Theo Gearsmith

Theo Gearsmith stood at the edge of Cloudbreak Village, watching the storm clouds gather like dark fists above the Shattered Peaks. Snow was coming—the kind that buried entire seasons of hope beneath its weight. Behind them, in the cramped workshop carved into the mountainside, mechanical wings lay half-finished, their skeletal frames catching what little light filtered through the workshop's small window. Theo ran calloused fingers across a gear they'd salvaged just that morning, its metallic surface cold and promising. Somewhere in these mountains, somewhere in the rocks beneath their feet, lay answers. Ancient answers. But answers didn't fill empty stomachs. "You're doing it again," Marcus Vale said, appearing beside Theo with two steaming cups of chicory root tea. Marcus had a way of materializing exactly when Theo needed him most. They'd been friends since they were seven—back when Marcus had watched Theo's first failed prototype plummet off a ridge and actually laughed instead of running away. That laugh had started a friendship that had lasted eight years. "Staring at the sky like it owes you something." Theo accepted the tea gratefully, letting the warmth seep into their palms. "The wings are so close, Marcus. I can feel it. If I just had two more weeks—" "Two more weeks until what? Until your mother sells the last of her jewelry to buy grain you could have helped earn?" Marcus's tone wasn't mean, just honest. That was Marcus's gift—brutal honesty wrapped in kindness. "The Harvesters are looking for people to help reinforce the supply platforms. Good money. Your family needs—" "I know what my family needs." Theo's voice came out sharper than intended. They softened it. "I know. I just... there has to be another way. Something better than hauling rope and breaking our backs like generations before us." The tea grew cold in Theo's hands as the afternoon dimmed. The wind picked up, carrying that particular bite that meant the storm was closer than predicted. Up and down the cliffsides of Cloudbreak Village, lights began flickering on in windows. Families were gathering. Preparing. The Great Pulley System—the massive network of ropes and counterweights that connected the village to the supply depots carved into distant peaks—would need to be secured. The system had stood for two hundred years, a marvel of engineering that kept the village connected to the outside world. Without it, the gorges became impassable, and the village became a tomb of ice and isolation. Theo's father emerged from the workshop, his face etched with worry lines that seemed to deepen with each passing season. "The council is calling everyone. The pulley system needs inspection before the storm hits. They're asking volunteers." Theo's stomach tightened. "I'm going to finish the wing bracket tonight, Papa. It's almost—" "Theo." Their father's voice was gentle but absolute. "I need you at the pulley station. Your mother is ill with the chest fever. We need to make sure our family doesn't starve this winter." There it was. The weight that had been pressing on Theo's shoulders for months suddenly doubled. Trebled. Their mother had taken a chill two weeks ago, and it had settled in her lungs like an unwelcome guest. Without the pulley system, without access to the medicine and supplies from the lower villages, without access to food... "I'll come," Theo said quietly. They set down the cold tea and followed their father down the winding path toward the central pulley station, trying not to look back at the workshop where the wings lay waiting like a dream they couldn't afford to pursue. The pulley station was a cathedral of engineering—a massive wooden frame anchored deep into the rock face, from which dozens of ropes descended into the white mist of the gorge below. The system worked through counterweights and careful balance, pulling supplies up from the lower depots and sending crafted goods down in return. It was brilliant. It was essential. It was ancient. Theo arrived to find two dozen villagers already examining the system by lantern light. Master Crane, the oldest engineer in Cloudbreak Village, was running a rope through his weathered hands, his face growing darker with each passing moment. "The main tension cable is fraying," he announced, his voice cutting through the murmur of worried conversation. "It's not safe to use in this wind. If we try to haul supplies up, the whole system could snap." "How long to repair?" asked Councilor Hart, a sharp-featured woman who managed most of the village's practical matters. "Four days, maybe five. We'd have to carefully unbind the lower section, check each thread, rebind it, and test the tension. It's delicate work." "We don't have five days," someone called out. "The storm will be here by tomorrow evening." Theo stepped forward without intending to. "What if we didn't?" Everyone turned to look at them. "What if we didn't repair it the traditional way?" Theo's voice was steadier than they expected. "What if we rerouted the mechanical advantage using a compound pulley system? I've been studying the principles. If we set up a series of smaller pulleys in a different configuration, we could distribute the weight load across multiple points instead of putting all the tension on a single cable." Master Crane's eyes narrowed. "That's theoretical. Untested." "So was the original system, once," Theo said. "And I've built smaller versions. They work." "You're a child playing with scrap metal," came a voice from the crowd—Theo recognized it as Blacksmith Roderick, who had never approved of Theo's time in the workshop instead of doing "real work." But Councilor Hart was studying Theo thoughtfully. "How long would your system take to implement?" Theo's mind was already racing, calculations spinning through their thoughts like gears. "Eight hours. Maybe less. If I have help, and if—" They stopped. If they had the right materials. If the design held. If the pulley system didn't tear itself apart as soon as they tested the new configuration. "I'll help," Marcus said immediately, stepping forward. "Whatever Theo needs." "And I," came a quiet voice. It was Vera Stonewise, the village's apprentice architect and one of the few people besides Marcus who had ever genuinely believed in Theo's ideas. Master Crane was shaking his head. "It's too risky. The traditional repair is slow, but it's certain. If Theo's system fails—" "If the traditional repair isn't finished before the storm, we starve," Theo interrupted, then caught themselves. They lowered their voice. "I'm sorry, Master. But you're right that it's risky. All of it is. But... I can make this work." What Theo didn't say was: I have to. Because if they couldn't do this—if they couldn't prove that there was a better way, a faster way, a way that didn't mean sacrificing everything for survival—then what was the point of all those hours in the workshop? What was the point of the wings that would never fly? They worked through the night. Theo moved with a precision they didn't know they possessed, directing Marcus and Vera through the installation of the compound pulley system. They salvaged metal from the construction depot—pieces that had been marked for scrap—and crafted new brackets on the spot, calculating angles and weights in their head, trusting the mathematics they'd been teaching themselves from salvaged technical papers found in the peaks. By dawn, the new system was installed. It looked strange next to the traditional apparatus—a web of smaller ropes and pulleys in configurations that made Master Crane wince with every addition. "Test load?" Councilor Hart asked. Theo's hands trembled slightly as they loaded the test cargo—heavy stone blocks that weighed roughly equivalent to a full load of supplies—into the basket. They took a breath. Marcus squeezed their shoulder. Theo pulled the lever. For one terrible, endless moment, nothing happened. Then the pulley system engaged, and the basket began to rise. Smoothly. Steadily. The ropes held. The brackets held. The mathematics held. The basket reached the upper pulley point without incident. "Again," Theo called out, barely daring to breathe. They ran five more test loads. Each one was successful. With the compound pulley system, the mechanical advantage meant they could haul supplies at double the speed of the traditional method, and the distributed weight load meant the ancient cables wouldn't bear the full brunt of the stress. Master Crane was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded once, slowly. "It works." They got the first full load of supplies into the village just as the storm hit. Theo collapsed in the workshop that night, exhausted beyond measure. Marcus and Vera had stayed to help clean up, but they'd finally departed for their own homes as darkness fell. The wings lay where Theo had left them—unfinished, waiting, patient. Outside, the wind screamed and snow piled against the workshop walls. Inside, it was cold but safe. Theo walked over to the wings and touched the metal framework gently. "Not today," Theo whispered to them. "But maybe... maybe someday soon." They thought of their mother, warm and safe now with medicine and food coming through the supply line. They thought of the village, connected and surviving another winter. They thought of the ancient metal deposits hidden in the peaks, of the fossilized ore that glowed in moonlight, of the half-finished mechanical structures embedded in the rock walls—evidence of a civilization that had once soared on ambitions as high as Theo's own. There would be time. There had to be time. Tomorrow, Theo would help with the supply runs. They would support their family. They would do their duty to the village. But tonight, in the quiet hours before dawn, Theo allowed themselves to believe that the wings weren't abandoned—just delayed. The compound pulley system would make the work faster. It would free up time. It would mean that maybe, just maybe, Theo could pursue the passion and support the family, not one or the other, but both. It would mean honoring both the person they were and the person they wanted to become. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, in the workshop that smelled of oil and hope, Theo Gearsmith held onto that whispered possibility and finally, peacefully, fell asleep.