Shield wasn't kidding about the education.
Dawn broke toxic-yellow over the scrapyard. I stood in Shield's territory, waiting. The massive construct had told me to arrive at first light. Didn't explain why. Just rumbled "BE HERE. SUNRISE." and dismissed me.
Now here I was, alone except for the morning scavenger-rats picking through garbage in the distance.
The ground trembled. Shield emerged from behind a mountain of broken armor, moving with surprising stealth for something built like a walking fortress.
"GOOD. PUNCTUAL." The red eyes assessed me. "TODAY YOU LEARN THE DUMP'S RHYTHM. EVERY WORLD HAS HEARTBEAT. THIS ONE BEATS IN TRASH."
"I don't understand."
"YOU WILL. FOLLOW."
Shield moved. I followed, struggling to keep pace with those massive strides. We traveled north, away from familiar territory. Away from Clink's warren. Away from anywhere I'd explored.
The landscape changed. More metal here. Mountains of it. Swords in particular—thousands of them, rusted and broken, stabbed into garbage-hills like gravestones.
"What is this place?"
"THE FALLEN ARMORY." Shield's voice held something almost reverent. "WHEN ARGENTAS GOES TO WAR, THEY DISCARD DAMAGED WEAPONS HERE. EVERY BLADE TELLS STORY OF WHO IT KILLED."
I looked at the swords with new eyes. Not just scrap. Memories. Murder weapons. War crimes.
"Why bring me here?"
"WEAPONS ARE BEST UPGRADE MATERIAL. BUT THEY CARRY WEIGHT—NOT JUST PHYSICAL. YOU ABSORB BLADE, YOU ABSORB ITS HISTORY. ITS GUILT." Shield pulled a longsword from the pile—relatively intact, just chipped along the edge. "TRY. READ IT."
I took the blade in my three-fingered hand. Concentrated. Willed the connection like I did with the surveillance orb.
Memories flooded in.
I am sharp. I am purpose.
Cutting through flesh. Human flesh. The scream—
Blood on my edge. So much blood.
I am murder. I am guilt. I am—
I dropped the sword, gasping. My core felt heavy. Wrong. Like I'd swallowed poison.
"That... that was terrible."
"YES. THAT WEAPON KILLED INNOCENT. MANY INNOCENT. YOU FELT ITS SHAME." Shield retrieved the blade, tossed it back onto the pile. "NOW. IMPORTANT LESSON: YOU CHOOSE WHAT YOU BECOME."
"What do you mean?"
"EVERY ITEM YOU ABSORB CHANGES YOU. NOT JUST POWER—PERSONALITY. MEMORY. SOUL, IF SUCH THINGS EXIST FOR US." Shield's eyes dimmed thoughtfully. "ABSORB TOO MANY MURDER-WEAPONS, YOU BECOME VIOLENT. ABSORB TOO MANY BROKEN THINGS, YOU BECOME DESPAIRING."
That was... profound. And terrifying. I was literally made of other things. If I wasn't careful about what I absorbed, I could lose myself entirely.
"How do you choose?"
"BALANCE. PURPOSE. ASK YOURSELF: WHO DO I WANT TO BECOME?" Shield began walking again, slower this time. "I ABSORBED SHIELDS. ARMOR. PROTECTIVE ITEMS. I BECAME PROTECTOR. SOME ABSORB CLAWS, FANGS—THEY BECOME PREDATORS."
I thought about my current components. Broken wands—magic and potential. Rusted sword-blades I'd already replaced—violence I'd let go. The surveillance orb—awareness and witness.
"I want to be... someone who sees truth. Someone who remembers what they tried to hide."
"GOOD START." Shield stopped at the edge of the weapons field. "NOW. WE HUNT PROPER UPGRADES."
Shield taught me to hunt instead of just scavenge.
First lesson: timing. The noble trash-drops happened every seven days at noon. Massive wagons rolled up to the scrapyard's edge and dumped their cargo. Fresh garbage attracted every scavenger in the territory. Competition was fierce.
Second lesson: priority targeting. Not all trash was equal. Magic items degraded slower than mundane. Fresh metal beat rust. Complete items beat fragments.
Third lesson: risk assessment. Some items were too valuable. They'd attract Breakers—the massive, predatory constructs who claimed the best salvage and killed anyone who challenged them.
"Stay away from those piles," Shield warned, pointing to where three hulking shapes prowled near a heap of still-glowing artifacts. "BREAKERS WILL STRIP YOU FOR PARTS WITHOUT HESITATION. YOU TOO WEAK STILL."
"When will I be strong enough?"
"WHEN YOU STOP ASKING."
Fair enough.
We circled the edges of the trash-drop, avoiding the chaos. Shield showed me how to identify good salvage from a distance—the shimmer of active enchantments, the gleam of quality metallurgy, the subtle wrongness of cursed items (avoid those).
I spotted something: a half-buried gauntlet, still articulated, fingers opening and closing reflexively. Some residual magic making it twitch.
"That one."
"GOOD EYE. RETRIEVE IT. CAREFULLY."
I approached low, keeping debris between me and the Breakers. The gauntlet was wedged under a broken wagon wheel. I dug carefully, quietly.
Almost had it. Fingers closed around the wrist joint.
Something grabbed my leg.
I looked down. A small construct—barely more than animated wire—had latched onto my compression strut with desperate strength.
"Please," it whispered. Actual words, not the grinding mechanical speech I was used to. "Please. They're coming. They'll strip me. Help. Please."
A wire-frame golem. Tiny. Terrified. And yes—three Rust Rats were approaching, the feral kind that saw other constructs as parts repositories.
I had seconds to decide. Save myself and the gauntlet, or help this stranger.
Who do you want to become?
Damn it.
I grabbed the wire-golem with my wand-hand, tucked it against my chest, snagged the gauntlet with my free hand, and ran.
The Rats shrieked and gave chase. Fast. Too fast.
I wasn't going to make it.
Then Shield stepped into their path. All three tons of walking fortress, red eyes blazing.
"MINE," Shield said. One word. Absolute authority.
The Rats scattered.
Crisis over.
Shield didn't say anything about my choice. Just nodded once—approval, maybe—and led us back to the territory.
The wire-golem clung to me, shaking. "Thank you. Thank you. They would have ripped me apart."
"What's your name?"
"Tangle." The voice was soft, feminine somehow despite being mechanical. "I'm... I was a training dummy. For swordplay. They broke me and threw me away."
A training dummy. Gained sentience from being hit thousands of times. Learned fear from being broken.
"You're safe now," I said. Meant it.
Tangle looked up at me with optic sensors that glowed pale blue. "Why did you help me? You didn't know me."
Good question.
"Because no one should be stripped for parts while they're still conscious."
Shield's eyes pulsed brighter—definitely approval.
Back at the territory, I examined my finds. The gaunt let—beautiful craftsmanship, designed for precision work. Perfect for my right hand. Better than the framework I had.
And Tangle. Not salvage. A person. Scared and weak, but alive. Aware. Valuable.
"You can stay with me," I told Tangle. "I'm building... I don't know what yet. A crew. A family. Something."
"I don't have anything to offer," Tangle said quietly. "I'm just wire and weakness."
"You're conscious," I said firmly. "That's enough."
Shield rumbled approvingly. "YOU LEARN FAST. STRENGTH ISN'T JUST POWER. IT'S WHAT YOU PROTECT."
Over the next few days, I established my routine. My rhythm, as Shield called it.
Mornings: Hunt the fresh trash-drops with Shield's guidance. Avoid Breakers, outmaneuver Rats, claim what I could.
Afternoons: Integrate upgrades carefully. The gauntlet replaced my right hand beautifully—precision grip, enhanced strength, minor kinetic-absorption enchantment. Game-changer.
Evenings: Visit Clink's warren. Trade magical-item locations for protection and information.
Nights: Meditate with absorbed items, carefully sifting through memories, learning secrets.
Tangle became constant companion. Turned out the wire-golem had a gift—could sense structural weaknesses in other constructs. Invaluable for identifying which Breakers to avoid absolutely and which might be vulnerable.
"That one," Tangle would whisper, pointing to a massive steel-plated hunter, "has a crack in its left knee joint. Hit there, it'll collapse."
I wasn't ready to fight Breakers yet. But I was learning.
I was preparing.
And every night, when I meditated on the surveillance orb's memories, I saw more of the conspiracy. More voices. More evidence of the nobles disposing of unwanted witnesses.
"The constructs who saw the deal must be eliminated."
"Memory-wipe them. Dump them in Ashfall."
"What about the human workers?"
"Same. Cheaper than paying severance."
Rage built in my core. Crystal-clear. Burning hot.
They were throwing away people. Conscious beings. Erasing their memories and discarding them like broken tools.
How many of the "constructs" in this scrapyard had once been human? How many forgotten families were out there, wondering where their loved ones went?
"I'm going to stop them," I told Shield one evening.
"NOT YET. TOO WEAK."
"Then I'll get stronger."
"GOOD." Shield pulled something from its piles—a small, intact wand. Fire-aspected, judging by the ruby core. "FOR YOU. UPGRADE YOUR ARSENAL. BECOME DANGEROUS."
I took the wand reverently. "Why do you keep helping me?"
Shield was quiet for so long I thought it wouldn't answer.
Then: "BECAUSE I WAS YOU ONCE. WEAK. ALONE. WORTHLESS." The red eyes dimmed. "SOMEONE HELPED ME. TAUGHT ME. GAVE ME PURPOSE."
"Who?"
"GONE NOW. STRIPPED BY BREAKERS YEARS AGO." Shield's voice held ancient grief. "BUT THEIR TEACHING REMAINS. AND I PASS IT ON. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW WE SURVIVE—NOT AS INDIVIDUALS, BUT AS MEMORY. AS LEGACY."
I understood. Shield wasn't just teaching me to survive. It was ensuring its mentor's wisdom lived on.
We were all fragments of something larger. All pieces of an endless cycle—discarded, rebuilt, passed forward.
"I won't forget," I promised. "What you teach me, I'll teach others."
"GOOD. NOW GO. PRACTICE WITH THAT WAND. AND TOMORROW—WE VISIT THE FORGOTT EN."
"The Forgotten?"
"SENTIENT ITEMS WHO GAVE UP. WHO ACCEPTED BEING TRASH." Shield's voice turned hard. "YOU MUST SEE THEM. UNDERSTAND WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU STOP FIGHTING."
That night, I integrated the new wand into my left hand, replacing one of the broken fragments. The difference was immediate—focused fire instead of wild discharge. Precision instead of desperate explosion.
I practiced in an empty corner of the scrapyard, sending jets of flame at rusted targets. Learning control. Building skill.
Tangle watched, reflecting firelight in silver wire.
"You're getting stronger," Tangle observed.
"Have to." I focused on a distant pile and sent a concentrated blast. The scrap glowed red-hot. "Getting stronger is the only way to matter."
"You already matter," Tangle said softly. "You saved me. That matters."
I stopped, looked at the small wire-golem. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For reminding me why I'm doing this."
Not just revenge. Not just power. Purpose.
Somewhere in that gleaming city, nobles were throwing away lives. And somewhere in this scrapyard, a piece of trash was learning to fight back.
One upgrade at a time.
To be continued...