An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It doesn't take long for him to step back inside the Grotto, heading for his desk where several projects are strewn out in various states of completion. His recently upgraded scanner, a few other prototypes he's been slowly assembling, and the radio he uses for communication across Lincoln. Each something he's put his all into, and each something he treasures. Creation, taking mere pieces and ideas and building something new with his own hands, is always a beautiful thing to him— it's why he's held a passion for it since he was a child. This grotto is filled with proof of that.
Right as he sits back down and gets ready to work once more, the radio crackles to life, buzzing with static. It's likely just Addison, giving a report from the Antikythera on the events of the day, or Ahlaam, asking how his projects have gone. He reaches across the desk to grab it and holds it to his lips, prepared to answer, when—
"Hi, Dak!"
—He freezes.
That's not Addison or Ahlaam.
Even before all of this, there was still only ever one person who called him that.
OR
Unfortunately, there are cons to the radio being invented early.
(anyways, so @oblivionriver and i wrote a fic in about a day. yes it's over 5k. everything is fine.)
