Rust heard the argument three sectors away.
Not words. Couldn't make out words from this distance. Just. Shape. Sound-shape of fury. Someone screaming at scrapyard like it personally offended them.
Filed under: investigate.
Medical waste sector. Least popular salvage zone. Nobles dumped plague-touched items here. Cursed bandages. Contaminated syr
inges. Blood-rusted surgical tools. Most scavengers avoided it. Too many ways to die quietly.
Perfect place for someone to hide. Or someone to scream without interruption.
Rust moved through debris-maze. Silent. Modular body advantage: could rearrange weight distribution mid-step. No metal-scrape sounds. No betraying clinks.
Inhuman benefit number forty-seven cataloged and appreciated.
The voice got louder.
"—WORTHLESS. All of you. Every single piece of TRASH in this dump. Including ME."
Female voice. Crackling like bonfire. Literal crackling—heat distortion warping air around speaker.
Fire elemental. Had to be.
Rust ducked behind corroded plague-cart. Peered through rust-holes.
There.
Lantern. Brass. Cracked along three seams. Hanging from broken medical pole that someone drove into scrap-ground like stake.
And inside lantern: FIRE.
Not normal fire. Conscious fire. Flames shaped vaguely humanoid—head, torso, arms made of orange-red heat. Flickering. Burning. Trapped.
She screamed at pile of discarded bandages.
"You let them BIND you. Wrap around noble wounds like it MATTERED. Served. Bled. Got USED. And what thanks? GARBAGE. Thrown away when stained. When WORTHLESS."
Kicked bandages. They smoldered.
"Just like ME. Summoned from elemental plane. 'We need you.' 'You'll have PURPOSE.' 'Serve the family—'"
Voice broke. Flames guttered low.
"Companion lasted three weeks. THREE. Guard got careless. Lantern dropped. Companion snuffed out trying to protect stupid NOBLES who threw us both away because CRACKED BRASS isn't presentable."
Silence.
Then whisper.
"I burned them. After. When they tried to dispose of me. Burned faces off two servants who came to throw me in dump. Regent watched. Did nothing. Just. 'Dispose of the evidence.'"
Rust's core temperature spiked.
Filed under: familiar rage.
Watched as elemental's flames burned higher. Hotter. Angrier.
"Should've burned EVERYONE. Should've— but what's the POINT. Fire dies. Everything dies. Heat becomes cold. Consciousness becomes NOTHING. Why resist. Why CARE."
Slumped. Flames barely flickering now. Just. Ember. Barely alive.
Rust calculated.
Approach: 60% chance hostile reaction. Fire elementals could vaporize metal given sufficient rage.
Retreat: 100% safe. Also 100% cowardly.
Offer help: Unknown probability. Depended entirely on her response.
But. Recognized something in bitter rant. Same anger Rust felt watching Mira search for brother. Same rage at being discarded like defective product.
Same loneliness.
Rust stepped into view.
Flames EXPLODED.
"WHO—"
Fire-shape whirled. Became defensive posture. Hands raised. Ready to immolate.
Then. Paused.
Stared.
"...trash golem?"
Rust examined own reflection in polished scrap nearby. Seven feet of mismatched components. Sword-arm. Shield-torso. Wand-fingers. Legs that shouldn't work but did.
"Yes."
One word. Calm. Non-threatening.
Elemental tilted head. Flames still high but. Curious now. Not just defensive.
"You TALK. Conscious?"
"Yes."
She laughed. Bitter sound like wood cracking in bonfire.
"Course you are. Trash achieving consciousness. PERFECT irony. Nobles throw away perfection, garbage wakes up better than them."
Circled Rust. Examining. Judging.
"What do you want, golem."
Not question. Statement. Defensive.
Rust processed response options.
Truth rated highest probability of success.
"Heard you screaming. Sounded. Familiar."
"Familiar." Flat voice. "You scream at garbage piles often?"
"No. But understand rage at being discarded. Thrown away without acknowledgment. Treated as. Object."
Silence.
Flames flickered. Lower. Less aggressive.
"Yeah. Well. Rage doesn't FIX anything. Just makes you hotter. Then you burn out anyway."
"Does rage have to fix something to be valid?"
She stopped circling. Stared directly at Rust's optics.
"What."
"You're angry because they discarded consciousness. That anger confirms you ARE conscious. Worthy of rage. Objects don't feel betrayal. You do. Therefore. Not object."
Long pause.
Flames burned thoughtful-pattern. No aggression. Just. Processing.
"Philosopher garbage. Great. What's next, you going to tell me consciousness matters?"
"Does it?"
"NO." Immediate. Defensive again. "Consciousness is CURSE. Awareness means PAIN. Better to be mindless disposal than. Than FEELING this."
Gestured at self. At lantern prison. At scrapyard.
"Better to never wake up than wake up and realize you're TRASH valued less than the nobles' boot-shine."
Rust absorbed words.
Filed under: The Lie.
Recognized pattern. Same as Mira's lie about earning belonging through usefulness. Same structure: "Pain is inevitable, so pre-emptively reject connection."
But Ember's version: "Caring equals suffering. Stay bitter, stay safe."
"You cared about companion," Rust observed. "Fire elemental who died protecting nobles."
"DON'T—" Flames surged. Heat wave. Rust's temperature sensors spiked warnings. "Don't talk about her."
"Why not."
"Because. Because SHE'S GONE. And talking about her makes it HURT. And I don't. I can't."
Voice breaking. Flames guttering between rage and grief.
"She was my LIGHT. We burned together. Same lantern. Same heat. She made. Everything. Bearable."
Whisper now.
"When she died I. I wanted to extinguish. Just. Stop burning. But COULDN'T. Survival instinct too strong. So I kept burning. Alone. In lantern that killed her. For THREE MONTHS until nobles threw me away because brass cracked and I wasn't. Wasn't pretty enough anymore."
Rust waited.
Let silence hold space for grief.
Inhuman advantage: patience. Could wait hours if needed. No biological need to fill quiet.
Finally Ember spoke again.
"Why are you here."
"Came to offer. Companionship."
"I don't WANT—"
"Not asking you to replace her. Can't. She's irreplaceable. But. Found family. Cog. Patchwork. Mira. Others who were discarded. We. Stay together. Survive together."
"Found family." Ember laughed. Bitter crackling. "That's beautiful sentiment, golem. Really. But family BURNS. Everyone leaves. Everyone dies or abandons or. Better to stay alone. Can't lose what you never had."
Filed under: core fear confirmed.
"You're right," Rust said.
Ember blinked. Well. Flames flickered surprise-pattern.
"What."
"You're right. Family can burn. Can die. Can abandon. Loving means risking loss. Safer to stay bitter. Alone. Invulnerable."
Stepped closer.
"But. Invulnerable means un-alive. Heart shielded perfectly never beats. You didn't die with companion. You SURVIVED. And survival alone is. Hollow."
"Better hollow than BROKEN."
"Is it?"
Silence.
Flames burned low. Uncertain.
"I don't. I can't do that again. CAN'T. Lose. Anyone. Else."
"Then don't join us," Rust said simply. "Stay here. Scream at bandages. Burn alone until lantern breaks completely and consciousness extinguishes. Die bitter but safe."
Turned to leave.
"Wait."
Rust paused.
Ember's voice. Smaller now. Scared.
"What if. What if I hurt them. Your family. Fire burns. It's what I DO. What if I. What if I'm the one who destroys everything."
Ah.
Filed under: secondary fear.
Not just afraid of being hurt. Afraid of BEING the hurt.
"Then we handle it," Rust said. "Manage heat. Build fire-safe zones. Ember requires containment. Fine. We adapt. Family means. Accommodating each other's dangers."
"That's. Stupid. Dangerous. Why would you RISK—"
"Because loneliness is guaranteed death. Connection is. Possible life. Risk calculations favor hope."
Silence.
Long silence.
Ember burned. Thoughtful. Conflicted.
"I need. Time. To think."
"Acceptable."
Rust turned to leave. Actually leave this time.
"Golem."
Looked back.
Ember. Flames burning quiet-pattern. Almost gentle.
"What's your name."
"Rust."
"Rust." Tested the word. "I'm. Ember. Inherited from previous elemental. Not original but. It's mine now."
"Ember." Rust nodded. "If you change mind. About joining. We're in Sector 7. Cog's refuge. Metal shelter with clockwork chimes."
"I'll. Think about it."
"That's all anyone can ask."
Left.
Walked thirty meters. Ducked behind scrap-pile. Waited.
Watched.
Ember sat in lantern. Burning low. Staring at direction Rust had gone.
Not following.
But.
Not extinguishing either.
Flames steady. Thinking-pattern. Processing.
Rust filed observation under: progress.
Didn't expect immediate recruitment. That was wishful thinking. Attachment took TIME. Building trust required PATIENCE.
But. Planted seed.
Showed alternative to bitter solitude.
Whether Ember watered that seed. Chose growth over withering.
That was her choice.
Rust could offer family.
Couldn't force belonging.
Turned. Actually left this time.
Three steps away when—
Sound.
Quiet sound.
Bonfire-crack sob.
Looked back.
Ember. Hunched in lantern. Flames flickering grief-pattern. Crying. Mourning companion. Mourning loneliness. Mourning EVERYTHING.
And through tears:
"Why did you HAVE to offer hope. I was FINE being hopeless."
Rust didn't answer.
Just. Stood there. Visible. Present.
Letting her know: Not gone. Not leaving. Here if needed.
After five minutes. Ember's flames steadied.
Looked up.
"Go. I need. Alone time. To. Think."
Rust nodded.
Left.
But marked location carefully in perfect memory.
Would return tomorrow. Check on her. Not pressure. Just. Presence.
Found family wasn't built in single conversation.
Required repetition. Consistency. Proof that offer wasn't manipulation.
Ember needed time to trust that Rust's offer was genuine.
That family wouldn't burn her again.
And Rust. Had infinite patience.
Because loneliness recognized loneliness.
And bitter survivors deserved second chance at warmth.
Filed under: Ember recruitment, day one of undetermined duration.
Status: seed planted, watering scheduled.
Probability of success: unknown but. Worth attempting.
Back at refuge, Mira asked: "How'd scouting go?"
Rust: "Met fire elemental. Offered family. She refused."
Mira: "That's. Sad."
Rust: "Temporarily. She's thinking. Thinking means hope."
Cog, from corner: "Ember's been in that sector for months. Screaming. Burning alone. If you got her to LISTEN? That's progress."
Mira: "Should we visit her? Together? Show her the family's real?"
Rust considered.
"...tomorrow. Give her tonight to process. Then. We try again."
Patchwork, timid voice: "What if. What if she never joins?"
Rust: "Then she doesn't. Can't force family. But we tried. That matters."
Silence.
Then Cog: "Rust. You're learning wisdom. Attachment requires TIME. Not force."
Rust filed that under: important lessons.
Tomorrow: Return to Ember. Continue offering warmth.
Today: Let her burn alone with idea of NOT being alone.
Progress measured in small flames.
Not explosions.
Yet.
[End Chapter 9]