"Quiet..." I croaked, clutching Zeno’s back with my left hand.
"Finally awake," Ephraim said. "You were gone again for a day, maybe more."
"Quiet..."
"Shut up, Ephraim," Zeno said softly.
A few hours later, they reached a gorge where an old watermill clung to the jagged rocks. Ephraim, running ahead, suddenly froze.
"Zeno... there are people..." he whispered, backing away.
About ten people began emerging from the mill and its outbuildings. Ragged, overgrown, wearing jackets of poorly cured skins. In their hands—pitchforks, heavy wood-splitting axes, and one old hunting crossbow.
"Demon..." breathed one of the villagers, the tallest, with a gray beard. He raised his pitchfork, but his hands were shaking. "The Iron Devil has come for our souls!"
Zeno took a step. The crowd instantly surged back.
"Out of the way," he growled.
"Back!" shouted the man with the crossbow. "Don't come closer, monster!"
He pulled the trigger. The bolt clicked out of the mechanism, ricocheted off Zeno’s chest plate, and vanished into the darkness.
"Stop..." Ephraim’s voice was broken. "We... are not devils. We are fugitives. We only need... warmth."
"Look at that boy, old man!" One of the villagers with an axe stepped back, crossing himself. "He has iron growing out of his bones! And this... this monster behind you... Leave!"
"Your mill..." Ephraim pointed at the frozen wheel. "The main shaft is deformed. The teeth of the lower gear are worn down."
"How do you..."
"Let us inside. I will fix your mechanism. And my... companion... will not harm you."
The villagers looked at one another.
"Let them in, Hans," a woman by the door whispered, clutching a child to her. "He's barely breathing. And the iron one... if he wanted to kill us, he’d have done it already."
"Fine, then. Come in. But keep in mind—we are watching you."
Zeno carried Iron inside.
"Let him stay here," Ephraim commanded. “Zeno, find some strong spirits.”
While the robot searched for a bottle, the old man sat down beside Iron.
"Iron," he said. "Remember how I found you? How we cracked those artifacts together? How angry you were at me when you found out I was from the Order...Why is it that we only come to appreciate such moments after they're gone? Though you won't answer anyway."
"Ephraim, are you alright?" Zeno’s voice was quiet.
"Yeah, everything is fine."
"But you’re crying."
"I said it's fine. Just tell me, where is the alcohol?"
Zeno brought a dusty bottle.
"Here... 'Mountain Tear.' Burns the throat so hard sparks fly from your eyes."
Ephraim yanked the cork and poured half over Iron’s shoulder—specifically the festering part.
"Now... Zeno... go ahead."
The villagers in the shadows gasped in fear. Zeno leaned over Iron. A thin, blindingly blue electrical arc burst from his finger.
"Process complete," Zeno said. "Surface temperature normalized. Bacterial load reduced by 80%."
I woke to the screech of metal. I opened my eyes. Early morning.
[STATUS: 18%]
Infection: 9%. Positive dynamics.
I turned my head. Zeno stood by the mill’s main shaft. His hands held the massive wooden gear wheel while some old man hammered wedges into a loose groove.
"Awake, Iron?" The old man wiped sweat from his forehead and looked at me. "Your... friend... did more in one night than we have in five years."
"Yeah, he’s very reliable. But may I ask your name?" I said.
"Ah, right. You were out the whole time. My name is Hans."
I sat up on the table. Ephraim was sleeping right there on some sacks, hugging my tool box.
"Hans, can you call Zeno?"
"Yeah, of course."
A couple of minutes later, Zeno approached me.
"We have a couple of days," I told him. "We need to fortify this place."
"Accepted," he said. "I already found sulfur and saltpeter in the basement. We'll mix it with charcoal from the hearth..."
"We'll make gunpowder," I finished for him.
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