Itsuki paused, blinking. He hadn't thought of that sound in years. The high-pitched, triumphant anthem. The voice of a young Karl shouting along with it, a towel tied around his neck, pretending it was a scarf.
Karl (childish voice): "Henshin!!!"
The memory rippled through the air, vibrating the blueprint.
The forge echoed with the sound, faint but pure. The memory replayed again — Karl jumping from couch to couch, pretending to be a hero, shouting attack names while his parents laughed in the background.
Ayaka laughed softly, covering her mouth, Ayaka's breath hitched, and she smiled through tears.
Ayaka: "He always loved those shows… said one day, he'd build his own armor. Not to fight monsters — but to protect people who couldn't protect themselves."
Itsuki chuckled, rubbing his forehead.
Itsuki: "Yeah. Said he'd build his own Rider suit one day — 'but better,' he told me. 'Mine will run on justice instead of engines."He wanted to be a Kamen Rider. I remember finding him in the garage trying to weld tin sheets into 'battle armor.' Damn near burned a hole through my desk."
Ayaka: "And you scolded him for it."
Itsuki: "Yeah. I wish I hadn't."
Ayaka: "He wanted to be one of them so badly."
Ayaka chuckled, eyes glistening.
Ayaka: "That's our Karl… always overdoing everything."
They both looked at each other — and for the first time since they were summoned, a spark of life returned to their expressions.
Ayaka: "Maybe that's what we should give him."
Itsuki: "What?"
Ayaka: "A body worthy of the hero he dreamed of becoming."
Hephaestus tilted his head, intrigued.
Hephaestus: "You intend to model his frame after these… 'Riders'?"
Itsuki (smiling faintly): "Something like that. But not just armor. A symbol."
He moved to the hovering blueprint and began redrawing the external plating. The blank silhouette gained form — not bulky like a machine, but sleek, agile, almost human in its silhouette. The chestplate now held a subtle cross-hatch pattern, reminiscent of muscle fiber woven from metal. The helmet took shape — smooth, visor-like, but fluid, forming and reshaping with every stroke of Itsuki's hand.
Hephaestus watched silently, eyes glinting with faint respect. Even Thanamira, the goddess of souls, looked quietly moved as the memory data began to fuse — emotion becoming light, light becoming code.
Itsuki: "He always loved the transformation scenes… said it wasn't just about fighting — it was about becoming. About taking on pain so others don't have to."
Itsuki stepped forward now, placing his own hand beside Ayaka's. Golden sparks arced between them as the diagram pulsed.
Itsuki: "If this is what he dreamed of being… then we'll make him that. His own version of a hero."
Ayaka tilted her head.
Ayaka: "You mean—?"
Itsuki: "We'll turn him into the hero he always pretended to be. A Kamen Rider of his own making. Not a copy. Not imitation. But Kurogane Karl — reborn as a symbol of salvation."
The forge roared in approval — the roots of Yggdrasil pulsing brighter around them, recognizing the sincerity of that wish.
Ayaka nodded softly. Her hands joined his, weaving strands of light like threads, adding tiny engravings along the armor's lining — faint inscriptions of words Karl once said as a child:
"A real hero doesn't run."
"If I can help even one person, it's worth it."
"I'll protect them — no matter what."
Each phrase became code, etched into the inner circuits of the armor — words that would resonate deep in Karl's subconscious when he woke again.
Ayaka's tears shimmered as they fell, turning into glowing orbs of light that drifted into the blueprint.
Ayaka: "Then let's make it his gift. Something only we could give him."
They began sketching anew — reshaping the design, altering the armor plates to flow like living nanite scales, trimming the limbs into sleek, agile lines, building a frame that embodied both human grace and divine technology.
Ayaka traced the chestplate into a stylized "core" that pulsed like a heart, glowing in rhythm with Yggdrasil's divine sap.
Ayaka: "This'll be his 'Driver,' right? His transformation core."
Itsuki (grinning): "Exactly. The heart of his new body — powered by the very essence that saved the world."
Then they both stepped back.
The projection began to spin, shifting into a fully rendered form — not yet alive, but radiating purpose.
Ayaka: "He'll never know we put these here."
Itsuki: "He doesn't need to. They'll remind him what he stood for."
Thanamira watched silently, hands clasped before her. Her expression softened — almost maternal. Even the divine recognized the quiet, stubborn love of mortals.
Thanamira: "You two build not just with hands… but with hearts."
Ayaka: "That's the only way we ever knew how."
Hephaestus narrowed his eyes in mild awe.
Hephaestus: "You mortals are strange creatures. You build gods in the image of dreams."
Thanamira (softly): "And that's why they surpass even us, sometimes."
The blueprint brightened — lines becoming solid forms, fragments of nanite architecture beginning to assemble from the light. The armor gleamed with a deep, shifting hue — not silver, not black, but something between metal and soul.
The form glowed brighter.
It wasn't just armor — it was hope, reborn from memory.
It was elegant yet fierce. Mechanical yet alive.
Karl's own version of a Rider — a design not for vengeance, but rebirth.
Itsuki stood back, admiring their work.
Itsuki: "We gave him the power he always dreamed of."
Ayaka: "No… we gave him the dream that kept him human."
Ayaka looked up at it, her voice trembling.
Ayaka: "Do you think… he'll like it?"
Itsuki: "If he doesn't, he'll probably modify it anyway."
They both laughed.
For a moment, it almost felt like home again.
The words lingered in the divine silence as they both placed their hands together over the forming body — and let their memories pour into it.
Every bedtime story.
Every lesson.
Every moment of laughter and failure.
Encoded not in blood or DNA, but in divine light — the memories of parents who never stopped believing their child could be more than the pain he carried.