Elion woke up with a gasp, his lungs burning as if he'd been holding his breath for hours. The first thing he noticed was the silence—not the empty silence of space, but the heavy, waiting quiet of something ancient holding its breath. He pushed himself up from the cold metal floor, his hands slipping slightly on the slick surface.
The air smelled like a workshop after a plasma torch had been run too hot—ozone and scorched metal with an undercurrent of something else, something almost alive. The dim blue light came from everywhere and nowhere, illuminating the cavernous space in flickering pulses.
Elion groaned as he pushed himself up from the cold metal floor, his head pounding like he'd spent a night drinking Martian rotgut. The air smelled like a plasma torch had been making love to an oil spill—acrid, but with weirdly floral undertones.
Before him, the bridge stretched into darkness, its surface etched with constellations that looked suspiciously like a drunkard's attempt at connect-the-dots. At the end sat an anvil with three objects:
A wrench so rusty it probably predated civilization
A mecha core that looked like it had lost a fight with a black hole
A blindfold that was definitely made from stolen starship wiring (judging by the "PROPERTY OF GUILD ENGINEERING" tag still dangling from one end)
Then the voice hit him—not in his ears, but in his bones, like the universe's worst subwoofer:
"MORTAL. CAN YOU MEND WHAT GODS BROKE?"
Elion blinked. "Depends. You got a warranty on whatever it is?"
The silence that followed could only be described as divinely unamused.
THE MENDER'S TRIAL
Elion's hands ached as he reached for the wrench. The moment his fingers closed around the grip, the world fractured.
Vision One: The core as it once was—pulsing with clean, celestial energy, installed in a mecha that stood three times his height, its armor polished to a mirror shine.
Vision Two: The moment of destruction—a battle in some forgotten war, the mecha taking a direct hit to its chest, the pilot's scream cut short as the core cracked.
Vision Three: The fractures themselves—not just physical breaks, but places where reality itself had splintered around the damage.
His hands knew what to do before his mind caught up.
Elion picked up the wrench. It vibrated in his grip like an overeager puppy.
"Okay, let's see what we've got—" He poked the shattered mecha core. It gurgled ominously. "Yep. That's broken alright."
"THIS IS NO TIME FOR JESTING."
"Hey, you're the one who set up a trial with a blindfold as a prize. Not exactly screaming 'serious business' here."
The core chose that moment to leak what looked like liquid starlight all over the anvil. Elion sighed and rolled up his sleeves.
Repair Process:
He whacked the core with the wrench (scientific approach)
When that just made it leak faster, he tried cursing at it (engineering approach)
Finally, he pressed his palm against the largest crack and pushed Qi into it like jumpstarting a dead hoverbike
The core sealed with a sound like a contented sigh.
"YOU... ACTUALLY DID IT." The voice sounded almost disappointed.
Elion wiped his hands on his pants. "Yeah, yeah. Do I get a lollipop now or—"
The core shot into his chest like it owed him money. Knowledge flooded his brain:
How to repair anything from a toaster to a black hole
Why Guild tech always fails at the worst possible moment
That the voice belonged to something called "The Custodian" (and it was a terrible conversationalist)
THE EYES OF THE FORGOTTEN
The blindfold was next.
Elion picked it up, the material rough against his fingers. The moment he lifted it, his vision exploded with golden light.
Vision One: The Guild's orbital stations above Earth, their polished spires gleaming like knives in the sunlight.
Vision Two: The pirate fleet hiding in Mars' shadow, their mechas sporting jagged, mismatched armor plates.
Vision Three: Selene's clinic on Mars, where the black veins had spread past her collarbones now, creeping up her neck in inky tendrils.
The images burned. Elion's nose dripped blood onto the metal floor, each drop sizzling where it landed. He barely managed to fumble the blindfold on before the next wave hit.
The moment the fabric touched his skin, it transformed—the rough cabling smoothing into a pair of engineer's goggles with lenses that fractured light into prismatic shards. The pain receded to a dull throb behind his eyes.
Elion's head pounded in time with his heartbeat. He could already tell this gift would cost him—the lenses dug into his temples like they were trying to fuse with bone.
MEET THE CUSTODIAN (WORLD'S WORST ROOMMATE)
The ground shook as the massive mecha emerged from the shadows. It was easily three stories tall, its jade-black armor covered in dents and what looked like ancient coffee stains. Nebula-fire wreathed its fists, which were currently planted on its hips in what Elion could only describe as a divine sulk.
Custodian: "I HAVE WAITED MILLENNIA FOR A WORTHY MENDER."
Elion squinted up at it. "And you got me. Universe really playing jokes today, huh?"
One of the mecha's giant fingers twitched. "YOU ARE... IRRITATING."
"Yeah, I get that a lot." Elion picked up the blindfold. "So what's this for? Poker night with the gods?"
Th Custodian's massive head dropped into its hands with a metallic clang. "JUST PUT IT ON.
The moment Elion did, the world exploded into visions:
Guild enforcers face planting during drills (amusing)
Selene flipping off a medical drone (concerning)
The Custodian itself, sitting on a celestial throne... knitting? (disturbing)
Elion: "Do gods really need scarves?"
"IT GETS COLD IN THE VOID." The Custodian crossed its arms defensively. "FOCUS."
THE VOIDSTRIDER'S CALL
The ground trembled.
From the shadows at the edge of the platform, something massive stirred. The Voidstrider Enigma emerged—not a machine, but a presence, its jade-black armor drinking in the dim light. Nebula-fire wreathed its fists, casting shifting patterns across the walls.
The cockpit of the Enigma mecha opened with a hiss. Inside, the controls were suspiciously well-labeled:
[THIS BUTTON SHOOTS]
[THIS ONE MAKES IT GO FAST]
[DO NOT TOUCH THIS ONE] (it was already blinking)
Elion: "You guys really need better safety standards."
"YOU ARE TESTING MY DIVINE PATIENCE."
"Pretty sure that's why you picked me." Elion slid into the pilot's seat. The controls molded to his hands like they'd been waiting for him. "So what's the catch?"
"CATCH?"
"Yeah. Giant mecha, cosmic powers—there's always a catch. Do I have to give up coffee? Because that's a dealbreaker."
The Custodian sighed, the sound like a black hole exhaling. "JUST... DON'T DESTROY THE UNIVERSE."
Elion fired up the thrusters. "No promises."
As the ceiling shattered and sunlight poured in, the Custodian's final words followed him up:
"AND FOR THE LOVE OF THE STARS—DON'T TOUCH THE BLINKING BUTTON!"
Elion immediately pressed it.