It was around four in the afternoon, a Monday, and General Arcane Practice had just let out.

Most of her classmates filed out at their usual pace, some groaning, others laughing, most happy to be free.

But, of course, Raveena had other plans.

She made a beeline for one of the Arcane Tech workshops, not even stopping by her dorm. Her Foxcut uniform coat was slung over her shoulder, with her bag in hand.

By the time she stepped into the workshop, the scent of iron, oil, and mana residue already filled her lungs in the most oddly comforting way. She slipped on her safety gear—goggles and gloves—then walked over to her assigned workbench, where a bundle of discarded and recycled steel scraps waited for her to continue her work.

She started without delay, and her hammer found her hand with no hesitation.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

Her hammer rang loudly.

She’d already mapped out what she was going to build—some kind of pressure-diffuser arcano hinge. One of many projects that Professor Vask had unloaded onto them this past week, like she was trying to simulate a lifetime’s worth of deadlines in a few days.

And sure, Raveena could’ve just bought fresh sheets of steel. She had the allowance for it now. Between her mother’s unusually generous February advance and the five extra gold zennies Professor Vask added from her own pocket, Raveena’s wallet had never looked healthier.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to use it.

She hadn’t exactly said no when they gave her the funds. But she never said yes either. So far, aside from food, soap, and a few screws she couldn’t scavenge, it all sat untouched.

Clang!

Another solid strike.

Clang!

And then—

Crack!

The weight in her hands suddenly changed, uneven, and the hammer’s head tumbled free with a dull clunk, bouncing once on the workbench before landing on the floor.

Raveena’s eyes blinked, frozen for a moment.

“…Tch.”

She picked up the head of the hammer with a sigh and turned the wooden handle over in her other hand. Sure enough—the joint had splintered cleanly at the base. She didn’t even look surprised.

“About time,” she muttered.

It was an old thing, anyway. The hammer had been with her since she was ten, back when she’d first started tinkering at home—well before Saint Maribelle’s. She took care of it, sure, but its handle had cracked at least twice over the years. Once during a summer competition. Once when she tried to dismantle a rusted bolt crank without lubricant.

Still, she’d fixed it each time. This would just be another.

But not right now.

For now… she needed a replacement.

She set the broken tool aside, then stood and walked across the workshop toward the supply cage—an open-shelf section cordoned off with a mesh gate and old, hand-scrawled labels. Everyone just called it The Borrow Box, though it wasn’t really a box.

She scanned the pegs and bins.

Wrenches. Socket keys. Arc-thread spools. Even a few way-too-bendy screwdrivers.

However, no hammers.

“Of course,” she thought.

She stood there for a second longer, hands on her hips, letting out a slow, aggrieved sigh through her nose.

“Alright… Plan B it is.”

Her amber eyes scanned across the workshop, looking for any sign of a spare hammer in use. A couple students hunched over their projects at different corners—none familiar enough to approach with confidence.

Except… one.

Near the far end of the room, someone was welding. A tallish girl—goat-folk, judging by the scent, the horns at the top of her head, and the short tail flicking just barely beneath the edge of her smock. Raveena couldn’t see her face, not with the heavy welding mask down and her sleeves rolled tight, but yeah. She was pretty sure this one was in her Arcane Tech class.

Didn’t know her name, though.

Raveena approached her, and she hesitated for a bit before raising her voice.

“Hey—excuse me—”

But the goat-folk didn’t answer.

Raveena tried again, louder. “Hey!”

The welding arc sputtered to a stop, and the goat-folk girl flinched slightly, lifting her welding mask just high enough to reveal wide brown eyes. She blinked at Raveena—surprised, maybe even a little spooked.

“Huh—? Oh. Um—hi? How can I help you?”

Raveena gave a small jerk of her thumb toward her own bench. “My hammer kind of died. Think you can lend me one?”

The goat-folk gave a small, nervous chuckle. “Ah. Uh… I don’t really have one right now, sorry.”

Raveena tilted her head, unimpressed. Her eyes drifted past the girl… and promptly narrowed in on a hammer sitting very obviously at the edge of her workbench. Not used. Not even near the welding.

She pointed at it. “Then what’s that?”

The goat-folk girl looked over her shoulder, and her eyes landed on the hammer. Then she looked back at Raveena. “Ah—uh, that’s… that’s not mine. I mean—it is, kind of—but it’s actually borrowed. From a fourth-year. Just for today.”

Raveena crossed her arms. “…Right,” she said, not buying her excuse. So she pressed on. “Look, can I just borrow it for like, five minutes? I just need to flatten some plates and move on with my life. That’s it.”

The goat-folk girl stepped slightly in front of her workbench, chewing on her bottom lip. “It’s not that I don’t want to help, but… I really can’t lend it out. I mean—it’s not mine, and if it breaks—”

“You think I’m going to break your hammer?”

“I—I didn’t say that,” the girl replied quickly. “It’s just—tools break sometimes and, you know, accidents happen, and—”

“It’s a hammer; it’s supposed to be hit against things.”

The goat-folk’s mouth opened… then closed. No words made it out this time.

Raveena let out an exhale through her nose. She could already feel the time bleeding from her fingers—Professor Vask’s deadlines weren’t slowing down, and she still had three more sketches to finish by the end of the week, minimum. She can’t exactly keep working in the workshop all the time, either.

“This is a waste of time,” she muttered. “Just say something already.”

“I’m sorry. I—I can’t lend it. I really don’t have any backups. If something does happen, then I’m stuck for the rest of the week. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I just… can’t afford to lose it.”

And Raveena caught it instantly.

Her eyes narrowed just a hair, then she sighed, stepping back slightly. “So it is yours.”

The goat-folk’s mouth parted, but Raveena kept going.

“You could’ve just said that from the start. No need to lie. And definitely no need to make it sound like I’d break your precious hammer the second I touch it.”

The goat-folk’s eyes turned downcast, ears flattening just slightly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Raveena said, already turning back toward her bench. “Forget it.”

Raveena returned to her bench with slow, dragging steps. She stared at the half-pounded scrap plate sitting crooked on the vise—its edges just barely flattened, its shape all wrong now that her rhythm had been broken.

She sighed.

Maybe she was being narrow-minded.

“Saint Maribelle’s has, like, four workshops,” she reminded herself. “This isn’t the only one with tools.”

No point wasting time pouting over borrowed hammers and goat-folk fibs.

With that, she tugged the tarp down over her project, neatly covering the materials in case anyone got nosey. She peeled off her gloves and goggles, placed them carefully into her side pouch, and left the workshop without another word.

The second Arcane Tech workshop wasn’t far, just down the corridor and past one of the smaller enchantment testing rooms. She knew fourth and fifth-years mostly used this room, which meant it probably had stricter tool rotation.

But she wasn’t asking for much. Just a hammer.

When she stepped inside, the air here was cooler, and the atmosphere was quiet but busy, with the occasional metallic clink and pencil scratches that she could faintly hear in the background.

Raveena walked straight to the back wall where the supply cage stood: open shelves framed in thin steel mesh, with rows of clearly labeled tools.

“Thank the stars.”

There were plenty.

She spotted a hammer in the second bin, well-used, but solid, then she reached for it.

And then a voice behind her called out.

“Whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?”

She turned sharply, still holding the hammer by the handle.

A tall horse-folk stood near the end of the aisle, arms crossed. His hair was tied back in a short pony tail, and his tone screamed hall monitor with something to prove.

“What does it look like?” Raveena replied. “I’m borrowing a hammer. It’s not like it’s illegal.”

She made to walk past him, but the horse-folk moved into her path, blocking the way with a slow shake of his head.

Raveena narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You’re not allowed to borrow equipment here unless you have an assigned bench,” he said. “Didn’t you read the policy?”

Raveena gave a half-scoff. “I’m not here to move in, I just need a hammer.”

“Still counts,” he replied, not budging. “This workshop has its own rotation and rules. If you're not registered, you don't get to pull tools. Doesn’t matter what it’s for.”

Raveena huffed through her nose, one hand still loosely holding the hammer. “Oh, come on. We’re both Arcane Tech. You’re my senior, right? Would it kill you to be a little helpful?”

“I might’ve been helpful if a certain panther-folk didn’t just stroll in and grab things like she runs the place.”

Raveena’s eyes narrowed as the grip on the hammer tightened. She didn’t even bother hiding her glare now.

But the horse-folk didn’t flinch. “And don’t think glaring’s gonna change anything,” he said. “Rules are rules. They apply to you too, Miss Vesper.”

At that, Raveena raised a brow. “…So you have heard of me.”

He gave a single nod. “More or less. Hard not to, with the way people talk about a certain transfer student.”

“All I wanted was a tool. Not a lecture.”

“Then maybe,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “you should’ve started by asking whoever was already in the workshop. Instead of marching over to the cage and grabbing what you wanted like it’s yours.”

Raveena looked away for half a second, jaw tight. Then, with a low sigh, she set the hammer back on the shelf. “…Fine,” she muttered. “Have it your way.”

She turned to leave, tail swaying low with irritation, already mapping out where the next workshop might be—maybe the smaller one nearby. That one had fewer people, probably also fewer rules.

But just as she reached the doorway, a throat cleared behind her.

Raveena stopped, half-turning with yet another glare primed and ready. “…What is it now?”

Then she saw the horse-folk grab the same hammer off the shelf before walking towards her.

“I suppose,” he said with a sigh, “it wouldn’t hurt to assist a junior when she’s clearly in dire need of a basic tool.”

“I’m not desperate, if that’s what you think.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t say you were. Just looked like you hated having your time wasted.”

“…Fair.”

He held the hammer out to her.

“I’m Bermain Faust,” he added smoothly, “student rep for the fourth-year Arcane Tech strand.”

Raveena glanced from the tool to his face. “…Why?”

“So you know who I am,” Bermain replied. “And where to return it when you’re done.”

Raveena stared at the hammer for a moment longer… then finally reached out and took it. Not without hesitation.

“You’re not worried I’ll break it?” she asked dryly. “Or vanish into the woods with it and never return?”

Bermain chuckled. “Didn’t cross my mind. Besides—rumors are just rumors, right?”

Raveena said nothing at that.

“That’s why I said you could’ve just asked nicely,” he added, turning back toward the shelves. “Nothing kills a bad story faster than good behavior.”

“…Duly noted,” she muttered.

“Now go, you wouldn’t want to waste your precious time hanging around here,” Bermain said with a smile.

“Yeah, thanks,” and with that, Raveena left the workshop.

But this time, finally with something useful in hand.