Joel had been planning the creation of an industrial sector within the shelter for years. It wasn't a sudden idea or a whim born of enthusiasm, but a necessity that had gradually taken shape over time. In his vision, this space should become a place to bring all kinds of Earth technology to life. A medium-sized workshop, equipped with a wide variety of modern tools and with metallurgical capabilities advanced enough to produce large-scale artifacts.

  It all began with his conjuring of the first working tools: advanced measuring instruments, calipers, precision rulers, portable power tools, and a surprising number of programmable electronic components.

  These objects quickly became the foundation for Joel and Nana's collaborative work, allowing them to design and build machines that couldn't simply be created from nothing through magic.

  Thus, the first functional prototypes emerged. The "Made in Gaea" electric washing machines were the most obvious example: enormous reinforced wooden barrels, fitted with electric motors and rotating systems that worked with surprising efficiency. Alongside them appeared other experiments that, while having limited practical use, proved invaluable as learning tools. These included wooden fans and small, remotely controlled wheeled vehicles. Simple mechanisms that allowed researchers to observe, understand, and refine the interaction between electricity, mechanics, and control.

  However, the real breakthrough—the exact moment everything changed—came when Nana managed to create something no one could have imagined. After a long process of studying industrial electrical applications, described in Earth's books, as well as learning from her work with mystical artifacts, she managed to design and build the world's first induction furnace.

  Something Joel had commissioned her to do long ago, and in which he participated extensively in the design process, especially regarding the design of the electrical induction coils.

  It was by no means an improvised machine, but a colossal structure: an enormous chamber made of stone and other refractory materials, assembled magically and reinforced by multiple layers of seals that stabilized and contained the heat.

  The furnace ran exclusively on the electricity Nana was able to generate. And it worked remarkably well.

  Initial tests showed that it could easily exceed four thousand degrees Celsius, a temperature high enough to melt virtually any metal known on Earth. Its capacity, slightly over a ton of material, was not monumental by modern industrial standards, but it was more than enough to start most of the projects Joel had in mind.

  For the first time, the idea of ??producing steel and other alloys in large quantities ceased to be a fantasy. This was fundamental for the production of high-capacity tools.

  In his dreams, Joel had gained direct experience in the steel industry, as well as learning to operate industrial machinery such as lathes, milling machines, and drills. This knowledge, as vivid as real memories, allowed him to design several models without much theoretical difficulty.

  Manufacturing, however, was a completely different challenge, since the tools to manufacture them were unavailable. A rather ironic dilemma if they wanted to make rapid progress.

  The solution ended up being the use of a primitive and purely magical method, as Joel ended up creating each component of the machines, carving them directly from the metal with his sword. Shafts, gears, beds, and contact surfaces were sculpted entirely by hand, using only measuring instruments as a guide. It was a complex and exhausting task, forcing him to repeat movements over and over, polishing each piece until it met the standards his memory demanded.

  Even so, his prior experience with sculpture proved decisive. Thanks to it, he was able to produce all the necessary components for a surprising variety of industrial tools.

  However, the hardest part came later. Making those machines work correctly was another story altogether. From scratch, they had to design and assemble electromechanical systems capable of withstanding enormous operating speeds. The lathe, for example, had to operate at nearly two thousand revolutions per minute without vibrations or structural failures.

  Every mistake meant disassembling, correcting, and trying again. Only with almost obsessive dedication, and by unabashedly resorting to magic in the most critical moments, did Joel and Nana finally achieve their goal: the world's first industrial machines.

  The constant, steady, and precise sound of the motors turning marked a turning point. However, even with all those machines up and running, one problem persisted. One that neither magic nor engineering could solve on its own. Aside from Joel, and perhaps Nana, they had no other operators capable of using them.

  Joel's original plan was clear and, on the surface, simple. The first generation of children from the shelter was meant to become, with time and extensive training, the human base to operate all the machinery and technology he planned to develop. Engineers, technicians, and operators capable of understanding both the logic of science and the intricacies of magic. It was a long-term, carefully considered project.

  The problem was time. They were still far from ready. Joel knew this, and deep down, he didn't want to rush them either. These children were still at a crucial stage of their development: awakening their magical affinity, consolidating their studies, and, something equally important to him, experiencing as normal a childhood as possible under the circumstances. Prematurely turning them into industrial workers was not only inefficient but cruel.

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  This drastically reduced the options. One of them was to resort to actual slaves to handle the technical work in the workshop. A functional solution, at least in theory, but with an obvious drawback: they would have to be taught too many concepts from scratch for them to work safely and efficiently. Electricity, mechanics, procedures, and protocols… it was too much.

  It was then that Nana presented an alternative. Not an improvised idea, but part of a project she had been silently developing for some time. A series of experiments aimed at creating entities similar to herself. Not exact copies, but scaled-down versions, assistants capable of helping her with the many tasks that were beginning to overwhelm her.

  The idea wasn't particularly new, since Joel had tried to recreate another version of Nana in the past. But all the attempts had ended in failure.

  And it wasn't surprising, because Nana wasn't a simple entity, an ordinary golem, or a common spirit bound to an object. In essence, she was an avatar of the shelter's consciousness. Or, more precisely, of what had once been the great house that Joel carved. An emerging consciousness, somehow impossible to reproduce, had taken possession of that iron statue, forging over time its own identity.

  She was the refuge. And the refuge was her.

  Nana's new proposal did not seek to repeat that miracle, nor to create another statue with its own identity, but to manufacture an additional body, an empty receptacle, capable of being controlled directly by herself. An extension permanently linked to her core consciousness.

  She had already attempted something similar before. Thanks to her skill in manipulating wood, Nana had managed to control several statues she herself created. However, that control required constant and exhausting concentration. The connection was unstable, forced, and completely impractical for prolonged or complex tasks.

  But those experiences allowed her to identify the real problem: for her to have absolute control over something within the refuge, that something had to be created by Joel. Only then could the connection be natural, fluid, and complete.

  It didn't make much sense, but apparently, there was a kind of restriction inherent in the refuge itself. A protective mechanism, perhaps unconscious, that prevented Nana from self-replicating without supervision. A subtle barrier that prevented her from multiplying without limit… and, in the process, from losing control of herself.

  For Nana, that project had always been something envisioned for the distant future. A theoretical possibility, interesting, but not urgent. However, the reality of the shelter had changed too quickly. The need for manpower became immediate, and postponing the solution was no longer a viable option. She insisted they try to create a new avatar for her.

  According to Nana, the process couldn't depend solely on Joel's hand. Her instinct—that strange, silent way she perceived the shelter's rules—told her that she also had to contribute something of herself. The problem was, she didn't know exactly what. She couldn't describe it in words, nor identify it as a specific physical or magical component. She only knew that this "something" existed, and that without it, the attempt was doomed to failure.

  The first experiments confirmed her suspicions. Joel carved new statues, and Nana actively participated in the process, guiding the carving, infusing energy, and even detaching small fragments of herself to integrate into the structure. But nothing worked. The statues remained inert. There was no connection or response.

  Frustration slowly grew in both of them. Not out of impatience, but from the unsettling feeling of being on the verge of an important truth, yet unable to grasp it.

  Everything would have remained at that impasse were it not for Ashoka's intervention. He observed all the work and concluded that perhaps what was missing wasn't a physical fragment… but a part of her spirit.

  It was a difficult idea to carry out. Extracting spiritual fragments from an ordinary person was extremely difficult, and if something went wrong, the consequences were usually catastrophic. However, Nana wasn't an ordinary living being. She was a semi-artificial entity, an emergent consciousness bound to a space and a structure created by Joel. Perhaps, just perhaps, that made all the difference.

  No one but Ashoka had the ability to perform such an intervention. And, therefore, the responsibility inevitably fell on him.

  Joel was reluctant from the start, as he didn't want to take unnecessary risks, much less when it came to Nana. But she was convinced. Motivated in part by a deep certainty she couldn't explain, she insisted.

  Ashoka began with small-scale tests. Guided by his spiritual perception, the monk entered Nana's spiritual world. A vast, surprisingly expansive space, yet simultaneously simple and orderly. Unlike the fragmented chaos of Joel's spiritual world, Nana's was uniform, structured, and almost geometric.

  There, with a power only someone like him could wield, he proceeded with extreme care. He didn't uproot anything seemingly essential and limited himself to cutting small fragments along the edges, areas that appeared to contain nothing critical. Like pruning a plant without affecting its trunk.

  His instincts, combined with the experience he had accumulated over time in Joel's spiritual world, were crucial in avoiding irreversible mistakes. It also helped immensely that this inner world behaved like a living organism: flexible, adaptable, and with a surprising capacity for regeneration.

  Nana showed not the slightest discomfort throughout the entire procedure. In fact, she claimed to have felt absolutely nothing, as if Ashoka's intervention had passed through her without leaving a trace. There was no pain, no emptiness, no sense of loss. Only a vague mental lightness, difficult to describe even for her.

  The result was the creation of a small spiritual mass, almost imperceptible, but charged with Nana's essence. That was enough to justify another attempt.

  This time, the process was different from the beginning. No one else intervened in Joel's work. Ashoka limited himself to a single role: ensuring that the spiritual fragment remained stable, anchored within the iron block that would serve as the base for the statue.

  And that was enough. As soon as Joel began working, something changed. The iron no longer felt lifeless beneath his blade, and each cut flowed with great ease, as if the material itself were guiding him. He entered a deep trance, oblivious to the passage of time, moving almost automatically, as if following a path that already existed. As if the blueprints had always been there.

  When the work was finished, a statue smaller than Nana, but identical in every way, stood before them. A perfect replica, albeit reduced in scale.

  The decisive moment came when Joel polished the last detail and the statue began to move. At first, erratically, clumsily, and almost violently. Its limbs jerked uncoordinatedly, as if the body didn't quite belong to it. For long minutes, it was unable to remain steady, crashing against the floor and nearby walls.

  Until Nana seemed to intervene, taking control. Gradually, the chaos dissipated. The movements became more fluid, more precise, until the small statue was completely under her control. The connection was evident, marking a resounding success.

  And yet, the scene was profoundly unsettling. The new statue obeyed Nana without any resistance, but at the same time, it seemed to possess a kind of will of its own. It wasn't a separate personality, nor anything comparable to Nana's consciousness. However, when left alone for too long, she would begin to move around on her own, exploring her surroundings clumsily and curiously, like a child who had just learned to walk.

  Nana was clear about it: this was not an independent individual, and Ashoka corroborated her words by finding no trace of its own spirituality within the statue.

  Despite the bizarre nature of the scene, the general conclusion was that it was a side effect of the connection with Nana's spirit. A likely manifestation of her subconscious, projecting itself onto the new body.

  Only time would tell if the experiment had truly been a success. But everything indicated that they were moving in the right direction.