Chapter 3 — Gears in Suspension
Lythar was a city that worked.
It was not beautiful like the engravings of Eldravar, nor imposing like the golden domes of Aurelia. It did not possess the maritime roar of Vhal-Dorim either. And yet, its chimneys never rested.
Steam rose in thick columns, covering the sky like a ceiling set too low — heavy, oppressive. There was something suffocating about that constant layer of smoke, as if the city were always one step away from exploding, yet never did.
Gepetto walked between workshops and elevated railways, listening to the repetitive rhythm of hydraulic presses. The steady cadence of machines was almost hypnotic.
Pistons compressed.
Valves released pressure.
Gears turned.
Everything functioned.
Everything moved.
But nothing advanced.
The city operated.
But it did not command.
He no longer felt external pressure. His situation was stable. Strong enough to defend himself. Discreet enough to avoid attention.
For now.
And still… there was something.
An unease that did not come from immediate threat, but from stagnation. As if remaining there too long would, in itself, be a silent mistake.
He was not in danger.
But he was late.
He could not explain where that feeling came from — perhaps from the fact that, unlike before, there was no visible script ahead of him. No interface. No chat. No pause.
There were consequences.
Lythar was an intermediate hub of the Republic of Elysion — a productive cog, not the central axis. And Elysion had three axes.
Three poles that truly bore the nation's weight.
At the Central Station, beneath the vast structure of iron and glass, a brass panel displayed the main destinations. The letters were deeply engraved, darkened by time and soot.
AURELIA
The Administrative Capital.
A city of ministries, metallic domes, and corridors where decisions were made in low voices. Power there was institutional. Formal. Slow, but definitive.
Going there meant approaching the political core.
It meant playing with laws.
But it also meant entering a game where he did not know all the rules.
And that bothered him more than he would like to admit.
As a spectator, he had possessed a broad understanding of the Republic's structure. He knew the landmark events. The great names. The central conflicts.
But that was a panoramic view.
Now details mattered.
Which families influenced the Senate?
Which ministers controlled the industrial commissions?
Who truly made decisions when the doors were closed?
He did not know.
And that ignorance, once irrelevant, was now a concrete vulnerability.
The lack of information created a silent pressure behind his eyes, as if something important were happening just beyond his field of vision.
He hated not having the full map.
---
ELDRAVAR
The Old Capital.
Cultural cradle of Elysion. Ancient towers, academies of mechanical philosophy, theaters powered by invisible gears. Reputations there were shaped with surgical care.
Going to Eldravar meant constructing a narrative.
But narrative requires context.
He knew the surface of history — wars, treaties, industrial revolutions. He did not know the deeper intellectual currents. He did not know which academies were rising. Nor which thinkers were shaping the elites.
In culture, a mistake does not cause immediate loss.
It generates isolation.
And isolation, in a closed system, is a slow death.
The idea of entering there without full mastery irritated him. Not out of fear — but inefficiency. He could not stand playing on terrain he did not fully understand.
---
VHAL-DORIM
The Port City.
Monumental docks, armored ships powered by oceanic boilers, private banks financing dangerous inventions. Technical universities competing for patents.
Money there flowed like tide.
And where there is flow, there is opportunity.
But also dispute.
He knew the city's reputation. He knew it was the economic lung of the Republic. He knew investments there could multiply quickly.
But he did not know the details.
Who controlled the shipyards?
Which banks were on the brink of collapse?
Which inventions were promising… and which were traps?
He did not have that map.
And now that was real.
As a streamer, not knowing details had never been a problem. Improvisation was enough. Quick, superficial adaptation was enough.
Now improvisation was expensive.
Now mistakes cost influence.
Now mistakes could cost everything.
He was inside the system.
And inside the system, ignorance is not merely limitation.
It is strategic disadvantage.
Gepetto stood before the panel for long minutes. Station steam rose around the letters as if each name were breathing, as if the world were already moving while he was still calculating.
Aurelia offered influence.
Eldravar offered narrative.
Vhal-Dorim offered flow.
He crossed his arms.
His current strength was enough to survive.
But not to fail.
And what disturbed him most was not visible risk.
It was the constant sensation that something was moving beyond his reach.
As if the greater gears were already turning.
And he was still deciding where to step.
The decision could not be impulsive.
Not yet.
Lythar vibrated behind him with the sound of machinery — a constant reminder that the world does not pause for the indecisive.
For now, he merely observed.
Calculated.
And accepted, for the first time, that his greatest weakness was not physical.
It was not fully knowing the world where he now needed to win.
And that… pressured him more than any visible enemy.
Station steam rose in slow spirals, as if the very air awaited an answer.
Aurelia.
Eldravar.
Vhal-Dorim.
Three paths. Three different speeds of power.
Politics requires prior influence.
Culture requires legitimacy.
Economy requires opportunity.
Among the three, only one allows you to start small and grow fast.
Aurelia was a closed game. Influence there cost years.
Eldravar required belonging — something he did not yet possess.
Vhal-Dorim required only results.
And results can be bought… or created.
As he organized his thoughts, a newsboy crossed the hall shouting headlines muffled by steam:
"PROTESTS IN VHAL-DORIM! WAGES FAIL TO KEEP UP WITH RISING PRICES!"
Gepetto bought a copy almost by instinct.
The paper was damp, the letters slightly blurred by the station's mist. The article was brief, but sufficient.
Shipyard and boiler factory workers had begun strikes. Coal prices and imported food costs were rising. Wages remained static. Small merchants complained of declining consumption. Banks were beginning to restrict credit.
Classic signs.
Early inflation.
Labor pressure.
Credit tightening.
An economy entering friction.
He folded the newspaper slowly.
Crisis is not ruin.
It is redistribution.
Fragile companies break.
Strong companies buy cheap.
Patient investors grow.
If the port city was under tension, then strategic capital would hold even greater value.
Liquidity in times of scarcity transforms ordinary men into pillars.
He did not need to master the political system now.
He needed to become necessary at the right moment.
As a spectator, he knew the macro script of that world. He knew economic cycles in Vhal-Dorim did not end in immediate collapse — they ended in concentration.
Those prepared at the beginning of crisis would emerge larger at the end.
He did not know every name. He did not know every banking family. He did not command every industrial alliance.
But he knew patterns.
And patterns repeat.
Small investments in strategic sectors.
Acquisition of undervalued debt.
Selective financing of innovation when general credit retreats.
No grand gestures.
Just positioning.
He looked again at the name VHAL-DORIM on the panel.
Between culture, politics, and economy…
Economy delivered faster results.
And at that moment, it also delivered discount.
He approached the counter.
"The next convoy to Vhal-Dorim."
The clerk registered the ticket on a perforated metal card. The stamp echoed dry, definitive.
Gepetto slipped the folded newspaper inside his coat.
Protests.
Inflation.
Credit tightening.
Perfect.
He did not need magic.
He needed the system under pressure.
Because it is under pressure that boilers move empires.
The locomotive bound for Vhal-Dorim began releasing heavy steam onto the tracks.
Crisis generates fear.
Fear generates hasty decisions.
And hasty decisions create opportunities for those who are not afraid.
He boarded the carriage without looking back.
He was not going to save the city.
He was going to learn how to control it.
And he would do so in the oldest and most efficient way possible:
Through the interests of others.