Prometheus' Flame (End)

Tia watched as "Prometheus" rose little by little, and the expression on his face made the girl feel an unfamiliarity she had never known before. She had known Prometheus for more than eight years. She was sixteen this year, and to a child her age, eight years was already a span of time impossible to forget.

She had believed she was already very familiar with Uncle Prometheus—he was a good man, dark-skinned and extremely tall, yet friendly to everyone, always optimistic and humorous. He would repair small things for the poorer people without taking payment, and he made a living by crafting exquisite artworks.

But who was this person?

Who was this man standing up, Forging Hammer in hand? His expression was stern and cold, his lips pressed tightly together. He stood where he was, doing nothing, and the darkness retreated.

Tia stared blankly at him, forgetting how to speak.

"Prometheus" lowered his head and said to her, "You need to update your understanding, child. My name is Vulkan. Of course, if you want to keep calling me Prometheus, that's fine too."

Tia still said nothing, as though she had completely lost the ability to speak. Vulkan understood how she felt—it was just a pity that the present situation did not allow Tia to slowly regain her composure.

Some steel needed a single fierce hammering to take shape, but hammering steel also required a furnace.

Vulkan went anxiously to the broken-down train and raised his head to look through the glass window into the driver's cab. A few seconds later, he reached a rather discouraging conclusion.

He did not need to draw on his rather limited mechanical knowledge to know with ease that this thing was most likely completely ruined—the reason was simple. The complex control console in the driver's