When she came to, heat pressed against her skin.
She blinked, the glow of a forge filling the room. Blacksmithing tools hung neatly on the walls; sparks hissed from a rolling fire.
Jasper shifted away from the heat, sitting up slowly, a wince cutting across her face as pain lanced through her back from the earlier beating. She eased herself down again, eyes tracing the cracked ceiling above.
Her hand slipped into her pocket and returned with three small red stones. She weighed them in her palm, studying their faint shimmer, before tucking two away. The last she pressed gently to the bare skin of her stomach. Warmth bloomed across her body, the glow resonating through her ribs and spine.
Steadier, she rose to her feet and slipped into the next room.
There he was—the man from the alley. His back turned, sleeves rolled, working methodically over a shot-up water purifier. Tools clinked in his hands, the faint scrape of metal against metal carrying in the dim light.
"Oh, someone's awake," the old man said. He sat at a desk in the corner, monocle glinting as he worked welding parts onto an item she couldn't make out..
The wanted man glanced back at her, dreadlocks falling across his face, then turned back to the purifier. His hands moved with practiced ease.
"There's bread and nectar on the table beside you, if you're hungry," the old man added.
Jasper turned to him, caught the faint red glint of his eyes, and bowed her head in respect.
"Now, now. None of that," he said, waving it off. "Eat. Enjoy. Leave custom at the door. I'm no elder, girl. Not from your country."
Jasper activated her translator, but the old man waved it off.
"If you start using that, I still won't know what you're saying. Now—are you going to eat or not?"
She glanced between them, then nodded.
Two bulky bags were stacked by the bench where she meant to sit. As she reached for the spot, the man's voice cut through, low and firm.
"Not there. Not next to the bags."
Jasper froze, meeting his gaze as he looked back over his shoulder, dreadlocks half-veiling his eyes.
Without a word, she shifted to the other side of the table. She sat, tore off a piece of bread, and bit down, her silence filling the space between them.
Across the room, the man at the purifier gave a final twist of his wrench. "Alright, old man. Purifier's fixed. No more straining your back."
"Straining my back?" The Onyxsmith scoffed. "Consider it payment for letting you squat here, you vagrant."
The man wiped his hands with a rag. "Yeah, that too." His eyes slid to Jasper at the table.
"That's not the last of the nectar and bread, is it?"
"Dwarven," the old man said, exasperated, "you've been here eight hours and eaten half my food."
"What can I say? Growing boy." Dwarven smirked, wandering over to lean on the old man's desk. "How's it coming along?"
Jasper's chewing slowed. Dwarven.
She looked closer. His hair had fallen across his face, but when he brushed it aside she caught the sharp line of his cheekbones, the lashes flickering behind gold-tinted circular glasses.
He was… handsome. Nothing like the bounty sketch she'd seen earlier.
Her hand twitched toward the camera, the old instinct kicking in—capture a still, freeze the moment. But the memory of its broken lens stopped her cold. She'd meant to bring it to the Onyxsmith.
Instead, her fingers drifted lower, brushing the holster at her hip.
Empty.
She froze, then swept her bag. No revolver.
Heart quickening, she darted back into the room she'd woken in, searching. Nothing. Back into the workshop—
"Looking for this?"
Dwarven strolled over, pulling her revolver from his tool belt. He held it out casually.
"Excellent craftsmanship. Just like the stories say, I just wanted a look."
Jasper snatched it back, analyzing it for any tampering before shooting a quick glare to him and holstering it.
Dwarven cocked a brow. "That's no regular revolver. It's a Revolver Mechanica, isn't it? And more than that it's not just a Revolver Mechanica. It's got a whole nother chamber that NOT for bullets. It piqued my interest, you gotta fill me in now?"
Jasper only stared back, unblinking.
"You shouldn't do that?" the old man said
"Do what?"
"Those revolvers hold significance where she's from. You wouldn't just take someone's family picture book would 'ya?"
"No, I suppose not." His gaze dropped, catching the faint glow pulsing against her stomach. "You won't tell me about your Mechanica then what's that glowing stone you're holding?" Dwarven was taken back by Jaspers silence "I'm sorry, maybe I'm asking alot of questions but you have to imagine my surprise when I heard the famed Courier of death half the South is looking for is a 'Jin travelling the Frontier like half the world doesn't hate her people."
Jasper lifted her translator sphere. The liquid nanites shimmered, swirling into letters that hung in the air, reshaping until her voice finally carried through.
"She doesn't like that name." the old man said.
"Really? So what do I call you?"
Jasper translator moved slower than usual forming the words. Dwarven turned to the old Onyxsmith.
"What did she say?"
"I don't know, can't you see I'm working." he lifted his glasses to see Dwarven's hand leaking blood through the bandages. "Ask her if you can use that LuzidStone she's using to heal herself."
"Oh! So that's a LuzidStone. Heard about 'em, never seen one."
"'Course you haven't, they only come from Tsukihana. Pure Luzid."
Dwarven flexed his bandaged hand, studying it then turned back to Jasper. "Could use some of that over here."
Jasper bit into her bread and deliberately turned away from him.
"Well that's almost inhospitable. Don't you want to share some healing to the man that saved your life." he moved to the side of Jasper trying to peak into her peripherals.
Jasper translator moved again forming words he could not understand.
"Old man what is she saying?"
From the workbench, the old man cut in, voice rough but steady. "Listen, boy, Do you understand Tsukijin Speech? Ever read a single word? No? Then listen. She's under a vow of silence. Doesn't speak outside of her home."
"Well, why's that?"
The old man didn't even look up from his work. "You want me to fix this, or explain years of culture to you? Just know she's not speaking to you, me, or anybody else. Now let me finish."
Dwarven rolled his eyes, tore a piece of Jasper's bread, and turned to her.
"So… rude to ask you just to nod?"
Jasper rolled her eyes, grabbed her food, and left the room.
"Yeah, you're welcome by the way!" Dwarven called after her.
"Leave her be," the old man muttered. "She needs it more than you. Probably working to keep her family alive."
"Yeah, aren't we all." Dwarven's gaze drifted to the revolver on the Onyxsmith's hip, eyes narrowing at the fine craftsmanship. "I know I've been pestering, but before those chumps barged in, you were showing me that piece. It looks pretty much like hers."
The Onyxsmith sighed and set his tool aside. "Right… and that almost got it stolen." He cut Dwarven a side glance.
Dwarven scratched the back of his head, chuckling nervously—then froze as the old man moved. Faster than Dwarven thought possible, the Onyxsmith drew the revolver and leveled it at the far wall. He tilted it, peering down the sights with practiced ease.
"This revolver, is crafted by one of the greatest onyxsmiths ever." he said, voice low, "This and others like it are Ohgun Crafts."