Kai-Lin quickly adapted to the rhythm of The Rusty Cog. The shop was a test of endurance and skill, demanding that he fix contraptions far beyond simple wear and tear. His Royal Institute training, though scorned by Grime, gave him an edge. He could diagnose complex pressure faults and recalibrate intricate clockwork systems faster than any of the other gruff mechanics. He was proving his worth, but the risk was ever-present; the air vibrated with the possibility of a ruptured pipe or a boiler explosion.
At the end of his second grueling week, Grime finally showed a sliver of acknowledgment. "Finch! You got a shred of talent in that spoiled brain, I'll admit." Grime handed him a heavy pail of thick, viscous, sludge-like oil. "Take this down to the testing station. We got a new component in that needs to be immersed."
The oil was unlike any industrial lubricant Kai-Lin had ever worked with. It was dense, almost metallic, and radiated a subtle, internal warmth despite being cold to the touch. The scent was a mix of iron and something deeply organic, triggering a disturbing memory of the Aether Sludge.
As he set the pail down on his workbench, the crystalline gear in his hidden pocket began to resonate. It wasn't a sound, but a sharp, insistent mental thrum, like a tiny bell ringing directly inside his skull. Kai-Lin flinched, instinctively placing a hand over his pocket and glancing around. No one seemed to notice over the din of the workshop.
He was required to mix the oil, plunging his hand into the thick fluid. The moment his bare skin touched the liquid, the sense of "flow" he'd briefly felt by the pipe returned, overwhelming his senses. This time, it was an electrical surge. His mind was flooded with a barrage of abstract images: complex geometric patterns, the blueprint of a gigantic, impossible gear train, and the faint, cold echo of a colossal, slumbering consciousness.
He yanked his hand out, gasping. His palm was burning. He stared in disbelief: a network of fine, copper-colored lines had momentarily appeared on his skin, tracing the veins beneath. They were identical to the Pathway Runes he had seen etched onto the ceremonial armor of low-ranking Clergymen of the Church of Science and Industry. They faded instantly, leaving only a lingering metallic heat.
No. Impossible.
He stumbled back, knocking a tray of bolts to the floor. The Aether Sludge, or whatever was in this oil, was causing an actual, physical reaction—a supernatural one. The crystalline gear in his pocket was the catalyst, resonating with this strange fluid. It was his first undeniable proof that the world held more than just steam and iron, and that the Church's Pathways were real.
His relief at finding a job was now overshadowed by a chilling terror. If Grime or anyone else in the Black Market Quarter saw those lines, they would instantly know he was being "touched" by a Divine Pathway—a secret that could get him killed faster than any Church patrol. He hastily cleaned the oil from his hand and shoved the pail away. He needed to understand the gear, and he needed to talk to Lily.
That evening, the moment he stepped into their small tenement, the noise and tension of the day settled on him. Lily was reading by the light of a weak gas lamp, but she quickly put the book down.
"You smell different," she said, her young eyes worried. "And you're late. What job did you find, Kai-Lin? It's not in the Upper Sprawl, is it?"
"It's... fixing boilers," he lied, keeping the location vague. He pulled out the few coins he had earned. "It's steady. It's enough for us to buy real flour for a change."
He sat beside her, but the unspoken tension remained. He looked at her small, trusting face. Lily represented his anchor to reality, the reason he had to stay sane and safe. He thought of his older brother Jay, who had found a dangerous way to support them. Now, Kai-Lin had found his own—a path that was not just physically dangerous, but metaphysically threatening.
He knew he couldn't tell her about the gear or the copper lines. He had entered a new game, one where the rules were written by things far older and more terrible than the Church of Steam.