Naaza slept still on the surgical cradle, her body relaxed in the slumber of anesthesia. A small cloth covered her chest, rising and falling in rhythm with each quiet breath.
Luthar stood over her with silent precision, his eyes scanning the exposed shoulder where flesh met the prepared neural interface.
Everything had been arranged for efficiency. Her vitals were stable—no tremors, no disruptions.
He examined the exposed stump—clean, healed, and newly embedded with the anchor points he had installed earlier in the week. His gaze flicked to the internal diagnostics projected on the nearby screen.
One by one, he installed the subdermal control interfaces—thin, filament-threaded plates designed to respond directly to her neural pulses. They settled along the upper thoracic region and collarbone like silent keys in an invisible lock. His gloved fingers moved with practiced ease, each connection tested as it was secured.
A soft hum pulsed beneath the table as the adaptive wiring fused with her nerve endings. The calibration readout flashed yellow—then green.
Only once the control matrix was confirmed did he retrieve the prosthetic.
A servo-skull descended in silence, presenting the arm—still wrapped in sterile cloth. Luthar unwrapped the layers with deliberate care.
It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship: streamlined, sleek, lightweight yet reinforced. The surface shimmered with a matte composite alloy—part alchemical, part engineered—designed to absorb both kinetic impact and magical interference.
He aligned the shoulder mount to the anchoring plate. There was no ceremony—just a single push, a firm click, and a low, resonant hum as the internal systems activated.
Soft lights traced through the arm's seams like veins—dim, pulse-synced. Luthar observed for a full minute, scanning for any irregularity.
But his mind kept drifting.
The cloth on her chest—it had been meant to reduce distraction. Now, he found it worse. The fabric clung too precisely to the contours it was meant to obscure. It drew the eye not away, but toward.
That was a bad decision. Perhaps he should've asked Liliruca to assist.
He dismissed the thought and turned away, peeling off his gloves and discarding them into a nearby waste unit. His boots echoed faintly across the metal floor as he moved to another console.
He sat at the auxiliary station and opened the interface.
System Module: Subspace Storage
A personal dimensional vault linked directly to him. Capable of holding objects as large as one or two battleships. Ideal for storing materials and equipment.
Estimated Retrieval Time: 20 seconds in a stable environment.
"Twenty seconds..." Remembering the reason for the upgrade, he whispered, "Do I have to put myself in a situation where I need to get items quickly from system storage?"
Of course, he would not test emergency retrieval in a live battle zone just to upgrade the speed of retrieval. Still, it was good enough, as he could just prepare some combat units and powerful shields to buy enough time to retrieve any items from the system space.
He tabbed to the next system.
System Module: Point Generator
Every blueprint decoded and every invention mastered grants accumulation points.
Current Balance: 49,837
"This world's still too backward," he murmured. "No new tech to study, barely any meaningful upgrades. If not for the stable environment, he would have already abandoned the world." d."
Still, as he continued researching genetics, divine blessings, and alchemical herbology, sooner or later he would have new technologies that would give him points.
The first priority he had was to upgrade the final dimensional stabilizer. If that succeeded, he could begin sourcing materials from outside this world—possibly as early as next week.
Just as he began drafting the framework, a soft beep echoed from the vitals monitor.
Luthar turned toward the surgical cradle.
Naaza's breathing had changed—deeper now, less controlled. Her fingers twitched once. Then again.
She stirred with a soft groan, eyes fluttering open beneath the dim glow of the overhead light.
The first thing she noticed was the cold air across her chest.
Out of instinct, she sat up sharply—dislodging the cloth.
There was a moment of perfect stillness.
Naaza blinked—once at the chill, then again as her gaze locked on him.
A shriek tore from her throat before she could process anything else.
"Why am I'm -naked?!" she cried, scarlet blooming across her cheeks.
Luthar didn't even flinch.
"Standard procedure to implant the neural interface around your shoulder and neck."
"That's your excuse?!" She snapped, scrambling to grab a nearby cloth. Her tail bristled behind her like a whip.
"You're overreacting," he replied calmly. "This was a sterile procedure. Nothing inappropriate occurred."
She had no retort. But she still clutched the cloth to her chest, cheeks flushed and breath uneven. Her pulse slowly returned to normal.
And then she noticed something else.
Her left hand held the fabric.
Her right hand was helping adjust it.
Slowly, hesitantly, she looked down.
The new arm—metallic, pale, lined with softly pulsing seams—moved with her thoughts. Fluid. Natural.
She flexed her fingers.
There was no delay. No resistance. The wrist followed. The fingers curled into a fist, then relaxed.
It didn't feel artificial. She could feel the pressure of the fabric. She could feel warmth from her own skin beneath it, even though no nerves remained.
Except for the color mismatch—it felt perfect.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"I... I can feel everything," she whispered.
"That's natural, The nerve lattice is properly aligned. I just need to apply synthetic skin to make it more realistic. Luthar said with his usual tone.
She looked down again, brushing the new arm with her real one.
"I thought it would feel... dead. Like a weight. Or like what I was using before." She continues speaking with the low voice, "Instead It feels like mine. Like I never lost it."
Luthar finally turned to face her.
She met his eyes. Something warm flickered in her expression—softer than he had ever seen.
"Thank you," she said quietly, cradling the new limb. Luthar's response was even.
"We still have a few post-installation tests," he said flatly. "If you want you may get dressed."
Naaza blinked—then snapped back to awareness.
"Could you at least turn around?! Or better yet—get out?!"
Luthar paused, genuinely considering it.
As a tech-priest, such matters were beneath concern.
But as someone building more than just machines—someone who dreamed of more—he turned without complaint.
"I'll give you a few minutes," he said. "Don't damage the calibration while dressing."
With that, he stepped out, the door hissing quietly shut behind him.