Wojtek was a solid guy—gentle for someone built like a siege tower and surprisingly thoughtful. After walking me through the madness of the cafeteria (where apparently some nobles refuse to sit unless their chairs are carved from extinct trees), he handed me a carefully rolled scroll tied with a strip of twine.

  Inside was a hand-drawn map—not just any map, but an obsessively detailed, to-scale masterpiece he’d stayed up half the night making. Every building was labeled in clean block lettering, shaded by hand, and even the paths had little dotted lines to show the best walking routes depending on the weather. It marked out all the key places on campus—training fields, lecture halls, bathhouses, libraries, and even the best-hidden bathrooms for peace and quiet.

  On the back, he'd listed shops in town, complete with ratings out of ten, hours of operation, and comments like “Mrs. Olyra gives discounts if you compliment her cat” or “This place scams first-years—enter only if drunk or desperate.”

  I swear, if Wojtek ever wanted to give up combat training, the man could make a killing as a cartographer.

  It was still fresh in the morning, the sun barely stretching over the rooftops, and most of the cafeteria was quiet—just a few early risers scattered around, nursing tea or quietly chewing through breakfast. Wojtek and I cleared our trays like starving wolves, not wasting a single scrap. Once the last bite was gone, I thanked him with a nod and headed out.

  Time to see if miss Lilith was the a morning bird or not.

  Opening the door numbered 916, I stepped into a labyrinth of shelves, the air thick with the scent of oil, dust, and hot metal. Rows of bolts, gears, and strange components were crammed into every nook. Books leaned drunkenly on warped wooden shelves, and jars floated with unidentifiable things suspended in murky liquids—some with too many eyes, some with none at all. I did my best not to guess what they used to be.

  After weaving through the cluttered maze, I found myself in a dimly lit room that looked half workshop, half alchemist’s lair. Racks of raw materials lined the walls—crystals, ingots, coiled wires, and bones. In the corner, a forge still glowed faintly red, its bricks warm from recent use, casting flickers of light across the scattered tools and soot-streaked stone floor.

  Curled up on the desk, I first thought it might be some sort of exotic fantasy dog, all tangled up in a wild mess of autumn-colored hair—fiery red, bright orange, even streaks of gold and auburn. But as I got closer and stepped up to the bench, the illusion vanished. Not a dog. A woman.

  She looked human at first glance—until I caught the delicate point of her ears poking through the curls. Half-elf, half-dwarf, I figured. Not built like your usual dwarf—no broad shoulders or thick limbs—but not quite as willowy as a full-blooded elf either. She had the grace of one, sure, but the curves? Oh, the curves didn’t lie. She was short, barely five feet, but put together in a way that made gravity seem like a fan, not a foe.

  And at that moment, she was deep asleep, smooshed face-first into her desk like she was trying to whisper sweet nothings to the wood grain, cheek mashed into her desk, arms sprawled across blueprints and gears, and lips gently pressed to the wood like she was making out with it in her dreams. I mean, full-on smooching. The kind of kiss you give someone you think you’re in love with. The desk, apparently, had been there for her in a time of need.

  I coughed lightly, more out of amusement than manners. No response. I leaned back against the wall, smirking.

  This was too good. I wasn’t about to waste a moment like this. Nope. I was going to commit this to memory forever.

  As she began to stir, her face slowly emerged from the desk like a confused groundhog waking up from hibernation. At first, she blinked blearily, clearly unsure of where—or when—she was. Her eyes met mine, uncomprehending for a moment.

  Then it hit her. First, recognition of the room. Then the realization of her very intimate moment with the desk. Finally, the awareness of the very-much-awake stranger watching it all unfold.

  Her cheeks lit up in a deep flush that matched the brightest red strands of her autumn-colored hair. Honestly, she looked like someone had just caught her kissing a tree in public.

  But to her credit, she recovered like a champ. She straightened her back, wiped at her cheek with the sleeve of her robe, and gave me a professional—if flustered—smile.

  "Hi! Apologies, I didn’t see you there. How may I help you?"

  "Hi. A common friend of ours referred me to your services," I said with a grin, "claiming you’re the best artificer in both the Empire and Talaria."

  I held out the letter. She took it without a word, turning it in her hands to inspect the seal, making sure it hadn’t been tampered with. Satisfied, she broke the wax and began to read.

  Her expression shifted like clouds in a stormy sky.

  “That’s not how it works,” she muttered under her breath.

  Her eyes scanned on. A slow nod. Then a little smile. Then her brows furrowed again—like the letter was both complimenting and personally offending her, line by line.

  She opened one of her drawers, pulling out a sleek crystal tablet and a quill.

  “Wait,” I said, raising a hand. “Don’t waste your time—you might as well leave it there.”

  Lilith paused, eyed me, then nodded with a smirk. “I knew he was screwing around with me,” she muttered. “Fucking uncles, hey!”

  I pulled out the inquisition letter. As soon as she saw the seal, her jaw dropped.

  She blinked. Then, without a word, she took the letter of introduction—the one Father Mathias wrote—and casually chucked it into the forge. Flames licked it up in a hiss, and it was gone.

  “…What did it say?” I asked, watching the smoke curl into the air.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Said you’re a weird cookie,” she replied, shaking her head. “Also said you might have actual good ideas—even though, and I quote, ‘good ideas only show up once or twice in an artificer’s life, and usually by accident.’”

  "Although," she said with a sigh, "I apologize, but my schedule's absolutely swamped right now. It might take me up to a year to even look at your projects."

  "Ah. Might I inquire what’s swallowing all your time?" I leaned forward. "I might have a pointer or two to help cut the wait."

  She let out a long sigh before finally opening up. "My father took a loan from an imperial noble to send me here, to the Grand Academy. If we don’t repay him within the year—twelve months—I’ll be forced to become that rat’s son’s mistress so I pilled up as much work as I could."

  "Oof." I winced. "How much do you still owe?"

  "One large and five small platinum coins," she muttered. "And the bastards keep stacking on interest."

  “Yikes.” I whistled. “That’s bad, yeah. But believe me when I say this: by then, I’ll make sure that kind of coin feels like chump change to you. As long as you’re willing to help me, you’ll be one of the richest people walking this continent.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Look, I appreciate the good intentions, but I’ve had my fill of lunatics trying to swindle my family. I don’t need another dreamer with a broken promise.”

  Without a word, I reached over my shoulder, unhooked the double-barrel, and laid it gently on the table with a solid thunk.

  “This,” I said plainly, “is a gun. It fires small metal projectiles—faster and harder than a bow, a sling, or anything you’ve ever seen.”

  She blinked.

  “Do you have a target I can demonstrate with? Ideally a sand pit... or a very thick chunk of wood?”

  "Follow me," she said, her voice testing me now, not just curious. She led me to a thick wooden barrel brimming with water.

  “If you can pierce that, I might consider your offer,” she said, arms crossed. “Otherwise, you can kindly take the door. Deal?”

  “Deal.”I left the double-barrel on the table, reached under my stump, and pulled out the one-inch hand cannon. Cocked the hammer. Took aim.

  BOOM.

  The shot echoed like a thunderclap. A plume of smoke burst from the muzzle. The barrel shuddered, then split open with a wet gasp as water exploded across the forge floor.

  Lilith yelped in surprise, stumbling back, eyes darting between the rising smoke and the now very empty, very ruined barrel.

  "Okay, that’s… impressive. I’m not gonna lie." Lilith still stared at the ruined barrel like it had personally betrayed her. "So that’s your grand plan to make me rich? A loud stick that spits fire?"

  I grinned. "Actually, no. This? This is a low-tech version of what I plan to use myself—nothing fancy. The real money comes after. Once I’ve built what I need, then these things go public."

  She squinted, skeptical. "So if it’s not the boomstick, what’s the plan?"

  I leaned on the table, meeting her eyes."Steam. A thing called a steam engine—from where I come from, it started a revolution in manufacturing and transport. That’s the real game-changer."

  "This engine," I said, tapping the table for emphasis, "is the foundation on which we’ll build an empire. Once we harness steam, it’ll unlock the speed and scale of production and transportation. Think of it as five hundred years of innovation, all compressed into one."

  Lilith leaned back, arms crossed, her eyes still flicking between me and the waterlogged mess of a barrel.

  "Let’s hope that engine of yours is half as good as your sales pitch," she muttered. "Or at least as pretty as your face."

  “So,” she said, motioning to a giant chalkboard smeared with old equations and sketches, “why don’t you go ahead and tell me everything you know about that engine.”Her eyes sparkled with a wild mix of curiosity, engineer’s fanaticism, and—just beneath it all—a flicker of hope she clearly didn’t want to admit to.

  "Alright, let’s start with the basics," I said, grabbing a piece of chalk and dragging it across the board with a screech that made Lilith wince. I drew a lopsided circle with stick legs. "This… is a horse."

  She blinked. "Is it?"

  "Shush, I’m not being graded on the art."

  I scratched out another mess of lines beside it. "Now this is a cart. Horse pulls cart. Simple. Old way. Boring." I scratched a big ‘X’ over the horse. "But what if we cut the horse out?"

  I drew what looked like a rectangle with steam lines puffing out the top. "This… is an engine. It eats fuel, heats water, makes steam. That steam pushes pistons—like arms punching back and forth—and that motion turns wheels. That’s how you get power."

  I added a few arrows and gear-looking scribbles that resembled squashed spiders.

  "Now imagine putting that engine here," I pointed to the sad cart, replacing the horse with the smokey box. "No sleep, no feeding, no pooping. Just work."

  Lilith was watching, head tilted, caught somewhere between amazement and the kind of expression you give a drunk genius at a bar.

  "Now," I said, making a long, jagged line across the board with more little rectangles stacked behind the engine. "You build a big one. A really big one. One that can pull a hundred carts—loaded with people, cargo, whatever—across metal rails. Fast. Smooth. Safer than roads. You go from two-month caravan trips with half your crew dying of foot fungus to a three-day scenic ride with hot food and a comfy seat."

  I stepped back from the board, chalk on my fingers and soot on my shirt.

  "It’s fast. It’s cheap. And it’s gonna change the world."

  Lilith stared at the board.

  "...That engine better be prettier than your drawing," she said, eyes glinting with both doubt and wonder.

  "Well, here’s the kicker," I said, dusting my hands and leaning casually on the edge of the chalkboard. "It’s gonna be your engine."

  Lilith blinked. “Mine?”

  “Yup. See, I don’t plan on wasting my time building stuff unless I really have to. I’m more of an ‘adventure, danger, blow-stuff-up’ kinda guy. All that precise lab work? Makes my head hurt.”

  I leaned in, lowering my voice like I was revealing the secrets of the universe to her. “What I am gonna do is info-dump a metric shitload of very, very, very advanced technologies on you. You’re gonna be the engineering messiah of your generation. The wrench-wielding, steam-powered savior of the modern world.”

  Lilith stared, mouth slightly open, her eyes shimmering like she’d just been told the gods had handed her the blueprints of the universe. Her smile grew so wide it made my belly tingle a little. Damn. That was dangerously cute.

  “I’ll take a share of the copyright instead,” I added, pointing a thumb at myself. “And you, my dear Lilith, you get to do all the real work. Fair trade, right?”

  Then I clapped my hands together like a back-alley preacher selling salvation through crypto. “And that, my dear, is where you come in!”

  “In the first year, we’ll have a few products on the market,” I said, pacing a little in front of the chalkboard like some half-mad professor. “But we won’t stop there—oh no. That’s just the foundation.”

  Lilith raised an eyebrow. “So what's the real goal?”

  I spun around, grinning. “Big bucks means working with the big guys. Kingdoms. Empires. Military contracts. Infrastructure. The kind of deals where you don’t count profits in gold coins—you count them in vaults.”

  Her eyes lit up, but I could see the questions bubbling under the surface. “You talk like a man on a tight schedule.”

  “That’s ‘cause I am,” I said, dropping the smile. “We’re going to change a lot of things in the years to come. And we’d better move fast.”

  She leaned back, arms crossed, tone soft but sharp. “Why the rush?”

  I stared at the forge for a long second, then said quietly, “I have a bad feeling something’s coming. And I want to be ready when it does.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go take the other half of the entry exam at the Dean’s office,” I said, giving her a low, theatrical bow. “Duty calls.”

  “Come see me in my office once you're done,” Lilith said, her voice a mix of excitement and command. “I have many questions.”