Chapter 12 - Schematics of the Future

"No invention is born clean. It arrives, bloodied, bargained for, and paid in full - often by those who never built it."

— Adlerheim Clan Archives, on Sponsorship Protocols

*Johanna POV*

The house is silent, but my mind isn't. The sun isn't even up yet, and the snow hasn't considered melting just yet, but I'm already up. I wasn't woken up from any noise, but, rather, from the sound of my thoughts pressing down against me, my chest heavy as though I lay under a boulder rather than a blanket.

I pull the blanket aside, careful not to wake Gert, who's in the position of a fallen soldier slain on the battlefield. Must be nice to dream of something. Gently, I walk on over to the living room, looking through Rich's open bedroom door to see my son wrapping himself in his own arms and clutching at his posters. He's snoring and muttering something in his sleep - probably some dreams he won't tell me about. I let myself look at him for longer than I usually do. Just to remember this peace. Just in case.

Safe. That's what Matthias promised us - that Rich would be safe sponsored by a clan. But it worries me so much. As if safety could be guaranteed... joining a Clan is completely different to joining a daycare, and even the children there ended up scuffed from tree-climbing! They don't know what the Detector said, so I can't blame them either. What if progress and intellect isn't a gift, but a warning? And cleverness without guidance, well... that's how you lose a child before he's grown.

I tie the last knot in my scarf and take a deep breath in and out. The Abbey opens early. Maybe someone there will know what to do with a boy born to chase stars.

***

I don't take a carriage or borrow a horse. It'll be quicker to run.

The streets are still asleep and migratory birds have not yet arrived to chirp and alert of daybreak. The snow crunches beneath my boots, glistening a reflection of the starry sky above, and the cold breeze in my face is oddly comforting. There's comfort in rhythm too. Breathe in, out, push off the heel. So many things in life are out of your control, but not this. You can always trust in your body - the body obeys.

The road to the Abbey winds up a steep hill with a view of all the surrounding villages, ours included. Legend has it that the monks-in-training here can be seen marching up and down the hill carrying great, heavy stones on their backs, training in a militaristic fashion to defend the surrounding villages when required. That was all in the past, however, before we came under the protection of the Adlerheim Clan.

By the time I reach the Abbey of St. Floran, the sun had barely brushed its way up to the skyline. The bells had not yet been rung, but the doors were wide open, and I was greeted by the sight of young monks consuming their modest breakfast. They always woke up before dawn, but they rarely received visitors at this time of day. The Abbey stands quiet and solemn, its stone walls weathered with time, a low spire reaching toward the clouds. A few birds peck at seeds scattered near the base of the outer shrine, unbothered by my arrival.

The monks take no time in noticing me, and hurry me towards one of the Elders once I explain that I am here for advice. Inside, it's warmer, but smells like old paper and dried herbs, all being masked by scented candles. There, robes draped like shadows, a crooked smile resting in the creases of an ancient face, I am greeted by Elder Aldegar. His eyes are sharp. Too sharp. Not piercing like a blade - no, like a needle, sliding straight through my skin. I bow slightly, out of habit more than respect.

"Ah," he begins, in a croaky, high-pitched voice. "If it isn't the mother. The runner. The one whose cakes are most scrumptiously coated in honey."

He remembers me from last time. Strange, considering how many years it had been since my last visit.

"Thank you for meeting me, Elder. I hope you may offer some guidance," I say, somewhat spooked.

The Elder glances at me with a knowing look, but it almost feels like he's looking straight past me. "Guidance is a river, my dear," he begins. "It is up to you to drink from it, and I can merely offer you a cup."

"It's about my son, Richard, I mean. He's clever - too clever at times, and now he's managed to get himself an offer for clan sponsorship. On the one hand, I feel so proud of my boy, but, I worry so much, Elder. I really do. But, we were told to make sure he doesn't cultivate. That it'd be too dangerous... that he'd go mad. I don't want him to be surrounded by cultivators like that, and he's only four for heaven's sake. I don't want to lose my son!" I blurt everything out, everything pent up over the past couple nights, my voice more akin to a cry than speech. I'm breathing heavily, and not due to my run here.

"Genius and madness are twins," he murmurs. "One cradles the other. If you love the clever one, be sure not to starve the mad."

*Elisabeth POV*

The morning fog hasn't yet lifted, but the ink has finally dried. I hold my letter to a candle, tilting it ever so slightly to inspect my brushwork. It's been a long time since I last contacted them, but I don't sign my letter off with my name. The symbol should be plenty for them to recognise the author.

I didn't mention the children by name, no, I couldn't do that without Johanna and Gertherd's permission, but I requested for someone discreet to be dispatched to evaluate the printing press' commercial worth. Indeed, it's just a "promising invention developed locally by gifted minds."

Still, it would pique his curiosity. Bernhard always had a nose for that sort of stuff, and ambition too.

I fold the letter twice and bind it with a bit of twine, not daring to stamp it with a wax seal - that would make things a bit too real. The front of the letter has a small symbol unique to my family, and that was more than enough.

After that, I burn the letter with my own Qi, activating the transmission mechanism weaved into the paper provided to us in case of emergencies. Then, I blow on the ashes, scattering them out the window, content that my message was sent through.

Only then do I breathe. Theo is still asleep, thank the heavens. He's curled under the patchwork quilt I stitched myself whilst he was in his mother's womb. He's snoring faintly, and I don't want to wake him just yet - he's earned himself a lie in and a slow morning now that these past few weeks of non-stop work were over. His drawings are still cluttering the table - all his prototypes for the poster, with the final design covering his innocent, sleeping face.

Yes, innocent. Just like how they wanted to raise him. He's sheltered, unaware of how rare it is to be both clever and kind.

And how dangerous.

That's why I wanted them both to be safe within the sect, within the Adlerheim Clan.

The printing press is more than just an invention, at least that's what I think. It's a lifeline for Richard, the boy without spiritual roots, and it's what will allow Theo to remain close friends with him even after sect entry. He needs someone on his side, someone who has been close to him since young, and Rich perfectly fits that role. Someone who can ground him, and someone who can console him before Theo's birthright catches up to him. Because it will catch up; a fate sealed long before he ever began to speak.

I stare back at the flames. Johanna's hesitation makes sense. If she knew who, no, what Theo truly was - what he was meant to become - she would have certainly said no. In her shoes, I would have also hesitated. If she knew, she'd have seen doom in our sons' ambitions instead of a light.

But I wrote that letter. I made my choice, and the path is already set.

My cousin will arrive within a week.