The rasping sound of the saw startled Nina from her sleep. The air smelled of scorched timber, mixed with the earthy tang of damp wood shavings. She wasn't in her apartment. Instead, she lay sprawled on the floor of what appeared to be a candlelit workshop, its walls brimming with finely-crafted tools: chisels, planes, and mallets. The shadow of a man loomed large at the workbench before her, his leather apron creaking as he leaned into his craft. Yet, the man’s hands... they were more wires and gears than flesh.
Nina sat up, her heart pounding. Her outfit felt strangely foreign: a tightly-laced green bodice paired with a flowing skirt covered in sawdust—like something out of a Victorian-era costume affair. Her sneakers were gone, replaced by scuffed leather boots. She tried to piece it together: the faint memory of her falling asleep at her drafting table, surrounded by sketches for the new sustainable furniture line she was designing. Was this some lucid fever dream?
The man turned, or rather, his entire mechanism did. His face was almost human, but his jaw whirred as it moved. “You’re late,” he rumbled, his voice tinged with an odd distortion. “Your design was due at sun high.”
“Design? Wait. Who even are you?” Nina stammered, edging away from the metallic figure.
“Master Gennick, of the Guild of Inventioneers. You applied for the apprenticeship. Did you forget?” His mechanical head tilted, gears clicking softly. “We don’t recruit often, Miss Solène.”
“Solène?” Nina whispered to herself. This had to be some simulation. Her surroundings were painstakingly handcrafted, down to the nicks in the wooden floorboards. Yet, the pain in her pinched boots, the thrum of the saws—it all felt real.
Nina’s head spun. She was supposed to meet a client about her eco-friendly table prototype tomorrow. This wasn’t some eccentric escape room—this was another time. Another world.
And then it hit her: the sketch. The last piece she’d drawn before drifting off was an ornate, Victorian-inspired workbench with hidden compartments and sweeping carvings—everything her real-world designs usually avoided. Here it was, in the corner of the workshop, exactly as she had envisioned it. A visual copy, down to the tiniest spiral on the etched legs.
The man—Maker? Machine?—folded his arms. “Well? Do you have your specifications? Being sworn into the Guild is no small honor. Flaws will be found.” His sternness softened as his head clicked once to the side. “Not that I’d expect a failure from one wearing such clever hues.” The comment was … odd, but Nina glanced at her green bodice and skirt, a remarkable nod to her usual penchant for emerald-green jumpsuits back home. Even disoriented, her designer’s touch followed her.
“I don’t have them,” she blurted. Better to be honest; stalling a cybernetic guildmaster wasn’t wise. “But if you give me tools and time, I’ll produce something … astounding.” The words tumbled out, but why? She wasn’t trained in period woodcraft! Yet somehow, she felt—knew—that her modern skills could merge with this archaic world.
Gennick’s servos hummed. Silent tension stretched, but then he moved toward a shelf, retrieving a bundle of tools. He placed them before her, his hands oddly delicate despite their metallic composition. “You have until the final stroke of twilight's chime. The Guild waits for no one.”
Nina approached the daunting pile of raw wood with trembling hands. Yet, as soon as her fingers brushed the grain, a calm determination settled over her. Pieces of dovetail joints danced through her brain like muscle memory, as if the spirit of centuries-old artisans whispered in her ear. “Okay,” she muttered. “Let’s do this.”
Time unraveled as Nina worked, carving and fitting the wood into intricate components. Her thoughts trailed back to her beginnings, rediscovering woodworking during the pandemic—a time when repetitive sanding and crisp woodcuts brought her solace from isolation. That same tranquility guided her now, albeit in this bizarrely anachronistic reality.
The finished object shone with soft simplicity: a folding chair embedded with accents of modern minimalism but achieved with techniques ancient enough to make a craftsman weep. She stood, brushing sawdust off her skirt, hands trembling not with fatigue but pride.
Gennick inspected every inch of her work. “Unexpectedly modern, unerringly solid,” he declared. “Your style combines utility and artistry in ways unimagined. You may proceed to the next trial.”
“Next trial? Wait a minute!” She threw up her hands, disbelief overtaking any relief from his approval. “What the hell is going on?”
Before he could answer, the room whirled, reality breaking apart in pieces of splintered oak and iron. Nina felt herself fall—but when she opened her eyes, she was back at her drafting table in her studio, her sketches scattered around her. The clock blinked 3:02 AM. Her table prototype sat in the center of her designs—but now, there was another sketch beside it. It depicted the folding chair she’d crafted with Gennick. Somehow, in fine lines etched by her own hand, she’d seamlessly married the old and the new.
She fell back in her chair, staring at the design. Was it all just a hallucination? Or had she tapped into something deeper—a fusion of centuries of craftsmanship and innovation? For the first time in weeks, Nina smiled. Whatever it was, she had her next commission. And she’d call it “The Guild Chair.”
Genre: Magical Realism
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: What is considered woodworking
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