The northern winters didn't care about a man's comfort, and neither did the shipyards. By the time Joshua turned sixteen, he was already staring down at most grown men from a staggering height. He was a quiet, strikingly handsome kid, possessing a sharp, clean jawline and deep, intelligent dark eyes that always seemed to be analyzing how the world clipped together. But out in the isolated, frozen coastal towns up north, nobody cared much about good looks. They cared about production. Joshua spent his teenage years enveloped in the smell of diesel smoke, ozone from welding torches, and heavy industrial grease. His body adapted to the brutal environment with terrifying efficiency. While other guys strained and groaned with mechanical jacks, Joshua would simply plant his heavy boots into the gravel, wrap his massive, calloused hands around a frozen steel beam, and nudge it into place with a low, calm grunt. He didn't just have strength; he had a flawless biological furnace that radiated intense heat even in the dead of January, a frame built from pure, hyper-dense muscle. Yet, despite his imposing physical stats, Joshua carried himself with an absolute, gentle innocence. He was profoundly humble, completely unbothered by the rough, cursing dockworkers around him. When the sun went down and the shipyard went quiet, Joshua didn't head to the local taverns or mess around with the few girls in town who constantly tried to catch his eye. Instead, he would walk back to his small, isolated cabin. He had zero exposure to the modern world. He didn't know what a video game was, he had never seen a smartphone, and the chaotic web of modern politics never touched his doorstep. His evening routine was simple, old-school, and solitary. He would light an old oil lamp to study heavy, stained textbooks on metallurgy and electrical engineering, his brilliant mind absorbing the data like a sponge. And when his eyes grew tired, he would click on the only piece of entertainment he owned: an ancient, wide-backed CRT television from the 1980s. He would sit on the edge of his bed, a half-gallon copper water container resting between his thick knees, and watch grainy, flickering black-and-white films. He watched the elegant actresses and the classic, sun-drenched coastal settings on that glowing glass tube, his innocent mind filled with a quiet, deep curiosity. He knew every inch of a high-voltage grid and how to weld a hull together. But as he stared at the flickering images of palm trees and wide-open oceans, Joshua decided he wanted to see what the rest of the world looked like. He began saving every single dollar from his brutal industrial contracts, stuffing heavy stacks of hundred-dollar bills into a thick leather wallet, waiting for the day he could finally drive south.

Chapter 1: built from iron and pine