Chapter 40 – Shifting Roles

The sun hovered lazily above the capital, casting warm rays over the city's rooftops as Elara stood at the edge of her lab's rooftop terrace, sipping a cup of spiced tea. Her lab—nestled just a short walk from the royal forge—buzzed with silence. For once, there were no alarms, no urgent visitors, and no immediate deadlines. The final presentation was done. Her evaluation pending. And for the first time in months, she had time.

But time did not mean rest. Not for her.

The aftermath of the assassination attempt still lingered in her thoughts, like smoke from a fire long extinguished. It had clarified something she had instinctively known but had stubbornly refused to accept: she had enemies. Real ones. And they wouldn't simply send her politely worded letters asking her to stop changing the world.

So, she worked.

Inside the lab, the air was thick with mana and the scent of scorched metal. The upgraded Rune Printer dominated the central workspace. Unlike the earlier model, which had been essentially a mechanized engraving arm, this new version operated with a precision matrix that allowed it to dynamically adjust rune depth and angle based on mana density of the input material. The plate could now handle not only stone and soft metals but even mid-grade enchanted alloys. A quiet revolution in production capability.

She was halfway through debugging a vector misalignment when Darnak stormed in.

"Ye know, lass, you work like a dwarf with a grudge," he said, brushing soot from his beard. His thick arms were crossed, his eyes critical but impressed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Elara replied without looking up.

"It should be. I've seen what you're buildin'. Tolan mentioned you're lookin' to expand your R&D, and I see the signs. You're militarizin'."

She didn't deny it.

"Not militarizing. Preparing. I was lucky the last time. If they try again... I want more than luck on my side."

Darnak approached the workstation, examining the Rune Printer's new engraving head. His fingers hovered over it with professional appreciation. "Impressive. You'd make a name for yourself in the Forgeholds. Actually, that's why I came."

She paused her work.

He continued, voice steady. "The caravan that brought me here is long gone. But the next one leaves in two weeks. If you come with me to the Dwarven kingdoms, I'll see to it personally that you're welcomed not just as an inventor, but as a goddess of the anvil. Our forges, our libraries, even our secrets—they'd be yours."

The offer hung in the air, golden and tempting.

Elara took a deep breath.

"That... means more to me than you know, Darnak. But my answer is no."

The dwarf blinked. "Why?"

"Because this is my home," she said quietly. "Aldemar is where I grew up. The king and this land have given me nothing but fair treatment and protection. They never tried to exploit me. If anything, they've sheltered me. I can't abandon that. Not now."

Darnak gave her a long, unreadable look, then nodded slowly. "Didn't think you'd say yes. But I had to ask."

The days passed in focused solitude. Elara worked alone, perfecting her designs, updating security protocols in her lab, and sending encrypted mana scrolls to Tolan with her requirements for potential assistants. She needed people she could trust. Smart minds with sharp instincts. People who could help her build more than just machines—people who could build the future.

By the fifth morning, a sealed letter bearing the crest of the Royal Academy arrived via enchanted falcon.

"To Miss Elara Wyrmshade,

You are requested to attend a private meeting with Headmaster Alric at your earliest convenience."

She sighed. So much for a quiet week.

The Academy's main tower loomed high over the surrounding buildings, its marble dome catching the sunlight like a second sun. Elara arrived in a simple dark-blue dress, her hair tied back, her mana aura tightly contained. She was still getting used to people stepping aside when she walked past—though whether out of respect, fear, or admiration, she wasn't sure anymore.

A clerk led her through two sets of security glyphs before opening a massive oak door.

Headmaster Alric stood at a large arched window, hands clasped behind his back. He turned with a broad, utterly delighted grin.

"Miss Wyrmshade," he said. "Or may I say... the Elara of E.W. Systems."

Elara froze mid-step.

Alric's eyes sparkled. "Apologies. I know this must be awkward, but—well—we figured it out. A few of us. Your research notes, your style, the aura left on some of the original devices…"

He hurried forward, a glimmer in his eye. "Would you mind terribly signing this?"

He held out a notebook.

Elara blinked. Then blinked again. Then laughed.

"You're a fanboy."

He flushed but chuckled. "Briefly. I assure you, I'm also Headmaster of one of the continent's most prestigious institutions."

She signed the notebook with a flourish.

"Thank you," he said, quickly composing himself. "Now, to the matter at hand. While your admission was not under false pretenses, it's become abundantly clear that you are... woefully misplaced among the student body."

Elara raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"As a compliment, I hope. You've corrected more instructors than students. Half of our departments are using principles you invented before you even set foot on campus."

He gestured toward a nearby table, where a detailed schedule lay.

"What I propose is simple. You remain enrolled for access to facilities, resources, and certain courses—Alchemy and Etiquette, to be specific. But you would formally join the faculty to teach four core classes: Rune Theory, Rune Application, Mechanic Design, and Mechanic Execution."

She hesitated.

"You want me to teach?"

"Yes. You're already doing it informally. And frankly, your insights are too valuable to be buried in assignments. This way, you'll have more control over your time—and you'll shape the next generation of magic-engineers."

Elara opened her mouth to reply, then paused. "One more thing. I want Etiquette removed from my schedule. It's a waste of time, and frankly, I don't need it."

Alric tilted his head. "Let's get a second opinion."

A soft knock followed almost on cue, and the door opened to reveal none other than Miss Aramelle, the Etiquette instructor. Poised, graceful, and terrifying, she stepped into the room like a queen arriving at court.

"You summoned me, Headmaster?"

"Indeed. We need your opinion. Do you believe Elara Wyrmshade requires formal instruction in etiquette?"

Miss Aramelle turned her piercing gaze to Elara, then exhaled softly through her nose, almost amused. "Headmaster, I have never in all my years witnessed someone who moves with more grace, poise, or intuitive refinement than Miss Wyrmshade. Her natural elegance causes daily incidents. Our infirmary sees both boys and girls fainting from nosebleeds after a single glance at her walking across the courtyard."

Elara's mouth fell open.

"She exudes etiquette by mere existence. It would be insulting to imply she needs formal instruction."

Alric grinned. "Well then, that settles it. You'll teach four courses, study Alchemy, and otherwise continue your work."

Elara blinked, then nodded slowly. "Fine. I accept. But only if I can veto any students who try to start a fanclub in my class."

"No promises," Alric replied with a mischievous grin.

Later that evening, Elara returned to the dorms with a strange weight in her chest—not anxiety, not excitement. Something in between.

She pushed open the door to her room and was instantly greeted by Sylv and Lyria.

"There she is! Professor Wyrmshade!" Lyria beamed.

Sylv raised an eyebrow. "You know, I always suspected you were secretly faculty."

"Oh shut up," Elara muttered, tossing her bag onto her bed.

Lyria laughed. "No seriously, this is perfect! You always corrected the teachers anyway. Now you get paid for it!"

Sylv nodded. "Just don't forget us when you become famous."

"Become?" Lyria gasped. "She already is!"

Elara groaned and face-planted into her pillow.

Somewhere behind her, laughter echoed.

And for the first time in days, she let herself smile.