Chapter 34 – The Dwarven Pact

Sunday morning arrived with a rare kind of peace. The capital was quiet, the academy was dormant, and Elara Wyrmshade had vanished from the noise into the solitude of her workshop in the city. Nestled in a side alley among warehouses and toolsmiths, the workshop—funded and arranged by Tolan with the King's blessing—had quickly become her sanctuary.

Dressed in practical work attire, her heels swapped for sturdy boots for once, Elara was elbow-deep in mana insulation adjustments for a new compression device when a sharp rap on the outside door echoed through the chamber.

"Elara!" came the voice of one of her royal guards. "You've got a visitor. Well... two."

She groaned and set her tools aside. "On a Sunday?"

Wiping her hands with a cloth, she walked to the door and opened it to find Tolan standing beside a stout figure in heavy leather and soot-streaked gauntlets. The man's beard was braided thick and long, his eyes sharp as obsidian.

"This is Darnak Ironflame," Tolan said. "He's here on behalf of the Dwarven delegation."

"Call me Darnak, lass," the dwarf interrupted, holding out a hand. "Or kid. You look like one."

Elara raised an eyebrow but shook his hand with a firm grip. "Elara Wyrmshade."

He grunted, already half-stepping inside. "So you're the tinkering miracle-child everyone's losing their mind over."

Tolan chuckled softly. "Be nice."

"I am being nice," Darnak growled.

Once inside, Darnak gave the workshop a once-over. His expression was unreadable until he reached a mana-powered welding arm.

"Well, I'll be. That's a clean design."

That opened the floodgates. The moment Elara started talking schematics and runes, Darnak's entire demeanor changed. The two launched into deep, technical discussions about load-bearing sigils, mana-flow optimization, and the challenges of fusing conductive alloys with precision-etched rune channels.

Tolan eventually sat in a corner with a mug of tea, overwhelmed. These two weren't just smart—they were wired for this work.

Elara had never felt so naturally aligned with someone before. Darnak challenged her on half-formed theories, and she shot back with counterproposals that made his eyes light up. It was like speaking a rare language that only they understood.

Hours passed like minutes.

Eventually, as the sun began to dip, Darnak leaned back and cracked his knuckles. "Well, kid, you're the real deal. Not bad for a human. Honestly, when they said a 'genius girl inventor,' I thought you'd be another stuck-up tree-hugging elf. You look the part, too. Posture, hair, glowy eyes. I was ready to walk right out."

Elara smirked. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Quite the opposite. You've got grit." He paused, scratching his chin. "I'd like to keep working with you. Talk more. Exchange designs. Maybe help each other build something new."

Elara nodded eagerly. "Actually... I have a project in mind. A Forge. An automated forge that combines rune-heat concentration, magnetic movement arrays, and adjustable casting molds. Think of it as a 'smart anvil.'"

Darnak's eyebrows shot up. "You're talking about an auto-smithy?"

"Exactly. But there's a catch."

She turned serious. "The forge will be constructed here. In the capital. It'll remain here, available for royal-approved use, for the next hundred years. You'll get full access to it, but it won't leave the city."

Darnak was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "A hundred years, huh?"

Elara gave him a half-apologetic look. "I know it's a long time—"

"Bah! Long for you humans. For me, that's a fair trade." He chuckled. "In a century, you'll be dust and I'll be the only one left who remembers how it works. Then I take it home with me. But don't worry—I'm a dwarf of my word. You'll get your hundred years. I'll shake on that."

They shook hands again. The deal was struck.

Later, after Darnak and Tolan had left, Elara returned to her work only to be interrupted by a magically sealed envelope popping through her message slot. It bore the royal crest.

She opened the letter and immediately recognized the sharp, flowing script of the King.

To Miss Elara Wyrmshade,

Kindly refrain from making century-spanning agreements with foreign dignitaries without first consulting the Crown. My advisors nearly fainted when they reviewed the terms. While I respect your ingenuity and value your contributions, I must remind you that you are not royalty—despite what your increasingly organized fan clubs might suggest. Please be more considerate before triggering a kingdom-wide economic reevaluation with your next invention.

—King Altheron

Elara sighed, folded the letter back into its envelope, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Oops."