That night, I entered my dorm room. I barely spent time here anymore and only came during the night to pretend to sleep before heading down to the secret basement storeroom to either enter the Academy Hellzone or create more machinery.

The room remained pristine: bed made, desk organized, nothing out of place. Unlike my human counterparts, I required no comfort, no rest. This space existed purely for appearances.

I looked around, spotting the old mirror by my bed. My reflection stared back, that of a pale complexion under the porcelain mask, messy long black hair falling in tangles around my shoulders. I probably should make a brush to comb it out some. The Academy uniform hung loosely on my frame, concealing the mechanical joints and metal components beneath.

While I studied my reflection, something strange happened. The image in the mirror shifted, warped, and transformed. A new face superimposed itself over mine.

A sapien in his mid to late twenties gazed back at me. Shoulder-length blond hair framed a handsome face with piercing sea green eyes. He wore ornate enchanted armor, intricate designs etched into the metal plates. His expression held curiosity and wonder, as if discovering something new and fascinating.

The face struck me with overwhelming familiarity. I had looked upon it countless times during my previous life. Mostly in the mirror.

Vardin, I spoke the name within my mind, knowing it had been mine.

The name unlocked a cascade of images. I saw a beautiful green kingdom with rolling fields and gentle hills stretching to the horizon. A castle rose majestically amongst the grass, its banners of green and blue fluttering in the breeze, each bearing a white dove at its center.

There was a woman in a green gown, her face blurred but her presence warm and comforting. Two young boys ran through a courtyard, laughing and calling my name… no, calling Vardin's name.

"Father! Father! Watch this!"

The boys wielded wooden swords, mimicking battle stances they'd seen soldiers practice. Pride swelled within me at their determination, their eagerness to learn.

I reached out toward the mirror, desperate to grasp these fragments, to pull them closer and examine them in detail. My mechanical fingers touched cold glass, and the images scattered like startled birds, retreating back into the fractured recesses of my mind.

The mirror showed only my current form once more: a damaged, incomplete, mere shadow of whatever I had once been before.

I stood motionless, processing what had just occurred. These weren't the usual disjointed flashes I occasionally experienced. These were coherent memories with emotional weight. A life. A family. A kingdom.

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I turned away from the mirror, troubled by questions without answers. The mythril disc sat on my desk, catching the moonlight streaming through the window. Its discovery felt significant beyond mere practical applications.

Something was happening to me. The deeper I delved into the Academy, the more I created with Assembly, the more these fragments surfaced. I was changing, remembering, becoming something more than what I had been when I first awakened in that Hellzone a year ago.

Whatever, whoever, I had been, one thing remained certain: I needed to continue growing stronger. The voice in the Hellzone had commanded it, and my own instincts confirmed it.

Tomorrow, I would begin working with the mythril. Perhaps in creating something new, I might also recreate myself.

I did make that hairbrush. Assembly Rank A let me craft an elegant one with thin, flexible teeth that wouldn't break against the knots in my hair. I spent over 40 minutes this morning brushing out the tangles, watching through the mirror as the wild mess transformed into something presentable. My black hair now hung as a long, smooth curtain flowing gently down my back. I had to admit it made me look more elegant, more human.

I was just emerging from the stairs headed towards my first class when a wolf-whistle sounded behind me. I turned, instantly alert, my mechanical fingers tensing for combat.

Barkatus leaned against the wall watching me, arms crossed over his chest. The mercenary's face bore a few fading bruises from our last encounter, but his posture remained confident, almost relaxed.

I readied myself for an attack, calculating the distance between us. But Barkatus merely raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

"Easy there, Widow. Not here to fight." A grin spread across his face. "No point to it now, since I just got kicked out of House Dragon."

This caught me off guard. You're an A-rank. One of the best fighters in the school.

"Yeah, well." Barkatus spat on the floor. "Lyman Redflight's a cunt. Blamed me for losing the duel, used his influence to kick me out of the house." He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "Even tried to renege on paying me, but I threatened to duel him and the little coward changed his mind."

I studied him carefully. His body language showed no signs of deception or pending aggression.

"So now I'm pretty rich," he continued, "and I've quit the Academy."

My surprise must have shown through my body language, because Barkatus laughed.

"This place is good for leveling up, sure, but has way too much fucking drama." He gestured around dismissively. "I'll be better off just going to another Hellzone and training there, dangers be damned."

I remained silent, still uncertain of his purpose.

Barkatus stepped closer, but kept a respectful distance. "Just wanted to say goodbye to you, since you're the only warrior in this entire place worth a damn."

The compliment was unexpected. Coming from someone of his caliber and experience, it carried weight.

"If you decide to stop playing schoolgirl," he said, "look me up. We two would make a great team."

The mercenary winked at me and walked off, his stride confident and unhurried. I watched him go, considering his words.

Barkatus represented something I hadn't considered, that of an alternative path. The Academy provided structure, resources, and now friendships. But it also imposed limitations. Shawe's prejudice would never allow me to advance officially, no matter how powerful I became.

I thought of my mechanical children filling the storeroom, my friends risking expulsion to train in the Hellzone, and the mysterious voice urging me to grow stronger. The Academy was a means to an end, not the end itself.

Harke's letter sat in my pocket, a reminder of unfinished business with Duke Redflight. My purpose remained clear, but perhaps my methods needed reconsideration.

I turned and continued toward class, my hair swinging with each step. For now, I would stay. My friends needed me, and I needed them. But Barkatus had planted a seed in my mind: there were other ways to grow stronger, other paths to power.

And power was what I would need to face what lay ahead.

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