"I told you my mom was a writer, right? This is one of her short stories. It's about a knight — the Westhaven Guardian. I thought maybe if you read it, it might help with your design. Some inspiration, maybe."
Jean blinked. "You serious? A paper book?"
Freddy chuckled at their stunned silence. "Yeah. I've been saving it. Figured this was the right time."
They both nodded — reverently, almost — and after washing off the day's grease and grime, sat down beside a workbench under a flickering overhead lamp.
The story began simply. A man in a fantasy world, born on the harsh streets of Westhaven — a place constantly under threat from monsters, bandits, and the dangers of the unknown. The protagonist, Caelum, was a street orphan adopted by a retired soldier who taught him swordsmanship. Through years of struggle, Caelum climbed the ranks in the city militia, eventually becoming a Captain of the city guard.
As the story unfolded, both Rennick and Jean grew silent, drawn in. The imagery, though archaic, was vivid — battles, brotherhood, sacrifice. Caelum stood tall through it all, becoming a steadfast symbol of the city's resilience.
But then, everything changed.
A demon incursion tore through Westhaven, more brutal than anything before. Caelum fought — he bled, he endured — but in the end, he lost. Friends, family, the city itself… gone.
He abandoned his shield, the story said. Cast it aside at the ruins of the city square.
But he didn't give in to hatred.
He didn't descend into vengeance.
Instead, he became the edge.
A lone swordsman wandering the world, cutting down corruption and darkness. Bandits, demons, tyrants — any who preyed on the weak. And yet… he never killed in anger. Never rushed to strike. He always offered a warning — a chance.
His style became legend.
The Tempered Path.
A fighting form that balanced strength and restraint. One sword. No shield. Precision over savagery. Forward motion without rage.
Jean exhaled slowly and placed the book down with care, as if afraid to disturb the pages. "Damn. That was… incredible. I didn't know your mom had that kind of imagination. The imagery… the whole arc. That knight felt real."
Freddy smiled, though his voice was quiet. "It was one of her last ones. She always said Caelum represented what people should try to be. Not perfect. Not invincible. Just… enduring. Chosen action over despair."
Rennick didn't speak.
He stared at the cooling reactor, but his thoughts were far away.
The imagery of Caelum lingered in his mind — the abandoned shield, the sword drawn in defense of ideals, not ego. A warrior shaped by loss, not consumed by it. Tempered.
Something clicked.
The name, the story, the symbolism — it all fit.
And more than that, it was already alive in Freddy's eyes. In the way Jean looked at the book. A legacy that had weight, emotional resonance. Meaning.
He didn't say anything to the others. Not about what he planned next. Not about the idea forming in the back of his mind.
But as he returned to the design terminal and opened the project file, he already knew what he wanted this mech to become.