𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐌 ⸻ argentum chronicles

𝟎𝟏, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

"IF YOU like machines, then you can tell the other kids that you like butterflies too," Adin's father said.

Adin had walked home from school as he tried to cease his sniffling. Even after he had arrived at his father's study, his safe place, he was still in tears. Looking back, it had been pathetic to be upset about a minor incident, but at the young age of eight, he had instantly felt the tears pool up in his eyes when his classmates made fun of him.

"But butterflies aren't as interesting," Adin admitted, "and I don't want to hurt them."

His father smiled. "Think about this. One gear spins, the next follows, and the next thing you know, all of the gears will be turning. The butterfly effect works in the same way; something happens, and soon, a chain of events is set into motion."

In awe, Adin watched as his father assembled all of the pieces. With deft fingers, Mr. Aulus twisted one of the gears. It turned with ease, bringing the other pieces with it.

Over the whirring, his father added, "Technology is still constantly evolving, like how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. At first, inventing was nothing more than putting together scraps of wood but look at it now!" his father said, gesturing to the robotic machinery in the room, and then the huge advertisements projected on the buildings and skyscrapers across from them. With his calloused fingers, he cupped his son's face. "You'll make me so proud one day, I know it. You'll make a working automaton, like I dreamed I would, and the whole world will praise you."

But as soon as his son left, Mr. Aulus turned to where Adin had been and whispered, "not if I do it first."

✧･☆: *✧･☆:*✧･☆: *✧･☆:*✧･☆: *✧･☆:*

THE DIMMING rays of the sun were his only source of light as Adin began to illustrate his latest idea in his sketchbook. Each pencil stroke was precise, the graphite trailing across the paper in perfect shapes and letters as each section was drawn and labeled.

Soon, the sun faded away to hide behind the rocky hills, submerging the room into darkness. Sighing, Adin decided that he had done enough for the night, and retired to bed.

By the time the sky barely began to brighten again the next morning, Adin had already dragged himself out of bed. He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his tired eyes and ashen skin. Knowing what his best friend would tell him, Adin rolled his eyes and left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Chris would never understand that it had taken the hard way to discover that it was easier for him to work in the morning when his mind was fresh with ideas, and he wasn't nearly as clumsy.

He returned to his desk, the same wooden one with numerous drawers that had stood in his father's study years ago. Gears and tools filled the cabinets, each organized neatly by size and shape. And though the metal pieces had become rusty, Adin's hands easily pieced each gear together, flying so deftly across the robot that it was nothing but a blur.

Inventing was something that he was used to, not like the responses that always came as a surprise. Emotions, too, were annoyingly unpredictable. So the library became more of a school than his classroom, or a home than his own house for that matter. And naturally, the librarian became one of his closest friends, the one who silently watched over him or asked if he wanted to come over for dinner. There at the library, he stayed from the moment it opened until it closed for the night.

Adin stared at the half-finished automaton on his desk. Would he become as desperate as his father had been and go as far as to willingly put a life at risk? And if he ever had one, would he neglect his son just as his father had? He pushed the nagging thought out of his mind and focused on piecing the gears together.