I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of our basement hideout, surrounded by scattered mechanical parts and half-finished projects. The midnight hour had long passed, and the familiar sounds of my friends' footsteps had faded as they ventured into the Hellzone tunnels below.

Through my connection with Chonsey, I monitored their progress. The scout spider's sensors painted a clear picture of the group's movement. Taking the lead, Annes gripped her blade in preparation as Copelan secured their sides. Meanwhile, Genta and Loland maintained their position at the back, magic and weapons poised for combat.

I still couldn't fathom why Annes had insisted on painting Chonsey that garish shade of pink. She'd spent an entire afternoon carefully coating each of the spider's legs and joints, humming to herself as she worked. I'd protested at first, worried the bright color would make the construct more visible to the denizens of the tunnels. But after weeks of reconnaissance, it became clear the monsters relied more on vibration and heat detection than sight. The pink actually helped our group keep track of Chonsey in the dim tunnel lighting.

The scout's data feeds showed normal readings, with no immediate threats detected in the vicinity. Temperature variations suggested a pack of Cave Stalkers had passed through recently, but they'd moved on to deeper levels. Good hunting for later, perhaps, but not an immediate concern for the training group.

My fingers absently traced the edge of a mythril component I'd been working on, the metal cool and responsive to my touch. The workshop around me had grown crowded with my mechanical children, thirty-eight at last count, each one adding to my base strength through the Ancestor Might attribute. Scout spiders like Chonsey made up the majority, but I'd also begun experimenting with other designs. Some successful, others... less so.

A soft whirring drew my attention to Rolly, who'd managed to wedge himself behind a crate again. The spherical construct had a tendency to get stuck in corners, spinning his wheels helplessly until someone rescued him. Despite his flaws, or perhaps because of them, he'd become something of a mascot to our little group.

I set aside the mythril component, my planned experiments forgotten. The metal's unique properties should have fascinated me as its ability to channel mana without the need for alchemical coating was revolutionary. Yet my thoughts kept drifting back to that face in the mirror. Vardin's face. My face? The distinction felt important, yet maddeningly unclear.

Vardin, I whispered through Mind Speech, testing how the name felt. Strange. Alien. Like trying to wear someone else's skin.

The memories were vivid enough: the weight of a crown, the responsibility of ruling a kingdom, the love of family. Two young boys racing through castle corridors, wooden swords clacking as they played at being heroes. A woman in green silk, her smile warm and gentle. But they felt distant, like watching scenes from a story rather than experiencing my own past.

Copelan's research suggested these events occurred at the least over a thousand years ago. Everyone in those memories was long dead, their bones dust, their kingdom fallen to time. If I truly was Vardin reborn, shouldn't I feel something? Grief? Loss? Instead, I felt... nothing. Just clinical curiosity about these fragments of another life.

A quiet beep drew my attention. Rolly had managed to free himself from behind the crate and now bumped gently against my leg, his wheels spinning in a friendly greeting. I reached down to adjust his stabilization gyros; he'd been listing slightly to the left again.

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These mechanical children of mine; they felt more real, more mine, than any ancient memories of flesh and blood sons. Through Assembly, I had created them. Through Ancestor Might, they strengthened me. They were undeniably part of who I was now.

And who was I? Not the broken thing that first awakened in Lodrik Hellzone. Not the ancient king from my memories. I was something new, something between organic and mechanical, monster and human. The name "Widow" had served well enough so far, chosen to hide my nature. But it wasn't really me either.

My fingers traced the ragged edge where flesh met metal at my shoulder under the uniform. The red, raw boundary between what I was and what I had become. Perhaps that was the answer; I didn't need to choose between past and present. I could acknowledge both while being neither.

I picked up the mythril disc, watching how it caught the lamplight. Beautiful, but ultimately unsuitable for what I'd hoped. My initial tests had been promising. The metal's ability to channel mana without coating would have revolutionized my combat chassis design. It was light, very strong, and highly resistant to corrosion. But each stress test ended the same way: catastrophic failure under impact.

The fragments from my last experiment still littered the workbench. I'd forged a simple mythril blade, perfectly balanced and razor-sharp. When I'd tested it against a steel training dummy, the sword had shattered like glass. The pieces showed clean, crystalline breaks; fascinating from a metallurgical perspective, but useless for combat applications.

At least we learned something, I mentally muttered, sorting through the shards. The metal's crystalline structure made it ideal for magical conductivity, but that same property rendered it too brittle for structural components. Perhaps if I alloyed it with something else? Steel would add strength, but might compromise the magical properties.

I picked up a chunk of gold, admiring its warm gleam in the lamplight. Copelan's face when I'd asked for more had been priceless, a mix of both horror and resignation. The relief in his expression when I'd switched to requesting menachanite instead spoke volumes about the relative costs of these materials.

Using Assembly, I heated the gold until it flowed like water, shaping it into a perfect cylinder. With careful manipulation, I drew it out thinner and thinner, watching as it transformed into a delicate wire no thicker than a spider's silk. The metal responded beautifully to my control, its natural malleability making it ideal for fine work.

I pressed a finger against the wire and channeled a thread of mana through it. The response was immediate and dramatic, far more efficient than any alchemical coating I'd worked with. The gold practically sang with magical energy, the wire writhing like a living thing under my touch. I made it dance and twist in intricate patterns, fascinated by how the mana flow itself could induce movement in the metal.

But there lay the problem. Gold was too soft, too yielding. Any serious impact would deform it beyond usefulness. The wire already showed kinks and bends from just these simple experiments. In a combat situation, gold components would fail catastrophically under the stresses I routinely encountered.

My gaze drifted to the mythril samples. The pale metal sat in sharp contrast to the gold's warm glow. Where gold was too soft, mythril was too brittle. Where gold conducted mana almost too well, mythril offered perfect control but limited flow capacity.

An idea began to form. What if I combined them? The right mixture of gold and mythril might create an alloy that balanced their opposing properties. Gold's malleability could prevent mythril's tendency to shatter, while mythril's crystalline structure might provide the structural integrity gold lacked.

I reached for both metals, already calculating ratios in my head. The trick would be finding the sweet spot. Too much gold would leave the alloy too soft, too much mythril would retain the brittleness problem. But if I got it right...

Assembly could handle the complex process of combining the metals at the molecular level. The real challenge would be testing the results to find the optimal mixture. I'd need to create multiple samples with varying ratios, then run them through a battery of stress tests while monitoring their mana conductivity.

I began heating both metals, watching as they slowly melted together. The first test batch would be a simple 50-50 mix, just to establish a baseline. From there, I could adjust the ratios based on performance data.

Perhaps this would be the breakthrough I needed; a material both strong enough for combat and magically responsive enough for enhanced control. The possibilities for improving my combat chassis designs seemed endless.

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