Solias III Year 891, Rainy End, Day 4
3rd Person Limited – Aeon
Rain hammered the window like restless fingers, echoing the storm inside Aeon — each drop a heartbeat of impatient invention. The scent of wet soil and metal drifted through the small crack above the latch, mingling with the faint tang of rune-dust that always clung to his room. He leaned on the sill, chin propped in one hand, blue eyes tracing the blur of clouds as his mind raced with ideas that would not wait.
He thought of yesterday's discussion — automation. The word still pulsed behind his eyes like an unfinished rune. Not a spell, not a summoning, but a bridge between gears and magic: machines driven by stones instead of magicians. His mother's laughter lingered after dinner, soft but cautious. Complex rune construction isn't a child's toy, my spark.
He smiled faintly at the memory and let his thoughts slide back further — two years ago, when Aisa had first opened the grimoire of Arcana before him. Back then, he'd been sure magic would come as easily as breathing. He could still see her hand guiding his, tracing symbols that glowed like living flame. And then the revelation: no Seed Core, no magic essence. His world had cracked.
He remembered sulking for a whole day, refusing dinner, ignoring Essa's attempts to cheer him up. Until Aisa had slipped into his room that night, eyes tired but kind, and placed a pouch of Tier-0 stones in his lap. "You can't use essence yet, but you can still use your mind. Make the stones do what you can't. That's what real rune-makers do."
She'd kissed his forehead and whispered, "My little spark, when you awaken your Seed Core one day, even I might not keep up with you."
Now, as the thunder rolled, he whispered to the rain, "I'll prove you right, Mom."
The door banged open. "Aeon! I've got everything!"
Essa burst in, soaked to the elbows, hair blazing like molten copper against the gloom. She lugged a bag nearly her size and grinned. "Grandma Hera lent half her workshop. Let's make that machine you kept bragging about!"
Aeon spun, excitement shoving aside his reverie. "Perfect! Come on!"
They cleared the center of the floor — scrolls, sketches, and discarded rune cards shoved into corners. Micro squeaked indignantly as its nest of cloth got moved. Then the tools spilled out: hammers, chisels, a hand-drill, a few warped iron plates, small nails, and planks still smelling of sap.
Aeon crouched, parchment already in hand. "Okay. Think of a seal press, like merchants use, but this one will emboss runes into cards. Wood frame for now, metal plate on top, handle here." He sketched quick rectangles and lines darting like lightning, labeling stress points and rune anchors, mimicking diagrams he had once studied in Aisa's old grimoire.
Essa raised a brow. "That'll be heavy."
"Sturdy," he corrected. "The pressure has to transfer evenly. The rune patterns will be carved later. Today we build the body."
They worked. Sawdust floated in golden motes under the rune-lamps. Aeon measured obsessively, muttering numbers; Essa hammered with soldier's precision, each blow echoing through the cozy room.
By midday the skeleton of the press stood — a wooden rectangle with a crude lever arm. Aeon fitted a thin sheet of iron beneath the top board. It wobbled.
Essa wiped sweat with her sleeve. "It looks… uh, brave."
Aeon glared. "It's a prototype!"
When he tried the lever, the whole structure groaned and tilted sideways. The iron plate clanged to the floor.
Essa burst into laughter. "Prototype disaster!"
"Engineering test A-one," Aeon muttered, cheeks red. "We'll reinforce it."
They scavenged again. He wedged narrow rods at the corners for balance; she tightened the nails with both hands. Each fix introduced new problems — wood cracking, hinge misalignment, a handle that refused to move once he added extra pressure. Hours blurred, filled with clatter and the occasional yelp when a splinter bit too deep.
By late afternoon, the door creaked open again.
Aisa stood there with a tray of tea, hair loose from its pins, an amused smile softening her face. "So this is where all the noise comes from."
"Mom!" Essa chirped. "Look what we built!"
Aisa set down the tray and examined the contraption. The lamp-light caught faint runic scratches along its sides — Aeon's attempts at Tier-0 stability sigils. Her brow furrowed. "You're mixing lines meant for copper onto pinewood. That's why it's humming unevenly."
Aeon blinked. "It hummed?"
"It was about to crack," she said lightly. "Good thing I came before it did."
She knelt beside them, fingers tracing the uneven grooves. Her touch left faint glimmers as she adjusted the curves. As she watched, a quiet ache threaded through her smile — they were building more than machines; they were building a future that might not need her. "Runes are like breathing. You can't force them; they follow rhythm. Try linking them like this—" she drew a looping pattern that joined two stability marks into one flow. "See how it breathes now?"
The faint vibration under the wood steadied. Aeon's eyes widened. "That's… brilliant."
Aisa smiled. "It's basic knotwork. Your father used to cheat with it when his circuits kept exploding."
The mention of Marcus hung for a second. The rain filled the silence.
Essa broke it with a grin. "So Dad was bad at runes too?"
Aisa chuckled softly. "Worse than both of you combined."
They all laughed — a brief, precious sound that chased away the thunder.
When Aisa left them again, promising dinner later, the siblings resumed work with renewed spirit. Aeon redrew the rune circuit as she had shown, Essa shaping each groove with a heated chisel until the faint crimson of her fire affinity shimmered through the lines. Together they fitted the top plate once more, securing the lever in place.
"Ready?" Essa asked.
"Almost." Aeon lifted a small socket he'd carved near the hinge. "Stone holder. Tier-1 only, to test energy flow."
Essa frowned. "Mom said no Tier-1s yet."
He hesitated — then replaced it with a Tier-0 instead. "We'll be good."
The moment the stone clicked into place, the press gave a faint hum. A rune-light crawled along its joints, timid but alive.
"Now we try," Aeon whispered. He slid a blank card beneath the plate. Together they pulled the lever.
Thunk.
The handle stuck halfway; the wood creaked; a puff of steam hissed from the runes. The smell of burnt resin filled the air.
"It's breaking!" Essa cried.
Aeon yanked the lever back. The top board splintered, smoke curling from the hinge.
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Micro sneezed.
Essa groaned. "I told you!"
Aeon slumped, shoulders shaking — then started laughing. "We made it move."
She blinked. "It almost exploded."
"But it moved because of the rune circuit, not because of us! That means the energy flowed." He grinned through soot-smudged cheeks. "We're close."
They rebuilt again, this time reinforcing the hinge with a metal bracket. Aeon smoothed the grooves carefully, mimicking his mother's rhythm. When they tested once more, the press came down smoothly, no smoke, no crack.
The rune imprint on the card was faint but visible — a crooked line of light.
Essa gasped. "Aeon! It worked!"
He lifted the card, staring like it was treasure. The etched pattern glimmered before fading. "Tier-0 energy can't hold long without stabilizers," he said softly, but wonder filled his voice.
"Still counts!" she said, hugging him tight. "You did it."
"We did."
Thunder rumbled one last time, distant now, as if the storm itself approved.
Aisa peeked again from the doorway, holding three bowls of stew. She saw the faintly glowing press, the siblings grinning ear to ear, and her chest tightened with quiet pride. Marcus's stubborn spark lived in their laughter.
"Dinner before you try to automate the house," she said.
Essa laughed. "No promises!"
Aeon placed the card on the shelf beside his earlier sketches, eyes shining with dreams far larger than the room could hold. The crude press hummed faintly, a newborn heartbeat of invention.
Outside, the rain eased into a steady drizzle — as if the world itself had exhaled, acknowledging the spark that had just been born. Aeon didn't know it yet, but this clumsy press marked the first step toward a day when magic would bend to the rhythm of machines.
________________
Beyond the Rain — Unknown Location
Three carriages rolled through the muddy road, their wheels cutting faint tracks across the drenched earth. The storm had softened to a drizzle, but the clouds still hung heavy, cloaking the landscape in gray silence. From the first carriage, a guard stepped down, his cloak glistening with rain.
"My lady," he said, bowing slightly, "we have arrived at Utta City."
A moment passed. Then, from within the carriage, came a voice—silky and composed, yet edged with quiet impatience. "How many more days until we reach Veloria?"
"Two at most," the guard replied, "once we cross the Utta mountain range. The roads there are steep, but safe."
No answer came. The sound of rain tapping on the roof filled the silence. Then the curtain lifted—just slightly—and a pair of crimson eyes peered through, gleaming against the pale light.
Her gaze lingered on the distant mountains, their jagged peaks veiled in mist, rising like ancient sentinels that divided kingdoms and fates alike.
"The natural boundary," she murmured softly, almost to herself. "How fitting."
The curtain fell back into place.
Moments later, the carriages began to move again, wheels creaking into the deepening fog. Thunder rumbled faintly above, as if the heavens themselves marked her arrival—
and somewhere far ahead, in a small town named Veloria, a young inventor's spark had just awakened.