The sun was barely cresting the far rim of Cael Varn when Alaric stepped into the secondary golem workshop. The space smelled of old oil, dusted iron, and magical residue—like a forge wrapped in parchment and spell dust.
It wasn't locked. The teachers didn't need to bother. Most students weren't interested in coming here unless assigned. Which made it perfect for an undercover yoinking of materials.
He slid the door shut behind him with a soft click and turned to survey the rows of parts that lined the walls. Arms, torsos, incomplete cores. Cracked plating and half-formed magical limbs. Most were discarded by senior students who failed their construction assignments. Then there were the ones retrieved from the battlefields. Strong but clearly smashed – be it by blade or by mace.
To Alaric, it looked like a buffet of free materials.
He moved methodically. A dull, bronze-plated spine caught his attention first. Too heavy, but reinforced with old runes. He picked it up and held it against the plans in his notebook.
"Too rigid," he muttered, returning it. "I need flexibility. It needs to be able to navigate terrain. After all it's supposed to become a librarian and butler – who needs a clumsy butler."
Instead, he found a bundle of enchanted wooden supports—lightweight, carved from a mana-reactive birch. The enchantments were faint, but workable. Probably remnants from a supportive frame – dog-shaped golems that transported mana crystals to magicians in wars to replenish their mana.
The Vault flickered. A faint, pulsing confirmation.
He took it as approval.
Piece by piece, he assembled the shell: arms constructed from threaded metal, bone work and rune-wrapped leather tubing, the legs lighter and slightly longer than average for the size, designed for stability over speed. It wasn't elegant. But it was sound.
The outside after all could always be changed, what mattered first and foremost was function.
And most importantly, it would move.
Later, as the sun hung high above the floating city, Alaric sat beside the construct's skeletal frame, core crystal nested in the center. He wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robe.
The transport of all these materials was truly bothersome, the city was after all kilometers in diameter, and to his own dismay he got caught. The lead technician of the workshop was surprisingly happy though after he heard that Alaric was a first-year acolyte and even ordered his own golem to help him carry the stuff.
The first hour had been trial and error. Aligning the anchor runes had caused a minor feedback loop that shocked him through the chest.
But now? The matrix hummed. The magic was flowing.
He pressed his palm lightly against the chest of the half-finished construct.
"Begin activation cycle," he whispered.
Nothing.
He didn't frown. He simply reached for his magic infused chalk and began drawing an adjusted symbol next to the power-routing array. The Vault, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his focus, showed no disapproval.
A moment later, the golem twitched.
Not a lurch. Not a spark. Just a flicker—a slow rotation of its head, the arcane sensor embedded in the front clicking into place.
Alaric watched.
The thing stared at him.
It didn't think. It didn't feel. But it registered.
That was enough.
Three days later, the construct stood at his side in one of the less-traveled streets of Cael Varn, hooded and cloaked. Roughly humanoid in form, though slightly hunched and wrapped in layers of fabric to mask its mechanical joints. He hadn't given its arms an outer covering yet. He wanted to observe its struggles to adjust it later on.
He called it "James." He reminisced of the good old classic 'dinner for one' skit.
And James followed.
Not out of obedience, but out of aligned parameters. It moved when asked. Waited when not. When given a command to follow, it did. When given no instruction, it simply remained in place, pulsing faintly with stored mana like a lantern in sleep mode.
Alaric felt absurdly proud.
They arrived at the general market plaza. It was loud, chaotic, filled with lesser mages, merchants and apprentices trading materials, scrolls, and components.
He sent James ahead, a small note with a money pouch tucked into its arm clamp.
"Retrieve two scrolls of mana-thread insulation and one flask of stabilized ethergel," he said. "Vendor five."
James rotated its sensor and glided forward.
No hesitation. No deviation.
Alaric watched from a distance. Nobody noticed. At most, people assumed it was a classic construct, that was simply a new design. Part of the mass-produced — nothing unusual.
That was good.
No attention meant no questions.
James returned five minutes later, items in clamp. Perfect execution.
Alaric didn't smile. But internally, he lit a candle of satisfaction.
That night, back in his chamber, he sat cross-legged on the floor, James powered down beside him. In front of him, his notebook was open to a fresh page.
He drew a line down the center.
Magic as Command vs. Magic as Comprehension
One side listed common commands: attack, defend, carry, respond.
The other side listed traits: anticipate, prioritize, adapt.
The Vault pulsed faintly when he reached the second column.
"I was right," he said quietly. "It's not just about complexity. It's about layering logic. Letting a structure evolve... like code."
He jotted a new note:
Project Expansion: Design secondary core protocols. If primary function is maintained through logic paths, introduce feedback learning loop. Create a memory glyph.
That part would come later. Not yet. But it was coming.
As he reached for his candle to extinguish it, the Vault pulsed again. Not sharply. Just enough to draw his eyes.
A flicker. A symbol. Not one from magic or computation. It was geometric, but organic.
Like a sigil made to be understood.
The Vault wasn't teaching him how to build constructs.
It was showing him how to build systems.
He set the candle down, spine straightening.
If he could understand this, really understand it...
He could build more than tools.
He could build truth given form.
Alaric leaned forward; eyes gleaming in the dim light. He wrote one last line for the night:
Begin research: Thought Structures. Logic in magical design. Semi-autonomous function models.
Tomorrow, he'd test James's memory.
And from there?
Maybe he'd build a companion.
Not alive.
But close enough.
The next morning, Alaric returned to the courtyard beneath the flowering tree with a small chalkboard slate tucked under his arm.
"James," he said, activating the construct with a gentle pulse through its core crystal.
The golem's head lifted. It rotated toward him, waiting.
Alaric knelt and placed the slate down. With his finger, he wrote a simple glyph — a symbol of "object" — and placed a small stone beside it.
"Stone," he said aloud.
James watched. No reaction yet.
Then he wiped the glyph and replaced it with the symbol for "container," placing a shallow metal bowl beside it.
"Bowl."
No change.
He repeated this five more times, each time linking the glyph with an item, then switching the positions. Back and forth, always naming the item aloud.
Finally, he removed the slate entirely and pointed to the stone.
"James," he said, voice calm. "Stone."
The golem hesitated. Then slowly, its arm reached forward and tapped the stone with two fingers.
Alaric's heart didn't leap — but something in his chest did tighten.
"Recognition," he whispered. "Not comprehension. But close."
He sat back, already scribbling the results.
Step by step, he would teach it.
Not what to think.