The bar was called 'The Feedback Loop,' its entrance a crumbling brick archway wrapped in live electrical current. The electricity danced around it, beautiful and lethal.

  Sign by the door: "No pacemakers, no unshielded augments, no complaints if you get zapped."

  Inside, the music hit harder. Wall of heavy-metal, brutal and beautiful at once. The crowd was all mixed up: punks, Domains, off-duty corporate grunts. All here for the same thing. Loud noise and cheap booze that could strip paint.

  The interior was exposed wiring that sparked when it felt like it. Tables made from old server racks. Bar top was a circuit board sealed in resin, green traces still visible under the drinks. Every surface had been tagged, burned, or carved with band names and declarations of love or war.

  "Alice! Get your ass over here!" A voice boomed from a corner booth.

  They wove through the crowd. Hands reached out to fist-bump Alice. Someone bought her a shot she downed without breaking stride. A girl with circuit-board tattoos whispered something that made her laugh loud enough to cut through the music.

  Her bandmates were a study in contrasts. The drummer, Jax, took up the entire left side of the booth. When he shifted to make room, the table scraped three inches across the floor. Four chrome arms moved independently: one drumming the table, another lifting beer, third holding a menu, fourth resting on the booth. Heat shimmer rose from his shoulder servos.

  The bassist, Kira, had her feet up, plucking notes from the air that Cole could actually hear through micro-speakers in each fingertip. Her neon-green hair left phosphorescent traces when she moved, some reactive dye responding to the bar's electrical field.

  "So this is the infamous brother." Kira’s words slightly out of sync with her lips. Telltale lag of cheap vocal modulator mixing with alcohol. "And his new, very shiny friends. You didn't tell us you were rolling with A-listers, Alice."

  Alice slid into the booth. Vinyl squeaked in protest, held together with duct tape. "They're alright. This is Cole, Lia, Lucius, Damian, and Senna. Guys, this is Jax and Kira. Try not to scare them off."

  "A-listers?" Damian straightened his jacket, running a hand through his hair.

  "Anyone who can afford matching tactical gear is A-list in Storm City," Kira explained. "Here, we make our armor from scrap and good intentions."

  Cole found himself in the booth, a glass of something that smelled like jet fuel in his hand. The drink sparked when he lifted it, tiny electrical arcs jumping between liquid and lips. His tongue went numb immediately. The bartender hadn't been joking about the liquid copper.

  For a few hours, he let himself just exist. He listened to his sister laugh and trade stories with her band, watched Damian and Lucius get into another pointless but passionate argument about pre-war versus post-war engine mechanics, and saw Lia and Senna in a quiet, intense conversation about optimal firing positions in the bar if things went sideways. Even relaxing, they were planning.

  "...so if someone comes through that door, I take the left flank while you—" Senna was saying, her fingers tracing patterns on the sticky table.

  "Senna," Lia interrupted, "we're at a dive bar in Storm City, not infiltrating a Corpo black site."

  "Can't be too careful," Senna replied. "Besides, you're the one who checked if that support beam could hold your weight when we walked in."

  "That's different. That's just... being observant."

  "You were planning an escape route."

  "Professional habit," Lia said, taking a sip of her drink. "Unlike someone who's been watching that couple at the bar like they're a reality show."

  Senna's tattoos flickered slightly. "She keeps checking her phone and he hasn't noticed her new haircut. It's not going to end well."

  "You're impossible."

  "Says the woman who's been heating her drink with her forge-ports because it's not warm enough."

  Lia looked down at her glass, which was indeed steaming slightly. "It tastes better warm."

  "Just order it hot next time."

  "They don't know how to make it right."

  "So you're manually heating it?"

  Senna pulled out a thermometer and pointed it at the glass. "Sixty degrees over ambient. You're distilling it."

  "It's barely simmering."

  Lucius leaned over from his argument with Damian. "Are you two seriously debating drink temperature? There's a fight about to break out in the pit and you're missing it."

  "There's always a fight about to break out," Senna said. "That's why it's called the pit."

  Alice laughed, watching them all bicker. "Is it always like this with you guys?"

  "Usually there's more violence," Cole admitted.

  "And more fire," Lia added.

  "And definitely more running," Senna contributed.

  "But yeah," Lucius grinned, "basically like this but with a higher chance of death."

  "Sounds fun," Jax said, all four arms moving in what might have been amusement.

  "Fun is one word for it," Senna muttered, but the corner of her mouth ticked up. She palmed a small charm from her pocket, a tiny silver gear, and slipped it into Lia's pocket while she was distracted arguing with Lucius about whose fault their last job going sideways was.

  Cole caught the slight of hand. "Another one?"

  "She melts things when she's stressed," Senna whispered back. "The gear is supposedly blessed by a Forge Domain priest."

  "Does it work?"

  "No idea, but it wasn't cheap so it better."

  "You know I can hear you both," Lia said without looking over.

  "Then you know it's because we care," Senna said innocently.

  "You care through superstition and sneaking things into pockets."

  "And you care through setting things on fire and calling it protection."

  “It’s worked so far,” Lia admitted, smirking.

  “So has my method,” Senna shot back.

  "Your method involves lucky charms that probably don't work."

  "Your method involves literally melting people's faces off."

  "Only the ones who deserve it."

  "That's a very long list."

  "Getting longer every day," Lia agreed cheerfully, then paused. "And regarding this contribution..."

  Lia pulled out the gear charm, examining it. Her forge-ports flared hot enough that the charm started glowing red in her palm. "Senna..."

  "It's for temperature regulation!" Senna pointed at the now-glowing metal. "See? Already working. That thing should've melted."

  "It's a gear."

  "A blessed gear."

  "By who?"

  "Someone... gear-related?"

  "You're making that up."

  "Look, the vendor was very convincing, and you do run hot—"

  "I run at exactly the temperature I need to."

  "Which is why you've destroyed three pairs of gloves this week."

  "Those were defective."

  "They were military grade!"

  "Clearly mislabeled."

  Cole leaned forward. "Wait, is that why I found a four-leaf clover sewn into my vest lining?"

  "That was already there," Senna said, suddenly very interested in her drink.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  "It had your initials on the back."

  "Coincidence."

  "In thread that matches your tattoo color?"

  "Very strange coincidence."

  "Senna!"

  Lucius started patting down his jacket. "Hold on, is that why my pockets feel weird?" He pulled out a small coin. "I thought I was going crazy finding random change everywhere."

  "Those are lucky coins," Senna protested. "Different thing entirely."

  "You've been reverse-pickpocketing us?" Lia asked, torn between amusement and exasperation.

  "It's not reverse-pickpocketing if it's helpful," Senna argued. "Besides, Lucius, you've avoided three lightning backlashes since I started adding those coins."

  "That's because I got better at controlling my power!"

  "Or because you have sixteen lucky coins distributed throughout your clothing."

  "Sixteen?!"

  "Nineteen actually. You haven't found them all yet."

  "Senna, you can't just—" Lucius started.

  "Remember when you didn't get electrocuted during that thunderstorm last month?"

  "That was skill!"

  "That was the rubber-lined penny I put in your boot."

  Lucius stared at her, his chrome arm sparking. "You... there's rubber in my boot right now?"

  "Has been for three weeks. You're welcome."

  Kira was laughing so hard she nearly fell off her seat. "You people are insane. She's literally been secretly protecting you with trinkets and you're complaining?"

  "It's the principle," Lia said, smiling. "Also, Senna, how much have you spent on this?"

  Senna mumbled something.

  "What?"

  "Maybe a month's salary. Or two."

  "SENNA!"

  A nearby table had stopped their conversation to watch. One of them, a woman with probability tattoos crawling up her neck, leaned over. "She putting charms on you too?"

  "You know about this?" Lia asked.

  "I've been watching her slip trinkets to half the Domains in this bar as she walks by." The local pulled out a small washer proudly. "Got this blessed turbine part. Made an impossible ricochet shot at the pool table to win."

  "See?" Senna said triumphantly. "It's basically a public service. Look, you're all still alive, aren't you? I'd call that a worthy investment."

  There was a pause as everyone considered this.

  "That's what I thought. Now, who wants to help me pick out protection charms for our next job? I'm thinking something with bears. Bears are lucky, right?"

  "Bears are terrifying," Damian corrected.

  "Terrifyingly lucky?"

  "You just added an adverb and hoped for the best."

  "Everything's a thing if you believe hard enough." Senna was already searching for bear-related charms.

  The conversation dissolved into laughter and more arguments about the logistics of good luck, and Cole found himself relaxing into it, caught in the familiar rhythm of friendly bickering. Around them, the bar pulsed with energy, music thrashing and drinks flowing.

  It was during a lull, when Alice had gone to the bar for another round and the others were debating whether Lucius's next electrocution would be his fault or the universe's when Jax leaned over to Cole. "Your sister, she saved our asses. We were nobody before she joined. Now we pack venues."

  "She's always been good at that," Cole replied, watching Alice animatedly describe a recent show to Lia. "Making people better than they thought they could be."

  Cole leaned over to his sister. "Hey, about tomorrow night," he started, his tone hesitant. "I, uh, have to work tomorrow."

  Alice's smile collapsed like someone had cut the power. The pout was immediate and expertly deployed. It was the same face she'd made when he'd missed her high school graduation for a bounty hunt.

  "Work? Cole, you just got here! Your first night! The concert is in two days, I thought we'd hang out, go to that Thai-German fusion place you like by the old capacitor station..." She remembered his favorite restaurant from years ago. Of course she did.

  "I know, and I'm sorry," feeling a familiar pang of guilt. "It's a one-night gig. Babysitting some corporate exec. It's easy, but the pay is good." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "It's these jobs, Alice. It's how I could send you the credits for the guitar, no questions asked. This life... everything costs."

  Her expression softened. The pout vanished, replaced by a weary understanding that was older than her years. She'd been seventeen when their parents died, had watched him take any job, no matter how dangerous, to keep them afloat.

  "Yeah," she said quietly. "I know." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Okay, fine. But you're making it up to me. You have to buy the first ten rounds after the show."

  "Deal," he said, relieved. "And hey, you won't be alone. I'm leaving Damian with you. He'll keep you company."

  Across the table, Damian, who had been listening with one ear, perked up. His eye actually swiveled independently to focus on them while his other eye watched Lucius. "I am an excellent chaperone. I'm responsible, mature—"

  "You woke up in a noodle cart just a few days ago," Cole pointed out.

  "It was a very nice noodle cart," Damian sniffed. "The owner makes the best pho in the lower district. I was conducting important culinary research."

  "Is that what we're calling blacking out now?" Senna asked.

  Alice laughed, the tension broken. "Alright, I can handle him. It's a date."

  "Not a date," Damian clarified a little too quickly, glancing at Cole. "A... platonic hanging out. With your sister. Who is very nice but also very much your sister and therefore completely, ethically, and legally off-limits."

  "Smooth," Kira commented with a predatory grin. "Real smooth. That recovery had about as much grace as a three-legged cat on ice. By the way, Mr. A-lister," she said, turning her sharp eyes to Cole, the green of her hair casting strange shadows across her face in the bar's flickering light, "how far along are you in your Domain?"

  Cole hadn't checked since the morning after he first ascended; there was no real point. From everything he had been told, progress took months, even years. Kai had drilled it into him: 'Expect five percent per month if you're lucky and don't die.'

  Still, he focused on the rune on his hand and willed the interface to appear. Cool, blue light projected into the air in front of him, forming the familiar lines of his status screen.

  He remembered the number clearly from a week ago: 0.35%. A rookie's number. The kind that made veteran Domains pat you on the head and tell you to be patient.

  Now, the text read: [RUNE STATUS: 3.6% CORE PURIFIED]

  Cole blinked. The number didn't change. He dismissed the interface and pulled it up again. Still 3.6%.

  "Holy shit," he breathed, unable to hide his shock.

  Noticing the look in his eyes, Damian asked, “Much lower than you think? Don’t worry, man, I have heard it can take some time.”

  “It says… 3.6% progression,” Cole’s voice quiet with disbelief.

  The effect was immediate. Lucius's drink stopped halfway to his mouth. Lia's forge-ports dimmed to nothing. Even the ever-composed Senna's eyes widened, her usual calm expression replaced with genuine shock.

  The booming music of the bar seemed to fade into background static.

  The silence was broken by Senna.

  "Bullshit."

  "No, she's right. That's not possible." Lucius set his glass down with a thud. "The highest I ever saw someone jump in a week was 1.61%."

  "Are you sure that's not a glitch?" Lia’s eyes fixed on Cole. "A diagnostic error?"

  “See it for yourself,” Cole responded.

  Cole flicked his wrist and sent the data packet to the three of them to see. The authentication codes were all there. No spoofing, no errors. Just an impossible number glowing in their visual fields.

  "Is that… fast?" Alice sensed the sudden tension. She'd stopped mid-sip of her own drink, her musician's instincts picking up on the sudden discord in the group's energy.

  "Fast doesn't cover it," Lia breathed, her eyes wide as the data scrolled in her own vision. "You’re lucky if you get five percent a month. 3.6% in a week? That’s blazing."

  "Not only blazing, should be next to impossible," Senna’s voice dropping to a low, intense tone Cole had never heard before. She was pulling up every known record on Domain advancement, her expression a mixture of disbelief and intense focus. "Everyone knows how it works. You pray, you fight, you slowly build your connection. Lia's right, five percent in a month is a great run."

  "And the rest?" Alice asked. Her hand had found Cole's under the table, squeezing, a protective gesture from their childhood.

  "There are always outliers," Senna replied, not looking up from her screen. "People with a freakishly high compatibility to their god. But no one has ever been this fast. The fastest ever recorded was a Forge, Maria Aves. She hit ten percent in her first month. The strain cooked her from the inside out. She was dead a week later. You're on pace to shatter her record."

  "Maybe I'm just special, I definitely don’t feel any kind of strain." Cole tried for levity that fell flat.

  "Maybe the Watcher in Glass really just likes him," Lucius laughed, trying to break the tension. But even his laughter sounded forced, uncertain.

  "That's not how this works," Senna said simply, shutting him down. "Deities don't play favorites. Something else is going on here."

  Kira and Jax had gone quiet, recognizing they were witnessing something significant even if they didn't fully understand it. The rest of the bar ran on its standard loop. Patrons showing off, music pounding, drinks flowing, but their table had become an island of tense silence.

  "Guess… cheers to being lucky, then." Cole raised his glass. The movement felt hollow, performative.

  They cheered, but as he met the eyes of his teammates, he saw their expressions. It was wariness, a deep unease. His rapid progression was an anomaly. And in their world, anomalies were dangerous.

  "This changes things," Lia said quietly. "If word gets out about your progression rate..."

  "Every corp in the city will want to dissect him," Lucius finished. "Literally."

  "Or recruit him," Senna added. "Forcibly."

  Cole felt the weight of their words. He'd just become infinitely more valuable, and infinitely more vulnerable.

  Alice, sensing the mood needed salvaging, raised her own glass. "Well, whatever it means, my brother's always been weird. Remember when you were eight? You were convinced you could talk to pigeons."

  "They were responding to patterns in my movements," Cole protested, grateful for the deflection.

  "Sure they were," Alice grinned, but her eyes stayed worried. "That's why Mrs. Luis found you on the roof doing that weird dance surrounded by fifty of them, all cooing in unison."

  The night wore on after that. At one point, a bar fight broke out between two Storm Domains in the pit below. Raw electricity arcing between them, making the lights flicker. The bartender didn't even look up, just flipped a switch. Thick rubberized barriers rose around their section, transparent and insulated.

  "Amateur hour," he muttered, kept pouring drinks.

  For the first time, Cole saw his two worlds sitting in the same booth. The gritty, loyal bonds of his past. The high-stakes alliances of his future. All arguing over music and engines. It felt good. It felt right.

  They finally spilled out into Storm City's static-charged air, the storm overhead rumbling its approval. Cole clapped his sister on the shoulder.

  "I'll see you at the show," he said, pulling her into a hug that lifted her off her feet. Something he'd been doing since she was five.

  "You better be in the front row, big brother," she called back, before disappearing into the neon haze with Damian. "And try not to get killed before then! I already lost one person to this city's bullshit. I'm not losing you too!"

  She said it like a joke, but her voice cracked on the last word. In the stuttering neon, he saw her wipe her eyes before vanishing around a corner.

  Lia motioned for the rest of them. "Our hotel's this way. We brief for the Sentinel Tech job in the morning."

  Walking through the streets, Cole felt the weight of his two lives settle on his shoulders. His new legs adjusted automatically, redistributing the load. But no amount of chrome could lighten emotional weight.

  For the first time though, it didn't feel like a burden. Felt like solid ground beneath his feet.

  Behind them, lightning struck. The flash illuminated everything for one brilliant second. In that moment, Cole saw their reflections in a puddle: four Domains and the shadow of who he used to be, all walking forward together.

  Wake Up Cultivator, We've Got Young Masters to Shoot

  In the end, even immortals will fall before the Dao of Artificing.