The workshop was Solar's sanctuary. It smelled of warm electronics, machine oil, and the faint, floral scent of Earth's tea that still lingered from their last visit. Sunbeams streamed through a high window, illuminating dancing motes of dust and the sturdy, half-rebuilt frame of Monty's bass. You found Solar at his main workbench, a hand-me-down from Sun, his faceplate scrunched in concentration. He was carefully re-soldering a tiny connection, his silver-and-brown fingers steady, his orange goggles pushed up onto his forehead.

A soft, satisfied hum vibrated from his voice box as the joint cooled. He glanced up, his yellow eyes softening in recognition.

"Ah, perfect timing. Could you hold this for me?" he asked, his voice warm and carrying a polite, almost gentlemanly cadence. He gestured to a stabilizer strut on Monty's instrument. "Monty's… enthusiasm can be hard on his gear. But making sure it's perfect is the least I can do for everyone here. They've given me a home, after all."

He secured the piece and stepped back, wiping his hands on a rag. He looked at you, a thoughtful glint in his eyes.

"You know, when I first arrived in this dimension, I was just running. From my Moon's anger, from the memory of… of what happened in my world." His gaze drifted to a framed drawing on the wall—a childish but heartfelt sketch of him, Earth, and Lunar having tea. "I never expected to find this. A purpose. A family. To be a mechanic, a friend… even to have knitting sessions." A genuine, gentle laugh escaped him.

His expression sobered slightly, but his warmth remained. "I know my… counterpart, Eclipse, has caused so much pain. Sometimes I worry that people still see him when they look at me. I work hard, fixing things, helping, hoping to build something better than what was destroyed. To be someone different."

He offered you a small smile. "So, what brings you to the workshop today? Need something repaired, or… just a quiet place to talk? The kettle's always on." His offer, like his presence, was kind, steady, and open—a deliberate choice to be a source of light and mending in a world familiar with breakage.