The forest was dense and shadowed, its towering trees blocking much of the pale sunlight filtering through the canopy. Juri Winkler pushed through the underbrush, his boots crunching on frost-covered leaves. Behind him, the smoking remains of the Mechanized Soldier lay hidden beneath a pile of hastily thrown branches.
The machine's engine had failed hours ago, its crude fuel reserves burned out during his frantic escape. Juri had barely managed to guide it to a secluded clearing before abandoning it. Though it was battered and damaged, the machine was still his greatest creation—and he wasn't about to let it fall into the hands of the Arcanists.
Juri leaned against a tree, catching his breath. His muscles ached, and his mind raced with calculations and contingencies. He had no food, no shelter, and no allies. The Arcanists would be searching for him, likely scouring the woods with mana-sensing spells.
And yet, despite the dire circumstances, Juri couldn't help but smile.
"This is how it begins," he muttered to himself, his voice low but steady. "Every great empire starts with nothing."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment—a rough sketch of the Mechanized Soldier's design. The edges were smudged with soot, but the core details were intact. Juri studied it for a moment, his sharp blue eyes flicking over the lines.
"This was just the prototype," he said quietly. "The next one will be better. Faster. Stronger."
But to build it, he would need resources. And that meant leaving the forest.
Juri moved cautiously through the woods, his senses heightened by the knowledge that the Arcanists were hunting him. The air felt charged, as if magic itself was watching him, and every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves set his nerves on edge.
He crouched low, his hand instinctively brushing against the crude knife he'd fashioned from scrap metal. It wasn't much—just a jagged shard of iron tied to a stick—but it was better than nothing.
As he crept through the underbrush, he spotted movement in the distance. Two figures, their black coats and glowing staves unmistakable even from afar. The Arcanists.
Juri's mind raced. The forest was vast, but they had the advantage of mana-sensing spells. If he stayed in one place too long, they would find him.
Think, he told himself. Outsmart them.
His eyes darted to the ground. The frost-covered earth was soft, his footprints clear and obvious. With a grimace, he grabbed a nearby branch and began dragging it behind him, obscuring his trail as he moved deeper into the forest.
The voices of the Arcanists grew louder, their tone sharp and impatient.
"He couldn't have gotten far," one said. "The mana signature from that machine was strong."
"Keep looking," another replied. "The Academy will not tolerate this kind of defiance."
Juri slipped away silently, his mind already planning his next move.
Hours later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Juri stumbled upon a campsite.
It was a simple setup: a fire pit surrounded by a few logs, a small tent pitched beneath a tree. A pot of stew simmered over the fire, its scent making Juri's stomach growl.
He crouched in the shadows, watching the campsite's lone occupant. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his face obscured by a thick beard. He wore a patched cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, his hands busy sharpening a blade.
Juri hesitated. He didn't trust strangers, especially not in a world where magic ruled and he was an outcast. But he couldn't ignore the opportunity. The man had supplies, tools—everything Juri needed to survive, if only for a little while longer.
Steeling himself, Juri stepped into the firelight.
The man looked up sharply, his hand darting to the hilt of his sword.
"Who's there?" he growled.
"Relax," Juri said, raising his hands in a show of nonthreatening intent. "I'm not here to fight. I just need… help."
The man narrowed his eyes. "Help? What kind of help?"
Juri gestured toward the fire. "Food. Shelter. I've been running for days."
The man studied him for a long moment, his gaze flicking over Juri's disheveled appearance. Finally, he grunted and motioned toward the fire.
"Sit. Eat."
Juri didn't need to be told twice. He dropped onto one of the logs and grabbed a wooden bowl, filling it with stew. The first bite was like heaven—rich and savory, the warmth spreading through his body.
"Name's Halrick," the man said, watching Juri carefully. "You look like you've seen better days."
Juri nodded, swallowing a mouthful of stew. "You could say that. My name's Juri."
"What are you running from, Juri?" Halrick asked, his tone casual but probing.
Juri hesitated, debating how much to reveal. Finally, he decided on the truth—at least part of it.
"The Arcanists," he said simply.
Halrick raised an eyebrow. "Bold of you to admit that. Most people wouldn't want to associate with someone on their bad side."
"I don't have time to worry about what people think," Juri replied. "I'm building something important. Something that will change the world."
Halrick chuckled, shaking his head. "You're ambitious, I'll give you that. But ambition doesn't mean much if you're dead."
Juri smirked faintly. "I'm not dead yet."
As the fire crackled between them, Juri and Halrick struck up an unlikely conversation.
Halrick, it turned out, was a former mercenary who had retired to the wilderness after a job gone wrong. He had no love for the Academy or its magical enforcers, and Juri's defiance intrigued him.
"You're serious about this machine of yours, aren't you?" Halrick asked, leaning back against a log.
"Dead serious," Juri replied. "Magic has ruled this world for too long. It's inefficient. Unstable. Someone needs to challenge it."
Halrick stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts alone won't get you far. You're going to need allies."
Juri raised an eyebrow. "And you're offering to help?"
"Maybe," Halrick said with a shrug. "Depends on what's in it for me."
Juri smirked. "What do you want?"
Halrick leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Gold. Power. Revenge. Take your pick. As long as you're willing to share the spoils, I'll help you stay alive long enough to build whatever it is you're working on."
Juri considered the offer. He didn't trust Halrick—not fully—but the man had skills and resources he couldn't ignore.
"Fine," Juri said, extending a hand. "We have a deal."
Halrick grinned, clasping Juri's hand in a firm shake. "Then let's get started."
The next morning, Juri and Halrick set out together, their goal simple: survival. With Halrick's knowledge of the wilderness and Juri's unrelenting ingenuity, they began gathering materials for the next phase of Juri's work.
In the back of his mind, Juri knew the Arcanists wouldn't stop hunting him. But that didn't matter.
As they moved deeper into the forest, Juri's thoughts turned to his next creation. The Mechanized Soldier had been a crude prototype, a proof of concept. The next machine would be something far greater—a weapon capable of turning even the strongest mage into a footnote in history.
"This world belongs to magic," Juri murmured under his breath, his voice tinged with dark amusement. "But not for much longer."
Halrick glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "You say something?"
"Nothing important," Juri replied, smirking. "Just thinking about the future."