Chapter 14: Mass Production Mayhem

The Rune-Spitter 9000 was, to put it mildly, a phenomenon.

Within days of the first demonstration, Tolan's mailbox exploded.

Not literally, though Leo helpfully offered to make it do so. But the influx of requests, orders, inquiries, and outright bribes to acquire a unit—or twenty—flooded in with the force of a tidal wave.

"They want what?" I asked, eyebrows arched as Tolan read a letter aloud.

"A noble from the east wants a Rune-Spitter customized to engrave his family crest into the bottom of every chamber pot he owns."

"That's... horrifyingly on brand," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.

By the end of the week, the sheer volume of orders for solar lamps, mana plates, cooling boxes, hotplate burners, and, of course, the Rune-Spitter itself, surpassed what even an over-caffeinated twelve-year-old with a laser pen could possibly produce.

Tolan, for once in his long life, made a business decision.

He contacted an old acquaintance, a merchant by the name of Dren Halvors, who ran a small but reputable workshop in the nearby city of Maretel. With Elara's permission, they struck a deal: Dren would assemble a trained crew and begin mass production of Rune-Spitters and their affiliated household items. Tolan, acting as my legal guardian and master, negotiated licensing rights, royalties, and protections against intellectual theft.

I, meanwhile, was far too busy inventing more problems for myself.

The next twelve months blurred together in a haze of blueprints, prototypes, and occasional explosions. What began as a quest for comfort spiraled into a portfolio of magically enhanced household devices that redefined domestic convenience.

Among Elara's newest patents:

Auto-Kettle – A teapot inscribed with a self-heating rune that automatically brought water to a boil when filled. It even whistled in musical tones.

Glowloom Curtains – Light-diffusing drapes that adjusted their transparency based on sunlight and temperature, thanks to integrated sensory runes.

Manabroom 2.0 – A self-sweeping broom with improved collision-avoidance logic after version 1.0 attempted to sweep Leo into the chicken coop.

Rune-Toaster – Left slightly charred after testing but very enthusiastic. Imprinted toast with different images depending on mana input intensity.

Smart Mirror – Reflected not just appearance but also gave fashion advice, based on Mira's inputs. I considered this one a personal betrayal.

Water Purifier Box – A portable filter using light and gravity runes, usable in both homes and travel caravans.

Temp-Pad – A cushion that stayed warm in winter and cool in summer. Popular in noble courts and for pampered pets alike.

Each device carried a unique Elara-twist—compact, intuitive, and unreasonably efficient. Dren's factory grew from ten to over a hundred workers in under six months.

Maretel renamed one of their main streets: Elara Lane.

With the world demanding more of my inventions, I should've been riding high. But I had a different obsession growing quietly in the background.

My mana pool.

I'd begun rigorous research into methods to passively expand it. Drawing from Tolan's stories and everything I could find about the long-lived races—Elves, Dragonkin, and even the occasional Djinn—I wanted more than just clever gadgets. I wanted control over my future.

Humans, Tolan explained, lacked the natural flow and size of mana reservoirs their neighbors were born with. But where nature gave freely, humans had to innovate.

And I? I was innovation incarnate.

I started with meditation circles—nested rune arrays etched into the floor of my lab that pulsed in harmony with my heartbeat. They allowed me to sit for hours, guiding mana gently through my veins. Effective, but slow.

So I developed something more... compact.

The Haarnadel Talisman was born of both necessity and impatience. A slender, silver pin engraved with circulatory mana runes, reinforced with a spiral anchor glyph, and a pulse-regulating sigil borrowed from dwarven metallurgy.

Worn discreetly in my hair, it would slowly stimulate mana flow around the head and neck, encouraging internal saturation of my cellular mana structures, preparing the body for a greater pool of magical energy. It mimicked the mana-rich neural patterns observed in Elves and Dragonkin without requiring invasive procedures or deep meditation.

It worked.

Subtle changes began to manifest—not enough to draw alarm, but enough to notice.

A slightly healthier glow to my skin. A steadier posture. Occasionally, a dreamy comment from Mira that made me question everything.

Tolan, ever the academic, took one look at the modified talisman and laughed for ten minutes straight. "You forgot to constrain the hormonal flow modulator. Rookie mistake."

"You're a rookie," I snapped, stuffing the pin into a sealed box.

I'd have to modify it, maybe create a version two. Or three.

...Later.

Meanwhile, Tolan began teaching me more about the other races that populated the known world.

Elves, he explained, often lived for thousands of years. Their mana channels were delicately woven through their nervous systems, granting them incredible control and regenerative power. Most elves developed slowly and deliberately—both physically and emotionally. Their societies prized elegance, tradition, and balance above all.

Dwarves, by contrast, had shorter lifespans—closer to five centuries—but their mana was deeply bound into their bones and blood. This made them physically sturdy and allowed them to perform feats of enchantment and forging that defied human efforts. Their runes were complex and industrial in nature.

Dragonkin, the rarest of all, could live tens of thousands of years. Their mana wasn't just a tool—it was an extension of their identity. They grew stronger with age, hoarded knowledge, and developed internal elemental cores. Tolan explained that the sheer volume of mana inside them allowed them to shrug off wounds that would kill lesser beings.

I was enraptured.

"So the more mana you have, the longer you live?" I asked.

Tolan nodded. "It's not just about longevity. It's about cellular preservation. The more mana your cells can channel, the less they deteriorate."

"So hypothetically, if a human had enough mana—"

"—They could live for centuries. Maybe longer. But the saturation must be uniform. If one part of the body can't keep up, it fails."

That's when he told me about Kaelith, a young Dragonkin girl, roughly my age, who had recently settled near the capital.

"Why would a Dragonkin live among humans?" I asked, eyes narrowed.

"She's an outlier," Tolan admitted. "Curious. Ambitious. Maybe she's scouting. Or maybe... she's looking for someone."

A rival?

A friend?

A terrifying mix of both?

I didn't know.

But I was going to find out.

To be continued...