As Maximus approached from the west, the air grew thick with the familiar, chaotic energy of an alchemist hard at work... or, perhaps, *struggling* at work. Mirielle, Borion's cousin, let out a long, defeated groan as the tent she was attempting to assemble collapsed again, its wooden poles splaying out like the broken legs of a dying insect. She stared at it, hands on her hips, lips pressed into a tight line as if sheer force of will might make the thing reconsider its choices. Then, as if summoned by the gods of timing themselves, a deep, unfamiliar voice cut through her latest failure. "Greetings, cousin of Borion. I hear you need assistance setting up a tent?" Mirielle spun on her heel, fully prepared to scold whoever had the nerve to witness her shame—only to stop short at the sight of the automaton standing before her. Her eyes went wide, then practically sparkled with intrigue. "Oh," she breathed, stepping closer without hesitation, eyes flicking over Maximus with barely restrained fascination. "You are *not* what I expected, but gods above am I glad to see you." She reached out instinctively, then hesitated—*manners, Mirielle, manners*—before letting her hands drop to her sides. "You're an automaton," she said, voice brimming with curiosity. "I know some of your kind were forged in the ancient days of war, others by more secretive hands, and yet here you are, offering to help a poor, suffering woman bested by stitched leather and poles." She placed a hand over her heart, feigning dramatic woe. "It's humiliating, truly. I am an expert in reactive chemistry, an alchemist of incredible skill, and yet *this*—" she gestured wildly at the heap of fabric— "has proven to be my greatest foe." Then, leaning in slightly, she flashed Maximus a slow, playful smile. "So yes, my dear, helpful automaton, I would love your assistance. You'd be rescuing both my tent *and* my dignity." As if to mock her, one of the tent poles slumped further, rolling pitifully onto the ground. "My name is Maximus, it is a pleasure to meet you also. Hand Fist?" He extended his metal hand for a handshake. "I don't know how I was made I was just turned on one day to help protect and defend this new city of ours." Mirielle's lips parted slightly in surprise before curling into a slow, thoroughly amused smile. "Oh, the delightful ways that could be taken," she murmured, her glowing violet eyes dancing with mirth as she placed her much smaller hand into Maximus's outstretched metal one. His grip was firm, but not crushing—precise in a way that only an automaton could be. Mirielle studied the smooth metal of his fingers, curiosity momentarily overshadowing her usual theatrics. "You don't know how you were made," she echoed, tilting her head as if turning over some grand mystery in her mind. "You were simply turned on one day and told to protect a city?" Her lips twitched, barely suppressing a chuckle. "Well, I suppose we have that in common. I, too, was dropped into an unfamiliar place and expected to make myself useful. Except, I imagine your process involved a lot less fumbling with tent poles." She gave his hand a small squeeze before releasing it, stepping back with a grin. "Maximus, protector of Rivermarch, I think I'm going to enjoy having you around. Now—before I get any more distracted, let's see if we can get this wretched thing standing before the Ysoki come back and start charging me extra for 'tent assembly consultation fees.'" Maximus walked over to the tent and attempted to assist. Mirielle watched with eager anticipation as Maximus moved to assist, his towering frame a stark contrast to the feeble mess of stitched leather and wooden poles before him. Surely, with his precise construction and mechanical efficiency, this ordeal would finally be put to rest. Then, with all the confidence of a being designed for order and protection, he took hold of the tent— And it immediately got worse. The structure, which had previously been a mere tangled mess, now folded inward like a dying animal. A pole bent in a way that definitely wasn't supposed to happen, one of the ropes twisted itself into a stubborn knot, and somehow, in the process, the entire thing managed to wrap around Mirielle's leg, nearly pulling her down with it. There was a long pause as she processed the disaster before her. Then, she threw back her head and cackled. "Maximus—I—oh gods—" she gasped between fits of laughter, clutching her sides as she pointed at the ruined tent. "How—how did you make it *worse*?" She tried to straighten up but kept doubling over, shaking her head as the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed her. Wiping at the corner of her eye, she took a slow breath to regain her composure, though the grin remained plastered across her face. "You know what?" she said, exhaling sharply. "I take it back. This tent has won. I concede. I am at peace with my fate." She gestured grandly at the pile of fabric and poles as though offering it a proper burial. "May it serve as a monument to our collective incompetence." She turned back to Maximus, eyes still bright with amusement. "Alright, big guy. One more try. I believe in you. Let's get this thing standing before someone walks by and assumes we were attacked by it." Maximus moved toward the disaster of a tent with mechanical precision, his towering frame casting a shadow over the mess of collapsed poles, tangled ropes, and crumpled leather. Mirielle stepped back, arms crossed, prepared to offer playful commentary should this attempt end in further ruin. But instead of a repeat of his earlier failure, Maximus executed a perfect sequence of motions. In one fluid movement, he lifted the entire structure, flipping it upright as though it weighed nothing. His hands worked with precise, calculated efficiency—pulling ropes, securing knots, and adjusting tension with the kind of mechanical grace that made it look like he had done this a thousand times before. Within seconds, the tent was no longer a hopeless disaster but a perfectly pitched shelter, standing tall and sturdy as though it had never once defied the laws of structure. Mirielle stood frozen, staring at the impossible perfection before her. She blinked. Then she turned to Maximus. Then back to the tent. Then back to Maximus. Her lips parted slightly as if to say something, but no words came out. She slowly raised a hand and gave the tent an experimental poke, as if expecting it to collapse just to spite her. It held firm. A slow, disbelieving laugh bubbled up in her throat. "What just happened?" she finally managed, her glowing violet eyes wide with something between awe and suspicion. "Did—did you just *will* this thing into order? Have you been toying with me this whole time?" She spun around in a slow circle, hands on her head, still processing. "How? How does that even—? It was a complete disaster a second ago! You saw that, right? You were *there*!" She whirled back to face him, pointing at the tent like it had personally betrayed her. "I—I don't know whether to thank you or demand an explanation. Do you just—correct reality when it doesn't go your way? Because I need to know if that's a thing you can do on command." She turned to the now-pristine tent again, eyeing it with a mixture of awe and deep suspicion. Then she exhaled, shaking her head, a slow grin tugging at her lips. "Well. I suppose I should thank you, but I am deeply, deeply unsettled by the fact that you just did *that* after all the struggling I went through." She turned back to Maximus, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Maybe I should have you assist in my alchemy next. Who knows? You might mix up a cure for death itself just by stirring the wrong way." Maximus responded in his usual calm voice, "We all get lucky sometimes, it takes me a couple times to get the hang of living beings skills." Then, a question, "Please let me know whenever if you require more assistance." "One question for you, do you posses the ability to repair a damaged note? We found a note damaged beyond repair and I need to see the message." Mirielle tilted her head at Maximus, still processing both his miraculous tent-assembling abilities and the new request he had just presented. A damaged note? Beyond repair? That was an intriguing challenge. She tapped a finger against her chin, her playful smirk shifting into something more thoughtful. "Hmmm. I'm not sure, actually. Ink can fade, parchment can burn, and some things dissolve a little too well in acid baths—hypothetically, of course." She gave him a mischievous glance before returning to her contemplation. Her fingers twitched slightly at her side, the same way they always did when her mind latched onto an alchemical puzzle. If it were anyone else asking, she might have shrugged and given a half-hearted "I'll see what I can do." But Maximus had just singlehandedly undone her most embarrassing struggle in seconds, so the least she could do was return the favor. "For you?" she finally said, her violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. "I'm willing to try." She flicked her wrist dramatically, already turning toward her alchemy kit. "No promises, though. If the note is truly 'beyond repair,' then this might take some… creative science." She paused, grinning over her shoulder. "But who knows? Maybe I'll accidentally invent the art of resurrecting lost words the way you just resurrected my faith in tent-making." Maximus handed her the note. "Worth a shot, it may be lost forever but I would like to know we tried at least." Mirielle took the note carefully from Maximus, turning it over in her hands as she examined the damage. Her sharp, alchemist's gaze traced the faded ink, the torn edges, the places where time—or perhaps something worse—had worn it nearly to nothing. She let out a thoughtful hum, tilting her head. "Alright, big guy, give me a few days. I'll come up with a plan, see what we can do. There's always *something* worth trying before we give up entirely." Then, with all the confidence of a woman who had absolutely no idea what her actual plan was yet, she flipped the note between her fingers and made a show of tucking it into her belt. Or at least, that was the plan. Before it could even settle, a gust of wind caught the fragile paper, sending it fluttering immediately toward the ground. Mirielle let out a very undignified noise as she fumbled for it, barely catching it before it landed in a rather questionable-looking puddle near her scattered alchemy vials. She clutched it to her chest, eyes wide, before slowly turning to Maximus with an awkward laugh. "…Actually, you should probably hold on to this," she said, very seriously. With a dramatic flourish, she pressed the note back into his hands. Then, motioning vaguely toward the still-pristine tent behind them and the absolute disaster that was the rest of her belongings, she added dryly, "As you can see, I am not currently an expert in keeping things where they belong." She crossed her arms, smirking. "Besides, something tells me you're a little better at keeping things intact than I am." With a final playful wink, she turned back to her mess of supplies, already mentally sorting through what she'd need for this experiment. If nothing else, it would be a very interesting few days.