The sky above the Lowlands was the color of a bruised plum, streaked with the neon-gold veins of leaking mana. In Eldoria, the sky didn't just hold clouds; it held the "Stream," a shimmering web of ancient data that powered the floating citadels far above. But down in the scrap heaps, the Stream was nothing more than a ghost—a flicker of light that promised a life Elara would never touch.
Elara wiped a smear of hydraulic grease across her forehead, her goggles hissing as she adjusted their focus. She was knee-deep in the "Iron Graveyard," a massive valley of discarded clockwork and rusted plating.
"Come on," she whispered, her voice rasping from the dust. "Give me something that isn't junk."
Her mag-sensor gave a sharp, high-pitched chirp. It wasn't the dull drone of common iron or the frantic clicking of unstable mana-batteries. This was deep, resonant, and rhythmic.
She began to dig. Her gloved hands tore through rusted gears and tangled copper wiring until they hit something cold. Smooth. Different.
She pried away a heavy sheet of reinforced titanium, and the shadows of the scrap heap were suddenly chased away by a soft, sapphire glow. Inside a small, cushioned compartment lay an object that shouldn't exist.
It was a heart.
It wasn't made of flesh and bone, but of shimmering liquid silver encased in a cage of etched obsidian. It pulsed—a slow, deliberate beat—sending ripples of blue light through the air.
"By the Founders," Elara breathed, reaching out.
As her fingertips brushed the obsidian surface, the cold metal didn't bite. Instead, a surge of warmth rushed up her arm, smelling of ozone and ancient parchment. The blue light flared, turning a blinding white.
A voice, crystalline and genderless, echoed directly into her mind:
"User recognized. Biological signature recorded. Initiating Restoration Protocol: 0.01% complete."
Elara froze. The heart began to hover, floating inches above her palms. The "Stream" in the sky above seemed to react, the gold veins pulsing in sync with the silver object in her hands.
In the distance, the low hum of a Council Enforcer ship began to grow louder. They had detected the surge. Elara didn't have much time. She tucked the pulsing heart into her leather satchel, the glow bleeding through the seams.
She wasn't just a scavenger anymore. She was a target.