CHAPTER 10

The morning sun had barely crested the eastern hills, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets, yet the area outside Goldenova was already teeming with life. The crowd stretched nearly half a mile down the main road—a vibrant, restless sea of humanity standing in winding lines that snaked between buildings and around corners. From humble commoners in well-worn clothes to prosperous merchants in their finer garments, from soot-smudged blacksmiths to needle-pricked tailors, even several minor noble families had arrived with their servants in tow. All had come to witness this new marvel that had transformed their night into day. The excitement was almost tangible, hanging in the air like the morning mist, punctuated by eager murmurs of curiosity and feverish speculation.

"Did you see the streets last night?" a barrel-chested carpenter exclaimed to anyone who would listen, his calloused hands gesturing wildly. "It was brighter than any festival I've ever seen! Even the Spring Equinox celebrations couldn't compare!"

"I thought the stars themselves had descended to bless our land," added a woman beside him, her eyes still wide with wonder as she adjusted the basket on her hip. "My children couldn't sleep—they kept running to the windows to stare at the glowing streets."

A young boy of perhaps seven or eight, with tousled brown hair and a threadbare jacket, tugged insistently on his father's sleeve. His small face was a mixture of hope and lingering fear. "Papa, can we get the lights too? I don't like when the shadows move at night."

The father—a thin man with kind eyes and premature lines etched into his forehead—knelt down to his son's level, gently ruffling the boy's hair. "That's precisely why we're here, Tomas," he said with a soft smile. "No more relying on those smoky candles that hurt your eyes or expensive oil lamps that we can barely afford. No more shadows to frighten you."

"And no more fires," a nearby woman interjected quietly, the burn scars on her forearm speaking of a painful personal history with conventional lighting.

Clusters of merchants stood together in their distinctive guild colors, their animated discussions punctuated by enthusiastic gestures and occasional bursts of laughter.

"If this is real—truly real and not some elaborate trick—our shops will never be dark again," said a portly spice merchant, his eyes gleaming with calculations. "We could stay open well past sundown. Think of the additional customers, the increased sales!"

"Hah!" A blacksmith nearby barked a laugh, his massive arms crossed over his leather apron. "And I suppose you'll still have to pay me and my apprentices for those extra working hours," he added with a knowing smirk. "Your profit is my profit, Alderman Barrett."

The spice merchant chuckled good-naturedly. "A fair point, Master Thorne. Perhaps we'll all grow wealthier under these new lights."

Not everyone shared in the unbridled enthusiasm, however. A group of elders stood slightly apart from the main crowd, their faces etched with the skepticism that comes from decades of seeing supposed miracles turn to disappointment.

"I still don't understand..." one old man grumbled, leaning heavily on his walking stick, his white eyebrows furrowed deeply. "If it's not fire, then what is it? Everything that brings light burns. That's the way of the world."

"They're calling it 'electricity,' from what I've heard," his friend replied, adjusting the woolen scarf around his neck despite the warming day. "And they say it needs no mana to function, no magical maintenance."

The first old man scoffed, his breath visible in the cool morning air. "No mana? Impossible. Nothing in this world works without mana—not the growth of crops, not the healing of wounds, not even the changing of seasons. Magic underpins everything."

A middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her otherwise dark hair turned toward them, unable to contain herself any longer. "Then how do you explain what we all witnessed last night?" she challenged respectfully but firmly. "If magic was involved, we'd have seen mages stationed at intervals along the streets, maintaining the spell matrices. But there was no one—not a single mage in sight—and yet the lights continued to shine steadily until dawn. Explain that, if you can."

The old man opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, his weathered face settling into confused contemplation. For the first time in many years, he found himself without an easy answer.

Just then, a hush fell over the nearest section of the crowd as the towering doors of Goldenova—an impressive structure of stone, glass, and gleaming metal that stood in stark contrast to the traditional architecture surrounding it—swung open with deliberate ceremony. A line of workers emerged, each dressed in identical uniforms of deep blue with gold trim—the colors of Lord Lor's house. Each carried a clipboard and writing implements, their faces a mixture of pride and slight nervousness at facing such an enormous crowd.

Behind them, visible through the open doors, several large wagons were being loaded with strange equipment—copper wires coiled like massive serpents, wooden boxes with dials and switches, glass bulbs of various sizes carefully packed in straw-filled crates, and metal poles that gleamed in the morning light.

At the front of the group stood a tall, broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard and intelligent eyes. He stepped forward, clearly the one in charge, and raised his hands for silence. When the murmurs had died down, he spoke in a voice accustomed to being heard across noisy workshops.

"Good people of Gold!" he called out, his words carrying clear and strong. "My name is Thomas Hadrick, Chief Engineer of Goldenova. I know you've come with many questions and even more hopes. Let me assure you—what you witnessed last night was only the beginning."

He gestured toward the teams behind him. "These workers will be installing lights in your homes, but we must proceed systematically. We will need your names and addresses, and we'll work district by district to ensure everyone receives service in a timely manner."

Hadrick pointed to the various clipboard-carrying workers who had begun to space themselves out along the crowd's perimeter. "Please find the representative assigned to your district—they will be holding signs momentarily—and provide your information. Once we receive your request, our installation teams will arrive at your homes within the week."

As he finished speaking, the workers behind him unfurled large cloth banners, each displaying the name of a different district within the city.

The crowd surged forward eagerly, people quickly locating their district representatives and forming new, more organized lines. The air filled with excited chatter as neighbors discussed which rooms they would illuminate first and families debated the merits of having lights in bedrooms versus common areas.

By midday, the workers had spread across the city like a well-orchestrated army. Teams of three or four moved methodically from house to house, each carrying specialized equipment: metal rods with delicate glass bulbs, coils of copper wire wrapped in strange protective materials, and small wooden boxes containing intricate arrangements of gears, coils, and tiny metal contacts.

In the older eastern district, where modest stone houses lined narrow, winding streets, one team approached a small cottage with a well-tended garden. The leader—a young woman with practical clothes and a confident demeanor—knocked firmly on the weathered wooden door.

After a moment, it creaked open to reveal an elderly couple, the woman's silver hair neatly pinned back, the man's gnarled hands bearing the marks of decades of farming before retirement. They regarded the workers with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"Are you here for the lights?" the old woman asked, her voice wavering slightly with anticipation.

The team leader smiled warmly. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Lenora, and these are my colleagues, Marcus and Finn. We're here to install your home lighting system, as requested."

"Well then, you'd better come in," the woman said, stepping aside and nudging her husband to do the same. "Though I still don't quite believe it'll work."

The old man harrumphed as he shuffled to the side. "Told Marta we should wait and see if the neighbors' houses burn down first," he muttered, though a spark of curiosity belied his gruff exterior.

Lenora laughed good-naturedly as her team entered, carrying their equipment. "I assure you, sir, there will be no fires. That's one of the primary benefits of our system."

The elderly couple watched with undisguised fascination as the workers set about their tasks with practiced efficiency. Marcus, a broad-shouldered young man with a methodical manner, carefully unpacked the copper wiring, measuring and cutting precise lengths. Finn, shorter and more nimble, climbed onto a stool and began fixing a metal bracket to the ceiling beam, while Lenora opened her toolkit and began assembling the small wooden control box.

"This is the power box," Lenora explained as she worked, aware of the old couple hovering nearby. "It will control the flow of electricity to your light. See this lever here?" She pointed to a small metal switch on the side of the box. "When it's up, the light will shine. When it's down, the light will be off. It's as simple as that."

The old man leaned closer, squinting at the intricate mechanisms inside the box. "I still don't understand," he grumbled, though his tone had softened with genuine curiosity. "If it's not magic, then how does it glow? There's no oil, no wick, no fire."

Lenora smiled, not missing a beat in her assembly work. "Think of it like lightning captured in a bottle," she explained, using the analogy they'd been taught during training. "Have you ever seen lightning during a storm?"

The old man snorted. "I'm old, not blind."

"Well," Lenora continued patiently, "lightning is a form of energy—raw power that exists in nature. What we've done is find a way to create that energy in a controlled manner and channel it through these wires." She held up a piece of copper wire. "The energy flows through here, like water through a pipe, and when you flip this switch, you open the path for that energy to reach the glass bulb, which then converts it into light."

The old man's bushy eyebrows drew together. "Sounds like magic to me," he muttered, but with less skepticism than before.

"In a way, it is," Finn chimed in from his perch on the stool as he secured the glass bulb into its housing. "Just not the kind that requires a mage to maintain it. Once it's set up, anyone can use it—no special training or mana reserves needed."

Marta, who had been watching silently, suddenly spoke up. "And you say it won't cause fires? Even if we leave it on all night?"

Marcus nodded as he finished connecting the wires to the bracket. "The bulb produces almost no heat compared to a candle or oil lamp. You could touch it after it's been lit for hours and feel only mild warmth. And there's no open flame to catch curtains or papers."

The old couple exchanged a significant look, and Lenora noticed Marta's eyes drifting to a framed portrait on the wall—a young woman with a striking resemblance to them both. She had seen that look before, in other homes. Loss by fire was all too common in this world of open flames and wooden structures.

After several more minutes of careful work, Lenora made the final connections within the power box and secured its wooden cover. "Alright, everything is set. Let's test it."

The four installers and the elderly couple gathered in the center of the small main room. Lenora motioned to the power box mounted on the wall. "Would you like to do the honors, ma'am?"

Marta hesitated, then stepped forward with determined dignity. She reached for the switch as Lenora had shown them, her weathered hand trembling slightly.

For a second after she flipped it upward, nothing happened. The room remained exactly as it was, lit only by sunlight streaming through the small windows. Then, with a barely audible hum, the glass bulb flickered—once, twice—and suddenly, with a steady glow that seemed to push back the shadows, the room was bathed in a soft, white light that reached even the darkest corners.

Marta gasped audibly, instinctively clutching her husband's arm with surprising strength. "By the gods and ancient ones..." she whispered, her eyes wide with astonishment. "It's brighter than the sun itself!"

The old man stood transfixed, his previous skepticism completely forgotten. With childlike wonder, he slowly raised his hand, passing it beneath the light and watching in fascination as it cast a sharp, clear shadow on the floor. "No heat," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "No flickering like a flame. No smoke. It's just... there."

Outside, neighbors had begun to gather, their curious faces pressed against the windows of the small cottage, drawn by the strange new light emanating from within.

"Does it work?" someone called through the partially open door.

"Come and see!" Marta replied, her voice stronger and younger than it had been in years. "Our house is filled with captured lightning!"

As the installation team packed up their tools, preparing to move on to the next home, they found themselves surrounded by a small crowd of neighbors, all asking questions at once, all wanting to know when their homes would receive this miracle.

And so it continued throughout the day, house after house, shop after shop. The reactions varied in their specifics but shared the same underlying awe. Children squealed with delight, running circles under the new lights, creating shadow puppets on walls and giggling at the clarity of their silhouettes. Mothers examined the steady illumination with practical appreciation, realizing they could now see to mend clothes or prepare meals even during the darkest winter evenings without straining their eyes. Schoolteachers immediately envisioned evening classes for adults who worked during daylight hours.

In the merchant district, shopkeepers tested their newly installed lights with calculating expressions, already revising business plans and imagining expanded hours of operation. A tailor held fine silk thread up to the light, marveling at how clearly he could see the most delicate stitches. A jeweler grinned broadly as he examined gemstones under the steady illumination, noting how much easier it would be to spot flaws or authenticate precious stones.

When one of the installation teams arrived at the residence of Lady Elaine Winford, a minor noble known for her connections to several magical academies, they were met with a decidedly cooler reception. The finely dressed woman watched the workers with hawk-like intensity, her sharp eyes missing nothing as they carefully installed the power box in her elegant sitting room.

"So you're telling me," she said slowly, her cultured voice precise and slightly incredulous, "that this contraption requires no mage to maintain? No magical energy whatsoever?"

"None at all, my Lady," replied the team leader respectfully as he completed the final connections.

Lady Winford observed silently as the worker demonstrated the mechanism, reaching out to flip the small switch mounted on an ornate wooden box designed to match her décor. Instantly, the crystal fixture overhead—specially designed to accommodate the new technology while maintaining the aesthetic standards of nobility—lit up with a brilliant clarity that outshone even the expensive enchanted crystals used in wealthy homes.

Her perfectly composed expression faltered for just a moment, lips parting slightly in surprise as her sharp eyes registered the implications of what she was witnessing.

"...Fascinating," she murmured, the single word weighted with complex emotions.

After the workers had been dismissed, she turned to her husband, Lord Frederick Winford, a minor noble with significant investments in traditional lighting methods and magical services.

"Do you understand what this means, Frederick?" she asked quietly, her gaze still fixed on the steadily glowing light above. "If this technology spreads beyond our territory, mages will no longer be needed for basic illumination spells. The entire guild of Illuminators could become obsolete overnight." Her voice dropped even lower. "This changes everything—not just how we see in the dark, but the very structure of magical services throughout the empire."

Her husband nodded slowly, his expression grave as he absorbed the potential consequences. "Lord Lor has truly created something revolutionary," he acknowledged. "The question now is whether the empire will embrace this change... or resist it."

Lady Winford touched the switch tentatively, flipping it down and watching as the light instantly extinguished. "Power," she mused, "has always been about controlling resources that others cannot obtain for themselves. If common folk no longer need mages for something as fundamental as light..."

She left the thought unfinished, but the implications hung in the air between them like an invisible storm cloud, heavy with potential.

The Spreading Light

A week had passed since the first lights were installed, and the initial skepticism among Gold's citizens had begun to fade like morning mist before the sun. At first, many had doubted whether this new invention would truly work as promised—whether it was affordable, safe, or reliable. But as they walked the streets at night and saw more and more homes and businesses glowing with steady light, their fears were gradually replaced by a growing excitement and a new kind of social pressure.

"The Millers have it in their home now," a woman remarked to her husband over breakfast. "And they're saying it costs less than what they spent on candles."

"If the neighbor's house has it, why shouldn't we?" became a common sentiment, spoken in taverns and marketplaces throughout the city. Soon, the Goldenova registry offices were flooded with new applications, families arriving daily to add their names to the installation lists. The streets bustled with activity as workers carried supplies on carts, installed power lines along buildings, and patiently explained to curious homeowners how to use the switches and care for their new lighting systems.

Merchants, always quick to recognize opportunity, were among the most enthusiastic adopters. "A shop that stays open at night? More customers, more sales!" became their mantra. Many began renovating their storefronts to showcase goods in the evening hours, installing large windows with displays carefully arranged to catch the eye of nighttime strollers. New businesses emerged—evening reading rooms where people could enjoy books after work, night markets offering fresh food to those returning home late, even open-air concerts illuminated by strings of the new electric lights.

But while the capital city of Gold Territory thrived in its new illumination, Lord Lor and Harry were acutely aware that their work had only just begun. In meetings with their engineers and administrators, they pored over maps of their vast territory, marking the baronies, towns, and villages scattered across their lands—hundreds of settlements, some so remote they received official communication from the capital only once a season.

"The real challenge," Harry observed during one such meeting, his finger tracing the trade routes that connected their scattered populations, "is not just installing lights in these distant places, but creating sustainable systems that can be maintained locally. We cannot send repair teams from the capital every time a bulb fails in a village three hundred miles away."

Lor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "What we need is not just to expand our technology, but to disseminate our knowledge. To create not just users of our invention, but builders and maintainers."

It was this realization that led to their next, most ambitious phase—one that would either secure their vision or overextend their resources dangerously.

The Power Station

The power station on the outskirts of the capital was a marvel of engineering that few citizens would ever see. Unlike the elegant façade of Goldenova, with its impressive architecture designed to inspire awe, the power station was built for function rather than form—a sprawling complex of stone, metal, and glass where the mysterious "electricity" was generated in massive quantities.

Inside the main production hall, the air was thick with the scent of burning coal and hot metal, punctuated by the distinctive ozone smell that accompanied electrical generation. The constant background noise—a symphony of mechanical sounds, from the low rumble of boilers to the high-pitched whine of spinning dynamos—made normal conversation difficult, forcing workers to resort to hand signals or shouts when coordinating their efforts.

Outside, massive wind turbines spun steadily, their enormous blades catching the reliable winds that swept down from the northern mountains. Their rotation powered generators that supplemented the main coal-fired system, while in another section of the complex, engineers and specialized craftsmen worked tirelessly on improving the efficiency of solar panels—large glass and metal constructions that somehow harvested energy directly from sunlight itself.

On this particular day, every forger, engineer, and technical worker who had contributed to the power station's construction and operation had been summoned to the main assembly hall. Nearly three hundred men and women stood in clusters throughout the cavernous space, some wiping sweat from soot-stained foreheads, others leaning on tools or workbenches, all wondering why their usual routines had been interrupted.

Theories circulated freely among the gathered workers.

"Maybe they're shutting us down," muttered a pessimistic boiler operator. "Maybe the nobles have complained about the smoke."

"Don't be daft," countered his colleague. "They wouldn't have called all of us if it was bad news. Must be something big."

A young female engineer who had helped design the distribution systems adjusted her wire-rimmed spectacles nervously. "I heard Lord Lor himself is coming to address us. He's never been here before—not while we're all working."

Before further speculation could spread, the massive double doors at the end of the hall swung open with deliberate force, creating a momentary vacuum that caused the nearest lanterns to flicker.

Lord Lor entered first, his tall figure commanding immediate attention despite the industrial surroundings that dwarfed ordinary men. Unlike many nobles who might visit such a facility in ornate clothing unsuitable for the environment, Lor wore a simple but immaculately tailored dark jacket over practical trousers, his only concession to his rank being the gold pins securing his collar and the quality of the materials.

Behind him walked Harry, dressed similarly but with the addition of a leather satchel slung across his chest, filled with what appeared to be documents and diagrams. His sharp eyes scanned the gathered workers with analytical precision, seeming to catalog faces and reactions.

The ambient noise of the facility—the conversations, the shifting of feet, even the mechanical background hum—diminished noticeably as awareness of the visitors spread through the crowd. Workers straightened their postures, removed caps, wiped hands on aprons, and nudged distracted colleagues to attention.

Lor stepped forward onto a slightly raised platform that had been hastily cleared of equipment. When he spoke, his voice carried effortlessly across the space, trained by years of addressing courts and councils.

"First," he began without preamble, "I want to thank all of you." His gaze swept across the assembly, making many workers feel personally acknowledged. "Because of your skill, your dedication, and your willingness to believe in something unprecedented, our city now stands brighter than ever before in its history. You are the reason we have achieved this breakthrough—not my title, not my wealth, but your hands and minds working together."

A wave of murmurs spread through the crowd, a mixture of surprise and pride. Some workers exchanged glances or nodded, appreciating the rare recognition from nobility. Others stood taller, their faces reflecting newfound dignity in work that many had previously considered merely practical rather than transformative.

Lor allowed the moment to breathe before continuing, then gestured toward Harry, who stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had earned his place rather than inherited it.

"But we are not done yet," Lor added, his tone shifting subtly toward the future. "Not even close. My son will explain our next step."

Harry moved to the center of the platform, setting his satchel down and extracting a rolled map, which he spread out on a nearby table for all to see. When he spoke, his voice was clear and direct, lacking his father's natural gravitas but compensating with precision and evident intelligence.

"As you all know, our territory is vast," he began, gesturing to the map that depicted Gold Territory in its entirety. "From the capital where we stand to our easternmost border is nearly two hundred miles. To the west, almost the same. North to south, almost four hundred miles of varied terrain."

He looked up, making eye contact with various sections of the crowd. "If we attempt to manufacture everything here in the capital—every bulb, every wire, every power box—and then transport it to every town and village within our borders, it will take decades, not years. And what use is it if only our city enjoys the benefits of your hard work while the rest of Gold Territory remains in darkness?"

The question hung in the air, rhetorical but powerful. Several workers nodded their understanding of the problem, particularly those who had family in outlying regions.

"To solve this," Harry continued, his voice taking on a more dynamic quality, "we need to spread not just our products, but our knowledge." He paused, allowing his next words to land with their full weight. "We need some of you—the best and most adaptable among you—to travel to the baronies and train the local forgers, teaching them to build and maintain these systems themselves. We will establish regional workshops in each major population center, ensuring that every part of Gold Territory can produce its own turbines, wires, and power sources."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd, notably more uncertain than before. Workers glanced at each other, some with excitement, others with visible concern. Harry had clearly anticipated this reaction, as he waited patiently for the initial response to settle before continuing.

"Leaving the capital..." one older worker said loudly enough to be heard. "Some of us have never been more than ten miles from where we were born."

"That means being away from our families for months, possibly longer," added another, a young father with worry etched on his face.

A woman with callused hands and the distinctive burn scars of an experienced forger spoke up. "Teaching others? I'm skilled at my craft, but I've never been a teacher before. What if I can't explain what I know?"

Harry nodded, acknowledging each concern without dismissing it. He took a deep breath before continuing, his posture straightening slightly.

"I understand these are not small considerations," he said, his tone sincere. "Traveling far from home, staying in unfamiliar places, taking on new roles—these are significant challenges. That's why we are not simply ordering anyone to go." His expression softened slightly. "Instead, we are asking for volunteers, and we're offering substantial compensation for those who step forward."

He paused, allowing that to register before delivering the key point. "Those who accept this mission will receive a fifty percent increase in wages while on assignment. Additionally, those who demonstrate exceptional leadership in establishing regional production will return to permanent promotions within Goldenova's hierarchy."

The murmurs shifted in tone immediately. Increased pay? Promotions? The economic calculus of the request had suddenly changed dramatically.

A tall, broad-shouldered forger with a distinctive red beard—Gregor Smithson, well-respected among the metalworkers for his innovative techniques—scratched his beard thoughtfully before speaking up.

"How much more are we talking, exactly?" he asked, his deep voice carrying across the hall. "Fifty percent more than standard wage, or fifty percent more than our current positions?" The distinction was significant, as many of those present already earned above-standard rates due to their specialized skills.

Harry allowed himself a slight smile, appreciating the direct question. "Fifty percent increase on your current wages while you're on duty outside the capital," he clarified. "And if you successfully lead a team and establish production in your assigned region, you will receive a permanent promotion with corresponding pay increase upon your return."

The specific answer caused a noticeable shift in the room's energy. Workers began whispering calculations to each other, mentally assessing what such an increase would mean for their families' finances.

A younger forger—barely twenty, with the eager expression of someone still establishing his place—hesitated visibly before raising his hand and then stepping forward.

"What kind of positions are we talking about upon return?" he asked, his voice carrying a slight tremor that he attempted to mask with a confident posture. "Just better workshop positions, or...?"

This time, Lord Lor himself stepped forward to answer, a subtle but unmistakable indication of the importance of this question.

"Supervisors. Team leaders. Project managers," he stated clearly. "If you prove yourself capable of teaching others and establishing new production facilities, you demonstrate exactly the leadership qualities we need as Goldenova expands. You won't return as merely workers—you'll return as those who oversee entire projects and departments."

The implications were enormous in a society where social mobility was typically constrained by birth. These were not just better-paying positions but roles that carried status and influence far beyond what most craftspeople could typically aspire to.

The hall fell silent for a moment as the workers processed this unprecedented opportunity. Then, slowly, deliberately, a middle-aged man with the weathered hands of a lifetime metalworker stepped forward from the crowd.

"My name is Denton," he said simply. "I'll do it. My daughter wants to attend the university someday. With that kind of money, I could make it happen."

Before the impact of his decision had fully registered, another worker—a woman with intricate technical diagrams tattooed on her forearms—stepped forward as well. "I'm Sera. I'll go too. My brother lives in Eastholm Barony. It would be good to bring this knowledge to his town."

Like the first droplets before a downpour, individual workers began stepping forward, each with their own stories and motivations—some for the money, some for the opportunity to advance, some for the adventure of seeing parts of the territory they'd never visited, and some simply because they believed in what they were building.

"I've got no family ties here. Might as well see more of the world."

"My father was a traveling tinker. He'd be proud to see me doing something like this."

"I helped design the smaller turbines. I should make sure they're built properly elsewhere."

By the meeting's end, over thirty skilled workers had volunteered—more than Lord Lor and Harry had initially hoped for. The father and son exchanged a brief glance of satisfaction before Lor raised his hand for attention once more.

"You have our gratitude," he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. "Each of you will receive proper training in teaching methods, as well as travel arrangements, supplies, and regular communication with the capital. Remember—Goldenova is not just a building or a company. It is the start of something greater, something that will transform not just our territory but potentially the entire empire."

As the meeting dispersed and workers returned to their stations with a new sense of purpose, Harry remained behind, studying the map on the table. His finger traced the network of roads and rivers that connected their territory, mentally calculating travel times and resource distributions.

"Do you think it will be enough?" he asked his father quietly once they were relatively alone. "Thirty volunteers to cover over a hundred settlements?"

Lor placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his expression both proud and determined. "It's a beginning," he replied. "And beginnings, when properly nurtured, have a way of growing beyond even our most ambitious expectations."

Outside the power station, the massive turbines continued their relentless rotation, generating the invisible force that was already reshaping their world—one lightbulb, one home, one volunteer at a time.