Chapter 35 – Of Gears and Grapevines

The months following Elara's pact with Darnak Ironflame passed in a blur of invention, tinkering, and increasingly aggressive fanfare. The auto-smithy—now referred to simply as the "Forge"—was steadily taking shape. Day after day, Darnak and Elara worked side by side, their minds synchronized like interlocking cogs. Mana conduits were embedded, casting molds refined, and heating elements tuned for precise energy control. Even Tolan had started calling their contraption the next miracle of the century.

But outside the sanctuary of her workshop, a storm was brewing.

Unbeknownst to her, a calendar in the administrative office of the Academy had long ago recorded her birthdate. Some overzealous clerk—perhaps charmed by Elara's increasingly infamous reputation—had shared the information without realizing the chaos it would unleash.

By the Monday of her birthday week, the academy was no longer merely a place of learning. It had transformed into an Elara shrine.

She was walking toward her morning rune theory class when the first bouquet appeared in her arms—quite literally, as it was thrust into her grasp by a blushing second-year boy who then ran off without a word. Moments later, a trio of girls cornered her with handmade bracelets, each adorned with tiny charms shaped like mana runes. Then came the baked goods, fan-penned poetry, and, to Elara's absolute horror, an original ballad performed by a quartet in the hallway.

"This is getting out of hand," Elara muttered, face red as a ruby.

"You think?" Sylv grinned beside her. "And it's only Monday."

The worst—or best, depending on perspective—came from the girls. Apparently, her obsession with high heels hadn't gone unnoticed. One group of admirers had apparently taken turns stalking her trips into town and compiled a list of all her purchases, preferences, and favored styles. That Wednesday, she received a literal tower of shoeboxes, stacked in the corner of her dorm like a sculpture to vanity.

"That pair from Rhodon Street is a limited run!" Lyria gasped, ogling a pair of sapphire-laced stilettos.

Elara groaned, sinking onto her bed. "I need an escape tunnel."

Each day brought new levels of chaos. Tuesday featured a hallway lined with magical flower petals that opened when she passed. Thursday, someone left a love confession enchanted to sing itself aloud whenever the door opened. By Friday, even some of the faculty began to quietly ask for her autograph on blueprints.

By the time her birthday arrived, the academy had declared the day an informal celebration. Classes still occurred—barely—but instructors tolerated the chaos with long-suffering sighs. The cafeteria served a special menu ("Elara's Favorite Dishes"), complete with sparkling mana-water and a cake that suspiciously resembled her likeness.

At midday, Elara received a sealed letter with the family crest. Her parents' handwriting sprawled warmly across the parchment:

Dearest Elara,

Happy 17th birthday! We miss you dearly and are endlessly proud of all you've achieved. We hope the Academy has been kind to you and that your studies go well. Enclosed is a small gift from home—a hand-stitched handkerchief with your initials. I made it myself. Also, your father sends his best and says to tell you the farm is doing fine, though the goats still refuse to listen to him.

One small question, dear—should we be preparing to meet a young man anytime soon? Your father insists it's far too early, but I promised to ask. Don't worry, we're only teasing... mostly.

All our love and more, Mother & Father.

Tears welled in her eyes. She kept the letter close to her chest for a long moment before placing it safely in her nightstand drawer.

That evening, her dorm room transformed.

Mira had arrived with armfuls of sweets and a bottle of expensive wine from her boutique's secret stash. Sylv—dressed in an almost suspiciously elegant robe—brought silk decorations and enchanted candles that floated overhead like starlight. Lyria set the mood with ambient music from a wind-up rune box.

They laughed, gossiped, and shared ridiculous stories. And then Mira poured the wine.

Elara, skeptical at first, sipped cautiously. Then again. And again. By the third glass, her cheeks were flushed and her posture relaxed. Her usual stiff demeanor melted into a softer, looser version of herself.

Sylv, sensing the opportunity, dragged her into a dance. The music shifted into a sultry beat, and Elara—heels on, of course—moved with surprising rhythm.

"You know," Sylv teased mid-twirl, "you're dangerously good at this."

"Am not," Elara giggled, though her hips swayed with almost predatory grace.

The dance became the centerpiece of the night, Sylv and Elara exchanging spins and dips while Mira and Lyria clapped and laughed. At one point, Sylv whispered something into Elara's ear that made her blush from neck to scalp, though the words were lost to the music.

Later, they brought out a second cake—this one enchanted to glitter with floating icing words that read "To Our Brilliant Star, Elara". As they cut into it, Mira declared that Elara had to make a wish.

"I wish for... a break from fan mail," she muttered, making them all laugh.

The evening ended with Elara slumped contentedly between her three friends, her head resting on Sylv's shoulder as she murmured sleepy thanks to everyone.

The next morning, her memories were fragmented. She remembered the letter, the cake, the candles... and vague images of dancing.

She groaned into her pillow.

"Morning, birthday girl," Lyria chirped.

"Your moves last night? Flawless," Sylv added with a wink.

Elara peeked out from under her blanket and mumbled, "Please tell me I didn't sing."

Mira laughed from the doorway. "No, but you did try to teach Lyria how to catwalk."

"I need to transfer schools," Elara grumbled.

But beneath the embarrassment, a smile crept across her lips. It was a ridiculous week, a chaotic mess of affection and unwanted attention—but somehow, it felt... warm.

And as the forge in her lab neared completion, Elara couldn't help but wonder if this strange new life, heels and all, might not be as unbearable as she'd feared.