Kurt had raced home with a heart full of air. His dreams were coming over the horizon, just a breeze away from reality. But when the boy had finally returned to his family’s shop, he remembered all that was still a fantasy. Rather than going through the front door, he had to sneak in through a rounded window in the back. 

It was no small effort since the window was several stories up, but the boy was prepared. On the ground, there was a contraption connected to a system of ropes along the building’s back wall. The boy took hold of the rope, and after stepping on a hidden pad, he was pulled up. His ascension was quick and violent in the way it sent him tumbling through the window. Thankfully, the glass was made to rotate and move when pushed. 

On the other side of the window was a crowded space, a claustrophobic bedroom taken over by tools and gadgets waiting to be pieced together. Through slacks of the wooden floor Kurt could see down into the first floor of the building. There was conversation reaching him well enough to know business was steady that day. 

He was lucky that his ungraceful entrance hadn’t been heard.

The boy carefully took off his armor, while listening and watching his brothers speaking with customers. They were proper business men, proper sons, Kurt thought. They were nothing like him. He was nothing like them, but that would be alright soon. 

Piece after piece of the boy’s armor came off as he crept over to his bed. By the time he reached the unkempt blankets, all that remained on his body were undergarments and the metallic boots he struggled to free his feet from. It seemed they were too perfect a fit and had to be taken apart if he wanted them off his body.

“Not bad. But no one wears full armor anymore,“ Vilk spoke suddenly as he stepped out of hiding.

The goblin didn’t move far, however. He was too afraid of stumbling over any number of things scattered across the floor.

“Vilk!” 

Kurt’s startled shout reached his family’s ears, who were unaware of his return until then. “Kurt?!” His brothers called through the floor. 

“Coming!” the boy yelled back, but he wasn’t about to go downstairs while a goblin was in his room. “I hate it when you do that. How long were you there?” He asked. 

“Long enough,” Vilk answered and leaned against a wall with arms folded before he went on. “What were you doing at the inventor’s estate?” 

Kurt, sitting in his bed, struggled to answer. His mood was bright, but fear told him to be modest. He tried to hold back any childish gleam trapped in his eye, but inevitably told the goblin, “It’s happening. It’s finally happening. I’m going to be a hero.”

Vilk could only chuckle, assuming and asking, “Have you hit your head again?”

“Lady Ellenore has chosen me to be her personal guard on an expedition. I’m a step closer to leaving this shop for good.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to leave? Your family has an honest craft. Your father is respected. Everyone needs a good craftsman,” Vilk remarked. 

Despite his lack of interest in the family business, Kurt possessed exceptional talent within his lineage. All over his bedroom were trinkets and works of invention that could have echoed Ellenore’s father. 

“I was born here, Vilk, and while it will always be a home, I’ve outgrown the routines.”

Reaching out in the cramped space, Kurt grabbed a set of tools. With a sigh, he began disassembling his footwear. He surely couldn’t go downstairs in it. 

“You need something?” He asked, knowing there were few reasons why a goblin would break into his room. Theft would have been plausible, but the goblin’s house calls were often annoying, regardless. 

“I do,” Vilk said.

“Something you can’t ask my father for?”

“Something I can only ask you for.”

“When I leave, you and the rest of the horde will need to find someone else to replace your shields.”

“I don’t need replacements. I need improvements. We need something new. They’re coming for us harder than before,” Vilk explained while watching the craftsman work. 

In truth, the green skin envied the boy. He envied most humans. They had so many opportunities to be happy, to be at peace, but it seemed they always chose a path of greater resistance. Kurt’s abilities allowed him to construct almost anything, but he still desired to endanger himself in the name of adventure. Vilk’s eye had noticed a dozen things in that one small room that were worth gold, but Kurt could only see chains. 

“I’ll see what I can do. But the entrance to the alehouse is already cloaked.” 

“Kurt,” the boy’s brothers called again.

“Coming!” He yelled and turned his attention away from the goblin as someone entered the room. Hurriedly, the boy hid his metallic shoes under a blanket and stood to watch his father walk further in. 

“Your brothers need you,” the old man reminded his son, not with anger, but concern. 

The boy’s father, Kurt Halex Sr, was a master. His skill was evident, as he belonged to the same generation as Ellenore’s father. Perhaps he hadn’t evolved as greatly over the years as the city’s grand inventor, but his foundations were solid. Kurt Sr. built what people asked for, what they knew. Ell’s father built what people wanted, what they dreamed. The line between a craftsman and inventor was a question of time. Present or the future.

But the old craftsman had done well for himself and his family. His efforts had always been several contracts short of wealth, but he maintained stability. At least he had for a while. 

Sadly, his age made intricate work impossible for his fingers. His back struggled to carry heavy loads without popping out of place. And his skin had long been scard from work that had tested him beyond his limit. Despite all that his occupation had taken from him, he stood tall, with nothing of importance missing. With three sons, their shop remained alive. And with Kurt Jr, it flourished. 

“I know,” the boy timidly said to his father.

“What are you doing in here? Why aren’t you dressed? “

“I was talking to,” Kurt began to mention Vilk, but stopped himself once he noticed the goblin had vanished. Before he could continue his broken thought, his father told him, “You’ve been distracted lately. You’ve been hard to reach.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Your brothers can’t do the things that you do. Not as fast, not as well. But as a family.”

The boy finished his father’s thought, saying “We make a whole” but he spoke it like empty repetition. 

His father noticed, of course, how uninvested he was. He looked away, and with little effort managed to find the pieces of armor Kurt hadn’t hidden. Still, there was no anger, no rage. Perhaps disappointment was stering. 

“Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s your choice, but ask yourself, is it worth leaving your family?”

Kurts eyes shot open with fear, thinking he’d been found out. “I’m not leaving,” he said, assuming it was the right thing to say.

“I was your age once. I know what it is to dream. But this place that our family has built is real. You can see it, touch it, know that it is here. Before you decide to chase after something in the distance, look at what you’ll be leaving behind.”

“I’m not leaving,” Kurt repeated, and on his lips the words were ash.

“Then go help your brothers.”