As dusk faded and the embers of the meteor shower cooled, Batson Termonen steered his friends away from the crowd and into the shadowed fields bordering Royal Laihiala Academy. Being the Academy's lead engineer—and a dwarf with unmatched curiosity—Batson was the first to notice the trajectory of one "meteor" ending with a suspicious tremor and plume near the river's bend. He was also the only one brave (or stubborn) enough to investigate up close.

Guided by his intuition and the unwavering loyalty of his squad—Eru, Addy, Archid, David, and a handful of trusted workshop apprentices—Batson trudged through mud and reeds. They found the riverbank torn, its water frothing around a bulky metallic shape half-buried and steaming in the silt.

Its silhouette was vaguely humanoid, like the Silhouette Knights piloted at the Academy, but nothing about its construction fit their world. The armor plates were seamless, the limbs jointed with mechanical precision and unfamiliar alloys. Instead of knightly ornamentation, the shell was streaked with battered glyphs and segmented lines that seemed meant for movement—transformation, not simple flexibility. Wheels and gears were tucked incongruously into its calves. Its helmet had no visor or slit for spell runes; instead, sealed panels hid alien optics. Batson’s seasoned eye quickly realized: this was not built by any mage or mechanic he’d ever met.

He felt riveted and unsettled, drawn to its puzzle. Even Ernesti, usually exuberant at the prospect of unknown tech, stood quietly as Batson orchestrated the careful recovery of the "knight". Together, the group worked for hours, winching the machine onto a makeshift platform and rolling it, inch by laborious inch, back toward the Academy's underground workshop.

For weeks, Batson worked late into the night, sketching the mechanisms he uncovered. Despite his best tools—powered by both magic and muscle—the knight stubbornly refused to reveal its secrets. He noted strange, dormant energy pulses, internal components arrayed with logic unlike any Silhouette Knight, and a core that pulsed blue beneath layers of dense armor. The rest of the team took turns debating theories—but Batson was convinced this was a creation from beyond their world.

It wasn’t until months later, in the dead of night, that the truth revealed itself. Frustrated yet fascinated, Batson nudged a particularly stubborn panel beneath the chest with his chisel and accidentally grazed the glowing core inside. A surge of foreign energy sent him sprawling, tools clattering across the floor. As he groaned and dusted himself off, the dormant knight began to hum—a low, resonant vibration rising into a full electrical thrum. Panels shifted; optics flickered to brilliant life; an entire internal system rebooted itself with a mechanical signature utterly unlike any Silhouette Knight.

The machine sat up abruptly, gears hissing, casting an imposing shadow. Batson stared—wide-eyed, breathless—as the alien robot’s gaze locked onto him, its optics shining with awareness. In an instant, centuries of magical tradition collided with something far more ancient and endlessly strange: a lost Cybertronian, a sentient, shape-shifting visitor from the stars.

The commotion didn’t go unheard. His friends—Eru, Addy, Archid—rushed to the workshop, arriving just in time to witness Batson frantically scrambling for his wrench and chucked it at the bot.