Chapter 7

A New Obsession

"Cards. Magic. Cards," Theo muttered, snapping his fingers like an impatient composer.

"Gold is heavy. Coins are forgeable. But a card—imbued with identity, bound to the holder, capable of channeling trace magic—now that... is elegant."

He grinned, spinning on his heel.

"Just imagine it, Riven. Swipe a sigil, deduct five silvers from your account, and boom! No more filthy bags of coin jangling in noble pockets like a tavern dancer."

Riven raised one eyebrow. Elric looked deeply concerned.

"My lord… are you having a breakdown?"

"No, no—listen! Paper money. Central credit. An enchantment bound to the bank seal itself!"

"Theo," Lira interjected, sipping her wine. "Are you… seriously trying to invent magic credit cards?"

"Not trying. Doing."

Kellan snorted.

"And who in damnation's name is going to trust a paper promise over cold silver?"

Theo pointed both fingers at him like twin crossbows.

"That, dear Kellan, is why I'm opening a merchant guild. Not just any guild—the guild."

The Guild of Thorns

"We'll call it the Guild of Thorns," Theo announced, eyes glittering.

"Because roses may woo the nobles, but thorns are what hold up the stem. We'll gather the boldest traders, inventors, artisans, and yes, even smugglers—if they pay tax."

Elric folded his arms. "And you think this will be profitable?"

"No," Theo said, grinning. "I know it will be essential."

"We offer access to duchy-run roads, protective tariffs for guilded merchants, and exclusive contracts for the enchanted card system once we build it."

But There's One Problem

"Capital," Theo muttered, flopping into a chair like a defeated general.

"We don't have the coin to fund the magic work yet. Elves and dwarves don't work for gratitude. They want crystal, gems, enchanted ore. Things we don't grow in this cozy little slice of paradise."

Lira raised a brow. "So?"

"So, we find a new source of wealth."

"Trade routes?" Elric suggested.

"Too slow."

"Exotic exports?" Kellan asked.

"Too common."

"Wives with absurd dowries?" Riven offered dryly.

Theo snapped his fingers again.

"Bingo. But instead of marrying one… let's outcompete ten."

The Plan Begins

Theo stood, fire in his veins.

"We find something no one else sells. No one else controls. Something rare. Then, we anchor the Guild of Thorns to it—and every duchy that wants it, pays us."

He tapped the table once.

"That's how we fund the enchantments."

He tapped it again.

"That's how we build the bank."

And once more.

"That's how the world learns the meaning of Aldercrest."

There were no clocks in Aldercrest.

Not proper ones, at least. No hands, no gears, no chimes.

Just bells—rung by tired old men at sunrise and sunset. Market days decided by "gut feeling" and feast days by the moon's shape.

It was chaos. Organized by tradition. And Theo?

Theo hated it.

"We don't even know what time it is," he snapped one evening, waving a stick at the sky. "Do you understand the existential horror of never knowing if you're late?"

Lira raised an eyebrow. "You're twenty minutes late for this council."

"Proving. My. Point."

The Tower Clock Project

The first design was… ambitious.

A tower-mounted mechanical clock, powered by weighted gears and gravity, chiming on the hour.

Theo brought in locksmiths, church bellmakers, even dwarves who carved vault gears and trap mechanisms. Then he pitted them against each other.

"If you can make a vault that triggers a spike when opened," he told one dwarf, "you can make a wheel that turns once every hour."

"Lad, that's like askin' a dragon to flap once a day."

"Exactly."

Weeks turned into months. The prototype broke. Twice. One nearly exploded. But then—it worked.

The first tower clock stood tall in Aldercrest's central square, its bronze hands turning slowly, its hourly bell echoing through every street.

People gathered for the bell, mouths open. Bakers set timers for bread. Farmers sowed and harvested more precisely.

The duchy no longer told time by guesswork.

It owned it.

Desk Clocks for Nobles

But Theo wasn't done.

"Why should time belong to the common folk alone?"

He called for jewelers, miniaturists, even a retired elven silversmith known for carving charms smaller than a thumbnail.

Together, they built the noble desk clock—a tabletop device of wood, crystal, and finely tuned gears. Engraved with the wearer's crest, enchanted to tick with faint magic. Each one a symbol of prestige and precision.

"Limited run," Theo said smugly. "Only twelve exist. One for each House Lord in the capital."

"That'll get their attention," Lira muttered. "You're basically making time fashionable."

"Exactly," Theo said, already sketching a smaller, crazier version.

The Ball at the Capital

Autumn again. The Crown Princess's birthday.

The kingdom's elite gathered under a starlit dome of crystal chandeliers, wine flowing like rivers, and whispers of war, marriages, and trade.

Enter: Theodore Aldercrest.

He arrived fashionably late—deliberately so—wearing a fitted coat of navy and black, silver embroidery shaped like turning gears. No armor. No sword.

Just charm… and a clock tucked under his arm in a velvet case.

He made his rounds, and then—at precisely the stroke of eight—he opened the case.

Nobles leaned in. Eyes widened. The ticking was hypnotic. The hands moved.

"What in the Queen's name is that?" one baron whispered.

"A timekeeper," Theo said with a smile. "Yours, if you're… punctual with trade agreements."

Laughter. Shock. Deals whispered behind fans.

Later, in the wine garden, he leaned back and sighed.

"Soon…" he mumbled, watching the stars. "We'll put one of these on a wrist. Small. Elegant. Practical. Oh, and maybe enchanted to scream if someone tries to steal it—"

Elric choked on his drink. "What are you even talking about?"

"A watch. On your arm. Controlled by gears, not stars."

"Theo, we just spent a year building a bell tower that barely works when it rains."

"Exactly. Now imagine a clock... that moves with you."

Kellan leaned over. "You mean like a time grenade."

"No. But I'm writing that down."

And just as Theo stood to return to the ballroom, a noble he didn't recognize approached. Sleek. Old. Cloaked in deep velvet.

He nodded at Theo, then at the case.

"You made this?"

"I did."

"Make me one," the man said. "But smaller. For my wrist."

Theo blinked.

Then smiled.

"You may just be my favorite person tonight."