A rubber band sailed across the workshop, hit a tin can on the shelf, and knocked it over with a satisfying clink .

Leo’s workshop, once a hub of sawdust and ambition, was now a silent museum of unfinished projects. The laser engraver sat cold. The 3D printer, a tomb of plastic spiders. He’d forgotten how to make things with his hands . But today, his ten-year-old nephew, Sam, was visiting. And Sam had requested a weapon.

“Is that it?” Sam’s voice came from the doorway, making Leo jump.

As Leo reloaded, he looked at the cardboard template. It was more than a pattern. It was a handshake from the past. A set of instructions not just for cutting wood, but for building patience, for teaching a steady hand, for the simple joy of a shared thwack .

“Don’t sneak up on me, kid.”

“You can’t buy these anymore, Uncle Leo,” Sam had said, his eyes wide. “My friend’s dad says you have to make them.”

Sam crept closer, reverently touching the cardboard. “It looks old.”