The knock on Misaki's door came early - perhaps the eighth hour of the daytime cycle, if he'd tracked Ulth'rk's position correctly. He groaned, rolling off his sleeping mat and immediately regretting the movement as his healing wounds protested.
"Coming," he called out, pulling on his worn work tunic.
Lyria stood in the doorway with a cloth-wrapped bundle that smelled incredible - warm bread, some kind of roasted meat, and the distinctive sweetness of honey. Her blonde hair caught the morning sunlight, and she smiled with that easy warmth that had become familiar over the past six months.
"Breakfast," she announced, stepping inside without waiting for invitation. "I figured you'd forget to eat again, given your new project obsession."
Misaki accepted the bundle gratefully, unwrapping it to find thornbread still warm from the oven, strips of stone hog meat, and a small clay pot of honey. His stomach rumbled appreciatively.
"You're not wrong," he admitted, settling at his new workshop table. "I've been thinking about the cart designs all night."
Lyria pulled up the salvaged chair and sat across from him, her healer's eyes already scanning his visible injuries with professional assessment. "Tell me about these designs. What makes them different from the carts we already use?"
As Misaki explained his concepts - proper wheel bearings, weight distribution principles, the difference between human-powered transport and beast-drawn vehicles - he found himself gesturing animatedly with a piece of thornbread. Lyria listened with genuine interest, asking clarifying questions that showed she understood the mechanical principles even without his Earth-based engineering background.
But somewhere in his explanation about axle rotation and friction reduction, Misaki realized he'd been staring at her face for longer than was probably appropriate. The way her green eyes focused when she concentrated, the slight tilt of her head when processing new information, the small scar above her left eyebrow that he'd never noticed before...
"Misaki?" Lyria's voice carried a note of amusement. "Are you explaining cart mechanics or studying my face?"
Heat flooded Misaki's cheeks. "I - the cart - I was just - "
"Just staring?" Lyria's grin turned mischievous. "Six months here and you still blush like a rookie. It's almost charming."
"I wasn't staring," Misaki protested, focusing very intently on his breakfast. "I was thinking. About... axle configurations."
"Mm-hmm. Axle configurations. Right." Lyria's teasing tone suggested she didn't believe him for a second, but she mercifully changed the subject. "Finish eating. Those wounds won't check themselves, and I want to see your prototype drawings before I head to the temple."
After Lyria left - with a parting comment about "axle configurations" that made Misaki's ears burn - he spread fresh parchment across his workshop table and began sketching. His engineering training took over, transforming rough concepts into technical drawings with measurements, stress calculations, and material requirements.
The human-powered cart would need wheels approximately two feet in diameter, constructed from segmented wood pieces bound with iron bands. The axle assembly required precision work - Torran could forge the metal components, but the tolerances would need to be exact. Load capacity estimated at four hundred pounds, assuming proper weight distribution and dual-person operation...
He was so absorbed in the calculations that he completely forgot about his farm work obligations until the sun had climbed to its zenith position.
"Oh no."
Misaki sprinted toward the communal farms, his healing wounds complaining with every stride. Millia, the farm supervisor, stood with her arms crossed and an expression that promised retribution. At forty-three years old and possessing the earth-based Muladhara chakra, she'd spent decades managing M'lod's agricultural operations with ruthless efficiency.
"Haruto," she said pleasantly. Too pleasantly. "How kind of you to join us."
Before Misaki could apologize, her hand shot out and grabbed his ear, twisting with the practiced precision of someone who'd disciplined countless forgetful workers over the years.
"Ow! Millia, I'm sorry! I was - ow! - working on - OW!"
"Punctuality," Millia said, emphasizing each syllable with a slight increase in twisting pressure, "is not a suggestion. It's a requirement. Clear?"
"Crystal! Very clear! Extremely clear!"
She released his ear, and Misaki rubbed the abused cartilage while trying to maintain some dignity. Around them, other farm workers pretended very hard not to notice, though a few suppressed smiles were visible.
"Ten baskets," Millia commanded. "Starc root harvest, eastern field. And Haruto? Next time you're late, I'll assign you manure duty for a week."
Misaki worked through the afternoon heat, filling basket after basket with the potato-like starc roots that formed a staple of M'lod's diet. But as he worked, something nagged at his attention. The crops surrounding him - starc root, thornwheat, mountain herbs - looked identical to how they'd appeared when he first arrived six months ago.
On Earth, six months would show dramatic agricultural changes. Planting seasons, growth cycles, harvests, fallow periods. But here on Vulcan, the fields maintained constant productivity. Same crops, same growth stages, endless yield.
He mentioned this observation to Millia when delivering his tenth basket.
"Of course they're the same," she replied, as if this was obvious. "Vulcan's extended year cycle means agricultural seasons last much longer. What you call 'six months' on your Earth is barely two months here. Our crops follow Vulcan's rhythm, not your planet's abbreviated timeline."
The math clicked into place. If Vulcan's year was roughly three times Earth's length, then six Earth-months would be... early spring equivalent. Everything suddenly made more sense.
The village library occupied a small stone building near the temple, its interior cool and quiet despite the afternoon heat. The librarian, an elderly scholar named Tereth, barely looked up from his texts as Misaki entered.
Misaki found what he sought in the chakra manipulation section - a leather-bound volume titled "Foundations of Creation Through Spiritual Energy." The text explained that perfect chakra control allowed practitioners to manifest various materials and effects. With sufficient mastery, a chakra user could theoretically create almost anything: basic tools, simple structures, even temporary magical constructs.
But there were critical limitations. Rare metals like mythril required specific environmental conditions and couldn't be chakra-manifested. Complex mechanisms needed understanding beyond just the materials. And most importantly - this level of control required unlocking all six base chakras first. Muladhara (Earth), Svadhisthana (Water), Manipura (Fire), Anahata (Air), Vishuddha (Ether), and Ajna (Light).
Misaki currently possessed only Manipura, his fire chakra. Five more to unlock before he could even attempt this level of creation.
The realization was both exciting and daunting. Hypothetically, he could eventually create anything his engineering mind could design. But "eventually" meant years of training and spiritual development.
Lyria's examination that evening confirmed his wounds were healing faster than normal.
"Benefits of being a Jack," Misaki explained as she unwrapped his bandages. "The class description mentioned enhanced adaptability and recovery."
"Speaking of your class," Lyria said thoughtfully, "have you checked your subclass options yet?"
Misaki blinked. "Subclass? There are subclasses?"
Lyria laughed. "Oh, Misaki. You really don't read the system notifications thoroughly, do you?"
When he focused his intention on his class interface, a new menu section appeared - dozens of subclass specializations branching from the Jack foundation. Each promised unique benefits and growth paths he'd never known existed.
The possibilities suddenly felt infinite.