A few days had passed since the Governor's visit. The memory still burned vividly, but Nael's daily routine had slowly reclaimed its place, like dust that refused to be swept away completely. That morning, the air felt heavier than usual—thick and greasy, clinging to the skin the moment you stepped out of the shade.
Nael was walking down the northern slope of the industrial sector, heading toward the forges. It was a place he visited occasionally, but only out of necessity. Everything about it repulsed him: the suffocating heat, molten metal, the stench of ash and sweat.
The buildings were black and hulking, as if time itself had charred them. The walls, stained with smoke and coal dust, trembled faintly with each hammer blow echoing in the air. A slow, steady rhythm—like an underground heartbeat.
The closer he got, the thicker the heat became, almost alive. It poured from the chimneys like an enraged beast. With every step, Nael felt his clothes cling tighter to his back. The air tasted metallic, almost rusted. Behind the walls, flames crackled, blowers roared, and now and then came the sharp clang of a misplaced tool.
He stopped in front of a small rectangular building, shorter than the rest. The door creaked, slightly ajar. A reddish glow seeped through the crack, casting flickering shadows across the floor. He gently pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Inside, the noise was muffled but constant. Groaning metal, scraping, and the ever-present hiss of fire behind the walls.
A boy was there, crouched in front of a pile of debris, sorting materials into crates. His figure was thin, almost fragile, but his arms had the stiffness of someone used to labor. His clothes were covered in soot, his hair plastered to his scalp with sweat.
He looked up when Nael entered.
"Uh... hey, is Mr. Kim here?" Nael asked.
"He's coming," the boy replied without raising his voice. He vaguely gestured toward the back of the building. "Finishing a casting."
"Alright."
Nael stood there for a while, taking in the space. Tools hanging on the walls, chains, hooks, a workbench cluttered with metal fragments, hand-sketched blueprints. Everything reeked of function, of necessity—no room for aesthetics.
A minute later, a booming voice erupted through the workshop:
"Nael! By all that burns, is that really you or have I breathed in too much smoke?"
Nael flinched slightly. A massive man had appeared through a swinging door. He wore a leather apron, scorched in several places. His bare arms were thick as tree trunks, and his hands looked like they'd been forged from the very metal he worked with.
His face was broad, creased by years of heat and too-honest smiles. A wild red beard covered his jaw and cheeks, and his eyes gleamed with a kind of joyful excess.
"Well, Nael, here to visit me?" he called out, striding forward in heavy steps. "Don't tell me you came looking for a NutriPack, by chance?"
"Yeah, I could use one…" Nael replied, a little uneasy. "Uh, Please."
He'd known the blacksmith for nearly two years now, but Kim's overly cheerful manner always made him uncomfortable. It threw him off balance, made it hard to speak clearly.
"Oh?" Kim raised a bushy eyebrow. "Now that's odd. I gave you one, what... three days ago?"
"I ran out."
He was lying, of course. He had a whole sack full of them—his personal stash. His savings, really. All of them. He didn't actually need more, at least not if he planned to stay in the district.
But after the Governor's departure and his humiliating failure... again... Nael had made up his mind. He wouldn't wait another three years for a sliver of a chance at being chosen for Attribution. If the Codex wouldn't come to him, then he would go find it. It was reckless—especially for someone like him.
Kim burst into thunderous laughter, loud enough to make the chains on the wall tremble.
"By the flame, you kids have a black hole where your stomach should be!"
He scratched the back of his head, releasing a puff of dry ash from his hair.
"Alright then, three NutriPacks it is." He paused, his expression suddenly mock-thoughtful. "But... you're not getting them for free this time."
Nael waited. He had expected this. If he had learned anything useful in sixteen miserable years, it was that nothing on the Ring was ever free. Even the air they breathed in the High Discrict was rationed. In the Lower District, the government hadn't even bothered regulating the supply. Why would they? The air there came from aging filters that still ran—barely. But that wasn't good enough for the aristocrats.
"You're going to get me some materials. My apprentice's been scouring the place for two hours and hasn't found anything useful."
"Uh… where am I supposed to look?"
The blacksmith's eyes widened, as if he'd just heard the dumbest question in the world.
"The dump, of course!"
Nael blinked.
"The dump?"
Kim wiped his brow with the inside of his arm.
"Yeah, the big one. Behind the forges. It's a furnace-born nightmare, but there's always something worth salvaging if you've got the eye. Copper, melted alloy, connectors... and if you find me an old generator, I'll give you double."
Nael nodded slowly, hiding the spark of greed behind his expression.
"Alright… but what's a generator?"
Kim's eyes bulged again, stunned.
"What!? You—wha—what!? You don't know what a generator is!?"
'Why's he stressing that word so much?'
Kim rubbed his eyes, still clearly shaken by Nael's apparent ignorance.
"Alright, alright! Guess it's time for a little history lesson. A few decades back, when I was a kid, Earth had become unlivable for most forms of life—thanks to climate collapse and too many damn wars. So, the leaders of each nation agreed to build the orbital ring we live on now, to shelter what was left of humanity. Of course, not everyone liked the idea of orbiting a dead planet, so some people built their own ships, set off to search for habitable worlds or try to terraform one. Space has no oxygen, as you know, so the Ring's government developed a tech that could produce it—and allow us to breathe freely. That's the famous generator."
Nael had already stopped listening after the third sentence.
Kim liked to talk. He talked a lot. Understandable, really, when you spend your days surrounded by iron and fire.
'I do know what a generator is. I was joking... why's he giving me a history lecture?'
"If you understand what it is now, go fetch it. The sooner the better," he said, eyeing Nael with a hint of excitement.
"You can get up now—go rest. Nael's taking over."
The apprentice barely looked up, wiped his forehead, and left in hast without a word.
Not long after, Nael stepped out as well. Outside, the false sky blazed white with heat, no clouds in sight. The air shimmered above stacked metal plates. The wind reeked of rust, burnt grease, and dust.
He cast one last glance back at the workshop. Kim was laughing to himself again, back at his workbench, singing off-key at the top of his lungs.
With a determined smirk, Nael set off toward the dump—ready to dig through the chaos and rust, chasing the scraps that might just earn him the precious NutriPacks… and maybe something far more important.
He'd heard stories. Of kids going and not coming back. But three NutriPacks was worth the risk.