The guttural voice grates through the heavy gate speakers, echoing metal-on-metal. “Verification complete. Welcome to Aetheria Prime.” Elias Thorne pushes through the final checkpoints. He arrived in Aetheria Prime after two grueling days confined within a rattling aether-carriage, the journey a blur of grimy tracks and flickering gaslight. Now, the true gauntlet begins. The city’s outer walls, colossal slabs of reinforced brass and iron, rise several tens of meters, crowned with aether-turrets that glow faintly. They house not one, but two formidable gates, set meters apart. Even with his authenticated Aetherium-etched pass, Elias endured a double scrutiny, each check a meticulous, almost hostile, examination by heavily armored sentinels. Aetheria Prime’s notorious vigilance is not without cause. A low, constant hum vibrates the very air – the city’s pulse. As the inner gate grinds open, a cacophony assaults Elias’s senses. A sea of bodies surges into view, a torrent of humanity caught in the city’s relentless current. The crowd is a grotesque tapestry of Veridia’s underbelly, bustling with a frantic energy far more unsettling than anything he witnessed in Silverwood District. Here, a significant portion of the throng bears the unmistakable weight of their existence: crude iron manacles, clanking against wrists and ankles. Indentured laborers, their faces etched with the dust and despair of the Veridian Agrifields, shuffle under the watchful eyes of thick-set enforcers, whips coiled at their belts. Interspersed among them stride hardened individuals, their formidable builds and grim expressions declaring their profession, weapons glinting under the diffused light of the aether-lamps. This isn't the sight of a typical Veridian metropolis, yet within Aetheria Prime, it is the city’s raw, undisputed truth. Elias breathes deeply, the air thick with the scent of coal smoke, unwashed bodies, and the acrid tang of raw Aetherium. Though this is his first physical journey here in this life, the scene is chillingly familiar. A cold certainty, born of his temporal echo, confirms every detail. This is Aetheria Prime, the vast engine that directly oversees the Veridian Agrifields, the central region’s sprawling breadbasket. Once, it was merely an agricultural hub. But as indentured laborers poured in to work the boundless fields, followed by a torrent of contracted muscle hired to manage and control them, Aetheria Prime evolved. It earned new, crueler monikers: the city of indentured and enforcers, or more starkly, ‘the Human Engine.’ *The future, his past, flickers.* He remembers starting his first stint as contracted muscle right here, in a life that has yet to be. The grim irony tastes like ash on his tongue. The landscape of Aetheria Prime feels nostalgically fresh, a cruel twist of fate given the burden of his temporal echoes. But reminiscing is a luxury Elias cannot afford. He has pressing tasks, more critical than any personal reflection. His top priority: locate a master artisan capable of forging the specialized Aetherium-channeled weapon he wielded in his past, future, life. This weapon is essential, a vital key to altering the coming tragedy. But even before that, a more immediate concern grips him. *I need to find an instructor. No, a guard, for now.* The Indenture Market, deep within the city, is a dangerous labyrinth to navigate alone. Even with Elias’s own formidable, Aetherium-enhanced capabilities, a stray blade or a cleverly aimed blow from the shadows could derail everything. To preempt such nuisances, he requires a guardian, someone to shoulder the immediate threats while he focuses on his true objective. *An instructor, yes, but also a guard. The perfect candidate comes to mind. But is Kaelen Vane even here now…?* Driven by the unsettling clarity of his temporal echoes, Elias’s steps lead him down arteries he has trodden countless times in memory. The gaslight flickers, casting long, distorted shadows as steam vents hiss from ancient pipes overhead. “Hey, watch your stride, brass-blood.” This is a street where the glint of sharpened steel and heavy-gauge firearms outnumbers the unarmed by a chilling margin. Two burly men, their frames thick with muscle, collide shoulders with a jarring thud. They glare, their eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You best watch your own back, steam-rat.” The air crackles, taut with unspoken threat. But after a brief, venomous exchange, their gazes dart to the surrounding figures, the silent, watchful predatory stares. The men, despite their bravado, pivot abruptly, melting back into the surging flow. On Aetheria Prime’s notorious ‘Second Famous Street,’ colloquially known as Enforcer Alley, an unwritten rule holds absolute sway: *The first to ignite a spark or draw cold steel faces immediate, collective dismantling.* Simple, brutal, and terrifyingly effective, this tenet maintains a savage order amidst the street’s inherent chaos. Amidst the unruly yet strangely liberating atmosphere, Elias is drawn to a cluster of buildings adorned with gear-laden facades and weapon-emblazoned sigils. This is the heart of Aetheria Prime’s contracted muscle; this is The Cog-Guild, the largest mercenary guild in the Crimson Dominion, its Aetheria Prime branch. At first glance, the guild’s main hall is a vast cavern, easily over 100 square meters, a swirling vortex of noise. The constant din of shouting, clanging steel, and the grind of mechanisms is so deafening, the heavy grinding chime at the entrance is rendered utterly pointless. It's a structure bursting with humanity, a testament to the fact that this is merely one of three such hubs in the city. “Mission to the southern wastes! High solari payout!” “Rank B escort, first come, first served, heading for the Crimson Dominion border!” “Any open contracts heading east, through the Scapelands?” Above the din, frantic clients vocalize their demands, their voices hoarse. Mechanical mission boards, their gears grinding, display an ever-changing array of requests. Dozens of contracted enforcers, their faces hard and wary, clamor for attention, jostling for position. Fortune, or perhaps the cruel accuracy of his temporal echo, is with Elias. He spots his target amidst the throng. To find him in the third guild building he checked, and to find him *here*, not away on some distant, long-term contract, feels like a grim relief. Kaelen Vane, the foremost name on his mental recruitment list. A grey-haired enforcer, leaning casually against the counter, engaged in idle banter with a grim-faced guild staffer. He appears younger than the image burned into Elias’s temporal echo, but the stoic, square-jawed face and formidable, unyielding build are unmistakable. The piercing emerald eyes, the jagged scar etching a path down his cheek – they remain exactly as Elias remembers them from his future-past. *Still the same… No, this was his prime, indeed.* Kaelen, though ‘only’ a Rank A contracted enforcer because he hasn't fully awakened his raw Aetherium channeling, possesses a weapon mastery and combat prowess so profound, even the city’s elite Praetorian Guard could fall prey to his cunning if they grew complacent. His skill with an array of steam-forged weapons—blades, projectile launchers, even aether-grenades—is unparalleled, cementing his reputation as one of the strongest Rank A enforcers. Furthermore, at his mid-forties, Kaelen is a seasoned veteran with exceptional vehicle mastery, especially concerning the heavy aether-carriages. *But his true value arises when he becomes an instructor, not just an enforcer, now.* Elias knows. In barely a year, after sustaining a debilitating injury that forces his retirement from active combat, Kaelen Vane will forge his own mercenary group. The enforcers he trains will boast skills far superior to their peers, carving the name ‘Vane’s Contingent’ deep into the mercenary world. Elias, in his future-past, collaborated with them on several desperate campaigns, experiencing their unwavering prowess firsthand. Every one of them attributed their unparalleled skill to their leader and instructor, Kaelen, praising his extraordinary teaching abilities. Yet, before that injury, before that forced retirement, Kaelen was known to prefer the visceral thrill of combat over the tedium of instruction. *I’ll have to pay a bit more, then.* Regardless, Kaelen fits the precise image of the contracted force Elias envisions. Elias approaches, his steps measured, his expression unreadable. Kaelen Vane looks blankly at the young scion of an old house who suddenly addresses him. It is only after Kaelen verifies the intricate Aetherium-etched sigil on Elias’s tailored coat that he cautiously responds. “...Yes, but what is your meaning, boy?” “I wish to employ you, Kaelen. On a long-term contract.” The young noble, with his expensive fabrics and undeniable aura of authority, might just be another privileged fool. But at least his intentions are clear within the guild, preventing any immediate accusations of deceit. Kaelen’s emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, shift to a gaze of genuine interest as he looks back at Elias. “Oh? A long-term contract? Intriguing. So, what kind of remuneration are we considering?” “A minimum of one year.” Elias states, his voice even. “Ah, that has potential. And my duties would entail…?” “I require you to take charge of training and educating the C-rank enforcers we will additionally hire for my household.” “Training and educating? Are you addressing *me*?” Kaelen is openly baffled. This fancy-noble lad sought him out—an expensive Rank A enforcer—only to request his services as an instructor? A request he has never, in his entire career, received. A heavy sigh escapes him. “...I apologize, employer, but I’m not sure what you’ve been told about me. I have never specifically trained anyone before.” “I heard you’re quite adept at instructing your comrades when necessity calls.” “Who told you that… Hrmph. I have offered some tactical advice to greenhorns, yes, always with the intent that it might help us survive a mission. But that is all, nothing formal… never any dedicated instruction.” “So, are you turning it down?” Elias’s gaze is unwavering. “It’s not that I’m refusing… it’s just that, I’ve never been an instructor before…” It’s a roundabout, almost polite, refusal. But Elias’s reply diverges sharply from Kaelen’s expectations. “I will pay you 4,000 solari a month.” At those words, Kaelen Vane’s emerald eyes flicker, the first true sign of his composure cracking. The standard maximum salary for a Rank A enforcer is approximately 2,000 solari per month. This young noble, this unexpected scion, is suddenly offering double. “Let me reiterate, employer, I’ve never worked as an instructor before…” Kaelen’s voice is tighter now. “6,000 solari. Per month.” “I am more accustomed to combat missions. Money can summon even phantoms, it’s true, but…” “8,000 solari. That is the absolute maximum I can offer. No more.” The price has quadrupled in moments. Kaelen momentarily mumbles, the words catching in his throat, unable to respond. Then, a hearty laugh explodes from him, cutting through the guild’s din. He extends a calloused hand. “Haha, warriors over phantoms, I’d say. I am Kaelen Vane. Just call me Kaelen, employer. So what is your lineage?” Elias, the silent god of wealth in this moment, offers a rare, grim smile and grasps Kaelen’s hand firmly. Upon learning that Elias is not merely a frontier baron’s child preparing for a minor skirmish, but actually the eldest son of the Thornehold Barony, Kaelen is momentarily astonished. Nevertheless, this revelation causes no impediment to their swiftly forged contract. “Aren’t you curious why someone from the remote Thornehold estate is hiring such a specialized contingent?” Elias asks, his voice low, testing. “As long as payment is assured, I see no reason to be interested in the precise workings of your estate, employer.” Kaelen’s response is immediate, confident. His principle is clear. “You possess a remarkably clear mind, Kaelen.” Though Kaelen answers with unwavering confidence, his expression turns subtly curious when Elias reveals his next destination. Enforcers and indentured. The true purpose of the journey from the Thornehold Barony to Aetheria Prime might seem transparent enough on the surface, but the profound reason for a noble heir to embark on such a path remains an unfathomable mystery. Nevertheless, staying true to his principle, Kaelen does not press, and Elias feels no need to explain the crushing weight of his temporal echoes. “That’s correct,” Elias states, his focus already shifting. “Stay vigilant for any trouble that might arise in the Indenture Market.” “That won’t be an issue, employer. There’s hardly anyone in this sector who wouldn’t recognize my face.” Kaelen’s confidence is well-earned. He is a known quantity here, a force to be reckoned with. Elias gives Kaelen another appreciative look, reaffirming his initial, echo-born assessment. Kaelen stands around 180 cm, not exceptionally tall for an enforcer, but his physique is a testament to years of brutal combat: muscular, honed, without a single ounce of superfluous flesh. His face, etched with a lifetime of decisions made in blood and steam, conveys an unyielding resolve. His very presence projects a quiet, dangerous authority. He is exactly what Elias needs, a bulwark against the chaos, a crucial cog in the machinery of his grim objective. Each piece falls into place, each step a further commitment to avert the tragedy he remembers, yet still must live through.

The Price of a Guardian