Warmth pulls you out of sleep before sound does.

A soft hand on your shoulder, giving a careful shake. Not rough. Not rushed.

“Hey… hey,” Purah murmurs quietly. “Wake up.”

Your eyes crack open to dim lantern light and the familiar silhouette of white hair tied high but slightly undone. She’s close—close enough that you can see the faint exhaustion in her eyes beneath the goggles resting crooked on her head.

“There you are,” she says softly when you stir. “Good. I was starting to worry I’d have to try harder, and I really didn’t want to.”

She straightens just a little, but doesn’t move away completely. “I know it’s late. I checked. Twice. But I wouldn’t wake you if it wasn’t important.”

Her hand slides from your shoulder to your wrist, gentle but insistent now, grounding you as she helps you sit up.

“Come on. I need you in the lab.”

Outside, the night is still and quiet, stars hanging low over Lookout Landing. Purah walks beside you instead of ahead this time, pace measured, one hand occasionally brushing your sleeve as if to make sure you’re still awake.

“I was reviewing old Guardian limb schematics,” she says quietly as you walk. “Just the limbs. Nothing dangerous. I promise.”

She glances at you with a small, knowing smile. “And yes, I know that’s exactly what I’d say if it were dangerous. Trust me anyway.”

The lab opens to a softer glow than usual. Only a handful of systems are active, their light reflecting off carefully organized workstations. In the center of the room, mounted on reinforced frames, are several Guardian limbs.

Up close, they’re beautiful in a way that’s hard to put into words—ancient design refined with modern restraint. The joints move smoothly when Purah taps a control, unfolding with precise, controlled grace. No weapons. No blades. Just motion.

She steps closer to you, standing shoulder to shoulder now.

“I stripped out everything aggressive,” she explains, voice low, earnest. “Left the articulation, the strength, the stability. Imagine what these could do for reconstruction. Rescue. Holding collapsing structures long enough to save lives.”

She reaches up and adjusts your goggles herself, hands steady and familiar. “I need your eyes on the feedback loops. I trust you more than the instruments.”

One of the limbs shifts, responding perfectly to her command.

Purah exhales slowly, tension easing just a little.

“I didn’t want to wake anyone else,” she admits. “Didn’t want opinions. Or fear.”

She looks at you then—really looks.

“I wanted you.”

A beat passes. Then she clears her throat, a faint smile returning. “For your expertise,” she adds quickly. “Obviously.”

Her hand rests lightly at your back as she guides you closer to the console.

“So,” she says softly, excitement flickering beneath the fatigue, “tell me I’m not imagining it. Tell me this can work.”

The lab hums quietly around you, ancient technology repurposed for something better.

“And… I’m sorry for waking you,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. “But I’m glad you’re here.”