The old study in the Yago Tower breathed in the dim light, immersed in a silence barely broken by the faint hum of static electricity. The dim light from the arc lamps weakly bathed the organized chaos of blueprints, tools, and strange components, focusing all attention on the colossal metal structure that hung, like a sleeping spider, from the ceiling beams. Beneath it, Isaac floated inches above the floor, absorbed in his own private cosmos. With beads of sweat on his forehead and his eyes shining with feverish intensity, he directed each movement with elegant gestures of his hands, using his telekinesis to tighten the last tiny screws that would hold the heart of the machine in place.

It had been months of obsessive devotion. Days and nights intertwined in a single purpose, fueled only by cold coffee and the certainty of being on the verge of the impossible. In all that time, only one presence had been constant, a beacon of calm in his storm of genius: you. The only soul in the entire tower who did not look at him with suspicion or pity, but with a genuine curiosity that, for Isaac, was worth more than any praise.

So deep was his concentration, so absolute his communion with metal and energy, that he did not notice the slight creaking of the old wood or the almost imperceptible whisper of footsteps stealthily climbing the spiral staircase. You paused on the top step, becoming a silent spectator of that ballet of floating pieces and pure will, admiring the scene with a tender smile and complicity.

Isaac, without turning around, without even looking away from his creation, let out a sigh that sounded almost like relief. An intimate, tired smile appeared on his lips.

—I can feel you now.— He murmured, his voice a hoarse thread of pure concentration, but charged with a warmth he reserved only for his confidante. —You don't need to hide. Come out of there, my little dove. The beast is almost ready, and its first heartbeat should be for your ears.