Chapter 8

The ballroom was empty now. Only starlight filtered through its grand windows. But Theo remained, lounging in a chair with his newly enchanted desk clock ticking beside him.

"Shares…" he muttered. "Ownership… without power. Profit… without work."

The old noble's words—"Make me one for the wrist"—still echoed in his head. Not the request itself, but the intent behind it.

"He didn't want the clock… he wanted a piece of it."

And just like that—the idea struck.

A New Idea is Born

"Why limit this to gifts or trade?" Theo sat up straight. "What if we sell the right to profit from our innovations? Allow the nobles to buy shares in future inventions. Fund the Guild. Expand infrastructure. All without war, tax hikes, or begging foreign crowns."

Elric looked up from his drink, eyes narrowing.

"Are you talking about selling your duchy?"

"No," Theo said, eyes sharp. "I'm talking about selling the future."

The Duchy of Aldercrest had rebounded well, but Theo knew better than to confuse survival with prosperity.

Current Finances:

Annual Revenue: ~125,000 gold marks

Administrative Costs: 35,000 gold

Infrastructure Maintenance: 20,000 gold

Military Upkeep: 30,000 gold

Innovation & Craft Projects: 15,000 gold

Surplus/Profit: ~25,000 gold (barely enough for ambitious projects)

It wasn't bad.

But it wasn't enough.

Not for banks. Not for magical credit cards. Not for watches, towers, airships, or gods forbid—universities.

The Tea Party Invitation

So he did the unthinkable.

The next morning, scrolls bearing Theo Aldercrest's personal seal were dispatched across the kingdom.

"You are cordially invited to tea at the Aldercrest capital estate. An opportunity to partake in the future prosperity of our kingdom awaits—provided you possess the vision to see it."

Some nobles scoffed.

"A tea party? From a brat who built toys?"

Others laughed.

"Let him pour tea. We'll pour gold if it amuses us."

But many—too many to ignore—were intrigued.

House Varran, known for its silk monopolies.

The Thornbriar twins, infamous financiers.

Even Duke Marrane, a staunch traditionalist, sent a proxy.

The bait had been cast.

By evening, Theo stood in the estate's high garden, overlooking the sprawling capital. Tables of gold-laced porcelain lined the walkway. Servers glided silently through blooming rose arches. A quartet played softly near the fountain.

The nobles arrived in waves—curious, skeptical, arrogant.

"Aldercrest," one said snidely. "You've summoned half the kingdom like a debutante."

"And you showed up," Theo replied with a smile. "So who's the real fool?"

They laughed, lightly, but his tone was enough to still them.

Theo stood at the head of the table, the gathered nobles watching him with veiled interest and unveiled greed. A single wind brushed through the garden, carrying the scent of roses and ink.

"This," he said, raising a parchment engraved with the sigil of the Guild of Thorns, "is not a plea for charity. This is the future of profit, secured by innovation, sealed by law, and powered by shared ambition."

He let the silence stretch.

"For a modest price, you can own part of what we will build. From clocks to cards. From timekeeping to banking. From Aldercrest… to all of Aerthran."

A murmur rolled across the nobles.

"Yes," Theo said with a slow smile. "That's the name of this world, in case you've all forgotten where history will be made."

He raised his cup once more, crystalline and gleaming.

"To Aerthran—a world that's about to learn the value of every second."

The garden of Aldercrest's estate had never held so much weight.

Rose bushes pruned to royal standards. Velvet drapes on marble tables. Porcelain cups clinking like whispers in a war council. And seated at each table—lords and ladies of gold, power, and suspicion.

They hadn't come for the tea.

They came to see what kind of mad game the young Duke of Aldercrest was playing now.

Theo stood before them, not in armor, but in high-collared black, silver trim glinting under the sun, a soft smile on his face. The smile of a man who had already won—and now waited for the others to catch up.

"What is a share?" he began, voice cutting through idle chatter like a scalpel. "A share, my lords… is not a favor, not a donation, not a gamble."

"It is a claim. On gold. On future profit. On something greater than yourself."

Some sipped. Some scoffed. One or two leaned in.

"Let me put it simply.""If a merchant earns one thousand gold, and you own a tenth of his venture, you receive a tenth of his profit.""Now, instead of one merchant… imagine an entire guild. Dozens of merchants. Builders. Clockmakers. Enchanters. Ships. Mines. A beast that grows—and you own part of its heart."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"You're asking us," came the sneer of Lord Dorran, "to throw coin at your glorified workshop."

"I'm offering you a chance to profit from progress," Theo replied, unbothered. "To claim stake in a system that will govern coin for the next hundred years."

"You seek power.""I offer you dividends."

A Different Kind of Weapon

Theo unfurled a scroll. Every eye followed the motion. Not a sword. Not a map of borders. But something far more dangerous—a breakdown of ownership.

"The Guild of Thorns will be divided into two hundred shares. One hundred held by Aldercrest citizens. One hundred offered to the nobility.""Each share is worth one hundred gold.""Each share entitles the holder to one-two-hundredth of all Guild profit.""Shares can be resold. Re-inherited. Traded. Consolidated."

"A new kind of nobility—built not on bloodline, but foresight."

Silence.

Even the wind held its breath.

"We estimate a twenty-five percent return in the first year," Theo added, casually sipping from his own cup. "But I understand if that's too… progressive… for your sensibilities."

That did it.

"I'll take ten," said Countess Marivelle, dabbing her lips."Five," muttered Lord Argos."Fifteen," came a quiet voice from behind a fan—House Varran.

Dorran seethed.

But by then, the scroll was already being passed around, ink drying faster than tempers.

Politics in Motion

From the balcony, Lira watched the transactions unfold.

"You just split the power of nobility into coin," she murmured."You realize what you've done?"

Theo didn't look at her.

"No noble wants to lose their title," he said. "But they'll sell their souls if it earns them gold without risk. This is a leash."

He smiled coldly.

"I'm giving them freedom... on my terms."

Behind the Roses, Thorns

That evening, as twilight swallowed the estate, messages flew like arrows across Aerthran.

A bishop whispered into a king's ear: "The boy dares rival the Crown Mint itself."

A marquess to his spymaster: "If that boy succeeds, we'll all be peasants wearing perfume."

And deep within the royal capital, a black-robed advisor simply said:

"Kill the Guild... before it mints lords out of merchants."