Ace did not plan to craft it.
That alone should have been warning enough.
---
The Trigger
It began with a pattern.
Not a crisis.
Not a Bell.
A repetition.
Ace noticed it while walking the night routes of Seris:
the same names appearing in failure logs, across districts, across weeks.
Different jobs.
Different mistakes.
Same people.
Not incompetence.
Exhaustion.
Invisible overload.
Systems leaning too heavily on the reliable.
Ace stopped walking.
Sat.
And for the first time in a long while, felt anger.
---
The Decision to Break a Rule
Legendary items were dangerous.
Not because of power—
—but because they changed behavior.
Ace had sworn not to make one again unless the world demanded it.
The world hadn't demanded.
But the pattern had.
"That's worse," Ace muttered.
---
The Workshop That Shouldn't Hold This
Ace returned to the small, unmarked room beneath the old aqueduct.
No wards.
No runes.
Just tools that listened.
He laid out materials carefully:
A spool of Thread of Deferred Burden (rare, brittle, grown from communal obligations left unfinished)
A shard of Mirror Glass, taken from a broken planning board
Ink mixed from sleep-deprived tears and river ash
And a bell clapper, never used, never rung
No enchantment yet.
Only intent.
---
The Question Before Crafting
Ace paused.
Legendary items required a question, not a command.
He whispered it aloud.
"Who carries too much without anyone noticing?"
The room answered by growing heavy.
---
The Making
Ace did not rush.
He threaded the glass with the burden-thread, letting it cut his paw pads.
Pain mattered.
He etched no symbols of authority.
Only lines that curved away from the center.
The clapper was embedded last, sideways, unable to ring on its own.
When he poured the ink, it did not glow.
It sank.
Accepted.
---
The Item
By dawn, it was finished.
A simple thing.
A bracelet.
Clear glass links, faintly veined.
Unremarkable.
Ace named it quietly:
The Load-Bearer's Reflection.
---
What It Does (And Does Not Do)
The bracelet does not grant strength.
It does not reduce workload.
It does not alert leaders.
Instead—
When worn, it shows the wearer their invisible weight.
Not numbers.
Not metrics.
Reflections.
Missed meals.
Deferred rest.
Unspoken expectations.
And once a threshold is crossed—
The reflection becomes visible.
To everyone.
Not as blame.
As truth.
---
The Test
Ace gave it to a dock coordinator named Sila.
No explanation.
No instructions.
By midday, conversations stopped when she entered rooms.
Not because of authority—
—but because people saw.
By evening, tasks were reassigned.
Not perfectly.
But willingly.
---
The Cost
That night, Ace collapsed.
Legendary items always took something.
This one took certainty.
He slept without dreams.
---
Aftermath
Word spread.
Quietly.
Some wanted replicas.
Ace refused.
"There is only one," he said.
"Otherwise it becomes permission to overload again."
---
End Beat
Ace wrapped his paws, still bleeding slightly.
He looked at the remaining materials.
Burned them.
Outside, the Bell stayed silent.
But for the first time—
Ace felt its weight shift.
Not disappear.
Shared.