Scrap Artists
The Deep Blue Sting
The workshop was the only place where the world made sense to Pyra. Here, the laws of thermodynamics outweighed the laws of social etiquette, and if something didn't fit, you could just melt it until it did. She was hunched over her latest project, the Hex-Com, trying to integrate the sun-drop nectar Flynn had "borrowed" from the royal gardens.
Wren sat on a stool nearby, meticulously sorting copper washers by size. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the hiss of Pyra’s soldering iron and the occasional rhythmic tapping of Wren’s combat boots against the rungs of her stool.
"Almost there, Tiny," Pyra whispered, her orange eyes reflecting the swirling indigo and gold liquid inside the glass conduit. "If this works, I’m not just calling Dad. I’m going to see if I can bypass the barrier’s feedback loop entirely. No more static. Just... him."
Wren looked up and signed, *Dad will be proud.*
Pyra smiled, though it was tight. "Yeah. Or he'll tell me I’m wasting my time on shiny rocks when I should be building a better throne. You never really know with him."
The air in the room suddenly shifted. It didn't get cold—it got heavy. The humidity spiked in a heartbeat, the scent of ozone and drying kelp replacing the familiar smell of grease and burnt metal. Pyra straightened up, her hand instinctively hovering over a heavy wrench.
"Wren, get behind the workbench," Pyra commanded, her voice dropping an octave.
Wren didn't hesitate. She saw the flick of blue fire at the tips of Pyra’s braids and scrambled into the reinforced crawlspace beneath the heavy oak table.
A puddle began to form in the center of the room. It wasn't leaking from the ceiling; it was rising from the floorboards, a dark, briny pool that shimmered with an unnatural, bioluminescent light. From the center of the water, a shape began to coalesce—a creature made of solidified sea foam and jagged coral, with eyes that glowed like deep-sea vents.
It was a Skolopendra—a miniature, vengeful version of the sea monsters that guarded the deeper trenches of the Mediterranean.
"Poseidon," Pyra spat, her palms igniting with bright blue flames. "Of course. My dad misses one child support payment three thousand years ago and the 'God of the Sea' sends a hit-squad to a high school."
The creature didn't speak. It lunged.
Pyra threw a ball of compressed Underworld fire, hitting the beast in its translucent chest. The steam hissed, filling the room with a blinding white fog. She didn't wait to see if it worked. She grabbed a prototype gravity-glove from the rack and slipped it on, the metal clinking against her scarred knuckles.
"Stay down, Wren!" she yelled, diving to the left as a whip-like tentacle made of pressurized water shattered her stool.
The Skolopendra was fast, moving with a fluid grace that defied the cramped quarters of the workshop. It wasn't just mindless magic; it was a targeted strike. It ignored the expensive equipment and the glowing Hex-Com. It wanted her.
Pyra fired another blast, but the creature swiped through the flames, its coral claws clicking. It pinned her against the back wall, the weight of the water-mass crushing the breath from her lungs.
"You want a piece of the Underworld?" Pyra growled, her eyes turning a blinding, molten gold. "Take the whole damn pit!"
She slammed her hands together, creating a shockwave of blue fire that sent the creature reeling back. But as it fell, it lashed out one last time. A jagged spine of enchanted coral, sharp as a diamond and dripping with a dark, paralytic venom, whipped through the air.
Pyra raised her hand to shield her face.
There was no sound at first. Just a sudden, sickening coldness.
Pyra looked down. The coral spine had sheared through her middle finger on her right hand, severing it cleanly at the second knuckle before burying itself in the wall behind her.
The scream stayed trapped in her throat as the shock hit her like a physical blow. Her vision swam. The world turned into a blur of blue sparks and gray fog. She felt her knees hit the floor, her hand clutched to her chest, the blood—dark and shimmering with gold flecks—seeping through her fingers.
The creature hissed, preparing for a final strike, its watery form looming over her.
*No!*
Wren hadn't stayed under the table. The little girl had emerged, holding a heavy fire extinguisher like a club. She didn't have magic, and she didn't have weapons, but she had a terrifying amount of protective rage. She slammed the canister into the creature’s central core, the impact momentarily disrupting its form.
"Wren... run..." Pyra gasped, but her voice was a thready whisper. The venom in the coral was already working, turning her veins to ice.
The door to the workshop burst open.
"Pyra? I heard a—"
Flynn froze. He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: the shattered workshop, the shimmering sea monster, Wren swinging a fire extinguisher, and Pyra collapsed on the floor, cradling a mangled, bleeding hand.
The "charming prince" vanished. In his place was the son of a thief and a survivor.
Flynn didn't reach for a sword. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a heavy glass vial of highly flammable turpentine he used for cleaning brushes. He smashed it against the creature’s head and, in the same motion, grabbed a blowtorch from the nearby bench.
"Get away from her!" he roared, pulling the trigger.
The turpentine ignited, fueled by the residual blue magic still hanging in the air. The Skolopendra shrieked, a sound like grinding rocks, as the fire evaporated its watery essence. It collapsed into a harmless puddle of salt and steaming kelp.
Flynn didn't spare the puddle a second glance. He was across the room in two strides, dropping to his knees beside Pyra.
"Pyra? Pyra, look at me!"
Her eyes were rolled back, her skin a ghostly shade of gray. Wren was already there, tears streaming down her face, frantically signing *Stars, stars, stay with the stars* over and over again, her hands shaking so hard the signs were barely legible.
Flynn looked at her hand. His stomach did a slow, sickening roll, but he forced himself to stay calm. He’d seen his father handle worse during their "adventures." He ripped the silk cravat from his neck—the one his mother had insisted he wear for the Tourney celebration—and tied it tightly around Pyra’s wrist to stem the bleeding.
"Wren, I need you to go to the infirmary," Flynn said, his voice low and urgent. "Don't find a nurse. Find Fairy Godmother. Tell her... tell her the Sea King sent a message. Go!"
Wren hesitated for only a second before bolting out the door, her small boots thundering down the hallway.
Flynn gathered Pyra into his arms, pulling her head against his shoulder. She was shivering violently, her breath coming in ragged hitches.
"I've got you," he whispered, his own voice cracking. "I've got you, Sparky. Just stay with me."
"Flynn?" she murmured, her eyes fluttering open for a brief moment. They weren't orange or gold; they were a dull, pained brown. "It... it took my finger. I need that for... for the wires."
"We'll fix it," Flynn promised, though his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "I don't care about the wires. I care about you."
"Hurts," she breathed, her head lolling back. "Cold. So cold."
"I know. I know." He held her tighter, trying to share his warmth. He looked at the severed piece of coral in the wall and the blood on the floor, and for the first time in his life, Flynn Fitzherbert felt a genuine, murderous hatred for the gods of Olympus.
***
The infirmary was a blur of white light and the sharp scent of medicinal herbs.
Fairy Godmother had arrived within minutes, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a grim, focused intensity. She had worked a powerful stasis spell to neutralize the venom, but the physical damage was done.
Pyra lay on the bed, her hand heavily bandaged. She was drifting in and out of a drug-induced sleep, her face pale against the pillows.
Flynn hadn't left her side. He sat in the chair next to the bed, his clothes stained with soot and blood, his sketchbook forgotten on the floor. Wren was curled up in the corner of the oversized armchair, clutching the glowing Hextech crystal Pyra had given her.
The door opened quietly. Mal stepped in, followed by Ben.
Mal looked like she’d been crying. She walked to the edge of the bed, looking down at her sister. "Fairy Godmother told me what happened. Poseidon?"
"He’s always been the most petty of the brothers," Ben said softly, his hand resting on Mal’s shoulder. "He probably saw Pyra’s progress and decided to remind Hades that he’s still in charge of the 'real' world."
"He sent a monster into a school," Mal hissed, her purple hair beginning to spark. "He hurt my sister."
Flynn looked up, his amber eyes hard. "He didn't just hurt her. He tried to break her. She’s an inventor, Mal. She lives through her hands. He knew exactly what he was taking."
Wren hopped down from the chair and walked over to Mal. She tapped Mal’s hand and then pointed to the bed.
*Pyra is strong,* Wren signed. *Fire doesn't break.*
Mal swallowed hard, nodding. "You're right, kid. She’s the strongest person I know."
Hours passed. The moon rose over the castle, casting long, silver shadows across the ward. Ben and Mal had been forced to leave to handle the fallout with the school board, but Flynn remained. He had finally picked up his sketchbook, but he wasn't drawing. He was just staring at a blank page.
A soft groan came from the bed.
Flynn was on his feet instantly. "Pyra? You awake?"
Pyra’s eyes opened slowly. She blinked at the ceiling, then at Flynn. She tried to move her right hand, but the heavy bandages and the dull ache stopped her. She looked down at the white gauze, her expression unreadable.
"It’s gone, isn't it?" she asked, her voice raspy.
Flynn sat on the edge of the mattress. He didn't try to lie to her. "The middle one. Fairy Godmother saved the rest of the hand, but the coral was... it was enchanted, Pyra. It wouldn't let the magic knit the bone back."
Pyra stared at the bandage for a long time. A single tear escaped, tracing a path through the soot still on her cheek. "I’m a nine-fingered freak now. Great. Like I didn't have enough issues."
"You're not a freak," Flynn said, his voice thick with emotion. He reached out and gently took her left hand, the one that wasn't hurt. "You're a survivor. And if you think a missing finger is going to stop you from building things, then you don't know yourself as well as I do."
Pyra looked at him, her orange eyes flickering back to life, though they were dimmed by pain. "I can't even hold a soldering iron properly like this, Flynn. My balance is off. My magic... it feels jagged."
"Then we'll build you a new one," Flynn said firmly.
Pyra blinked. "What?"
"You're the genius inventor, remember?" Flynn reminded her, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "You build prosthetics for everyone else. You built that mechanical wing for the injured crow last week. You built the clockwork dragon. So, we’ll build you a finger. A better one. One that can channel your fire without burning you. One that has a built-in screwdriver for all I care."
Pyra let out a weak, shaky laugh. "A built-in screwdriver? You’re such a dork."
"Maybe," Flynn shrugged. "But I’m your dork. And I’m not letting you quit."
Wren appeared at the side of the bed, her face lighting up when she saw Pyra was awake. She climbed up and sat by Pyra’s hip, carefully avoiding the bandaged hand.
*Hero stars,* Wren signed, pointing to the bandages.
"No, Tiny," Pyra whispered, reaching out with her good hand to ruffle Wren’s hair. "Just a very unlucky mechanic."
"You saved her," Flynn reminded her. "If you hadn't fought that thing off, it would have gone for Wren. You're a hero, Pyra. Whether you want to be or not."
Pyra closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the pillow. The pain was still there, a constant, throbbing reminder of what she’d lost, but the coldness in her chest was starting to thaw.
"My dad is going to be furious," she muttered. "He hates Poseidon. He’s probably trying to find a way to sue the ocean right now."
"Let him," Flynn said. "In the meantime, you’re staying here. Fairy Godmother is putting extra wards on the workshop, and Ben is personally overseeing the security."
"I don't need a bodyguard, Flynn."
"Too bad," Flynn said, leaning forward until his forehead rested against hers. "Because you’ve got one. And he’s very persistent. And he has a very annoying habit of following people around until they feed him."
Pyra looked at him, seeing the exhaustion in his eyes and the blood on his shirt—her blood. She realized then that he hadn't left her for a second. He had fought a monster for her. He had stayed in the dark with her.
"Flynn?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for the turpentine."
He laughed, a soft, warm sound that filled the quiet room. "Anytime, Sparky. Anytime."
Wren watched them, her dark eyes moving between the two of them. She reached out and placed her hand over theirs, forming a small circle of warmth in the sterile room.
Pyra looked at the three of them—a broken inventor, a reckless prince, and a silent menace. She thought about her father’s words: *Don't let the Isle tell you who you're supposed to be.*
The Isle told her she was a villain. Auradon told her she was a project. Poseidon told her she was a target.
But as she looked at Flynn and Wren, Pyra realized they were the only ones who were right.
She was loved.
She wasn't whole, and she wasn't perfect, and she was currently missing a piece of herself that she might never get back. But as the blue fire flickered weakly in her palm, casting "pretty stars" against the hospital walls, Pyra knew she wasn't finished.
She was just getting started.
"Flynn?" she said, her voice growing stronger.
"Yeah?"
"Hand me your sketchbook. I need to start the blueprints for the Mark One Prosthetic. And tell Wren to find my calipers. We’ve got work to do."
Flynn grinned, handing her the book and a pencil. "Yes, ma'am. Right away."
The workshop might be in ruins, and the gods might be watching, but in the quiet of the infirmary, Pyra of the Underworld began to draw. She drew wires and gears, crystals and nectar. She drew a future where she wasn't defined by what was taken, but by what she chose to build in its place.
And beside her, the prince and the child watched the stars come out.