My final class of the day was History of Humanity's Kingdoms. It was held in one of the larger lecture rooms that seated over a hundred students.

I entered the lecture hall, scanning the rows of wooden benches that rose in tiers toward the back wall. Most seats were already filled with students in plain brown uniforms worn by the non-combatants who studied logistics, planning, and other aspects of warfare beyond direct combat.

A cluster of these students near the front shifted uncomfortably as I passed, their eyes darting to my porcelain mask and mechanical hand. I chose an empty spot near the back, away from both them and the handful of combat students scattered throughout the room.

The non-combatants made up over three-quarters of the Academy's population. They served as part-time servants to combat students, helping with equipment maintenance and academic studies. Yet here in class, they seemed more at ease than their warrior counterparts, pulling out notebooks and quills with practiced efficiency.

A familiar voice called out. "Widow! Over here!"

Lyta waved from her seat in the middle row, patting the empty space beside her. I made my way over, mechanical legs clicking softly against the wooden floor.

"What brings you to History of Humanity's Kingdoms?" She tilted her head. "This class is mostly for the non-combat students."

Professor Shawe ranked me as C-class, I replied through Mind Speech, settling into the cramped bench.

Her face fell. "Oh no. I feared he might pull something like that." She shook her head, short brown hair bouncing. "But I'm not surprised he was so obvious about his prejudices. That man wouldn't know fairness if it slapped him across his pompous face."

Is there any way to change his mind?

"Well..." Lyta tapped her quill against her chin. "The reassessments are in three months. If you really brown-nose him, show proper deference, maybe he'll bump you up to B-rank."

I let out a dry mental laugh. I doubt that. He seems determined to make my life difficult.

"True enough." She sighed. "Shawe's not exactly known for being reasonable, especially with students he's taken a dislike to."

The bell's chime echoed through the hall. A tiny figure shuffled through the door. Professor Howlett, a halfling barely reaching my waist even when I sat. His wild white hair and beard seemed to have a life of their own, moving with each step he took toward the podium.

"Today's lecture," he wheezed, adjusting a stack of papers, "covers the history of our great human kingdoms."

His dry voice droned on about how these kingdoms stretched back twenty thousand years, though only three thousand years of records remained. I felt fragments of memory stir at those numbers, flashes of different landscapes, different times.

"The gods, in their infinite wisdom, created humans as the supreme race," Howlett declared, his thin hands gesturing emphatically. "They gave us dominion over all lands, to rule as we see fit."

Lyta scribbled notes beside me while I sat motionless, my mechanical fingers still on the desk. The professor's words grew more passionate as he detailed how the gods protected humanity from the horrors of the twelve Hellzones, holding back waves of monsters that would otherwise overwhelm civilization.

"Without their divine protection, we would be overrun by savage beasts and creatures." His eyes swept across the room, lingering briefly on my mask. "We must always remember our blessed position as the chosen race."

The lecture continued in this vein, each word less about historical fact and more about human superiority. I watched other students nodding along, accepting every statement without question. Even Lyta's quill moved steadily, recording it all without hesitation.

This wasn't history; it was propaganda dressed in academic robes. My fractured memories, though unclear, suggested a different truth. But I kept silent, letting the professor's words wash over me like waves against stone.

I stared at my porcelain hand as the lesson faded into background noise. Fragments of memory flickered through my mind like scattered pieces of glass, each shard reflecting a different truth than the one being taught.

I remembered a world of acid seas and burning skies. No benevolent gods watched over humanity then. In my remembered version of history, the elves had lived in forest caves, the dwarves in mountain hollows, the halflings in riverside burrows, and the sapiens wherever they could find shelter. Each race fought daily against a hostile world that tried to destroy them at every turn.

The memories showed tribes of humans, all four races, gathering together not because some deity commanded it, but because unity meant survival. They shared knowledge, techniques, and resources. The elves taught others about the patterns of nature. The dwarves shared the secrets of stone and metal. The halflings showed how to cultivate food in harsh conditions. The sapiens brought their strength and determination.

There were no kind gods from on high who handed humanity anything. Every advancement came through blood, sweat, and sacrifice. When the first cities rose, they were built by human hands, not divine intervention. When the first kingdoms formed, they grew from alliances forged in battle against common threats.

Nothing was given to us. We took. We grew strong. We thrived.

As Professor Howlett droned on about the gods' divine gift of magic to humanity, my fingers traced the mechanical joints of my metal hand. Everything felt wrong about his timeline. Twenty thousand years of human kingdoms, yet only three thousand years of records? The gap nagged at me like a misaligned gear.

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And the Primordials; where were they in this sanitized version of history? The word itself stirred something deep within my damaged flesh. Though my memories remained fragmented and I still did not fully understand what such beings were, I knew with absolute certainty they had existed. The Primordials were fundamental to human history, as essential as the foundations of a building.

Yet now, they stood forgotten. Much of history was, at least the history that I remembered. What had happened during the time of my memories and the time I had awakened in the dirt, reborn in this hideous body? Why was so much of human history wrong?

I bid Lyta farewell and stepped into the Academy's maze of corridors, my mechanical legs clicking against the stone floor. The halls emptied quickly after classes, leaving me alone with my thoughts and plans for exploring the Hellzone tonight.

A flash of movement caught my eye. Arctur's massive form filled the narrow hallway ahead, his scales gleaming in the lamplight. As we passed each other, he bared his teeth in a sneer, a low hiss escaping his throat.

I stopped, irritation rising within me. It wasn't enough that the human students were hostile to me, but the only other monster in the school that I knew also treated me with disrespect. I have had it.

What's your problem with me?

He whirled around, muscles tensing beneath his Academy uniform. "You lied."

If I had eyes, I would have blinked in confusion.

About what?

"The Central Hellzone." His tail lashed against the wall. "You claimed to be from there."

The realization hit me like a physical blow. Of course; his reaction during registration, his hostility. It all made sense now. He himself was from the Central Hellzone.

I apologize for the deception, I said through Mind Speech. I needed a cover story-

"A cover story?" He stepped closer, towering over me. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The monster enclave in the Central Hellzone is supposed to be secret. By mentioning it to these humans, you've put everyone there at risk."

My mechanical fingers twitched. I didn't know. I truly didn't realize-

But Arctur had already turned away, his footsteps heavy with anger as he stalked down the corridor. I watched him disappear around a corner, my guilt weighing heavier than my mechanical parts.

I'd endangered an entire community of intelligent monsters without even realizing it. The memory of Barnus and the others in Monster Town flashed through my mind. How many more communities like that existed in secret, trying to build lives away from human persecution?

I had to be better than this. I needed to learn more about the world, as it is, rather than focus on how it was. I needed to forget about the inconsistencies in my memories and realize that what mattered was the now. If I did not, then more people could get hurt through my ignorance.

Perhaps I could learn something from Howlett's lessons. They might all be lies, but they were lies accepted by everyone as truths. I needed to learn those falsehoods so that I did not burden anyone else with my lack of knowledge about how this world now worked.

The night's silence pressed hard against me as I crept through the empty corridors. My mechanical feet, which I'd carefully oiled earlier, made no sound against the stone floor. At this hour, even the night patrol guards kept to the upper levels, leaving the basement abandoned.

The musty scent of forgotten things grew stronger as I descended the worn steps. The basement corridors twisted like a maze, but I'd memorized the path down during my earlier mapping.

The storage room door loomed before me, its broken lock still hanging uselessly where I'd left it. Assembly made quick work of the rusted mechanism. I then used the ability to repair the door's fused hinges, which protested softly as I pushed it open. Thankfully, the sound didn't carry far in these thick-walled chambers.

I stepped into the room and made my way to the sealed crack I'd discovered. The metal barrier I'd welded into place gleamed dully in my mental sight. My Assembly ability hummed to life as I began methodically dismantling my handiwork, removing each piece with surgical precision.

Soon the ancient fissure gaped open before me, a jagged mouth in the stone wall. Cool air whispered from its depths, carrying the faint echoes of monster calls from down below. The Academy Hellzone awaited me, its dangers and opportunities beckoning. I could feel the thrum of power emanating from that dark passage. It was raw and untamed; so different from the sterile training grounds above.

I carefully folded my Academy uniform, folding it neatly and setting it aside where it wouldn't get dirty. Where I was going, I would not be needing my human disguise.

The stone floor's chill seeped through my remaining flesh as I laid out the pieces of my combat chassis. Each component emerged from Depository in a precise order: first the support frame, then the four arms, followed by the intricate joint mechanisms.

A system notification flashed across my vision:

Congratulations! Depository has reached Rank C!

Your storage capacity has increased to 1000 pounds!

I paused, examining the familiar blue text. The timing was fortunate; I'd been approaching the previous weight limit with all the materials I'd been collecting. Between the spare materials, mechanical components, not to mention the pieces of my combat frame, space had grown tight.

The combat chassis pieces gleamed in the darkness, their burnished surface reflecting what little light filtered through the crack. I'd spent hours maintaining and improving this frame after the dragon fight. The three mechanical arms were my pride, each one capable of independent movement, with reinforced joints that could withstand tremendous force. The chest piece was a masterwork of overlapping plates, designed to protect what remained of my organic torso.

I began the familiar process of assembly, connecting each component with practiced precision. The chassis wasn't just armor; it was an extension of myself, a body that could match my mind's capabilities. My Assembly ability made the work smooth and efficient, each piece clicking into place with satisfying finality.

Transferring my true body into the combat frame proved tricky without help, but I eventually managed to finagle myself into it. The chest piece soon clicked into place, sealing me inside the combat form.

The mechanical limbs responded to my will as naturally as my organic arm did. I flexed each hand in turn, testing the calibration. Perfect. In this body, I was ready for whatever the Hellzone might throw at me.

I stepped toward the fissure, then stopped. The combat chassis was too wide for the narrow gap. Even if I turned sideways, the shoulder joints would catch on the rough stone edges.

My Assembly ability thrummed as I examined the wall. The ancient stonework was solid, but not impenetrable. I placed my mechanical hands against the cool surface and channeled power through them. The stone crackled and split beneath my touch.

Pieces of wall crumbled away as I worked, each fragment carefully extracted and set aside in a neat pile. I didn't want to leave evidence of my alterations, so I kept the debris organized for later reconstruction. The opening gradually widened under my methodical efforts.

After several minutes, I stepped back to examine my work. The passage was now large enough to accommodate my combat frame with room to spare. Satisfied, I moved toward the enlarged entrance.

A voice crashed through my mind like a thunderbolt.

Found you.

The mental intrusion was overwhelming, far more powerful than my own Mind Speech ability. It reverberated through my consciousness, leaving me frozen mid-step. The voice carried authority and age, weighted with something ancient that stirred fragments of memory deep within me.

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