The thought consumed Breannus, an insistent drumbeat within his mind: she wished to meet with him—or rather, people like him; supporters. Those devoted souls who longed to serve her directly, their faith in her cause unwavering.
As with all of the Lord's grand endeavours, posters and notices adorned the city's walls and corners, heralding yet another innovative venture. This time, she beckoned her most fervent followers to the Prospect District.
Breannus, eager and resolute, joined a throng of fellow enthusiasts as they journeyed toward the anticipated gathering. His heart swelled with pride, for he had already met the Lord in person—an experience he took great pleasure in dangling before the envious gazes of those less fortunate.
Not everyone, however, shared Breannus' passion for the Lord. In fact, many reacted with disdain, spitting at the mere mention of her name and displaying their loathing with utter disrespect. These misguided souls, he mused, would eventually see the light.
The Prospect District, surrounded by towering walls, boasted only a handful of entrances throughout the city. These high barriers allowed only fleeting glimpses of the district's secluded beauty, revealing the backs of homes and streets bathed in ethereal night-time illumination.
Each entrance was perpetually guarded, and if one were to query a passerby, they’d undoubtedly recount a youthful escapade, an attempt to infiltrate the exclusive district. Ascending to the upper echelons required navigating the immense, brick-and-metal structures housing the transport platforms. Entry meant passing through checkpoints staffed by sentinels loyal to the noble families above.
And even if one accomplished just that, slipping through the gaps in their awareness, cloaked in the dark of night, their efforts would invariably be thwarted, for the vigilant attendants of the platforms were always able to identify the interlopers, alerting the guards and expelling the young trespassers.
Today, Breannus would finally witness the sacred grounds the Lord called home.
Upon reaching one of the checkpoints, he noted the customary guards, emblazoned with the crest of the noble conglomerate that employed them. However, an additional group stood out—ordinary folk garbed in attire adorned with the Lord's crest. Their ruddy faces and calloused hands testified to the hardships they had endured, in stark contrast to the privileged inhabitants of the upper district.
A modest assembly had already formed before the Lord's representatives, and Breannus eagerly joined their ranks. Many recognized him, offering respectful bows as he arrived. Flustered, he waved them off, urging them to temper their deference.
Encouraged to approach one of the Lord's Men—a towering, slender figure armed with a clipboard and stylus—Breannus greeted him with reverence, annoying the man in the process. He explained his presence, spurred by the Lord's message that blanketed the city. The attendant nodded, recorded Breannus' name, and directed him to wait alongside the others for further instructions.
Over the next half hour, a few more latecomers trickled in, and finally, the Lord's men deemed it time to depart. Guiding the group through the checkpoint and onto the platform, it seemed there would be no evictions this time.
Their assembly was the largest present, but they shared the space with merchants atop their carriages and a pair of young, mud-spattered nobles tending to their horses. All maintained a respectful distance.
The platform attendant bellowed above the murmurs, urging everyone to avoid the edges. With a practised hand, they grasped the lever and activated several buttons. Then, the journey began.
The platform's initial lurch provoked a momentary panic, but as it settled into a smooth ascent, the unease subsided. It climbed the steep, mountain-like slope separating the Prospect District from the world below, powered by the enigmatic technology of the Ancients.
Breannus marvelled at their ingenuity, astonished by the ease with which the platform transported them skyward. Emerging from the platform house, surpassing the threshold of the ceiling, sunlight bathed the entire platform in a warm, golden glow, revealing an unprecedented view of the city.
Awe surged through him as he peered down at the cityscape. The tick-tock of the platform faded into the background, and Breannus felt drawn toward the edge, compelled to witness his world from a fresh vantage point. As they climbed, rooftops appeared, and the forms of friends and family shrank, their daily struggles dwindling in significance.
Breathing in the pristine air, devoid of the grime and dust of the city, he revelled in its freshness. Turning back, he leaned against the railing and gazed at the Prospect District above. The elegant brick and metal structures loomed over them, their inhabitants dressed in eclectic clothing procured from Ancient artefacts. Horseless carriages of metal propelled by mysterious technology navigated the streets as odd-looking ropes lined the streets above.
It was a realm both awe-inspiring and utterly foreign.
The platform eased to a gentle halt at the pinnacle of its ascent. The attendant ushered everyone off, and the merchants and nobles made a swift exit. The rest hesitated, disoriented and awestruck by their new surroundings. The Lord's men raised their voices, prompting the group to gather their wits and proceed.
Each step on the pristine streets felt surreal. The smooth, flawless stones underfoot contrasted sharply with the uneven terrain below. The streets were impeccably clean, adorned only by a scattering of grass, dirt, and leaves—sparse compared to the rest of the city.
Urged forward by the Lord's men, the group meandered along the streets, their gazes wandering to the architectural marvels and the horseless carriages shuttling people at astonishing speeds. No explanations or tours were offered. They were left to wallow in their ignorance.
At last, they reached their destination: a house modest in comparison to its neighbours, yet still grander than anything Breannus had ever entered. The open door dispelled any lingering doubts about the Lord's residence, and the countless birds perched upon the structure bore witness to her presence.
He shuddered as he crossed the threshold, stepping through the open gate and into the courtyard. The Lord's Manor stood before him, radiating an aura of sacredness that sent a shiver down his spine.
The Lord's men ushered the group into the manor, halting in the foyer. The visitors marvelled at the stark white floor and opulent red walls, while the grand staircase dominated the room. No one dared to ascend. Instructed to wait, some settled into chairs that seemed out of place, while the Lord's men conversed among themselves.
Breannus soon found himself at the centre of a curious gathering, eager to exchange thoughts on their surroundings. One observer commented on the modest size of the house, attributing it to the Lord's selflessness. Another remarked on the open doors and lack of attendants, signalling trust in the city's inhabitants.
Breannus remained silent for a while, searching for his own insight. He had to show them that he deserved their respect, that his devotion and connection surpassed their own. Eventually, a realisation struck: they were chosen. The open doors weren't a sign of indiscriminate trust, but rather trust in this particular group. The posters had sought individuals eager to meet the Lord and offer aid, no questions asked. Clearly, they were meant for a unique task.
His observation earned murmurs of agreement and accolades for his perceptiveness. They didn't have to wait long before soft footsteps echoed from the staircase, muffled by the plush carpet. A tall woman, her long black hair cascading down her back, descended. Her sturdy frame and muscular arms suggested strength, and her attire was suited for swift action.
Whispers questioned whether she was the Lord, but Breannus silenced them. He knew she wasn't, but withheld the fact that he didn't know her identity. Instead, he described the Lord as remarkably short, with dazzling golden hair that demanded attention.
"Is this the next group?" the woman inquired as she halted on the bottom step, directing her gaze at the men who had guided the group there.
"That they are," the ruddy-faced man responded, presenting her with the stack of papers. She scanned them briefly before nodding in approval, neatly arranging the documents.
"Everyone, my name is Adewyn. You're here for a purpose yet unknown to you, and that's intentional. Interviews will be held, during which you'll meet the Lord and be given the option to assist with her new initiative. I'll call you one by one.
"First up, Zathor. Please come with me." Without hesitation, she proceeded, and Zathor—a young man still subconsciously limping on his once-broken leg, as Breannus recognized—paused momentarily before the crowd urged him forward.
Adewyn stood patiently, her silence no doubt intimidating to the shorter man. As soon as he approached her, she began ascending the stairs, her silence a clear indication that he should follow. He hesitated for a few more seconds before finally trailing behind her.
As she had promised, each person was called up one by one and led to the upper level. Upon their return, they were swiftly escorted out, but this time without the accompaniment of one of the men. Instead, one of the numerous birds circling the manor swooped down, alighting on a shoulder or hovering near their heads, guiding them further into the heart of the Prospect District.
Breannus had no idea what happened to them afterward, as they quickly disappeared from view within the manor. A hint of unease crept into his thoughts, but he quickly suppressed it, reminding himself of his trust in the Lord. She wouldn't do anything to harm him.
"Breannus." At last, it was his turn.
He strode forward confidently, the crowd parting instantly to allow him passage. Adewyn regarded him with a curious glint in her eye, yet she remained silent as they ascended the staircase together.
The plush carpet beneath his feet felt unimaginably soft, and the majestic stairwell leading to the corridor above was a sight he doubted he would ever forget.
Adewyn guided him down a corridor, making only one turn before stopping in front of a set of tall, heavy wooden double doors. She rapped on the door three times in quick succession to announce their arrival, then pushed the doors open without waiting for a reply.
Then, and only then, did Breannus hesitated. Was this really it? Was he about to speak with the Lord herself? A flurry of questions swirled through his mind, and he silently berated himself for not having prepared a list of things to discuss. He steadied his breathing before it could become erratic. He couldn’t keep the Lord waiting.
Upon entering the room, Adewyn closed the door behind him, revealing two women seated behind a large, magnificently ornate desk. He recognized one of them as the Lord, who appeared quite small behind the oversized desk. The other was evidently an older woman, as evidenced by the bags under her eyes and the wrinkles lining her face. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she carried herself with a regal bearing.
"Please, take a seat," the unknown woman spoke politely. Immediately, Breannus complied, unable to resist the inherent authority in her voice.
The chair was comfortable, and he nearly sank into it as his mind became somewhat lost in the lavishness of his surroundings.
"Let's start by having you tell us what you think of the Lord," she began, and Breannus forced himself not to glance at the esteemed Lord sitting nearby.
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With her in the room, he thought to himself, feeling sweat bead on his neck due to nerves. He needed to make a good first impression.
"W-well, she's incredible," Breannus stammered, doing his best not to sound insincere. "From the moment she took over the city, I knew she was going to do great things."
He went on to describe his experience with illness, how he had tried everything to no avail, and how he feared he would suffer the same fate as others who had contracted the same disease—dead and buried in the graveyard.
He shared his experience at the clinic and the instant relief he felt, which solidified his faith in the Lord. She had saved him, empowered the doctors to heal the city, and asked for nothing in return.
Unable to contain himself, he spoke about the group he had founded, his efforts to spread the word to anyone willing to listen, and witnessing the Lord's miraculous survival after falling from the tower.
He did his best to convey to the Lord and her assistant the depth of his belief in them, his respect for them, and even his reverence for her as someone who could truly elevate the city to a new era.
By the end of his impassioned speech, he was out of breath and drenched in sweat, his heart pounding rapidly.
Throughout the conversation, the Lord maintained a stoic demeanour, giving no indication of her thoughts, while her assistant diligently took notes, capturing the essence of their discussion. The woman nodded and set her pencil down, meeting Breannus's gaze once more.
"Now, tell us about your occupation and interests. How do you spend your days?"
Breannus hesitated, aware that his abundance of leisure might cast him in an unfavourable light. He began by outlining his battles with illness and the debilitation it had wrought, then explained that he was currently jobless, residing with friends who covered the rent as he sought employment. His vitality had yet to be fully restored.
As he finished, he couldn't bring himself to meet the assistant's eyes, apprehensive that she would find his response wanting.
"This 'group' you mentioned earlier," the woman inquired, "are they all here with you today?"
"N-no," Breannus stammered. "Many couldn't come—but they wanted to. The posters and notices didn't give them enough time to attend."
"When you return, tell them to join us. We'll ensure they have the opportunity," she said, smiling. "Thank you for your candour."
Breannus nodded eagerly, a mix of elation and disappointment washing over him as he realised that his companions would share in this chance, even if it diminished his own sense of distinction.
The woman leaned back, seemingly done with her questions. Breannus finally dared to look at her again, only to find the Lord's keen gaze focused on him. She had leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, studying him intently. He fought to remain composed, resisting the urge to succumb to the scrutiny as the sensation of being both predator and prey seized him.
"Breannus," she began, her voice surprisingly youthful and light. "If you could ask me for one thing, what would it be?"
He swallowed nervously, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Was this a test? Was she genuinely seeking his opinion? Amidst the uncertainty, he didn't want to err in his response.
His attention sharpened; he recalled the woman's earlier praise of his candour,' and a revelation struck him: he simply needed to be honest.
Swallowing again, he steeled himself against his ego's whispers. The truth, he reminded himself.
"Let me help you build this city into the finest in the Empire," he began haltingly, his voice soon swelling with unbridled fervour.
The Lord remained inscrutable, her expression unchanging, and a knot of unease began to form in Breannus's stomach. He feared that his words had been ill-chosen.
"Thank you for coming today," the assistant said, signalling the conclusion of their meeting. "Adewyn will escort you out. A bird will then guide you to the platform where you first arrived. From there, you will descend back into the city. Tomorrow, you'll learn whether you've been chosen to join our new initiative."
Breannus inclined his head in deference, rising with a slight shuffle from his chair. Adewyn moved to hold the door open for him. However, as he approached the threshold, he hesitated. A gnawing urge, fuelled by his ego, impelled him to demonstrate his uniqueness, his potential value to their cause.
"P-p-perhaps," he stammered, his nerves warring with his conviction. He pivoted to face the room, noting a spark of curiosity flicker across the assistant's features. "There are those who harbour discontent towards the clinic, and your rule over the city. They’re like my group–but not my group–but organised. Loosely."
He swallowed hard, his voice gaining a modicum of strength. "I know who some of them are. I can try to persuade them to believe in your cause, as I do. I have a talent for convincing others; people seem to listen to me."
An interminable silence stretched out, each tick of the clock amplifying Breannus' sense of vulnerability. At last, a response came.
"Thank you for your input," the Lord replied, her voice devoid of emotion. The terseness of her response spoke volumes.
Breannus bowed once more, a heavy weight of regret settling upon his shoulders. He realised he had overstepped his bounds, failed to maintain the expected decorum. Yet there was no turning back now. As Adewyn guided him down the stairs and through the manor, there was no opportunity for further conversation.
When they reached the door, a crow swiftly replaced Adewyn as his escort. Breannus exhaled a deep, weary sigh as he stepped beyond the courtyard. He had given it his all; now, all that remained was to discover if his efforts had made any difference.
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The final cart bearing labourers rumbled to a halt at the excavation site, its creaking wheels heralding their arrival. Already, a motley crew of twelve individuals milled about, attempting to familiarise themselves with the peculiar structures dotting the area. A solitary figure, the overseer, observed their disorientation from a distance as he nibbled on his modest rations. Of all the undertakings he had been part of, this one was truly exceptional.
The unconventional facilities were constructed entirely of compressed stone and earth, their surfaces polished to an almost unnatural smoothness. Their austere forms, void of embellishments, were unsightly but served their purpose well. The reason behind these unorthodox, earthen edifices was the enigmatic man who single-handedly sustained the entire mining operation.
Perched on the mountain slope before them, the mysterious figure was clad in impenetrable full-plate armour, obscuring every inch of skin. He knelt with his hands firmly pressed against the ground, as though coaxing the very earth to move at his will. Inch by inch, the vast expanse of soil descended into the mountainside, a feat that would have taken days of labour for mere mortals, yet the armoured figure accomplished it within hours.
The progress, though gradual, was relentless, requiring only the armoured man's continued efforts. The overseer mused to himself, his eyes following the last of the workers as they collected their gear and meandered toward the stone hut. "At this rate, I'll be out of a job," he contemplated, a wry smile playing on his lips as the new arrivals discovered their assigned tasks.
These newcomers were no miners; rather, they were convicts, sent to toil here instead of being conscripted into the Chosen. The overseer could appreciate this arrangement—after all, their labour came without cost.
Despite the armoured man's remarkable capabilities, it seemed even he had his limitations. Meren, the liaison to the Lord, had relayed to the Overseer that the enigmatic figure could move vast amounts of earth, but the precious metals they sought would remain untouched by his powers. This was where the conscripted convicts came into play.
Their task was to extract the valuable metals and transport them to an imposing chasm that pierced the ground. Safety railings encircled the ominous hole, and a rudimentary crane, crafted of stone under the Overseer's direction, towered above it. The Overseer had been strictly warned against venturing into the murky abyss.
Upon hearing this, the Overseer had chuckled, remarking, "You couldn't pay me to take a dip in it." Word had it that large-scale construction projects were underway in Rensenfeld, necessitating a considerable supply of metals. This explained why the Lord herself had taken a personal interest in the mining operation, even sending her own 'miner' to assist.
Initially, the Overseer harboured reservations about the unconventional excavation methods. Carving immense swaths of earth from the mountain could wreak havoc on the landscape. However, he had been assured that the mysterious man would restore the earth, minus the extracted metals. It was a baffling concept, and the Overseer remained sceptical until he witnessed the process on a smaller scale.
Creating earth from earth—it was a perplexing phenomenon. Its origin remained a mystery, and the reticent man in armour provided no answers. Even so, the revelation threatened the very foundation of traditional mining. If one could simply conjure stone from thin air, what use was there for conventional methods? The Overseer sighed, grateful for his current employment, but uncertain how long it would endure.
As he swallowed the last morsel of his rations, the thought crossed his mind that the Lord might not rest until her magical influence extended to every occupation in Rensenfeld.
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Riza crouched beside Daven, her voice laced with determination. "If Eorin can do it, you can too."
Daven's hands gripped a slender metal beam, defiantly protruding a metre above the ground. His lips curved into a wry smile as he grumbled, "Yeah, because metal grows on trees, I guess." Brown, tawny tendrils of essence flowed from his fingers, intertwining with the beam's core. His face contorted with effort, beads of sweat slipping down his temples while he held his breath.
In all honesty, Riza harboured little hope that this attempt would yield success. Ever since she met Lefie, she had been intrigued, and equally baffled, by the physics-defying capabilities of magic. Conjuring water out of thin air defied logic, but magic scoffed at the very notion of impossibility.
Daven's talents with [Earth Shape] appeared to operate on similarly mysterious principles. However, it was only after a series of experiments that the intricate nuances of this arcane force began to unfold. [Earth Shape] didn't create earth; it merely compressed or stretched what already existed.
When Daven tunnelled, he moved earth into the walls, floor, and ceiling, making them denser rather than disintegrating it. It paralleled Riza's fog manipulation with [Manipulate Air], though earth was solid and should, in theory, be incompressible. Ultimately, Daven neither created nor destroyed earth when he wielded his skill, and since it could affect metal, using it to 'create' more metal would result in a larger surface area but with reduced density and strength. Riza couldn't exploit an infinite resource renewal, regrettably.
Yet, she refused to abandon her efforts. To her knowledge, Lefie genuinely created water from nothing. Even if condensation from air's water vapour was the underlying mechanism, the available water vapour couldn't account for the volume of water Lefie produced, implying Lefie herself created it.
So, hope still flickered for Daven's potential.
Daven groaned as the beam lengthened by half a metre, releasing an exhausted sigh.
"How is it? Did it work?" Riza inquired, her eagerness causing her to bounce on the balls of her feet despite her crouched position.
"No," Daven sighed deeply. His [Earth Sense] provided information on the metal's density, and his negative response indicated the mass remained unchanged.
"Oh well. We can always try again, and maybe there's a higher-tier skill that allows you to do what you want," Riza mused, surprisingly unbothered by the setback. After all, Daven shouldn't have been able to use the skill on metal in the first place, so any additional progress would be a bonus.
"Speaking of skills," Daven interjected, rising and stretching his back. A symphony of joints cracked as he extended, a faint green glow signalling the use of [Heal] to rejuvenate him. "Meren and I had a conversation before she left. You still haven't figured out how to determine if a dead person wants to be resurrected, right?" He inquired.
Riza's eyes widened with curiosity as she stood up. "What are you getting at?" she pressed, eager to cut to the chase.
"Well, we were browsing the life skills and wondered if there might be one that could help," Daven suggested.
Riza shook her head, a tinge of sadness in her eyes. "I've considered that, but none of them seem to work."
"Really? Even [Last Words]?" he pressed.
"Unless someone's last words were 'I don't want to die', I doubt it'd be much use," she replied with a shrug.
"Maybe there's a hidden skill?"
"A hidden skill?" Riza paused, mulling over Daven's words. "I hadn't thought about that."
"Perhaps there's a skill based on [Last Words] that allows talking with the dead? Meren mentioned overhearing Adewyn talk about speaking with the deceased a few times. It could be worth investigating," he proposed, merely sharing his thoughts.
Riza didn't respond immediately, weighing the possibility before finally nodding in agreement. "It's worth a shot."
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Eorin dabbed at his damp forehead, taking a moment to rest on the austere stone bench. Its rigid surface provided no decorative flair, solely offering a brief respite from his labour. Nearby, a horseless wagon stood motionless, its bed overflowing with a bounty of colourful produce: potatoes, wheat, tomatoes, apples, and a vast assortment of other fruits and vegetables awaited transport.
Eorin's gaze fell upon his soil-streaked hands, his plump fingers and calloused knuckles telling the tale of his tireless work. He looked up, surveying the sprawling forest before him, teeming with trees both familiar and wholly unknown. Riza had provided him with seeds that bore no name, originating from a time long past, during the era of the Ancients.
In recent days, Eorin had found himself growing accustomed to the seemingly impossible. This forest, for instance, had sprung to life within mere hours, its fruit cascading from the branches like an avalanche. Riza had bestowed upon him a formidable power, one which carried an even greater burden of responsibility.
Yet, cultivating this abundance of food – enough to sustain the city for a week – was but a fraction of Eorin's true purpose. The crux of his role lay in what Riza deemed a higher priority: selective breeding. She tasked him with growing a specific plant, studying its properties with the aid of [Plant Read], and choosing the specimens with the most advantageous traits for further cultivation.
To Eorin's surprise, not all plants were identical. Riza assured him that the natural variations he encountered were an essential aspect of their work. Through careful selection, they could tailor plants to better serve their needs, enriching their nutrient content or increasing their yield. These efforts would both enhance the produce he supplied to the city and expand his own botanical knowledge.
Encouraged by Riza, Eorin delved into his studies, experimenting with [Plant Editing] to discern the potential alterations he could achieve. His initial attempts had been far from fruitful, with every edited plant meeting an untimely demise. Undeterred, he persisted with Riza's mantra of "trial and error" guiding him.
At long last, Eorin savoured a small, yet significant, success: he had altered the hue of a flower's petals from pristine white to an iridescent blue. The result was mesmerising. He chuckled softly as he twirled the delicate stem between his dirt-stained fingers. Slowly, but surely, he was beginning to enjoy this newfound power.