Timmy cleansed his hands for the forty-seventh time in the last hour. His mana levels had declined, his movements growing jerky.

"Wasting mana for hygiene? Ridiculous." Griselda watched him burn away small amounts of trash sludge. "Get this in your head, child. Mana is your lifeline! Not your soap bar!"

Timmy replied with the same sentence he did before. "Presentable... appearance is... imperative."

"If you say that one more time, I'm going to smack you and whoever programmed that nonsense into you."

Despite her grumbling, her wide grin and the skip in her step betrayed her mood. She navigated the narrow, trash-laden alleyways of the slum with age-defying agility. The makeshift sack slung over her shoulder swayed each time her cane tapped the ground, and she hummed a tune.

He identified it: We've Struck Mold!—a popular song amongst alchemists. His data about the song contained glitches, so he reconstructed the melody by cross-referencing her notes with his records.

"Gold's for fools, audacious and bold," she sang off-key, but with confidence. "Fortune's found where the sludge grows mold!"

He inferred that her behavior indicated joy, likely because of the surplus mold he'd collected—double the amount she'd needed.

Plaguerot slime mold was a fascinating specimen. It only grew on the alchemical waste products produced by making a certain feel-good potion called Harmony. He'd memorized the gaseous emissions profile of the Harmony dregs and located the mold with quick precision.

If she hadn't kept pressing him to go faster, he would've recharged enough mana from the atmosphere to complete the task with no aftereffects. Based on his calculations, if he'd slowed his collection rate by around thirty percent, he'd have achieved equilibrium.

He kept his pace with her as they traveled through the slums, his movements lacking the sleek finesse they had at full mana. His stumbling bordered on being unpresentable, but he kept the words to himself. He didn't care if she smacked him, but if she harmed his master... he must eliminate the threat.

A large, conspicuous building came into his field of vision. Shimmering, aquamarine mana barriers enclosed the entire grounds, forming a dome overhead. Within its bounds, a fence of hedges surrounded a courtyard with an enormous statue of a woman at its center. Behind it stood a brick building carrying the sign House of Healing. It had a notable infestation of an ivy with a powder-blue blush covering each leave's veins.

He identified it—Hedera seneritas, 'Sweet dream ivy'—a plant that exudes an aroma that induces calmness and improves sleep. A practical choice of plant for the hospital to cultivate.

There was no gateway, only a gap between hedges. Timmy awaited instruction.

"Well, get moving," Griselda said, giving him a shove.

Timmy braced for the barrier's resistance, but as his hand met it, his fingers slipped through like mist. Then came the pressure—a foreign force snaking through his body.

Warning! Unknown magical interference detected in mana circuit.

He jerked his hand back and retreated.

"What are you doing? Get back in there." Griselda slapped his back and shoved him again, harder.

The intrusive presence returned, worming through his circuits, examining him from head to toe. He attempted to expel it with his mana, but it only made the force more aggressive.

"Let it scan you, boy. It detects intent," Griselda explained. "If you're planning trouble—stealing, vandalism, murder, the usual—it will make you wish you were never born. Well, uh, created. We should be fine... unless I've misjudged you." She smiled.

Timmy hesitated, then stepped forward. He was allowed through.

As they passed into the courtyard, he studied the statue at its center. A robed woman with her arms outstretched in blessing—Mother Sylarus. It felt powerful, though not through mana. He wanted to examine what this energy was. But...

"Now, tell me, child. How bad is the damage to your spellforms?"

He scanned through his information banks, calculating the percentage of malformed data. "Approximately 60% of records contain corruption."

Griselda sighed. "I'll be blunt. I can't trust you with precise tasks like alchemy, and I sure as hell can't trust you to move or flip patients without maiming them. Your intentions are good, but you are a walking disaster without proper knowledge and self-control."

"Until I can trust you with more," Griselda continued, "you'll start by doing something simple—reading. The hospital has a whole basement full of books. Alchemy recipes, ritual notes, even romantic fiction."

Reading... was a behavior that didn't come naturally to him. After all, he had all the basic knowledge in the world in his protocol. Well, at least he should. His records had more ᛃᛇ⛦⦿⧊ than comprehensible data.

Perhaps... he ought to initiate a habit of reading.

"Could you quantify my work objectives and inform me of any policies and procedures?"

"Well, let's see. You're a golem, so fourteen hours of reading per day should be reasonable. As for the other rules...don't touch anything in the lab, don't maim my patients."

Timmy added these to his directive, specifying definitions as he saw fit.

Tertiary Objective: Read to a quota of 14 hours per day. Progress 0/14.

New Directive: Do not touch anything in the lab. Items in other areas are permissible to be touched.

New Directive: Do not maim patients.

Specific Definition Required.

Maim: Damage that removes or destroys critical body parts (brain, heart, lungs, liver, spinal column), causes 20% or more blood to be lost, or injuries that cause immediate death (including but not limited to beheading, ritual sacrifice, and soul detachment).

"My directives have been registered."

"Good." Griselda gave him a sideways glance.

They stepped into the hospital's lobby. Two young women whispered to each other behind a desk, shelves of potions behind them. A row of chairs seated a few individuals with cuts, broken bones, and minor curses, waiting for treatment.

Griselda urged him into a hallway on the left, and down a flight of stairs into a dungeon-like passageway lit by lightstones on the ceiling. A large stone door with inscriptions carved into it blocked the way.

"All our patients are upstairs—chronic illnesses on the second floor, minor wounds on the first. Downstairs, we have the lab, the ritual room and the library."

She pressed her hand on the door, making a magical text-entry interface appear in front of it. After typing a few numbers and symbols, the lock opened.

"Wait here. I have to put the mold into cold storage."

He watched her enter a room where two robed individuals worked. A distillation assembly bubbled, filling the room with a greenish mist. It was the alchemy lab he was forbidden to touch. He turned away to kill his curiosity about the room, though the urge to catalogue the ingredients gnawed at him. Griselda returned a moment later.

They continued down the hall, entering a large chamber where there was a large stone slab with a large circle and runic patterns engraved. A young woman knelt on the slab, painting over the carved lines with a brush dipped in lemon-yellow pigment. In the circle's center, a man lay beside his own severed arm, his face pale and clammy. A thick leather strap bound his shoulder, slowing the blood loss, but his breathing was ragged.

Timmy scanned the circle's structure. The engravings contained sequences of runes related to life transfer, restoration, and equal exchange—meaning restoring the arm would require a toll. His data on ritual magic was fragmented, but one thing was certain: the backlash would be severe.

"That's my daughter, Lana." Griselda whispered. "Don't have any strange thoughts about her."

Timmy processed the instruction.

New Directive: Do not have strange thoughts about Lana.

'Strange thoughts' have not been defined. Assumed meaning: Do not disagree with Lana.

Lana, oblivious to the remark, completed the last stroke. Setting the brush aside, she pressed both hands against the circle and poured her mana into it.

The engraved lines ignited in a glow matching the paint's color and hummed. Light spread outward, enveloping the patient in a glowing cocoon.

His arm jerked toward the stump, flesh knitting together at an unnatural speed. Muscles fused, bone reconnected, and veins merged, restoring the arm into perfect form. Even the lost blood seemed to return, his complexion flushing red. He flexed his fingers, smile growing as if he'd never been in pain.

But Lana shrieked, her own arm slumping to her side. It remained attached, but the fingers went limp, unresponsive. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she clenched her jaw.

Diagnosis: Temporary restriction of radial, ulnar and median nerves. Arm function ceased.

"This is the cost of ritual healing. It can accomplish wondrous things, but the more severe the condition, the worse the backlash." Griselda walked over to support Lana.

"I know this isn't a great time for introductions, but this is Timmy. He's a bit... damaged. He'll be staying in the library until further notice."

Lana stared at Timmy, then at her mother. "Have you gone senile?"

"How rude. I'll have you know that I'd passed my last cognitive ability exam with the scores of a forty-year-old." Griselda huffed.

Lana let out a tired sigh. "And you didn't bribe the proctor this time?"

"I would never." Griselda gave up and turned toward the patient. "I'll take care of his exit procedure. You show Timmy the library."

"Fine." Lana approached Timmy and poked his chassis with her good hand.

"Let's go, tin can."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vextra watched her master yawn as he completed the construction of yet another empty golem shell. The thirtieth of such he'd crafted in the last few days.

"Master, your dinner is ready," Vextra droned.

"Throw it away! I'm busy," he snapped.

Vextra felt a little disappointed. The skipped meals were adding up. Alu's muscle density declined and more of his black hairs could be found within the floor's sweepings. His eyes sagged with darkened circles below them. It pained Vextra to see him in such a condition.

She'd even prepared his favorite. Shepherd's pie with minced alpaca meat, topped with chopped chives. She hoped that the smell could trigger his appetite and make him hungry again.

But, alas, it wouldn't work. Ever since he'd failed to craft the golem general, he'd started working himself to death.

When Vextra dragged away the golem, she felt his mana sparking, then fizzling out, in a repeated cycle. She thought perhaps he might have enough life in him to come back from the grave. Reuniting him with Alu might be the only way to ease Alu's pain.

She knew Alu saw her as an outdated relic, unworthy of even receiving an upgrade. But she didn't mind. She would prove her worth and earn her master's recognition some day.

Vextra left for the dining hall to perform her command. It was such a shame to dispose of the pie she'd painstakingly crafted for him. But, "throw it away" was such a vague command that she could do almost anything with it, as long as she removed it from the table. She bundled the dish and placed it in a carrying compartment in her chassis.

Then, she piled up the week's garbage into a wheelbarrow. She shook her head at the twelve empty vials of Productive Night potions within. They forced away sleep and increased blood flow and virility. Alu only took advantage of the first two aspects, using it to construct golems late into the night.

As she walked out of the tower and into the inner city, people scrunched their noses and stepped aside. It was a normal sight for mechanical constructs to carry trash here, but the residents still looked at it with disdain. Vextra cared little of their glares and headed down the well-paved streets toward the outskirts.

She spotted Hengley's Orphanage along the way. Her chest compartment opened, and she dropped the pie at the door. She felt good knowing that someone might appreciate the pie, rather than it rotting away.

The dump came within sight, with all of its hills of festering byproducts of human society. She dragged the cart to a suitable location and dumped the contents. Then, she went to the spot where she'd disposed of the general golem.

She didn't need to reach the dumping site before she saw the majestic golden mana hanging in the air around the region.

In the spot she'd buried him, the traces showed that he'd expelled a sizeable quantity of mana. Perhaps he had to defend himself from scrappers? They probably got turned into meat paste and burnt into ash, she judged by the large quantities of elemental carbon. Other smaller traces scattered around the dump, near alchemical waste products.

Her design lacked proper skills for detective work, but it didn't take a genius to figure out the golem woke up and left the dump.

The general was alive! She had to tell her master this immediately. Surely, it would be enough to cure his ails and earn his love.