One year has passed.That morning, the city was not woken up by curfew sirens or tear gas hisses. Instead, the sound of music from a gramophone echoed in the square, answering the hammer clinks of workers rebuilding the East Sector connecting bridge. The air no longer smelled, but rather of fresh bread and steam billowing from public heating pipes that were now free for anyone.In an open workshop on the outskirts of the palace wing, a fifteen-year-old young man was kneeling on an oil-stained floor. His face was splattered with engine grease, and his hands which were now muscular and calloused were busy adjusting a pressure valve on a steam prosthetic leg for a war veteran.Valerius Alaric. The people no longer called him the "Lost Prince". On the streets, they knew him as the "Shadow Mechanic"."Done," muttered Valerius then wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "Try moving it, Silas."Silas, the old man who used to climb the ice mountain with him, moved his new