The warmth of the Thermal Re-generator had transformed the Light household, but for Palim, it had created a new kind of pressure. In the world of recycling, there was a fundamental law he had learned as Ernest Light: Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only moved—and moving it always leaves a trail.
As the weeks passed, the village of Oakhaven began to notice. While other chimneys belched thick, black soot into the winter sky, the Light cottage remained clean. While other men spent their daylight hours desperately hacking at frozen timber, Kael was seen repairing the roof or helping neighbors, looking suspiciously well-rested.
Palim sat on the porch, his small body wrapped in a simple wool tunic. He was currently engaged in what he called "Micro-Cycling." Between his palms, he held a handful of common river sand. He wasn't trying to create a battery this time; he was practicing the "Filter" logic. He visualized the silica in the sand, separating it from the impurities of clay and lime.
[Skill Progress: Recycle (Level 4) — 88%] [Stamina: 94/100] [Mana: 165/165]
The sand in his hand began to glow with a faint, crystalline light. Slowly, the brown grit fell away, leaving behind a small pile of pure, white glass powder.
"Palim? What have you got there?"
Palim jumped slightly, snapping his hands shut. It was his father, Kael, looking down at him with a mixture of pride and growing concern. Kael knelt, his knees cracking. He took Palim's small hand and opened it. The white powder shimmered even in the dull winter light.
"You've been... playing with the earth again," Kael said softly. His voice wasn't accusing, but there was a tremor in it. "The warm stone in the hearth, the way the milk doesn't spoil when you're near the pantry... Palim, you're only three. Children your age should be chasing chickens, not refining minerals."
Palim looked up at his father, his mind racing through a thousand adult justifications. He settled on the one that usually worked for children: "I just want to help, Papa. The wood is hard to chop. The cold makes Mama cough."
Kael sighed, a long, heavy sound. He sat on the porch step beside his son. "Listen to me. In the cities—the big ones like Oreston—men with powers like yours are called Artificers or Mages. They live in towers. They eat off silver. But they also belong to the Crown. They are 'Resources.' And resources are owned."
Kael gripped Palim's shoulder. "If the tax collector sees that 'warm stone' in our hearth, he won't see a miracle. He'll see a reason to take you away. Do you understand?"
Palim felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the weather. It was the same corporate politics he had faced on Earth. In his past life, his "Recycling Efficiency" patents had been targeted by oil conglomerates and waste management titans. They didn't want to save the planet; they wanted to own the solution so they could control the price of the problem.
The world changes, but the greed remains constant, Palim thought bitterly.
"I understand, Papa," Palim said, his voice quiet. "I'll hide the stone when people come."
"Good boy," Kael said, though he didn't look relieved. He stood up. "I'm going to the market today to trade some of the grain we saved. Stay with your mother."
As Kael walked away, Palim's eyes narrowed. Hide it? No. Hiding is a temporary solution. A genius doesn't hide the invention; he hides the mechanism.
He spent the next several hours in a feverish state of "Analysis." If he couldn't use his powers openly, he needed a front. He needed a way to produce "normal" goods that were just slightly better than everyone else's, enough to earn coin without drawing the Eye of the Crown.
He walked toward the old shed behind the house. Inside was a pile of rusted, "unusable" iron tools—a broken plowshare, a shattered scythe, and a bucket of bent nails. To anyone else, it was junk. To Palim, it was a gold mine of pre-refined ore.
He sat in the center of the shed, the shadows swallowing his small frame.
"Recycle," he whispered, pushing his Mana out like a net.
He didn't just merge the metal. He performed a Molecular Realignment. He stripped the rust (Iron Oxide) and recycled the oxygen back into his own lungs to replenish his stamina, while the pure iron was compressed.
[Warning: Stamina falling rapidly. -4 per second.] [Mana Output: Maximum.]
Palim's teeth ground together. He felt the familiar metallic taste of Mana-strain in the back of his throat. He visualized the "Blueprint" from his previous life—not the complex energy loops, but a simpler one: the carbon-tempering process for steel. He grabbed a handful of charcoal from the forge bin and threw it into the invisible vortex between his hands.
Merge. Purify. Temper.
The shed was filled with a low, sub-sonic hum. The iron turned liquid, swirling in the air like a silver serpent, absorbing the carbon from the charcoal. Palim's vision flickered. Black spots danced in his eyes.
[Stamina: 12/100] [Stamina: 8/100]
With a final, desperate shove of his will, he slammed his hands together.
CLANG.
The sound wasn't physical, but spiritual. A wave of force pushed the dust across the shed floor.
Lying on the dirt was no longer a pile of junk. It was a single, long bar of High-Carbon Steel. It was dark, almost blue-black, with a surface so smooth it looked like glass. In this world, such steel was reserved for the swords of knights or the tools of master masons. To have it appear in a peasant's shed was impossible.
Palim collapsed onto his back, gasping for air. His heart felt like a bird trapped in a cage, beating frantically against his ribs.
[Skill Level Up: Recycle Level 5] [New Sub-Skill Unlocked: De-Oxidization] [New Sub-Skill Unlocked: Carbon Infusion]
I did it, he thought, a weak grin spreading across his face. It's not magic. It's just... better chemistry.
But his triumph was short-lived. The sound of a horse's hooves reached his ears—heavy, rhythmic, and accompanied by the jingle of metal. This wasn't a farm horse.
Palim crawled to the door of the shed and peered out.
At the front of their cottage, three men on horseback had arrived. They wore tabards of deep crimson—the colors of the local Baron's tax collectors. But there was a fourth man with them, dressed in a long, grey robe with a silver monocle hanging around his neck.
The man in the robe held a crystal rod in his hand. The rod was glowing a faint, pulsating blue.
"The resonance is coming from here," the man in the robe said, his voice thin and clinical. "A high-density mana signature. Much too pure for a common woodcutter's home."
Kael was standing by the porch, his face pale, his hands trembling. "My Lords, we are simple people. We have no magic here."
"The rod does not lie, peasant," the tax collector spat. "Move aside. If you are harboring an unregistered Artificer or a stolen Mana-Relic, the penalty is more than just gold."
Palim's heart froze. The "Hearth-Warmer" sphere. He had forgotten to tell his mother to hide it today. The "warm stone" was sitting right there in the grate, radiating a signature that a trained Mage could see from a mile away.
He looked at the bar of high-carbon steel next to him. If they found that, and the stone, his family was finished. He was a "Resource," and he was about to be "Harvested."
Think, Ernest. Think, Palim.
He looked at the steel bar, then at the pile of dirt. He had 8 Stamina points left. Not enough for a full recycling. But maybe... maybe enough for a De-Composition.
"If I can't hide the treasure," he whispered, his eyes narrowing with a cold, calculated light, "I have to turn the treasure into a curse."
He reached out for the steel bar. "Recycle... Reverse Logic. De-stabilize."
As the soldiers began to dismount, Palim prepared to perform the most dangerous experiment of his two lives: recycling his own creation back into the void.
[Current Status: Critical Strain] [Risk Factor: Soul Fracture] [Do you wish to proceed? Y/N]
Palim didn't hesitate. He pressed Y.