Chapter 41 – Foundations of a Future

Elara Wyrmshade stood in the center of her newly renovated Research & Development lab, the polished stone floor gleaming beneath the sunlight pouring through enchanted skylights. This was her sanctum. No longer just a personal workshop hidden in the corners of the capital, but a fully staffed facility—albeit fledgling—for the advancement of magic-engineering. The formal agreement with Headmaster Alric had been signed, granting her the next four weeks as official break before assuming her new role as part-time professor. And Elara was determined to make every moment of it count.

She wasn't alone anymore.

Tolan had scoured the entire kingdom during her final weeks at the Academy, seeking out brilliant but overlooked minds—young inventors, tinkerers, alchemy enthusiasts, anyone with potential but lacking opportunity. Ten names had surfaced. Ten hopefuls who, despite their rawness, had the spark Elara needed. More importantly, they were people who knew what it meant to struggle. People who would never take their positions for granted.

Each of them had signed a comprehensive non-magical contract—crafted with legal input from the palace—that bound them to confidentiality and transferred intellectual rights to the R&D division of E.W. Systems. Not a single one hesitated. Some would have done it for free. Most couldn't believe they were being offered a chance to work under the E.W.

None expected that E.W. would be a sixteen-year-old girl.

Their first meeting was almost comedic.

Elara entered the lab in a fitted navy tunic with her standard diamond-etched toolbelt slung over one shoulder. Tolan stood by the entryway, arms folded and enjoying the quiet tension of anticipation.

The ten recruits stood in a semi-circle, murmuring and fidgeting. They quieted instantly when Tolan raised a hand.

"I present to you your project lead and division head. E.W. herself."

Elara stepped forward.

Silence. Then confusion. Then... one audible gasp.

"You're joking," muttered a tall boy with soot-stained gloves.

Elara's brow twitched. "No, I'm not."

A short red-haired girl near the back tilted her head. "But... you're..."

"A girl? Young? Pretty? All true. None of which impact my qualifications," Elara said, voice level. "You're not here to ogle. You're here to learn and work."

There was a pause. Then one of the recruits—an older teen with sharp eyes—muttered something under seinem breath. Something about timelines and invention dates.

He did the math.

And promptly fainted.

Tolan chuckled, utterly unhelpful.

Elara sighed. "Welcome to R&D. I suggest you recover quickly. Orientation starts now."

The first week was a slog.

Elara introduced the sprinkler project—an adaptive irrigation system using vector-based runes for controlled water dispersal. It sounded simple. It wasn't. Especially not when her recruits demonstrated wildly inconsistent levels of foundational knowledge.

She spent more time correcting misconceptions than explaining actual mechanics. One girl was convinced runes could only be activated through chanting. Another had never heard of layered mana feeds. A third attempted to inscribe on copper.

Still, they were eager. Hungry, even.

By midweek, Elara found herself drawing entire chalkboard diagrams with four people asking questions simultaneously. Her voice grew hoarse from repetition, and her patience wore thin. But she didn't give up.

Nor did they.

Some, especially the younger women, began to watch her in a strange way—something between reverence and infatuation. Whispers passed between them. Notes were scribbled not about engineering principles, but about the way she moved, how she stood, how her hands danced when she explained resonance harmonics.

One afternoon, as she adjusted a mana conduit on the prototype sprinkler, she overheard:

"She's too elegant for this. It's like watching a goddess get her hands dirty."

Another replied, "We shouldn't let her work. It feels wrong."

Elara pretended not to hear. But her cheeks stayed red for the rest of the day.

The second week brought changes.

Elara handed out personal projects. Each recruit was tasked with solving a specific problem—some related to agriculture, others to mana storage or low-efficiency material enhancement. Nothing too advanced, but enough to test ingenuity.

Results were mixed.

Some delivered clever hacks. Others delivered barely functional prototypes held together with hope and sealing wax. A few plagiarized concepts from existing designs, which Elara gently but firmly called out.

She wasn't disappointed. But she wasn't impressed either.

So, she switched gears. The rest of the second week was boot camp.

Mornings were lectures—structured, paced, and demanding. She covered the nature of mana vectors, the difference between kinetic retention and absorption loops, even gave them a simplified crash course in material resonance theory. Afternoons were hands-on: soldering enchanted filaments, identifying flawed rune arrangements, or reverse-engineering discarded palace tech.

And slowly, things began to change.

They stopped seeing her as an idol.

They started seeing her as a mentor.

By the third week, her team was functioning. Still clumsy, still green—but no longer a liability.

Their chatter was more focused. Their questions sharper. Designs came in with detailed schematics, rune iterations, and questions that made Elara pause in appreciation.

One girl even dared to challenge a design decision. Elara encouraged her to prove it. She did. Elara smiled.

"Good. Do that again. And again."

That afternoon, they cheered when their third sprinkler prototype passed the distribution test without flooding the lab.

Elara allowed herself a private moment on the terrace that night. The stars were bright, the capital quiet. Below, the forge glowed faintly. Her R&D lab was no longer an idea. It was real. It was hers.

The final week arrived, and Elara scaled back her direct involvement. Instead, she assigned rotating leads among the team. Each day, a different recruit was responsible for planning, overseeing, and presenting a task. Mistakes were made. Tempers flared. But they adapted.

Meanwhile, Elara locked herself in her quarters with books, mana scrolls, and syllabi.

Her dorm room hadn't changed. Same soft lighting, same cozy reading nook. But her desk was now buried in lesson plans. Rune schematics here, mechanic theory outlines there. She had never taught a class before. But she was Elara Wyrmshade—she'd figure it out.

Sylv entered first.

"You're nesting."

Elara didn't look up. "I'm prepping."

Lyria leaned in from the door. "You're stress-prepping."

"It's called responsible planning."

Sylv plopped onto the couch. "It's called professor panic."

Lyria giggled. "Should we start calling you Miss Wyrmshade now?"

Elara threw a pillow. It missed.

Sylv caught it and hugged it smugly. "Seriously though, I'm proud of you."

Elara paused. Looked at her friends.

"Thanks. I think I needed to hear that."

"You also need sleep. And maybe some chocolate. Or wine."

"Not legal."

"Elara, you run a lab, teach at a royal academy, and have a fan club of nosebleed victims. You can break one law."

They laughed.

And for once, Elara let the world slow down around her.

Just long enough to breathe.