Chapter 36 – Foundations of an Empire

As the end of the academic year loomed, a quiet frenzy stirred behind the scenes of the Royal Academy. The instructors, professors, and department heads found themselves engaged in increasingly exasperated conversations in hushed tones and closed rooms. Not about the students in general, but about one student in particular.

Elara Wyrmshade.

No matter the subject—be it runes, applied mana theory, mechanics, etiquette, or even courtly conduct—Elara consistently demonstrated mastery that bordered on the absurd. Not only was she leagues ahead of her peers, she was outpacing her instructors. Some whispered that even third-year final exams would not challenge her.

In etiquette class, Madame Vellaria, a woman known to make duchesses weep with a raised eyebrow, found herself speechless. "There is not a single flaw in your composure, Lady Wyrmshade," she had said one morning with a mix of awe and exasperation. "It is as if you were bred in a royal ballroom."

Elara wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor.

Meanwhile, the forge—her greatest collaboration with Darnak Ironflame—had been completed.

The "Forge," as they simply called it now, was nothing short of a miracle. It integrated runic heating elements, mana-recycling vents, adjustable casting beds, and a multi-tool armature system. It could produce custom metalworks in a fraction of the time any traditional dwarven method allowed.

Darnak, who at first had called her "kid" and "lass" with dwarvish irreverence, now treated her with the deference of a grandmaster. In public settings, he addressed her as "Master Wyrmshade," and when others asked, he simply said: "She's got the fire of the forge in her blood."

With the Forge's help, the first true Hover Trucks had rolled out of production.

Larger than carriages and powered by Elara's custom hover-drive, these mana-fueled behemoths were changing the world one shipment at a time. A trade route between the capital and the dwarven strongholds had already opened. Where once a heavily loaded caravan journey over unpaved roads and treacherous terrain would take upwards of two or even three months, the new hover trucks—cruising steadily at 90 kilometers per hour—could make the same trip in under four days. The sheer reduction in transit time had turned what was once a slow, risky venture into a streamlined artery of commerce.

The economic implications were staggering.

One Sunday morning, while working in her workshop, Elara was interrupted by her guard. A messenger bearing the royal seal waited outside. The note, though brief, carried weight:

The King requests your presence. At your earliest convenience.

She sighed, wiped the oil from her fingers, and changed into a presentable blouse, skirt, and—of course—her new black-on-gold heels. Then she climbed into one of her personal hover carriages and set course for the palace.

The guards at the palace gates bowed her through without question. She was quickly led to the same private side chamber she'd come to know well. King Aldemar stood waiting near a stained-glass window, the light casting mosaic patterns across the polished floor.

"Elara," he greeted with a tired smile. "Thank you for coming."

"Is something wrong, Your Majesty?"

"Yes. And no."

She raised an eyebrow.

The King exhaled slowly, as if weighing his words carefully. "Several neighboring nations have taken note of our recent... technological bloom. Specifically the hover transport."

"I suppose that's inevitable."

"Yes. But it's sooner than we anticipated. They're not asking questions yet. They're issuing ultimatums."

Elara frowned. "Do they want the technology or... the inventor?"

"Both."

A heavy silence passed.

King Aldemar turned to face her fully. "Our kingdom is... not among the strongest. We lack natural defenses, deep vaults of mana, or an expansive army. Our neighbors smell opportunity."

Elara crossed her arms. "What are you asking of me?"

"Help us secure a future. Before someone tries to take it from us."

She nodded slowly. "Then call in Tolan. We need to strategize."

Within the hour, Tolan arrived, all business and dressed in formal robes that betrayed his new role: more than mentor, he was now her chief financial adviser, logistics planner, and head of distribution.

Elara laid out her proposal: a continent-wide expansion.

"We start small," she explained, conjuring a schematic on the table between them. "Mana-lamps. Heating plates. Efficient cooktops. Widely usable, easy to produce, and highly desirable. Once established, we introduce mana-powered bicycles and then hover-carriages."

Tolan tapped the map. "And what of distribution?"

"We register a new guild. A trade company. Officially not affiliated with the royal family, nor with me directly. Just marked with my initials: E.W."

The king blinked. "You want to market them as a single line of products?"

"Controlled branding. Consistent quality. Strategic availability."

Tolan nodded, impressed. "You've been thinking about this."

"The moment people started whispering about war."

The King folded his hands. "Will it work? Will it reduce the pressure on us?"

Elara hesitated, then said quietly, "It will give us leverage. Time. And in time, that might be enough."

They spoke for hours. Discussing routes, tariffs, manufacturing hubs, licensing, and security. By the end of the meeting, both men were left in a stunned silence.

She left the palace as dusk began to settle.

Her hover carriage slid smoothly through the lantern-lit streets. The weight of her choices pressed heavily against her chest, and for once, she didn't fight it. She was building more than machines. She was laying the foundation of a technological empire.

When she reached her dorm, the lights were low. Sylv was already curled on the couch, reading. Lyria peeked out from the bathroom, face wrapped in a glowing facial rune.

"Rough day?" Lyria asked.

"You have no idea," Elara muttered, kicking off her heels.

Sylv smiled faintly. "Then you're right on track."

Elara sank into her bed. And for a long time, she just stared at the ceiling, eyes wide, thoughts spinning.

She wasn't just outpacing her class anymore.

She was outpacing her era.