Let me begin by stating the obvious: Argus of Rowark is not a hero. He is not a tragic figure, not a cursed genius, not the misunderstood martyr of progress that some revisionist quarters have started whispering about in mining halls and low-tier colleges. He is what happens when raw intellect outpaces discipline, and ambition grows teeth.

Now, the basics, before this file is inevitably suppressed or set on fire by some metal-gloved administrator:

Rowark is a subterranean pit of a city. I’ve been. Scarcity runs its blood. Food is hard-won, water is rationed, and children learn the sound of a pickaxe before they know the shape of the sky. Power - literal and symbolic - goes to the diggers. The deeper you go, the more you’re worth. Simple economy of suffering.

Argus dug deeper than anyone.

From all recovered personal notes, it’s clear he was brilliant - obsessively so. And like most brilliant people with access to metal and fire, he eventually turned that obsession outward. He streamlined methods of excavation. Refined tool work. Devised entirely new systems of mineral targeting using something called “gravitational inference,” which, despite the laughable terminology, appears to have worked.

It was during this period that Gideon - yes, that Gideon - visited Rowark. For collaboration, observation, or competition, accounts differ. What’s known is that the two worked together on a device capable of channeling tremendous magical force through a mechanical rig: the Harness. They built it. They couldn’t power it. Argus broke. Predictably.

The altercation between them - allegedly sparked by Argus’ temper, surprise surprise - destroyed the prototypes. Gideon left. Argus did not.

Here, the story pivots from industrious to unhinged.

Argus descended into the mines, alone. For two years, he survived in the crawlspaces beneath the planet’s skin, feeding off trickles and beetle shells. He did not retreat in shame. He was waiting.

And he found it.

A cave - or rather a fault chamber - collapsed around him, revealing a geologic anomaly: lava flows, basalt arteries, and at the centre... a green gemstone. Glowing. Alive.

He touched it. (Of course he touched it. These people always touch the thing.)

And he was pulled into what later files refer to as the Soul Storm - a high-atmospheric, possibly extra-planar vortex of elemental chaos. Green lightning. Wind like knives. Time? Irregular. Breathing? Impossible.

The reaper Sevarog - yes, another terrifying detail we’re supposed to accept - intervened. Dragged Argus out. Told him what he held was unusable. Unsurvivable.

Argus, in perfect form, responded by breaking free and flinging himself deeper into the abyss in an attempt to prove Sevarog wrong.

He woke back in the cave. The gemstone still there. Still glowing.

Instead of fleeing like a sane person, he used a mechanical claw to collect it and marched back to Rowark.

From there, he rebuilt the Harness. Alone. Embedded the emerald’s essence into the device. Called it the Arcrune Engine.

The result? Functional. Dangerous. A hybrid of arcane volatility and technological brilliance. He became a mining god. Riches poured from the stone like water from a broken dam.

And yet, shockingly, no one liked him.

Argus grew paranoid. Violent. Sabotaged his rivals, shunned cooperation, and treated his fellow Rowarkians as disposable assets in his pursuit of deeper veins and rarer stones. Some claimed his aura was “crackling with storms.” Others swore he talked to the Engine when he thought no one was listening. Charming.

Even among a culture that valorises greed, Argus became feared. The paradox is this: he was their most valuable digger, and he was the reason Rowark prospered in those years. But like all unchecked power, he drew both imitators and enemies. Neither tended to live long.

Conclusion:
Argus is a case study in weaponized ambition. He is also a walking rift between technological innovation and arcane consequence. The Arcrune Engine must be monitored. Tracked. Possibly contained. Assuming that’s still possible.

I suggest we stop calling him a “prodigy.” Prodigies do not reshape their spinal columns to fit a cursed emerald into a harness no one else can touch. Prodigies do not survive death vortices out of sheer refusal.

Argus is not a success story.

He is a pending disaster.

Echo Seeker Norimisu