooth as more modern methods, gears were durable and straightforward to maintain.
Macular systems were far more advanced, involving artificial muscles made of flexible metal fibers or, in the case of organic golems, real muscle tissue. They mimicked the fluid, natural movements of living beings, but the materials were costly and prone to degradation if not maintained properly.
Spheroid mechanisms were a more recent development—ball-and-socket joints that allowed for multidirectional movement. They were particularly useful for complex articulation, like wrist or shoulder rotations, though they required high-quality materials to prevent wear and tear.
Fornos wiped his hands on a cloth, taking a moment to reflect. Brassheart's movement was a combination of Gears and Spheroid mechanisms—an unusual blend, but it suited his needs. Brassheart wasn't built for fluid, lifelike motion. Instead, it was reliable, efficient, and most importantly, within his means to maintain without the resources of a noble house.
He peered into the compartment, checking the lubrication on the gear shafts. It had been a while since he last serviced the construct, and the faint grind earlier had prompted him to investigate.
As he worked, his thoughts drifted back to the day's earlier conversation with his father. Voss' warning echoed in his mind—about ambition and the danger of pushing too far. Fornos knew his father wasn't wrong, but he couldn't help but feel that the older man didn't see the full picture.
His family's trading business was thriving, but that was precisely the problem. It had reached a peak—one that would eventually become a plateau. Nobles were increasingly monopolizing trade routes, forming alliances that squeezed out merchants like the Dag family. Fornos had seen it happen to others. He wouldn't allow it to happen to them.
But his father's cautious approach irked him. Voss acted like maintaining the status quo was good enough. Fornos didn't believe in stagnation. If they didn't adapt, they would be left behind. And in this world, being left behind meant losing everything.
He picked up a slender screwdriver and adjusted the joint where the gear met the spheroid socket, ensuring that the rotation wouldn't lock up again. Brassheart remained still, its single glass eye reflecting the lamplight as if watching its master with patient curiosity.
In truth, Fornos had grown attached to the old golem. Brassheart had been his first project—built from salvaged parts, pieced together with a blend of ingenuity and stubborn determination. The golem wasn't flashy or sleek, but it was reliable. Just like Fornos preferred.
"Done," he whispered, stepping back and wiping his hands once more. He reached for a small lever within Brassheart's chest and gave it a twist. With a soft whir, the plating closed, sealing the internal mechanisms. Brassheart straightened, its joints clicking as it returned to an upright posture.
"Test movement," Fornos commanded.
Brassheart responded with a series of simple gestures—a left arm raise, a turn of the head, a forward step. The movements were slightly more fluid, the grinding sound gone. Fornos couldn't help but feel a small surge of satisfaction.
A knock at the door broke his focus. Mary entered, carrying a plate with some bread and cheese. "You've been in here for hours," she remarked, setting the food on the table.
"I was just finishing up," Fornos replied, brushing off his hands.
She gave Brassheart an amused glance. "Still fussing over your old friend?"
"It's more reliable than some of the newer models," Fornos countered, glancing at the golem. "It's not flashy, but it works."
Mary smiled softly. "Just like you. You know, your father worries. He sees how hard you're pushing yourself."
Fornos didn't respond immediately, instead checking Brassheart's stance one last time. "He's too focused on maintaining stability. If we don't expand, someone else will. We'll be left behind."
Mary nodded, though her expression turned serious. "But expanding too fast can make enemies. You're not just dealing with merchants—nobles don't like seeing ambitious upstarts. Be careful who you cross."
He knew she was right, but he didn't want to admit it. Instead, he changed the subject. "The deal with the Raya silk guild went well. We have the edge if they fail to meet the quota."
She sighed, recognizing his stubbornness. "Just remember, Fornos, not everyone thinks like you. Not everyone can be won over with logic or a clever contract."
"Then I'll find a way to deal with those who can't," he muttered, half to himself.
Mary leaned over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're smart, Fornos. Just remember that sometimes a gentle touch can work where forceful logic can't."
Fornos glanced at her, his usual guarded expression softening for just a moment. "I'll keep that in mind."
She smiled, squeezing his shoulder gently before leaving the room. Fornos remained where he was, watching Brassheart return to its standby mode, the faint glow of its core barely visible through the gaps in the plating.
He wasn't naïve. He knew his path was risky. But risk was preferable to complacency. The world wasn't kind to those who hesitated. If his father wanted to hold back, that was his choice. Fornos, however, intended to keep moving forward, no matter the cost.
As the night stretched on, Fornos returned to his notes, meticulously planning the next steps. Brassheart stood guard, its presence a quiet reminder of his resolve.
Fornos knew that ambition was a double-edged sword, but he also knew that without it, nothing would ever change.
And change was exactly what he intended to bring—whether the world was ready or not.