Tale of the Gifted Beings

chapter 11

chapter 11

THE SHRILL SOUND OF the explosion tore through the comfortable cadence of my dreams, yanking me violently up in my bed. I bolted upright, my heart pounding as though it were trying to escape the confines of my chest. Ophelia was also awoken by the sudden boom nearby. The noise had come from below, a reverberating noise that had shaken the wooden floorboards beneath my bed.

I slipped out from under my warm covers, my bare feet touching the cold wood floor, the chill of it punctuating my confused alarm. Throwing on a worn-out dress, I padded quietly out of my room, grabbing Ophelia with me, who meowed, and following the trail of the sound that had disrupted the peaceful dawn.

Descending the grand staircase, I could smell the acrid stench of smoke sneaking its way up from the basement, like a ghost seeking an escape route. It was a bitter scent that stung my nostrils and made my eyes water. Fear and curiosity clashed within me as I headed towards the source, my heart beating a tattoo in my chest.

As I approached the basement door, I saw tendrils of smoke creeping out from beneath it, reaching for me like skeletal fingers. It was an ominous sight, but I hastily pulled the door open, the old wood creaking under my touch. There, amidst the billowing smoke and sparks of wayward electricity, stood a teenage boy, around seventeen or eighteen. He was wearing thick, round inventor's glasses, the lenses obscured by the black smoke, and a black neck tie and vest that contrasted with his white inner polo. His wavy, brownish, and golden hair was a sunlit halo in the gloom, and atop it sat an inventor's hat, low on his forehead, its brim casting a shadow over his eyes.

He lifted his glasses, and the black smoke outlined them, making them seem like two hollow orbits in his face. I stood there, mesmerized, as the smoke curled around him, painting a vivid tableau of chaos and creativity.

This must be Eli, I thought. I had overheard Mamori and Lennox speak of him, mentioning a gifted orphan boy with a hobby for inventions who locks himself in the basement.

The boy turned and spotted me in the doorway, his eyes widening slightly. "What's a pretty lady doing in my workplace?" he said, his voice a rich baritone that cut through the smoke-filled air. I stood there, wordless. "You must be the newcomer everyone was talking about. I'm Eliezer Montgomery," he added, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "But most people here call me Eli. It suits my handsome face, milady." He winked at me, a playful glint in his eyes. I felt a surge of annoyance. His casual bravado, in the face of the chaos he'd caused, was both startling and irritating. Ew.

Turning my attention away from him, I let my gaze wander around the room. It was a pandemonium of mechanical wonders; contraptions of all shapes and sizes were scattered around the room, accompanied by an assortment of mechanical toys. Gears and cogs, springs and wires, all strewn across the room, an orchestra of metal and machinery.

"Lennox told me about you, by the way. It's nice meeting you, Primrose," Eli said. "She didn't lie when she said that you looked pretty."

I didn't listen to him, though. Every piece seemed to speak of hours spent toiling in solitude, of a mind that was ceaselessly creative. As I took in the sight, a mixture of awe and apprehension filled me. This was Eli's room, a world of invention and isolation.

The dust had barely settled from Eli's latest mechanical explosion when I stepped gingerly into the basement. The air was thick with the musky scent of singed metal, swirling with particles that danced in the dim light. Eli, his face smudged with soot and his hands streaked with oil, looked up from his sweeping and flashed me an apologetic grin. "Sorry, milady," he began, his voice echoing off the bare stone walls. "I didn't mean for the smoke to bother you."