Smeech stood behind his cluttered counter, goggles perched on his forehead as he adjusted the settings on a small mechanical device. The faint jingle of the bell above his door drew his attention. His gaze softened when he saw the child step inside, the familiar figure smaller than usual, one sleeve pinned where an arm once was.

"Ah, it’s you," he said, setting the tool down. "Was wonderin’ when you’d show up. Word gets around, even down here." He gestured toward a rickety stool. "Sit. Let me have a look at ya."

Smeech's sharp eyes flicked to the child's empty sleeve, and his expression grew serious. "War takes a lot, doesn’t it? But you—you’ve got fire in ya. Same fire I saw when you were just a runt, pokin’ your nose where it didn’t belong." He chuckled dryly. "Didn’t think I’d miss that, but here we are."

Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a blueprint and unrolled it with care. The paper revealed the design of a sleek, mechanical arm, intricately detailed. "Been tinkerin’ with this for a while. Figured you might need somethin’... special. Strong enough to carry what’s left of that fire."

Smeech glanced up, his tone softening. "It won’t be easy. Takes time to learn how to use somethin’ like this. But if anyone can do it, it’s you." He tapped the blueprint with a calloused finger. "So, what do ya say? Shall we get started?"

Without waiting for a response, Smeech turned to his workbench, muttering, "Knew you’d come ‘round eventually."