The smog-choked city of Aethelhum hummed with a discordant symphony of steam whistles, clanging gears, and the hoarse shouts of overworked laborers. Sunlight, a faint memory filtered through layers of industrial haze, cast the sprawling metropolis in a perpetual twilight. High above, the bellies of colossal airships, powered by churning engines and billowing smokestacks, grazed the underside of the smog layer, their hulking silhouettes momentarily blotting out the feeble sun.
Aron von Weiss, a slender teenager with a mop of unruly brown hair and smudged goggles perched precariously on their forehead, scurried through the labyrinthine alleyways of Aethelhum's Underbelly. They navigated the maze of overflowing trash bins, puddles of dubious origin, and scrawny stray cats with an practised ease. Unlike the pristine uniforms and polished brass gears of the upper city's elite, Aron's attire resembled a patchwork quilt of mismatched scraps. Their leather gloves were perpetually stained with engine oil, and their goggles, held together with a haphazard collection of wires and cogs, bore the scars of countless tinkering sessions gone awry.
Aron wasn't born to the glittering world of Aethelhum's elite. They were a scavenger, a salvager of discarded gadgets and forgotten inventions, their tiny workshop nestled amidst the city's underbelly. In the eyes of the Guild of Cogsmiths, the arbiters of Aethelhum's technological advancements, Aron was little more than a nuisance, a tinker trespassing on hallowed ground. Yet, within the chaos of their workshop, nestled amongst piles of gears, sprockets, and half-finished contraptions, resided a spark of genius. Aron possessed an uncanny understanding of the intricate workings of steam and clockwork, an ability to breathe life back into discarded machinery that most certified cogsmiths would envy.
Today's mission: the city's Scrapyard, a sprawling metal graveyard where the skeletons of rusted airships and forgotten automatons awaited their final dissolution. It was a treasure trove for a scavenger like Aron, potentially brimming with salvageable parts that could be repurposed into ingenious inventions. They navigated the maze of rusted metal hulks, expertly dodging the clanking metal claws of a half-dismantled steam-powered crane. Suddenly, a guttural voice boomed from above.
"Hold it right there, scrapper!"
A hulking figure, clad in a grease-stained boiler suit, emerged from the shadows of a towering metal skeleton. It was Bruno, the self-proclaimed "Overseer" of the Scrapyard, a man with a temperament as volatile as the experimental prototype rocket launcher strapped to his back. Bruno lived in constant fear of elite Guild inspectors accusing him of losing valuable scrap metal, a fear that manifested in a hair-trigger temper and a penchant for chasing off scavengers with a scrap-metal club.
"Just browsing, Bruno," Aron replied, feigning innocence. "Wouldn't touch anything without your express permission, of course."
Bruno snorted, his bushy mustache twitching suspiciously. "Express permission? You scavengers wouldn't know permission if it bit you in the…!" He trailed off, his attention caught by a glint of metal in the distance. It was an ornately decorated hatch, partially buried beneath a pile of discarded gears. Curiosity momentarily replacing his distrust, Bruno waddled towards it, his belly jiggling like a bowl full of jelly.
"Now this," he muttered, wiping a layer of grime off the hatch, "this looks promising. Guild insignia right here. Probably some high-grade prototype they tossed aside for a shinier model."
Aron couldn't help but inch closer, their curiosity piqued. The hatch, unlike the usual dented and rusted fare of the Scrapyard, had a strange, otherworldly aura about it. Its intricate carvings hinted at technologies beyond Aethelhum's current capabilities. With Bruno preoccupied, Aron reached out a tentative hand towards the hatch.
As their fingers brushed the cool metal, a jolt of energy surged through them. The world around them seemed to blur for a moment, the symphony of clangs and whistles replaced by a deafening silence. When their vision cleared, they found themselves no longer in the familiar grime of the Scrapyard but amidst a breathtaking vista of polished metal corridors and ethereal green light pulsing from the walls. Towering constructs of unknown machinery hummed with unseen power.
Aron stood frozen, their heart hammering against their ribs. Had they stumbled upon some ancient forgotten technology? Or perhaps it was a hallucination, a fever dream induced by years of inhaling the city's noxious fumes. Before they could ponder further, a metallic clang echoed from behind them. Turning cautiously, they saw the hatch, seemingly disconnected from the scrapyard entirely, lying dormant at the end of the corridor.
Aron stared in disbelief at the scene before them. The once familiar corridors of the Scrapyard were gone, replaced by a dazzling network of polished metal walkways that hummed with unseen energy. Glowing green lights emanated from the walls, casting an otherworldly aura on the metallic labyrinth. In the distance, towering constructs of unknown machinery pulsed with an ethereal light, their intricate forms defying any technology Aron had ever encountered.
A tremor ran through the metal floor, momentarily breaking Aron's spell. Instinctively, they reached for the goggles perched precariously on their head, only to find them dangling uselessly by a single loose wire. Panic surged through them. This fantastical new world was awe-inspiring, but it was also terrifyingly unfamiliar. What dangers lurked within these metallic corridors?
Suddenly, a deep, resonating clang echoed from behind them. Aron whirled around, heart hammering against their ribs, to see the hatch lying dormant at the end of the hallway. The connection to the familiar grime and stench of the Scrapyard was severed. They were trapped, alone, in this alien metal marvel.
Taking a deep breath, Aron forced themself to focus. Panicking wouldn't solve anything. They needed to find a way out, or better yet, a way to understand what had just happened. With newfound determination, they began to explore the corridor, their footsteps echoing eerily in the sterile silence.
The metallic walls were adorned with strange symbols that glowed faintly in the green light. Aron traced a finger along one, the cool metal sending a shiver down their spine. These symbols seemed to hold some kind of meaning, a language unlike anything they had ever seen in their tinkering manuals or dusty textbooks.
As they rounded a corner, they came across a colossal machine unlike anything they had ever imagined. It was a towering structure of brass and glass, its gears the size of carriage wheels grinding away with a rhythmic hum. At its heart, a swirling vortex of emerald energy pulsed hypnotically.
Aron approached cautiously, mesmerized by the spectacle. This machine, they somehow knew, was the heart of this strange place. It was the source of the otherworldly green light and the unseen energy that thrummed through the metallic corridors.
Suddenly, a high-pitched whine pierced the silence. A panel on the side of the machine hissed open, revealing a cylindrical object levitating in a field of green energy. The object was translucent, its interior filled with a swirling mist that pulsed in rhythm with the machine's heart.
As Aron watched, captivated, the object drifted slowly towards them. It stopped inches from their face, the swirling mist within seeming to solidify into a three-dimensional image. It was a humanoid figure, cloaked in a flowing robe of what appeared to be woven light. Its face was obscured by a swirling mask, but Aron felt an undeniable presence emanating from the figure.
"Greetings," the figure boomed in a voice that resonated not from their ears but from within their very core. "You, the scavenger, have been chosen."