With a new month came the urge to slow down and reset. While there were still loose ends waiting for attention, my focus kept returning to story work and, more specifically, to Elara Finch. I have been carrying this character with me for some time, and rather than advance one of my ongoing series, I wanted to spend time deepening her world. I revisited my notes, brushed away the rough edges, and leaned into the details that felt ready to surface. This piece became the second step into her story.
Some workshops are built to keep the world out. Elara’s was built to endure what pressed in. Wedged between trades that left little room for quiet or peace, her workspace bore the marks of compromise. Her patched stone walls and reinforced beams bolstered the constant negotiation with noise, scent, and intrusion. It was a place shaped by necessity, not comfort. A place where boundaries mattered because they were never respected.
Elara learned to push those intrusions aside. She repaired what others abandoned, stabilized what they refused to touch, and understood when restraint mattered more than force. Her tools were precise. Her methods deliberate. She trusted systems, rhythms, and the kind of careful listening earned through years of relentless practice. When something failed, there was always a reason, whether or not it could be found.
But some disturbances do not announce themselves. They arrive quietly, tucked into the spaces between stone and mortar. Once they do, the question is no longer how they work. It is why they answer at all.
Elara closed her eyes as she traced the salvaged wall she shared with the tanner. She took several deep breaths through her mouth and clenched her fist, tapping it against the misshapen stones. Despite the mismatched composition, the haphazard boundary blunted the worst stench and clamor from the tanner’s workshop. Yet some punched through the gaps, like the pungent whiff of ammonia. She tweaked a brace, shuddered, then reset it. She turned, covering her nose as her eyes closed.
When something clicked, she dropped to her knees and dug out the crumbling mortar around a small brick. Once she removed the last of the material, she worked the stone loose. As she eased it out, the clicking intensified. Elara laid it down beside the wall and reached into the hole. Her fingertips found a metallic object, and she grabbed it, muffling the incessant tick-tock.
She pulled her hand out and opened her fingers, revealing an ornate trinket, too small for any power source, yet ticking. As the sound continued echoing from her hand, another one rang out in unison with it. She turned it once in her palm and listened. With a grunt, she slid the brick back into place. She rose, then fixed her gaze upon her automaton. Its gears ticked in sync with the bauble in her grasp.
Her fingers turned white as they wrapped around it, muffling the sound. Elara licked her lips as she walked to her bench, placing the retrieved object beside the completed work for a client. Her automaton turned toward the sound. Elara grabbed a rag and covered the trinket as a knock sliced through her workshop. She rushed to the door, grasping the handle, as the ticking faltered before snapping back into unison with her automaton.
Elara opened the door, finding the woman from the previous day standing in the narrow entrance, her cloak drawn tight across her body once again. She said nothing, only glancing past Elara toward the workbench. Elara gave a curt nod as she stepped aside. The customer rushed inside, picked up the bundle, and unwrapped it. “Were you able to repair it?”
Elara’s grip tightened on the doorknob. “The crystalline veins are still fractured. You’ll need a mage to fully restore it. However, I patched the fractures and tweaked the inner components, stabilizing its rhythm. With my reinforcements, it should hold until you can find someone to properly fix it, provided you don’t overuse it.”
“Why can’t you?”
Elara shook her head and rubbed her face. Her eyes flicked from the client to the covered, ticking trinket. “I’ve done all I’m able to do. If you’re hoping for a total restoration, might I suggest you locate the mages who created your anchor and ask them to repair their work. After all, they’d have the best understanding of their creation.”
The woman flinched, tracing her bundle, her gaze dropping to Elara’s feet. “That’s not possible for me.”
“Then follow my suggestion and use the anchor with extreme care.” Elara pointed at the open door.
The client nodded, clutching it like a child to her chest.
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