Narration: Zephyra point of view
The kitchen was a symphony of chaos. Pots clanged, water hissed, and the sharp voices of overseers sliced through the air. It was nothing new—just another day. But my mind was elsewhere.
I moved through my duties with practiced ease, scrubbing pans and arranging trays, but in the back of my mind, I was already designing. The repetitive motions of work made it easier to let my thoughts wander, sketching ideas in the air with every swipe of my hand. There had to be a way to make all this easier—a way to make our lives a little less painful.
The idea had come to me a few days ago, when Elysine and I had struggled to carry the large water barrels from the well into the kitchen. My muscles had burned, and her face had been tight with exhaustion. I'd thought about it ever since, running my fingers over the edges of tools, calculating weights, pressures, and levers in my head.
I could make something—something that would take the strain off us, make the work faster, more efficient. It wouldn't change everything, but it would help.
---
After the evening rush, I slipped into a small storage room near the back of the house. Elysine was waiting for me, her arms crossed, a wary look on her face.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked, eyeing the pile of scrap materials I'd managed to gather—broken handles, discarded metal parts, and a few old gears I'd found in the refuse.
"I'm sure," I said, crouching down to sort through the pieces. "It's nothing complicated. Just a small mechanism to help carry the barrels. We're not going to get caught if we're careful."
Elysine shook her head but crouched beside me, handing me a worn piece of rope. "You're going to get us both into trouble one day."
I smiled a little, though I kept my focus on the parts. "Not today."
---
The next few nights were spent in stolen moments. After our duties were done, when the house was quiet and the overseers had settled, we slipped into the shadows. I worked quickly, my hands moving over the parts with a familiarity that felt both natural and strange. It had been so long since I'd done anything like this—since before we were brought here.
Piece by piece, the device took shape: a simple pulley system, rigged together with scavenged materials. It wasn't elegant, but it didn't need to be. All it had to do was work.
Elysine kept watch, glancing nervously over her shoulder every few minutes. "You know," she said quietly, "we're lucky they haven't noticed anything. If anyone finds out..."
"They won't," I said, tightening a bolt with a small makeshift wrench. "Besides, this is for us. For you, too."
Elysine watched as I connected the last pieces. "I'm not sure how much a pile of old gears is going to change things."
"It's not just gears," I muttered, adjusting the tension on the rope. "It's leverage. The weight of the barrels will be counterbalanced—this'll take the strain off. Trust me."
She didn't say anything, but the skeptical look didn't leave her face.
---
The device was finished by the third night, crude but functional. Elysine and I tested it in the early hours of the morning, just before the household woke. We had a barrel ready, filled halfway with water. I looped the rope through the pulley system, adjusted the counterweight, and braced myself.
With a sharp tug, the barrel lifted off the ground, moving with a smoothness that made my heart skip. It wasn't perfect—the mechanism groaned under the weight, and the rope strained—but it worked. The barrel hovered a foot above the ground, suspended by the pulley.
Elysine stared at it, her mouth slightly open. "It… it actually works?"
I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "I told you."
We moved the barrel across the room, using the pulley to guide it. The system was rough, slow, but effective. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt a rush of satisfaction—real, solid satisfaction.
But then, just as we were lowering the barrel back down, something shifted. The rope slipped from the pulley, and the barrel crashed to the floor with a dull thud. Water splashed across the ground, soaking both of us.
Elysine jumped back, glaring at the mess. "Well, so much for that."
"It's not a failure," I said quickly, crouching to inspect the pulley. "I just need to adjust the tension. And maybe replace the rope."
"Zephyra..." She sighed, wiping water from her arms. "We don't have time for this."
"We do," I insisted, turning the barrel upright. "It's just a small fix. We'll try again tomorrow."
Elysine shook her head, her skepticism returning, but there was something else in her eyes—something like admiration, even if she didn't want to admit it.
---
The next day, as I carried out my usual tasks, I couldn't stop thinking about the device. It was far from perfect, but it was a step forward. I caught myself tracing the edges of the trays I carried, imagining new designs, better ways to refine the system.
I wasn't doing this to prove anything to anyone. I just wanted things to be a little easier, a little better. For myself. For Elysine. For anyone who had to carry those heavy barrels day after day.
By evening, I'd found another piece of rope, stronger this time, and planned to sneak away once more. The mechanism might have failed, but I wasn't about to give up. I'd learned something from it, and I was already imagining how to make it better.
Maybe next time, it would hold.
And maybe, next time, it would be more than just a quiet success in the shadows.