Evergreen, 11th of Budrise, year 179 BN

Celeste lay draped in a thin velvet sheet, its soft caress against her skin a faint comfort as Richard's words echoed in her mind. It wasn't just the content but the form—poetry, a language she cherished but seldom heard from others. His response had been unexpected, enchanting even. Her mother had always emphasized poetry as a skill to captivate any suitor, yet here was a man who wielded the art form effortlessly.

She was taught many arts—singing to charm, dancing to captivate, and conversing to glean secrets from the circles she would someday move in. These skills were meant to elevate her husband's status, to be the unseen force tipping the scales of power in his favor. Her mother extolled the virtue of a woman who could be both a companion and a confidante to her husband.

However, she initially disliked the lessons, as her tutors were strict. Celeste began to love poetry, the hidden meaning behind words, and the emotions they contained. While she could never outright say what was on her mind, she could in a poem.

It made her feel free in the world she lived.

When Richard first said her father proposed marriage between them, she was curious as to why. What kind of business was Richard involved in for her father to propose marriage?

Celeste knew it would come eventually, and her fate was sealed no matter how much she spoke out against it.

Marriage was an inevitability in her world—a strategic alliance masked as a nuptial bond. Yet, Richard was different. He didn’t flaunt the trappings of nobility; his manner was unassuming, his attire simple. His demeanor lacked the calculated polish of the aristocracy, and his straightforward speech, lacking in pretense, intrigued her deeply.

In their brief interaction, he had treated her not as a mere participant in a transaction but as a person. His gaze did not appraise but seemed to seek a genuine connection, and his voice, when he spoke of the marriage proposal, carried a hint of reluctance that piqued her interest further. He was unlike the men she was taught to expect—a potential husband who might see her as an equal rather than a stepping stone to greater power.

Still, should she face marriage, Celeste wanted insight into her prospective husband's mind, which is why she had crafted a poem to encapsulate her life and emotions. How he responded to it would reveal all she needed to know about him.

To Celeste, Richard's embrace of poetry revealed an unexpected sensitivity. It was as though he had selected her own most cherished language to communicate, acknowledging and valuing her love for the art form. This act resonated deeply with her, suggesting he saw her not just as a prospective bride in a negotiated match, but as an individual with her own hopes and dreams.

The soft double knock on her door jolted her from her thoughts, causing Celeste to sit upright abruptly.

Her mother entered, her short curly blonde hair framing her face and her green eyes searching Celeste’s. Silivia wore a flowing silk white dress that just grazed the floor as she moved.

"Honey, you're not asleep yet?" Silivia asked, her voice soft.

Celeste drew her knees to her chest, hugging them tight. "No, I’m just... thinking."

"Normally you'd be asleep by now. What’s on your mind?"

"I don't know. Just... everything."

Silivia’s brow furrowed slightly in concern. "Is it about the marriage?"

Celeste nodded, feeling the weight of the topic.

Marriage was always going to be forced on her, she would never marry someone she loved. Now that it was actually here, she was afraid. There were too many what-ifs that kept creeping into her head.

Silivia sighed, sitting down beside her daughter on the bed. "And what do you think? Your father believes this man isn’t bad, and that he could bring significant change to our city."

"I’m not sure..." Celeste’s voice trailed off as she pulled her knees closer. "He seems nice enough. But our conversation was so brief, I can't really tell."

Silivia looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought for a moment. "Well, certainty in these matters isn’t easy. When I first met your father, we hardly got along. He was blunt, often harsh, and I thought he saw little in me beyond an alliance. But over time, after he stood up for me, I realized he cared deeply."

"I didn't know that," Celeste murmured, her voice low, almost lost in the plush softness of her surroundings.

Silivia turned to face her daughter, her gaze softening. "Of course not. He's reserved about his past, always has been. I just want you to understand that your father wouldn't steer you towards someone he doubted was worthy of you. If he believes Richard is the right choice, it's because he sees something valuable there—something perhaps not immediately obvious."

Celeste's fingers played absently with the edge of her velvet sheet, her mind racing. She rarely saw this side of her father, Issac, outside the rigid formality of dinner discussions or fleeting encounters in the hall. His interactions with her were always overshadowed by matters of Evergreen or the intricacies of their social standing—not once had he inquired about her dreams or daily thoughts.

Feeling a pang of exclusion, she looked up at her mother, seeking clarity. "What do you think of him, mother?"

Silivia paused, her fingers tracing a pattern on the bedspread. "I've only met him a couple of times, and we haven't really spoken much. He may not have the polished charm of a courtier, but I noticed something during our brief encounters—he seems to make you light up, even if just a little." She chuckled softly, a knowing look crossing her features. "And that, my dear, is not something to disregard."

"He did?"

Silivia shrugged lightly, her expression tinged with amusement. "Yes, when we approached earlier, you seemed different—more alive, somehow. You appeared genuinely happy, and that's a rarity worth noting."

"You were watching us?" Celeste couldn't help but ask.

Silivia's laughter was warm and reassuring. "Yes, but it was your father's idea. He wanted to observe how you two interacted before making his presence known. He's quite protective, you know. As much as he supports this marriage, he wouldn't leave you alone with any man while you remain unwed."

Rising gracefully from her seat beside Celeste, Silivia smoothed the folds of her silk dress. "Now, you should try to rest. We have a busy day tomorrow. We're going into town to find you the perfect outfit for the gathering Lord Kirk is hosting."

Celeste's face lit up with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation. "I'm really going?"

"Of course, you are. Why would you think otherwise?"

Celeste hesitated, her smile faltering slightly. "It seemed like Richard wasn't too keen on going. At least, not with me."

Silivia reached out, gently squeezing her daughter's hand. "Don’t worry about that. Tomorrow, we'll find you the finest dress, shoes, and a necklace. And yes, we'll even pick out a beautifully crafted verlovian to announce your engagement. When Richard sees you next, he'll be lost for words."

"A verlovian, really? But we aren’t even engaged yet," Celeste responded, her voice carrying a bit of excitement.

Silivia’s eyes sparkled with confidence. "Given how your fathers were talking, your father is quite sure Richard will agree. But for now, let’s not fret over the details. Sleep well, my dear; we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

Evergreen, 12th of Budrise, year 179 BN

Richard held the black crystal between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly to catch the light. It was an enigmatic artifact, unlike anything he had encountered in this strange new world. The obsidian-like gem had been unearthed in a place Richard least expected.

A week prior, his ragtag group had ventured beyond the fortified walls of the city, returning not only with the remnants of their trade goods from Disceroa but with an unexpected prize—a Razorback Boar. The creature, native to this fantastical realm, held a peculiar allure for Richard. More than its exotic nature, he was intrigued by its anatomical oddities, wondering if its flesh bore any resemblance to the terrestrial animals he knew. Also, he was curious if it was edible.

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The boar was a formidable beast, its skin a tough, leathery canvas stretched over solid muscle, interrupted only by the jarring whiteness of its protruding tusks. Alive, its pale green eyes shimmered with a ferocity heightened by an eerie, luminescent glow. But what truly fascinated Richard was its mane—unnaturally sharp, the hairs were like fine, hardened steel wires. He remembered the sting of his finger when he carelessly brushed against them; a single touch was enough to draw blood.

The boar was quick-footed, capable of chasing down the fastest runner. Though not as swift as a verlpax, the boar was a relentless pursuer on foot. Its medium build belied a unique defense mechanism; it could curl into a tight ball and propel itself forward, its mane transforming into a deadly, spinning buzzsaw capable of slicing through trees as if they were mere paper.

He couldn't help but recall how Carl almost died when it charged at him. Luckily Benjamin helped the man out, but that's when they saw how devasting the creature's charge truly was. The lone tree that had stood as their only cover was obliterated by the boar's charge, leaving behind a gaping wound in the earth.

How was it capable of extending its mane outward and keeping its hair upright?

Richard was trying to figure that out, but so far nothing told him how that was possible.

Now, back in the solitude of his workshop, Richard puzzled over the boar's most baffling feature. It lacked a heart, yet somehow functioned with the same vitality as any other creature. In its place, nestled within the cavernous chest cavity, lay the enigmatic black crystal—translucent and gleaming subtly. It was disconnected from any natural life-support systems, no arteries, no veins—nothing to suggest it served as a conventional organ.

The sound of the door creaking open snapped Richard from his contemplation. He looked up to see Gregor stepping into the dim light of the workshop

"Gregor, good to see you," Richard greeted, his voice echoing slightly in the confines of the workshop.

"Aye! What are you up to this morning?" Gregor asked.

Richard responded by lifting the black crystal, allowing the dim workshop light to illuminate its dark facets. "Ever seen anything like this?" he asked.

Gregor squinted at the object, then shook his head. "Afraid not. What is it, some kind of hardened steel?"

Richard chuckled, shaking his head. "I wish I knew. I found it inside the razorback boar," he explained, his eyes never leaving the crystal.

"That's a first then," Gregor mused. "No one's butchered one of those beasts in ages. Their flesh is like poison, else we'd never run out of meat here in Evergreen."

"The meat looked ordinary enough," Richard mused, recalling the surprisingly pink flesh. "If I had the right spices, I might’ve tried cooking it. Luckily, I didn’t."

Gregor nodded. "Deceptive, that. Looks harmless but is far from it. Down south, they serve it in taverns. Never understood how they make it safe to eat. They guard that secret fiercely."

Richard’s brow creased with thought. "And you think this crystal has no function?"

Gregor shrugged. "You’re asking the wrong dwarf, lad. Maybe your monster hunter friend knows something. Benjamin, was it?"

"That’s a thought," Richard admitted, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Though he’s disappeared since our return from Disceroa."

There was much about Benjamin that remained a mystery, and Richard had learned little about him beyond his profession and name. It seemed Benjamin had all but vanished.

"Then you might just have to wait," Gregor suggested lightly.

Richard nodded, his curiosity could wait. "It can wait. By the way, did you bring what I asked for?" he shifted the topic

Gregor reached into his pocket and withdrew a dark-colored stone, holding it out with a skeptical frown. "Here you go. Still can't see why you'd want this, though. It's just slag—practically worthless."

Richard's grin broadened. "That’s where you’re mistaken. Its value lies not in what it is, but in its potential. You’ve learned to make steel because I taught you, but recall how even small deviations in the process affected the outcome?"

Gregor scratched his head, his curiosity piqued despite his initial dismissiveness.

Richard, noticing Gregor's confusion, elaborated, "It’s all about the chemical reactions. When charcoal burns, it produces carbon monoxide."

Gregor stroked his beard, his interest growing. Richard’s explanations often unveiled layers of complexity in what seemed like straightforward tasks. He wanted to know what this chemical reaction was, as he's never heard the term before. But, there were a lot of words that Richard frequently said that he wasn't used to hearing.

"Carbon monoxide acts as a reducing agent," Richard continued. "In the furnace’s intense heat, it reacts with the iron oxides in the ore. The oxygen from the oxide bonds with the carbon monoxide, creating carbon dioxide and leaving molten iron behind."

Gregor nodded, his grasp of the concept visibly improving.

"But the process doesn’t end there," Richard said. "The furnace environment is not only hot but carbon-rich. Some of this carbon dissolves into the molten iron, crucially influencing its properties. The amount of carbon absorbed determines whether you get iron or steel."

"So, it's not just about melting things together and hammering them out?" Gregor asked, his earlier confusion clearing.

"Exactly," Richard replied. "It's about controlling the chemical environment. The carbon content changes the properties of the metal significantly. Iron with a very low carbon content is too soft for many uses, while high carbon content can make it brittle.

Gregor rolled the dark-colored ore in his hand. "So, this slag..." he pinched the ore as he held it up, "What's the purpose of it?"

Seeing how Richard asked him to get one, Gregor knew it had to have some purpose. What that was, he couldn't be too sure. However, now his line of thinking was slowly changing after hearing what Richard had to say.

Richard’s explanation had already begun to shift Gregor’s understanding. "You know how I said the charcoal produces carbon monoxide, which is what's needed in order for steel to be made? Well," he said, pointing to the stone with a knowing smile, "That my friend is called Graphite, a pure form of carbon."

Gregor's eyes widened as he grasped the implications. "Hold on," he said, studying the graphite in his palm. "If that's true, then the process of making steel could become simpler, and you'd no longer need charcoal. Isn't that correct?" He asked just to be sure.

Richard nodded, his expression serious. "Exactly. We've been using charcoal primarily for two reasons: as a fuel source to generate heat, and for the carbon it releases. The reason steel hasn’t been discovered here is because you blacksmiths use firestones for heat. They're efficient, but they lack the chemical properties needed to make steel."

Gregor started pacing back and forth. He was excited, really excited. He hadn't felt this way in a while.

"But if we use graphite to introduce carbon to the iron, then the chemical reactions should still be able to take place. Even if we use firestones. They are more reliable than charcoal. Firestones have a steady output of heat, last much longer, and we no longer have to worry about the smoke. Also, they form naturally, meaning we can buy them directly without having to create charcoal, removing a tedious step in the process." Gregor explained.

Richard watched Gregor pace, pleased to see his quick uptake. The moment he found out that what the others considered to be slag was graphite, the idea instantly formed in his head. It was amazing to see that Gregor caught on so quickly.

Richard stuck to the basics when it came to forging items he knew, he didn't include any of this world's fantasy materials. When he wasn't crafting an item and just experimenting, he did use a firestone to see why blacksmiths actually liked using it. Which is when he learned that it was easy to ignite, kept a good steady heat, and required fewer resources.

Gregor stopped his pacing and looked at Richard. "But, if it was this simple then you're mistaken Richard. Someone out there must have produced steel before, surely."

"Potentially," Richard conceded, "but the precision in carbon content is crucial. Too much carbon and the metal becomes brittle and unsuitable for tools, weapons, or armor. While it might still have some uses, most would deem it useless."

Yet, what Gregor said did pique Richard's curiosity. "What makes you think so? That someone else produced steel or is producing it?"

Gregor nodded, his mind racing. "Consider this: the blacksmith who originally discarded this graphite as slag might not have known its value, but it’s likely he experimented with it. He may have tried smelting it with bronze or iron, or even just tested it to see if it was useful. That's just him, but there are bound to be others." Gregor explained his thought process.

Richard stroked his chin, intrigued by the angle Gregor proposed. "That's a solid point," he admitted. "But if that were true, wouldn’t we have heard about steel here, even if it went by another name?"

Despite the lack of widespread use, Richard’s own steel had impressed many who equated its strength to that of obsidian—a comparison that still surprised locals.

"You make a good argument, but it won't deter our plans. We have the necessary components to not only produce steel but to refine high-quality steel. The challenge will be to determine the right amount of graphite to use," Richard mused, turning practical.

Gregor shrugged. "We have time to experiment."

Richard nodded. "True, but our iron supply is scarce. We can’t afford to waste it. If we manage to establish the necessary facilities within a year, we should have enough time to perfect the process—assuming we can secure more iron ore."

His gaze shifted back to the graphite Gregor held.

"Where exactly did this graphite come from?" Richard queried.

"I didn’t ask, but Evergreen lacks mines, which is why we import all our ore. Maybe someone sold it to him as obsidian, and he mistook it. Though any skilled blacksmith should recognize the difference," Gregor speculated.

"We need to investigate discreetly. There might be undiscovered deposits here in Evergreen, deemed worthless so far. Graphite’s utility goes beyond steel production; a reliable source would be a boon for us," Richard contemplated the broader implications.

"I’ll see what I can learn from him without raising suspicion," Gregor resolved.

"You’re not staying then?" Richard looked up.

"No, I just dropped by to deliver this ore," Gregor chuckled. "Ever since the contract was signed, I’ve been in demand. Even Bojack needed my help—the look on his face when he asked was priceless." He laughed heartily.

Richard joined in the laughter. "Alright, take care then. I’ll catch up with you later," he replied, waving Gregor off with a smile.

After Gregor placed the graphite ore on the desk and departed, Richard was left alone with his thoughts, which were swirling with more than just the challenges of steel production. He had yet to share with Gregor the proposition Issac had laid before him, largely because he was still grappling with it himself. The notion of marriage wasn't what troubled him—it was the manner in which it was being imposed. Issac was pushing him into a union with someone he didn't really know, disregarding Richard’s feelings in favor of strategic advantage.

Richard was more concerned with how Roxanne might feel about the whole ordeal. Issac didn't care if he was seeing her from how he spoke. All that mattered to him was that Celeste was to be Richard's first wife.

The concept of polygamy, though common among the elite here for consolidating influence, alliances, wealth, or power, was foreign to Richard, who had never seen himself as a ladies' man or imagined juggling relationships with multiple partners.

He exhaled a deep sigh. The morning was still young, and he felt it unwise to dwell on these thoughts by himself. Given that Roxanne's life would also be profoundly affected by Issac’s proposal, it seemed only right to involve her in the discussion. After all, any decision would inevitably shape both their futures.