ProlixalParagon walked beside Haidrien, still slightly stunned by the speed with which everything had turned — from manacled defendant to free Tinkerer in a single breath and the confident interjection of a stranger who looked just enough like him to draw trouble.
“So,” Prolix said as they turned down a narrow side street flanked with hanging ferns and green-blown glass lanterns. “Do you make a habit of letting nobles falsely accuse you, or is this a new hobby?”
Haidrien’s expression twitched into a smirk. “Oh, I collect scandals the way old men collect bird teeth. Gives the city something to gossip about.”
Prolix tilted his head. “You wanted Yosthar to think you broke into his estate?”
“Not exactly,” Haidrien said, his tone measured. “But let’s just say… the man’s not exactly level-headed when it comes to affairs of the heart.”
Prolix’s ears perked. “What’d you do, outdrink him? Outwit him in a duel?”
Haidrien gave a dry laugh. “I spoke to Lady Mellissandre without asking his permission.”
They passed under a stone arch carved with dolphins and starbursts. Beyond it, the sound of gears turning — soft, rhythmic, like the city itself breathing — drifted into the street.
“Yosthar Kasserrith,” Haidrien continued, voice growing softer, “is a Cataphractan lord with all the usual fixations: territory, perception, and control. He was betrothed to Mellissandre for alliance, not love. But she’s bright — too bright to be content nodding along to his monologues about salt tariffs. When she saw me walking near the amphora gardens… she waved. Smiled. We talked.”
Prolix raised a brow. “Childhood friends?”
“Since we were kits,” Haidrien said, nodding. “She used to steal ink sticks from her tutors and pass them to me so I could sketch clockwork without chalk bleeding in the damp.”
Prolix chuckled. “Sounds like she was the brains of the operation.”
“She still is.” Haidrien’s smile turned wistful, then faintly sly. “But Yosthar… he sees shadows where there are none. He saw her smiling at a Fennician with a similar build to me, and assumed I was the one she meant to be smiling at. That I was… interested in her.”
Prolix caught the shift in tone. Haidrien’s eyes sparkled, but not with amusement. With gentle emphasis.
“And you’re not?” Prolix asked.
Haidrien gave him a sidelong glance, then let his voice smooth out like polished brass.
“I adore Mellissandre,” he said. “But in the way one adores a sister who once helped you sew clock springs into the hem of your sleeves because you wanted to feel like a magician.”
Prolix grinned. “Got it.”
They shared a quiet, companionable moment as the street curved downward toward a lower platform where tide pools glimmered between paving stones.
Haidrien gestured to a storefront ahead, its door framed with braided copper wire and hung with a bell that ticked instead of chimed.
“Here we are. The Turning Moment. Welcome to my shop.”
ProlixalParagon paused at the threshold, drinking it in. The sign was elegantly understated, with a small etched motif of a gear turning a moon phase dial. The scent of machine oil, rosewood, and ozone curled out into the air.
Inside, the shop was a wonderland of delicate mechanisms. Shelves lined the walls, each one holding dozens of half-built constructs, flickering lenses, tiny walking beetles of brass and shell, and hummingbird-sized sky skimmers made of wire and folded mica. A small automaton in the shape of a crab skittered past Prolix’s boots with a polite click.
“Most of this is just commissioned art or utility craft,” Haidrien said, shrugging off his outer scarf. “Water clocks, spice grinders, perfume dispensers. But a few things…” He walked over to a workbench and gently picked up a spider-shaped contraption with a cracked glass thorax. “…are personal puzzles.”
Prolix stepped closer, examining the spider. Its legs were jointed like real bone. “Beautiful. You run it on sand pressure?”
“Heat and memory,” Haidrien replied. “Takes scent cues from old wax, moves toward anything it’s been trained to remember.”
Prolix let out a soft whistle. “That’s no simple art. You’ve tuned mana-echo harmonics into the joints?”
Haidrien looked at him, genuinely surprised. “You recognize that?”
“I’m a Tinkerer,” Prolix said, holding out his palm. “Gear-smith, clock-hopper, puzzle-breaker. And I’ve built my fair share of problems that almost exploded.”
They both laughed.
Prolix stepped away from the spider, his eyes scanning the room. “Your work’s got grace. Balance. Makes mine look like thrown-together salvage.”
Haidrien raised a brow. “You work with your Troupe?”
Prolix nodded. “Mostly maintenance, traps, field gear. But it’s evolving. Being in this world, being in the game — it’s… changing how I think. How I build. Everything feels more real.”
Haidrien tilted his head. “You’re a gamewalker, then. That explains the odd sense of presence I felt from you in the trial chamber.”
Prolix blinked. “You noticed?”
“You all shimmer,” Haidrien said, voice quieter now. “Not visibly. But… like a gear that turns a little too smoothly. Doesn’t catch the way the rest of us do.”
They stood in the shop for a long moment, surrounded by ticking, whirring, and soft mechanical breath.
ProlixalParagon rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you. For what you did.”
Haidrien just nodded. “No one else was going to.”
Outside, the bells of the Tide-Tier chimed softly, marking the last hour before dusk.
The soft whirring and gentle ticks of The Turning Moment provided a quiet rhythm as ProlixalParagon stepped over to his side pouch and unfastened a folded leather case. The clasps clicked open with a satisfying snap, revealing three parchment scrolls sealed in wax embossed with old, spiraling sigils — the mark of the elusive Master Tinkerer, an ancient artificer spoken of more in speculation than fact.
“I was going to wait until I got back to the wagons,” Prolix said, unrolling the scrolls onto Haidrien’s central workbench, “but… if anyone knows the deep lore on Tinkerer builds, it’s probably the guy who tunes scent-driven spider-bots by memory crystal.”
Haidrien glanced at him, amused, then leaned in.
The scrolls unfurled one by one — inked with careful lines and mana-reactive symbols, some faded, some pulsing faintly with residual resonance. Two bore stylized glyphs at their base: the spiral gear crest of the Tinkerer class, accompanied by a looping rune for “bind” in the old dwarven script.
“You’ve got three already?” Haidrien murmured, surprised. “And you’re still under level forty?”
Prolix nodded. “Quest chain’s called The Lost Workbenches of the Master Tinkerer. It triggered after I dismantled and repurposed a siege scorpion in the Dustreach tunnels during a… complicated moment.”
Haidrien laughed softly. “I’m starting to believe trouble really does follow you.”
Prolix pointed to the first scroll. “That one, I’m sure, is armor — the blueprint references flexible alloy interweaves, modular plating, and something called a ‘reactive venting collar.’ Pretty sure it’s meant to resist mana overload.”
Haidrien’s eyes flicked across the page. “You’re right. This would be light-class armor tuned for Technomagicka resilience. Soul-bound. See these ink echoes here?” He tapped the faded edges. “Only works if it syncs with your aura signature at creation. No resale. No handoffs.”
Prolix grimaced. “So I get one chance to build it right.”
Haidrien gave a small nod. “And once you do, it’ll evolve as you level. Every tier you gain past forty, the armor will shift — reconfiguring enchantment arrays, improving fittings. If the core's stable, it might even adapt to your combat style.”
Prolix blinked. “Like… it learns me?”
“In a sense. The Master Tinkerer wasn’t just building gear — he was trying to build companions. Equipment that grew with the user.”
He moved to the second scroll. “This one’s more complex. Mana conductors along the shaft… kinetic triggers… this is a weapon. Two-handed, probably. See the heat-dissipation glyphs?”
Prolix frowned. “Any idea what kind?”
Haidrien studied the schematic. “Could be a polearm with ranged capability. A mana flinger that switches to a crescent-blade mode. Definitely experimental. It would draw from your internal mana pool and external power sources. Here — these sockets are designed for modular charge packs.”
“And it’s soul-bound too?” Prolix asked.
Haidrien nodded. “All three are. You’re not just collecting blueprints. You’re collecting inheritance pieces.”
Prolix tapped the third scroll — the one he hadn’t cracked yet. “And that one? I can’t even tell if it’s a tool or a weapon.”
Haidrien squinted at it. “Mmh… fascinating. This one doesn’t follow conventional symmetry. The glyph sequences suggest it’s reactive — something that configures itself differently depending on its environment or user state. Could be a hybrid support module. Maybe even a mobile construct.”
“Like a pet?”
“Like a partner,” Haidrien said. “These aren’t just items. They’re legacy works. If you complete this quest, you won’t just have gear — you’ll have a signature. Your name inscribed into the code of the system.”
ProlixalParagon sat back slowly, the weight of it settling in his chest like a gear locking into place. “I didn’t think it was that big.”
Haidrien folded his arms. “Only a handful of players in all of Soohan’s logging archives have found even one of the Master Tinkerer’s scrolls. You’ve got three. And if you’re asking me about subclasses…?”
Prolix’s ears perked up again. “I am. I mean, I’ve been scraping by with general skills and basic traps. But if I’m going to make it to BaiGai — if I’m going to protect the Troupe — I need more than clever gadgets.”
Haidrien nodded slowly, then spoke with deliberation.
“There are a few advanced branches. You won’t see them listed in any public compendiums. But if the system recognizes your affinity, it might offer you one.”
He ticked them off on his fingers:
“Scrapwright — focuses on modular summons and animated constructs. High field control, low direct damage, but deadly with planning.”
“Runecrafter-Engineer — fuses magic and machinery. Think mines, turrets, and devastating rune grenades. But the mana upkeep is brutal.”
“Chronotinkerer” — Haidrien’s voice dropped an octave. “Time-adjusted devices. Experimental tech that lets you delay spells, repeat effects, even skip cooldown windows. Dangerous. And… unstable.”
Prolix stared. “That last one sounds illegal.”
“It might be,” Haidrien admitted. “Which is why it isn’t listed in the official subclass tree. But the Master Tinkerer? He was obsessed with transcending limitations. So if you’re following his path…”
He tapped the third scroll again, then gave ProlixalParagon a long, knowing look.
“…don’t be surprised if the path starts to shift underneath you.”
Haidrien leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with something between admiration and caution.
“You’re serious about this,” he said, studying Prolix’s eager expression. “Alright then—let’s walk through the ones I know. But fair warning: some of these aren’t just rare—they’re dangerous.”
ProlixalParagon’s tail flicked with anticipation. “I’ve already run from Hollow creatures, dodged mercenaries, and dismantled cursed machines. I’m not afraid of rare.”
Haidrien’s grin was sharp. “Good.”
He began counting off on his fingers, each subclass accompanied by its own cadence—almost like a storyteller reciting ancient lore.
- The Machinist
“The architects of war machines.”
“These Tinkerers specialize in large-scale constructs—think deployable turrets, mobile cannons, and siege engines you can summon from pocket dimensions. They’re slow to set up, but once a Machinist plants their gear, a battlefield can be turned into a kill box. They’re not subtle, though—you’ll need to protect yourself while your machines get up to speed.”
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He tapped a small brass cannon on his shelf for emphasis.
- The Augmenter
“Half craftsman, half surgeon.”
“This subclass focuses on modifying bodies—yours, allies’, or constructs’. They can craft augmentations to improve physical attributes, embed mana conduits into armor, or even graft additional limbs onto themselves for multi-tool use. It’s invasive work—hard to reverse—but the results are… extraordinary.”
Prolix’s ears twitched. “I’ve heard rumors of people with built-in gauntlets.”
Haidrien nodded. “That would be Augmenter work. A dangerous path if you’re not ready to sacrifice comfort for power.”
- The Sapper
“Masters of traps and controlled chaos.”
“Where you see walls, a Sapper sees opportunities for collapse. They focus on environmental manipulation—pressure-triggered traps, timed detonations, alchemical payloads. Excellent for guerrilla tactics and defense, but you’ll need an encyclopedic knowledge of materials and structural weaknesses.”
- The Clockwork Conductor
“A maestro of mechanized minions.”
“This subclass takes Scrapwright a step further—using clockwork symphonies to command swarms of constructs. Small drones, repair bots, battlefield scouts. Individually weak, but deadly as a unified network. The trick is learning how to maintain control of so many moving parts without overwhelming your mana flow.”
Prolix’s eyes lit up at the thought of an entire fleet of tiny spider-bots.
- The Arcanomechanic
“Where magic and machine fuse at a fundamental level.”
“These Tinkerers operate on the bleeding edge of technomancy—embedding spell matrices into devices so seamlessly that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Weapons that cast spells with mechanical triggers, constructs that siphon ambient mana… it’s potent, but volatile if the balance isn’t perfect.”
Haidrien’s tone grew more serious. “The line between control and catastrophe is thin for Arcanomechanics.”
- The Gadgeteer Savant
“Masters of improvisation.”
“This subclass is all about adaptability. Instead of relying on a single signature build, a Gadgeteer carries dozens of small tools and inventions for every possible situation—grappling anchors, flashbang devices, collapsible barriers. It’s about thinking three steps ahead and using the environment to your advantage.”
Prolix smiled. “Sounds like what I’ve already been doing, just… refined.”
- The Pulsewright
“Harnessing raw energy in ways others can’t.”
“Pulsewrights focus on energy manipulation—heat, electricity, magnetism. Their creations hum with dangerous power: shock cannons, EMP devices to disable constructs, or engines that unleash bursts of kinetic force. They’re walking batteries, but the constant need to vent energy makes them walking targets too.”
- The Chrono-Engineer
“Time is their material.”
Haidrien’s gaze sharpened.
“This is a step beyond Chronotinkerer. Instead of only bending cooldowns or repeating effects, a Chrono-Engineer manipulates localized time fields—speeding up constructs, slowing down incoming projectiles, or ‘rewinding’ gear to previous states mid-combat. Extremely rare—only a handful of Tinkerers in recorded history have managed to unlock this branch.”
Prolix felt a chill. “That’s practically reality-bending.”
“Exactly why it’s not well-known. Systems don’t like being rewritten.”
- The Phantasmechanic
“Crafting illusions through machines.”
“These Tinkerers specialize in deception—mechanical illusions, decoys, sound simulators. Using light-bending mechanisms and enchanted metals, they create constructs that confuse, distract, and manipulate perception. Not as direct in combat, but deadly when paired with stealth or sabotage.”
- The Soulbinder Engineer
“The forbidden art of life and machine.”
Haidrien’s tone dropped further, almost reverent.
“This subclass is more myth than fact. It’s said Soulbinders create constructs linked directly to their life essence—true companions with evolving personalities, capable of independent growth. The trade-off is… intimate. If your construct dies, you suffer. If you die, it dies with you.”
He glanced at Prolix’s third blueprint.
“That one might be leaning in this direction.”
- The Fluxsmith
“A rare art centered on mana flow and field manipulation.”
“Fluxsmiths specialize in manipulating mana channels within the environment itself. They can rewire ley line currents to power their devices, drain mana from enemies, or stabilize volatile areas to prevent catastrophic surges. It’s meticulous work, often requiring you to anchor your constructs to fixed points in the world.”
- The Warden Artificer
“Defenders above all else.”
“These Tinkerers excel in creating defensive constructs: shield emitters, barrier drones, reactive armor. Their entire focus is on sustaining their allies—absorbing damage, redirecting attacks, and providing mobile cover. They might not dish out the highest damage, but a Warden Artificer can keep a caravan alive through hell itself.”
Haidrien gave him a knowing look at that.
- The Voidwright
“Working with what should not exist.”
“Voidwrights… dabble in forbidden mechanics—constructs powered by hollowed mana cores and fragments of old, broken gods. Their inventions bend space, create temporary rifts, and tap into residual energies no sane person should touch. Power beyond reason, but with consequences that ripple far beyond the user.”
He let the gravity of that linger.
- The Stormcrafter
“Weathering the battlefield with lightning and wind.”
“Stormcrafters specialize in atmospheric manipulation—building turbines and generators that harness natural elements. Wind-powered gliders, thunder cannons, even portable storm anchors that can change weather patterns in small areas. Excellent for mobile fighters who want to control both ground and sky.”
- The Runesmith Fabricator
“Ancient tradition married to modern craft.”
“These Tinkerers engrave living runes into their constructs—imbuing them with elemental spirits or forgotten algorithms. It’s a spiritual path, often requiring pilgrimages to old forges and ancestral sites. But the result? Constructs that aren’t just machines—they’re relics given new life.”
Haidrien finally let out a breath, leaning back as Prolix absorbed the sheer scope of possibilities.
“Some of these are well-documented. Others… not so much. But if your quest is leading you toward the Master Tinkerer’s legacy? You might end up carving a path between them all.”
Prolix stared at the blueprints again, mind racing.
“So many routes… and all of them different kinds of dangerous.”
Haidrien grinned. “That’s what makes it worth it, isn’t it?”
“Let’s start with the Arcanomechanic,” Haidrien said, his tone warming as he moved to a cluttered work table stacked with copper coils and etched brass disks. “It’s one of the more accessible subclasses, but don’t mistake that for easy. It’s deceptively deep.”
He selected a thumb-sized contraption from the table — a hexagonal shard encased in brass housing, with a slender trigger switch and two runic wires curling around its sides like vines.
“Arcanomechanics are pioneers,” he said, placing the device into ProlixalParagon’s hand. “They blur the line between spell and mechanism. Their craft isn’t about casting from devices — it’s about building mechanisms that are the spells.”
He pointed to the small glyph etched into the center of the shard, where it pulsed with a dull blue glow. “This one casts Gust, but only when you twist and release the pressure coil. Simple. Elegant. And it satisfies the only condition required to become an Arcanomechanic.”
Prolix turned the device in his fingers, watching it hum faintly in his palm. “This is what unlocks it?”
Haidrien nodded. “No quests, no trials, no proving grounds. The system doesn’t test your strength — it watches your intention. The moment you successfully bind a mechanical trigger to a basic spell and activate it, it flags your soulcode.”
He gave a faint smile. “You won’t even get a notification until it’s done. One second, you’re fiddling with copper and mana thread — the next, the subclass quietly appears in your list.”
“But it has to work, right?” Prolix asked. “Not just theory?”
“Function matters,” Haidrien confirmed. “It has to discharge as intended. No dud glyphs or misaligned coils. Even a minor spark effect counts — as long as the device performs a clear magical function through a mechanical action.”
He moved a few gears aside, revealing a pair of arcanomechanic blueprints — one for a mana-stabilized grappling hook, the other for a proximity lantern that flared brighter as spell charges grew nearby.
“Once you unlock it,” he continued, “you’ll gain access to specialized crafting disciplines: capacitive filament lattices, rune-sequencing wheels, hybrid schematics. And from there, it’s up to you how far you take it.”
ProlixalParagon’s mind whirred alongside the ticking of the shop.
“So… I could become an Arcanomechanic today if I just build the right thing?”
“If you’re clever enough, yes,” Haidrien said with a nod. “It’s a door that opens for those who think sideways.”
ProlixalParagon turned the spell-triggered device over in his palm, watching the rune’s faint glow flicker in response to pressure. The thought that subclass potential could be unlocked by creation alone — by cleverness, by making — sent a ripple of excitement down his spine.
Still, his fingers curled instinctively over the schematic scrolls at his belt. Protection, purpose, and peril all demanded their due. And so did the question burning behind his tongue.
“What about the Warden Artificer?” he asked. “You said it wasn’t about glory. That it’s earned through… intent?”
Haidrien stepped back from the bench and leaned against a thick beam lined with winding copper tubing. His voice shifted again — lower, steadier. More grounded.
“Warden Artificers aren’t unlocked by skill alone. They’re a response — a recognition of your actions when it matters most.”
He lifted a hand and gestured toward a bronze disk mounted on the wall. Its edges bore dozens of shallow etchings — names, dates, and symbols. “Those are caravan marks. People I’ve repaired armor for after siege runs. Scars, losses. Every one of them has stood their ground when others fled.”
ProlixalParagon approached the disk slowly, reverently.
“To unlock Warden Artificer,” Haidrien said, “you must protect others using your craft — not just once, but meaningfully. The system tracks how much damage is diverted by your constructs, how many allies you save, how long you hold your line.”
He paused.
“But it’s not purely numeric. You could save a hundred lives and still never unlock the subclass… if you did it for reward. Or fame. It has to be a choice — to build something selfless. A turret that shields. A brace that holds. A ward that keeps a family alive instead of turning the tide for yourself.”
ProlixalParagon thought of the Vermillion Troupe — of dusty nights with only one vial of potion left, of standing between children and soldiers with nothing but his dagger and a malfunctioning spring-loaded snare.
“That sounds like the kind of class you don’t choose,” he said softly. “It chooses you.”
Haidrien nodded. “Exactly. One day, after enough of those moments… the system whispers it in. Warden Artificer unlocked. No fanfare. Just an echo of the people you protected.”
“But Voidwright…” Prolix hesitated. “You said that’s different. That it’s not earned — it’s triggered.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a little.
Haidrien didn’t speak at first. Instead, he walked back to the lockbox he’d retrieved earlier — the one that held the shard that wasn’t quite stone, wasn’t quite metal, and pulsed as if it had a breath of its own.
He lifted the shard with a cloth-wrapped hand, careful not to touch it directly.
“Voidwright isn’t a subclass,” he said at last. “It’s a declaration.”
ProlixalParagon watched as the shard seemed to twist slightly in Haidrien’s hand — not rotate, but shift, as if rejecting the idea of stable geometry.
“It begins,” Haidrien said, “when you bind a forbidden or corrupted fragment into your work. Usually something from the Hollow. Something left behind by whatever came before the game world was finished.”
Prolix’s brows furrowed. “Before?”
“Places that were coded, then sealed. Realms that collapsed. Bosses that no longer respawn. Dead zones where the system can’t track user behavior. You find something in those places — not loot, not a recipe. A mistake. A leftover spark from when the world was still trying to make sense of itself.”
He finally set the shard back in the box, breathing out carefully.
“If you bind that kind of thing into a construct and activate it… and survive the backlash… that’s when the Voidwright subclass manifests.”
ProlixalParagon stepped back. “You mean the device tries to kill you?”
“It tries to rewrite you,” Haidrien said. “To erase your code, override your identity. Some who’ve tried end up stuck in memory loops. Others vanish from the registry entirely. But if you resist the unraveling — if your will and your soul hold together — the system marks you.”
He met Prolix’s eyes.
“Then you get Voidwright. Your devices no longer follow ordinary rules. They bend space. Reverse cause and effect. Pull from fractured realities.”
“And the cost?”
Haidrien didn’t flinch. “NPCs and players alike may sense something wrong in your presence. Mana anomalies. Spell failures. Companions getting sick. Cities barring entry. Even the system itself starts treating you like a bug. Like a threat.”
“But the power?” Prolix asked quietly.
Haidrien’s voice dropped to a hush.
“Almost limitless.”
ProlixalParagon stood there, the echo of those words ringing in the tick-tock of a hundred dormant devices. The possibilities danced like copper threads before him: balance and precision, protection and sacrifice, chaos and unknowable transformation.
Each subclass wasn’t just a choice of ability — it was a philosophy. A reflection of who he was. Who he might become.
He touched the blueprints at his hip, feeling their weight differently now. Soul-bound gear. Devices that grew as he did.
The Lost Workbenches weren’t just the path of the Master Tinkerer.
They were the forge of his identity.
ProlixalParagon broke the silence first, still staring at the lockbox where the shard pulsed faintly beneath its shielding cloth.
“What if…” he began slowly, voice low and hesitant, “what if I didn’t want to choose just one?”
Haidrien turned his gaze toward him, a brow lifting slightly. “You’re asking about subclass convergence.”
Prolix nodded. “I’ve seen how specializations can complement each other — different branches of the same class blending utility or playstyle. But subclasses feel deeper, more… final. Bound to the soul, like you said. Still, I can’t help but wonder — is there a way to combine them? To become more than one thing?”
Haidrien studied him for a long moment, arms folded loosely over his chest.
“It’s a fair question,” he said at last, choosing his words with care. “One I’ve asked myself more than once. As far as I know, each primary class can only manifest one subclass at a time. The system binds it to your essence — not just what you do, but how you do it. Who you are.”
He stepped away from the bench and knelt before a weathered gear-map mounted on the wall, brushing a faint trace of dust from its surface. “There are stories,” he said. “Fragmented ones. Tales told in low voices by artificers too old to be ambitious and too sharp to lie for glory. They speak of rare moments — anomalies — when a Tinkerer’s work reflects more than one philosophy… and the system responds in kind.”
He turned back to Prolix. “But no one I know has proven it. Not with certainty. And even the stories agree on one thing — if it’s possible, it’s not something you can choose. It has to happen naturally. The system… recognizes the shape of your path. You don’t unlock multiple subclass slots. But if your actions align with two philosophies at once — and you survive the strain of holding them both — something new might emerge.”
“Not stacking,” Prolix murmured. “Merging.”
Haidrien nodded. “Exactly. Not two roads walked side by side. One road, forged between them. A third path.”
Prolix tapped his clawed fingers lightly on the edge of the workbench. “Could it happen with something like… building a spell-driven defense system? Something that protects others and uses integrated magic?”
Haidrien tilted his head, then smiled faintly. “That would be a good place to start. If you want the system to notice that you're more than just one thing… then make something that can’t be mistaken for a single purpose.”
He returned to the bench and gently closed the lockbox, sealing the Voidwright shard away once more. “But be careful. Most who split their focus end up with neither path. Subclasses require clarity. Depth. Discipline. Chasing two at once is like tuning a music box to play two songs — without dissonance.”
“And Voidwright?” Prolix asked. “If I triggered it while bound to another subclass?”
Haidrien’s expression darkened. “Voidwright doesn’t merge. It consumes. Most who receive it don’t keep their previous subclass. Some say the Void wipes it away — others think it still lingers, buried, warped into something else. Either way… it’s not something you combine. It’s something you become.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the soft whir of a suspended clock-flyer circling the rafters.
“So,” Prolix said quietly, “there’s no guide. No confirmed path.”
“No,” Haidrien said simply. “Only instinct. Curiosity. Courage. And the willingness to fail in ways no one else has.”
He stepped to a side shelf, took down a small, circular token — etched with a crescent gear and four nodes along the outer rim — and pressed it into ProlixalParagon’s hand.
“If you do attempt it… log your calibration readings. Document the behavior of the system. Build with intention. You might not just be forging gear, Prolix. You might be forging doctrine.”
Prolix turned the token over in his hand, its smooth edges whispering with possibility.
Then he looked up — eyes steady, thoughts sparking like wires pressed to copper.
“I think I’m ready to try.”
The world narrowed to copper and breath.
In Haidrien’s workshop — amidst coils, calipers, and countless softly ticking things — ProlixalParagon cleared a space on the central bench, rolling up his sleeves and setting out the pieces that would define not only his creation, but his future.
The wind outside whispered through open shutters, salt-sweet and full of dusk. But here, within the softly warded walls of The Turning Moment, something ancient stirred — a current neither storm nor spell, but a convergence waiting to be drawn together.
Haidrien stood nearby, silent for once, watching with the intensity of a mentor who knew better than to interfere.
Prolix laid out his materials carefully.
First came the Ash-Crimson Ley Shard, warm and pulsing faintly. He’d taken it from the heart of a corrupted node back in Dustreach — its energy unstable, but rich with conductive potential. It would serve as the shield’s mana core, volatile enough to draw from but adaptable under pressure.
Then the Bound Herald Sigil Fragment, still marked with the residue of divine resonance. Fragmented as it was, it held the echo of oaths sworn in blood and flame. This would anchor the enchantment array — the intent to protect.
Next, the Soul-etched Chain Link, found in the ruins near the salt flats. It bore runes so fine they shimmered only when breathed upon — a binding conduit between user and construct. This would be the tether.
And finally, the mana crystals — six in total, slotted into rotating cogs on a circular scaffold he'd assembled with Haidrien's help. These would stabilize the shield’s reaction wheel, allowing energy to flow and redirect on instinct rather than command.
He exhaled slowly.
And then he did something the system hadn’t asked for.
He reached inward.
With one clawed finger, ProlixalParagon pressed his hand against the ley shard. His mana flared — pale silver and shifting like wind through dunes. As it surged through the shard, he focused not only his class affinity but the three underlying forces that had shaped his path.
Metal — the shaping of purpose through force and refinement. The hammer and the tool.
Soul — his unyielding connection to the Troupe, his desire to protect.
Abyss — the call of what lies beyond logic, beyond systems, beyond safety.
His vision blurred. The workbench shuddered.
The ley shard flared black and crimson and deep, taking in the Affinities not as reagents, but as declarations.
He forged the spell trigger — a central sigil ring built of soulsteel and obsidian glass. It would function like an activation glyph, but with an internal logic: when danger surged, the device would respond faster than thought.
Then came the housing. A concave shield frame, arm-length, pieced together from salvaged sky-carriage plating and reinforced with Haidrien’s clockwork layering matrix. Copper veins traced beneath the surface like skeletal runes, ready to channel defensive pulses.
And within the heart of the shield — beneath the runes, between the layers — he placed the fragment of the Bound Herald and the Soul Link chain.
When the final rune was etched and the housing clicked shut, the air grew still.
Not silent — still.
Even the workshop’s humming devices seemed to pause.
Then the mana swelled.
The shield rose from the bench, hovering an inch above it, the sigils along its spine lighting one by one.
A spherical pulse of energy expanded outward — a mana bubble, ten feet in radius, anchored to the device’s central glyph. Its surface shimmered like heat haze, refracting the light in oil-slick waves.
Then — as if testing itself — the shield flared again.
Prolix watched, breath caught, as the bubble’s texture shifted — first thickening like stone, then thinning into translucent silver, then crackling faintly like static. It was responding to phantom threats.
Adaptive shielding.
The infusion of soul affinity had given it purpose. The metal affinity gave it form. But the abyssal affinity…
It gave it will.
The mana signature wasn’t just Tinkerer.
It wasn’t just Warden.
And it wasn’t just Arcanomechanic.
It was something new.
The system responded.
>You have forged an artifact that merges soulbinding, mechanized enchantment, and adaptive corruption.<
>Subclass Affinities: Arcanomechanic / Warden Artificer / Voidwright (subsumed)<
>You have leveled up.<
>Professions now unlocked<
>You have 5 attribute points to allocate<
>You have 3 affinity points to allocate<
Prolix staggered back, his heart thundering as the system message faded from view like dew under sunlight. His hand still pulsed with residual energy where the affinities had channeled through him.
Haidrien stepped forward slowly, wide-eyed. “Prolix… what did you build?”
Prolix looked at the shield — now floating silently beside him, tethered to his soul and mana alike.
“Not a wall,” he said softly. “A promise.”