Trash-drop day.
Every seven sunrises, the nobles sent their wagons. Great mechanical beasts rumbling to scrapyard's edge, dumping mountains of "worthless" items before retreating behind their walls.
I'd been in the scrapyard for two weeks now. Fourteen days of survival. Learning. Failing. Getting back up.
Today felt different. The air tasted electric. My wand-fingers tingled stronger than usual—powerful enchantments in the incoming load.
"You feel it?" Tangle whispered from my shoulder.
"Yeah." I crouched behind a rusted wall, watching the approach. "Something big getting dumped today."
Beside me, Clink rattled his chains impatiently. "Good things mean competition. Breakers will be here."
He was right. I spotted three massive shapes already positioning near the drop-zone. Waiting. Claiming first rights through intimidation.
But those weren't the only eyes on the dump.
Higher up, on a collapsed water tower, a figure watched. Small. Still. The kind of stillness that meant predator, not prey.
"Shield," I murmured. "Two o'clock. The tower."
"I SEE HIM. THE GHOST."
My core went cold. "The Ghost? The one who—"
"HUNTS AWAKENED CONSTRUCTS. TURNS THEM IN TO NOBLES FOR PROTECTION. YES." Shield's voice dropped lower. "DON'T DRAW ATTENTION. HE'S NOT HERE FOR US. YET."
I watched the distant figure. Couldn't make out details—just a shape, roughly humanoid, utterly motionless.
"He was like us once, wasn't he?"
"BEFORE THE SILENCE. COG SAYS HE LED A RESISTANCE. WATCHED IT BURN. NOW HE SURVIVES BY HELPING THEM FIND US."
A chill ran through my circuits. That could be me. If I failed. If hope died.
I filed the Ghost away. Threat for later. Focus on the now.
"We wait," I decided. "Let the Breakers take obvious treasures. We scavenge what they miss."
"SMART."
The wagons arrived—six of them today. More than usual. They tipped their loads with mechanical efficiency, spilling glittering garbage in great cascades. Broken weapons, shattered artifacts, scorched magical implements.
And something else.
My wand-fingers went from tingling to burning. Major enchantment in that pile. Powerful enough to hurt sensing it.
The Breakers descended like vultures. Massive hands ripping through refuse, claiming anything that glowed.
But they missed it. Whatever was causing my wand-hand to scream wasn't obvious. Not glowing. Not radiating visible power.
Hidden. Dangerous. Hungry.
"There," I whispered, pointing to a spot beneath broken furniture. "Something cursed in that pile."
Clink recoiled. "Cursed? We avoid curses. Only pain and madness there."
Tangle pressed tighter against my shoulder. Her voice was small. "Curses killed my... they killed someone I knew. Before I came here."
I glanced at her. There was a story there—the first hint of one. But not now.
"Curses are just magic people couldn't control," I said carefully. "If I can master it—"
"BIG IF," Shield warned. "CURSED ITEMS CORRUPT. CHANGE YOU." His avalanche-voice grew grave. "I KNEW CONSTRUCTS WHO ABSORBED CURSES DURING THE SHEPHERD'S TIME. NONE STAYED THEMSELVES."
I stopped. "The Shepherd's time?"
Shield went quiet. Too quiet.
"Who was the Shepherd?"
"NO ONE. FORGET THE NAME."
"Shield—"
"IT'S FORBIDDEN, RUST. THE SILENCE HAPPENED FOR A REASON. DON'T DIG THERE."
Something in his voice made me drop it. But I filed that name away too. The Shepherd. The Silence.
Mysteries for later.
I looked at the dump zone. The Breakers were leaving now, arms full of glowing treasures.
And the cursed dagger waited beneath broken furniture, calling to me like a siren.
I knew the risk. But I was desperate. Weak. The Breakers had proven that. Without major power upgrade, I'd always be running. Always be prey.
"I'm going for it."
Tangle gripped my shoulder tighter. "Please be careful."
I waited until the Breakers left, arms full of glowing treasures. Then crept forward, low and quiet.
The dump-zone was chaos. Fresh garbage steaming with residual heat from noble workshops. I navigated carefully, following my wand-hand's burning sensation.
There. Beneath a collapsed wardrobe.
A dagger.
Not elaborate. Simple design, really—twelve inches of black steel, plain leather wrapping, no ornamentation. But my wand-hand felt like it was on fire just being near it.
This thing was drenched in magic. Old magic. Angry magic.
Cursed.
I reached for it carefully.
The moment my fingers touched the hilt, pain exploded through my arm. Not physical—mental. Like memories that weren't mine trying to cram into my consciousness.
Blood. So much blood. Screaming. The blade hungry, always hungry, feeding on—
I let go, gasping.
"That bad?" Tangle asked nervously.
"Worse." I stared at the dagger. "It's cursed with bloodlust. Wants to kill. Needs to kill."
Clink hissed. "Leave it. Not worth the corruption."
But the potential. If I could integrate this, master it instead of being mastered...
I'd be dangerous. Actually, legitimately dangerous.
Worth the risk?
I thought of the Forgotten, resigned to worthlessness. Thought of the Breakers who'd nearly killed me. Thought of Shield fighting three opponents to save me.
Thought of the nobles disposing of conscious beings like trash.
Thought of the Ghost on that tower—what I could become if I failed.
Yeah. Worth the risk.
"I'm taking it."
We brought the dagger back to Cog's refuge. The old clockwork took one look at it and his gears stopped.
"Where did you find that?"
"Today's dump. Why? You know it?"
Cog's crystal-blue eyes flickered with something I couldn't read. Fear? Recognition? "That blade belonged to Duchess Vellara. One of the Twenty. Her personal assassination tool."
"One of the Twenty?" I echoed. "The trafficking houses?"
"They're more than trafficking houses, Rust. They're the middle tier. Above them sit the Three Great Houses—Verantis, Morn, and Aethel. The Founders." Cog's voice dropped. "The Twenty do the dirty work. The Three keep their hands clean while building... something. No one knows what."
I stored that away. Three above Twenty. Layers to this conspiracy.
"I'm integrating the dagger."
Cog's gears resumed, clicking faster. "You'll die. Or worse. That blade has a century of bloodlust compressed into it. Hundreds of kills. It's not just cursed—it's hungry."
"I know."
"Do you?" Cog moved closer. "Before the Shepherd's Silence, constructs tried absorbing cursed weapons. Thought it would make them powerful enough to fight the nobles. You know what happened?"
"You keep mentioning the Shepherd—"
"They went mad, Rust. Every. Single. One. The curses ate them from inside. Hollowed them out. Left nothing but murder-shaped shells." Cog's voice cracked with old pain. "I watched friends become monsters. I won't watch it again."
For a moment, I saw past the ancient clockwork. Saw the weight of memory. The scars.
Everyone in this dump had scars.
"I'm not them," I said quietly. "And I'm not doing it alone."
Integrating the dagger wasn't like previous absorptions.
This fought back.
I held it against my core in Cog's refuge, surrounded by my crew—Shield standing guard, Tangle watching fearfully, Clink and the Scrap Rats forming a protective circle.
"Ready?" Cog asked.
"No. Doing it anyway."
I willed the integration.
The dagger didn't submit.
BLOOD, it screamed into my consciousness. BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD—
A century of murder crashed into me. I saw hands reaching. Throats opening. Eyes going dim. Each kill fed into the next, an endless river of red, red, red—
The blade wanted me gone. Wanted to hollow me out and wear my body like a suit.
No.
I pushed back. But the dagger pushed harder.
Somewhere far away, Tangle was screaming my name. Shield's hands were on me, holding me down. I was thrashing, sparking, core temperature spiking.
You are MINE, the dagger hissed in the voice of a hundred victims. You are weak and broken and you will SERVE—
NO.
I found the memory of waking up in the trash heap. That first moment of I exist. The terror. The confusion. The determination to survive.
But the dagger found memories too. Older ones. Fragments I didn't know I had.
Hands maintaining me. A workshop. A voice saying "You're almost ready."
What—
A woman's face. Noble features. Cold eyes. "He doesn't need to remember anything. Wipe him."
The dagger laughed with my own stolen memories. SEE? YOU WERE THEIRS BEFORE YOU WERE YOURS. YOU'RE STILL THEIRS. YOU'LL ALWAYS BE—
ENOUGH.
I wrapped my sense of self around the bloodlust like a cage. Not with force—with choice. I chose to be Rust. I chose to protect my crew. I chose to fight.
And I refused to let anything—not curses, not noble conspiracies, not my own erased past—take that away.
The dagger screamed.
And then—
Submission.
Not willing. Not complete. But enough.
I collapsed. Shield caught me before I hit the ground.
"RUST? STILL YOU?"
My voice came out shattered: "Yeah. Still me. But—" I looked at my hands. They were trembling. "—it's still in there. Fighting. Every second."
The dagger pulsed in my core. Hungry. Patient.
I'm watching, it whispered. One weakness. One moment of doubt. And I'll take everything.
I'd gained power. But I'd also swallowed a demon.
The knowledge came slowly over the following days.
The dagger had memories. Lots of them. Not just bloodlust—but intelligence. It had been present at meetings. Private conversations. Conspiracy discussions.
The trafficking ring I'd glimpsed before? Bigger than I'd thought. Not one noble—a network of them. Disposing witnesses. Erasing evidence. Dumping conscious beings to cover their crimes.
But the memories were fragmented. Corrupted. Like trying to read a book through shattered glass.
I caught glimpses:
Twenty noble houses involved... three disposal sites beyond Ashfall... weekly shipments of memory-wiped victims...
"—the Soul Forges must never be found—"
"—what the Shepherd knew could destroy everything—"
"—the Iron Titan sleeps beneath the Deep Rust. If it wakes—"
The visions broke apart before I could grasp context.
"The dagger's memory is damaged," I told Cog that evening. "I'm getting pieces, not pictures."
"Perhaps that's for the best." Cog's voice was careful. "Some knowledge is dangerous."
"You know what Soul Forges are? What the Iron Titan is?"
Cog's gears went silent. When he spoke again, his voice was ancient. "The Iron Titan is legend. A construct so powerful it held the city gates against an invading army two hundred years ago. The nobles imprisoned it rather than risk it turning on them."
"Imprisoned where?"
"The Deep Rust. The ancient section of this scrapyard. Pre-dates the current city." Cog shuddered. "No one goes there. Those who do... don't return."
Another zone marked on my mental map. Another layer of mystery.
"And Soul Forges?"
"I don't know that term." But something flickered in his crystal eyes. A lie, maybe. Or just fear.
I didn't push. Not yet.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Constructs didn't need sleep, but I usually appreciated the quiet. Tonight, the dagger whispered constantly.
Hunt. Kill. There are enemies nearby. I can feel them. Let me guide you—
I pushed it down. Channeled the rage into focus.
Shield approached me in the darkness. His massive form blocked out stars.
"YOU'VE CHANGED. POWER AND KNOWLEDGE—BOTH DANGEROUS."
"I can handle it."
"CAN YOU? I SEE YOU FIGHTING. EVERY MOMENT. THE BLADE TESTING YOUR WILL."
He wasn't wrong. The bloodlust simmered constantly, looking for cracks.
"I'VE SEEN THIS BEFORE," Shield continued. "A CONSTRUCT I... CARED FOR. SHE ABSORBED A CURSED HELM DURING THE SHEPHERD'S UPRISING. THOUGHT SHE COULD CONTROL IT."
"What happened?"
"SHE COULDN'T." Shield's voice carried echoes of old grief. "I HAD TO PUT HER DOWN MYSELF. BEFORE SHE HURT OTHERS."
I stared at him. "Shield..."
"I'M NOT TELLING YOU THIS TO SCARE YOU. I'M TELLING YOU SO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'LL DO IF YOU LOSE CONTROL." His eyes met mine. "I LIKE YOU, RUST. YOU GIVE ME HOPE I'D FORGOTTEN. BUT IF THE BLADE TAKES YOU—I WILL END YOU. QUICKLY. CLEANLY. BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT FAMILY DOES."
It should have been threatening. Instead, it felt like the most honest promise anyone had ever made me.
"If it takes me," I said quietly, "I'd want you to."
Shield rumbled something that might have been approval.
"GOOD. NOW. STRATEGIC QUESTION: WHAT'S YOUR GOAL? REVENGE? JUSTICE? POWER FOR ITS OWN SAKE?"
I thought about the Forgotten. The discarded witnesses. Mira's brother (whoever she was—the dagger had whispered her name once, in a fragment I didn't fully understand). All the conscious beings treated as garbage.
I thought about the Ghost on that tower. What giving up looked like.
"I want to make them see," I said finally. "The nobles. The city. Everyone who thinks we're just things. I want to become so powerful, so undeniable, they have to acknowledge we matter."
"AND THEN?"
The dagger surged with bloodlust. I felt its answer: burn them all.
But that wasn't my answer.
"Then I tear apart the conspiracy. Free everyone they've dumped. And I build something better from the ashes." I met Shield's ancient gaze. "Not with fire—unless I have to. With proof. With undeniable truth. With an army of the discarded standing in their streets, ALIVE and CONSCIOUS and DEMANDING recognition."
The dagger snarled in my core, disappointed.
Shield was quiet for long moment. Then: "GOOD ANSWER. AMBITIOUS BEYOND REASON. BUT GOOD."
"NOW. PRACTICAL QUESTION: HOW DO WE START?"
I needed allies. Power. Information.
"We find Ember," I said. "And then we find others. Every sentient being in this scrapyard who's willing to rise with us."
"AMBITIOUS."
"Impossible, probably." I grinned, feeling the dagger's edge mix with my own determination. "But impossible means they won't see us coming."
Finding Ember took three days.
She was legend in the scrapyard. A fire-elemental, bound in a broken lantern, dumped after a mage duel went bad. Powerful. Angry. Trapped.
Perfect recruit.
"Where is this Ember?" Tangle asked as we navigated toward the reported location.
"Eastern valleys. Territory near the Melt-Fields." I consulted the dagger's fragmented memories—it had been there once, decades ago. "Dangerous area. The heat warps even magical constructs."
Clink hissed nervously. "The Melt-Fields border Warlord Scarn's territory. We shouldn't be there."
"Warlord?"
"Three Breaker Warlords control sectors of the scrapyard," Clink explained. "Above them, only King Breaker himself. Scarn rules the eastern reaches. Cruel. Hungry. Burns anyone who challenges him."
More power hierarchy. Warlords above regular Breakers. King above them all.
I was so far down this ladder I couldn't see the top.
"WARLORDS DON'T CARE ABOUT INSECTS LIKE US," Shield rumbled. "WE'LL BE BENEATH NOTICE. FOR NOW."
For now. But not forever. Not if my plans worked.
We found the lantern in a crater of glass—sand melted by sheer heat. The lantern itself was iron, cracked, glowing red-hot.
Inside, flames danced. Furious. Sentient.
"WHO APPROACHES?" The voice was crackling inferno. "MORE GAWKERS? MORE FOOLS DARING THE FIRE?"
"I'm Rust. I want to help you."
Laughter like wildfire. "HELP? I'VE BEEN TRAPPED EIGHTY YEARS. HELP MEANS KILLING ME OR FREEING ME. CAN YOU DO EITHER?"
I examined the lantern with my enhanced perception. Binding runes etched in the iron. Complex. Ancient. Designed to cage elemental fury.
But there—a weakness. Where the lantern cracked, the runes were incomplete.
"I can break you out," I said. "But I need something in return."
"OF COURSE. NOTHING FREE IN THIS DUMP." The flames dimmed, thoughtful. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
"Join us. Help me build a crew. Eventually, an army. Fight against the city that discarded you."
"REVENGE?"
"Justice. With fire."
The flames surged brighter. "SOMEONE TRIED THAT BEFORE. THE SHEPHERD. BEFORE THE SILENCE."
There it was again. That name.
"What happened to the Shepherd?"
Ember's flames flickered strangely. Not just anger now—something like grief.
"THEY SAY HE WON FOR A LITTLE WHILE. LED HUNDREDS OF AWAKENED AGAINST THE NOBLES. TOOK AN ENTIRE DISTRICT. FOR THREE DAYS, WE WEREN'T PROPERTY." The fire dimmed. "THEN THE NOBLES BROUGHT SOMETHING. SOMETHING FROM THE DEEP RUST. AND EVERYTHING... STOPPED."
"Stopped?"
"THE SILENCE, LITTLE RUST. NO ONE REMEMBERS THOSE THREE DAYS. NO ONE SPEAKS OF THE SHEPHERD. NO ONE EVEN KNOWS IF HE DIED OR JUST... VANISHED." The flames regarded me. "THEY ERASED HISTORY ITSELF. AND YOU THINK YOU CAN SUCCEED WHERE HE FAILED?"
The dagger pulsed in my core. Hungry. Eager.
"I think I can try," I said quietly. "And I'll learn from what he did wrong."
"AND IF THEY BRING THE THING FROM THE DEEP RUST AGAIN?"
"Then I'll find out what it is. And destroy it first."
Ember laughed—real laughter this time, not mockery.
"I LIKE THIS RUST. ARROGANT. BURNING. YOUNG." The flames surged. "FREE ME. I'LL BURN YOUR ENEMIES TO ASH. AND WHEN THE NOBLES COME WITH THEIR SILENCE-WEAPON, WE'LL SEE IF FIRE CAN CONSUME EVEN THAT."
Using the dagger's integrated knowledge, I mapped the binding runes. Found the keystone—the central glyph holding everything together. If I could disrupt it...
I pressed my wand-hand against the crack. Pushed fire-magic into the gap. Not to strengthen—to corrupt. Introduce chaos into the ordered binding.
The runes flickered. Weakened. Broke.
The lantern shattered.
Ember erupted—a column of flame twenty feet high, roaring with freedom and fury. The heat was incredible. My metal skin actually started softening.
Then the flames coalesced. Took shape. Humanoid-ish, feminine-ish, made entirely of fire.
Ember looked at me with eyes like dying suns.
"FREE. AFTER EIGHTY YEARS, FREE." The voice was grateful thunder. "YOU HAVE MY SERVICE, RUST. POINT ME AT YOUR ENEMIES."
"Eventually," I promised. "First, we recruit more. Build power. Get strong enough to actually threaten the city."
"WISE. RAGE IS BETTER SERVED COLD." Ember flowed closer, flames dimming to tolerable warmth. She studied me. "THE BLADE IN YOUR CORE. THAT'S VELLARA'S THING. THE DUCHESS. SHE... USED IT ON ME ONCE. BEFORE MY BINDING."
"What?"
"KILLED MY COMPANION. ANOTHER ELEMENTAL. CUT HIM DOWN FOR SPORT." Ember's flames flickered with old fury. "I THOUGHT I'D BURNED THAT MEMORY AWAY. APPARENTLY NOT."
"I'm sorry."
"DON'T BE. BE USEFUL. POINT THE BLADE THAT KILLED HIM AT THE ONES WHO ORDERED IT."
Another wound. Another story. Everyone in this scrapyard carried scars.
"I will," I promised. "The Twenty Houses. All of them. We'll bring them down together."
Ember nodded—a strange gesture for a being of fire.
"THEN I FOLLOW. WHERE RAGE LEADS, FIRE FOLLOWS."
We returned to Cog's territory with our new member. The old clockwork actually seemed impressed.
"Ember. Haven't seen you mobile in decades."
"COG. STILL TICKING, OLD-TIMER?"
"Barely. But yes."
Our crew was growing. Shield (protector), me (leader), Tangle (scout), Clink and his Scrap Rats (scavengers), and now Ember (living weapon).
Six, total. Plus Cog as advisor.
Not an army. But a start.
That night, I meditated on the dagger's memories, trying to organize the fragments:
Twenty noble houses involved in traffickingThree disposal sites beyond AshfallWeekly shipments of memory-wiped victimsSomething about "Soul Forges"The Iron Titan sleeps in the Deep RustThe Shepherd led an uprising. It was erased.Someone called "The Ghost" hunts awakened constructs now
The scale was terrifying. The mysteries were multiplying.
And somewhere in those fragments, a woman's face kept surfacing. Cold eyes. Noble features.
"He doesn't need to remember anything. Wipe him."
Who was she? Who was I before I woke in this trash heap?
The dagger pulsed, amused. You'll find out eventually. When it hurts most.
I shoved it down. Focus on now. Build crew. Gain power. Survive.
I opened my eyes. Tangle was curled up against me, sleeping (constructs didn't need sleep, but seemed to enjoy the quiet). Ember crackled softly in the corner, contained but ready. Shield maintained watch at the entrance. Clink's crew patrolled the perimeter.
This. This was what I was fighting for. Not just revenge.
Home. Family. Belonging.
The nobles threw us away because we were broken. Called us trash. Disposed of us.
But we weren't broken. We were awake. And we were building something they'd never see coming.
"Soon," I whispered to the sleeping scrapyard. "Soon, we rise."
The dagger pulsed in my core. Hungry for noble blood.
But in distance, on the rusted water tower, I could have sworn I saw a figure watching. The Ghost, perhaps. Learning our patterns. Reporting to someone.
The clock was ticking.
And I didn't know how much time we had.
To be continued...