08:10 a.m. - At Guild Annex, Dawnspire
The Guild Annex sat under bright winter light, brass lamps cold and clean even in day. Ledger boys hurried like ants. Two clerks argued in whispers about weight and width on a trade line. The big board behind them showed tariffs, fines, credits, and new bonds in chalk. The smell was ink, wax, and coin.
Ryan stood at the counter with Sariel. His coat was simple, his eyes awake. He held a flat case with neat papers inside. Behind the counter, three guild scribes watched him the way cats watch a new noise: wary, curious, already making sums.
Baldric Ironhand came out from a side door, rings glinting like notes on steel. He did not sit. He did not need to.
Baldric (folding his arms): "Master Mercer. Is your fire still hot? Are your sums still true?"
Ryan (calm smile): "Yes, Guildmaster. Fire is steady. Sums are cleaner than last month."
Sariel (opening the flat case): "We bring updates to our bond and debt plan. We will show: cash on hand, stock value, incoming orders, debts, and reserves. We will show exactly how we pay each claim, with time."
She slid the first page forward. It was not pretty. It was clear.
Ryan (steady): "Position this morning. Working cash: 6 gold, 40 silver. Stock of jars and nibs at cost: 4 gold. Debts due within two moons: 7 gold, 50 silver—Guild loan on the Old North Drift; timber to Marn; two tranches of workers' wages. Orders: garrison nibs, 900 silver due in 10 days; rope‑walk and dyers, 180 silver due in five days; three new temple craft lots, 210 silver due in seven days."
He flipped to a second page. It showed three neat boxes with lines.
Ryan (pointing): "Strategy is simple. Three buckets. 1) Keep the line safe. We always pay wages, fuel, and safety first. 2) Pay down the highest pressure debt next—Guild bond tranche for the drift, then timber to Marn. 3) Use a shallow float to move crates at speed—two days' cash, never more."
Baldric (grunts): "Speak to float."
Ryan (plain): "A float is coin we allow to be 'between places' for two days: on the road, on the table, on the buyer's desk. We cap it at two days. Sariel tracks it as if it were already spent. We never lie to ourselves about coin 'soon.' It is coin or it is not. No dreams in the ledger."
One clerk somewhere in the room stopped writing for a moment, listening. Then kept going.
Sariel (tapping the third page): "We draw a line between tools and toys. Tools get coin. Toys wait. Tools are: rails, air doors, fan grease, corks, cloth, fuel, wages. Toys are: pretty boxes, banners, big carts we do not need yet. We will have toys when the line has ten days of reserve. Not before."
Baldric looked at Ryan's face, then at the pages. He liked men who could cut their own vanity with a clear blade.
Baldric (slow nod): "And your debts?"
Ryan (open hand): "We do not hide them. We list all. We do not wait for a knock. We go to each man before his day and speak plain. If coin is thin, we offer work in kind—rails, grease, labels—whatever we do best. If coin is enough, we pay early and ask for better terms next season. We do not run from debt. We tame it."
("Break him with inspections.")
The thought slithered through the room like a draft. It did not come from Baldric. It came from a rival clerk two tables over who did not like the way buyers said "Technologia" with a new tone. He bent over his book and wrote in small, angry letters.
Baldric ignored the draft. He pointed at the neat pack tied with twine.
Baldric (short): "And your plan to hold your chair in Aurelthorn?"
Ryan did not pretend to be a knight or a saint. He answered the way a mill answers a river: honest about force and shape.
Ryan (counting on fingers): "Five anchors. 1) Brand: we never lie; we never hide; if our mark fails, we replace on the spot. The street learns to check the fold. 2) Process: rules on the wall; two‑person sign‑off; porter witness; open ledger for audits at any hour. 3) Spread: crates with guides go to honest shops first—rope‑walks, dyers, registry windows—people who keep towns moving. We help the backbone first. 4) Buffer: keep two weeks of wages in reserve and two days' float. If war hits, we can still be fair. 5) Allies: we make three small friends in each city who will speak in our name when we are not in the room—a smith, a clerk, a healer."
Sariel turned to a smaller page with four tidy lines and pushed it forward as if it were a quiet gift.
Sariel (soft): "We also name our enemies, not to worship them, but to watch them. Odrik Stoneveil, who sells cheap copies. Varena Kestrel, who buys shadows with velvet coin. A veiled woman tied to road wolves, who likes fires at night. And the Temple—only if rumor becomes a sermon."
("Make him spend faster. Make him loud. Loud men break their own legs.")
That dark thought again. Not Baldric's. Someone more patient. Someone who liked to pluck strings then walk away. The Guild Annex had many ears.
Baldric's mouth twitched, almost a smile. He slid the papers back and looked at the last: a simple "Pay Down" ladder. At the top rung sat "Guild tranche, due in 10 days." Two rungs down, "Marn timber, due in 12." Three rungs down, "Wages, eighth‑day." At the bottom, "Toys, later."
Baldric (tapping the top rung): "Show me you keep this one exact, and you will find this hall warm when winter is knife‑cold."
Ryan (steady): "I will bring coin and not a poem."
Baldric (short, pleased): "Good."
They stamped the "Notice of Intent to Pay" and "Permission to Ship" for two more crates out of Dawnspire without a new levy. The clerk with the angry pen scowled and wrote faster.
Ryan and Sariel stepped back into the winter light.
Ryan (low to Sariel): "We owe. We're honest about it. That is our shield."
Sariel (firm): "And our blade is the rules. We cut confusion and call it clean."
They moved through the market. A porter with the Guild sash watched them go and muttered under his breath.
("If you trip, I will be there to write it down.")
Ryan did not hear him. He was already thinking three weeks out: crates, letters, returns, wages, rails, and that thin line of reserve that could never break.
He also allowed himself one small thought that felt like sunlight on a cold bench: this was new. He had power now—and not the power of a cruel crown or a curse, but the very old power of clean work, fair pay, and a name that meant "we keep our word."
He liked that power. He would keep it clean.
02:05 p.m. - At Technologia Chemical Laboratory, Frosthaven
The lab was warm and clear. A waist‑high bench held glass jars, cloth filters, corks, and little brass stamps. The brick ring around the kettle was dark and at rest. The fan was still. On the far wall, a chalk board waited. Beside it, a slate held the day's hidden knurl pattern, simple and neat. Sun slid across the floor in a bright rectangle. Outside, the flue gave a thin tail of steam from the morning's batch.
Ryan came in alone and closed the door. He set down a pack, took out a graphite pencil, and drew a title across the top of the chalk board.
Ryan (half‑laughing to himself): "One hundred things to do in another world."
He drew a line and wrote the first item in big block letters.
Ryan (writing): "1) Create a startup business — check."
He smiled. A real, quiet smile. He had done it. He put a little tick mark next to "check."
Ryan (writing): "2) Learn chemistry to change the world — in progress."
He underlined "in progress." He looked at the kettle, his fan, the three barrels, the egg bowl, the clean cloths. He nodded to himself. This, right here, was step two made real. Not perfect. Not huge. Real.
Ryan (writing): "3) Become a great general in war."
He paused. He felt honest. He wrote a small note next to it: "No rush. Learn logistics first. Win by food and clean, not blood." He knew the men in Drakensvale and Belmara made war their art. He would make supply his art and hurt them without a single spear if possible.
Ryan (writing): "4) Pet a legendary dragon."
He snorted at himself. Then wrote a small arrow: "Petting after not dying." He shook his head and grinned.
Ryan (writing): "5) Become an emperor somewhere in this world."
He stared at that one for a breath. It felt like a joke and a dare at the same time. He added: "Only if it means roads for farmers, clean water for kids, and guilds that do not lie. Else no."
He kept writing. The chalk board began to fill with a steady hand.
Ryan (writing): "6) Make a nuclear energy in fantasy world."
Ryan (pauses, uneasy): "This one scares me. Power like this can save, or burn. I want light for towns, not fire for war. I must move slow. Rules first."
Ryan (writing): "7) Teach five kids to read and count, then get them to teach five more."
Ryan (warm smile): "This feels right. If I vanish tomorrow, this still grows. Books beat swords, most days."
Ryan (writing): "8) Make glasses for my eyes."
Ryan (chuckles): "God, I miss my glasses. I want to see the world sharp again. Small thing, but it would make my days kinder. After falling from the dungeon"
Ryan (writing): "9) Make a Veythralis world map."
Ryan (focused): "I hate walking blind. A map means fewer stupid risks. A map means I can plan, not guess."
Ryan (writing): "10) Design a first vehicle."
Ryan (hopeful): "Wheels that do not break at the worst bend. Move food faster. Move help faster. Maybe move me faster when the city turns ugly."
Ryan (writing): "11) Say Hello to every species in Veythralis maybe include Alien."
Ryan (laughing at himself): "This is dumb and sweet. But I want it. If I live long enough, I want to say hello without a blade in the room."
Ryan (writing): "12) Create hospitals."
Ryan (solemn): "I remember the smell of fear in the night when someone is hurt. A clean room, steady hands, rules on the wall—that saves lives. This matters more than rich."
Ryan (writing): "13) Build a school that does not beat fear into kids."
Ryan (firm): "No shame in the classroom. Teach skill. Teach courage. Let kids keep their bright eyes."
Ryan (writing): "14) Invent a first computer."
Ryan (wistful): "A brain made of parts. Not soon. But one day, maybe a small one. Enough to keep books and numbers honest."
Ryan (writing): "15) Create a very large ship"
Ryan (grins): "Big dreams. Wind in the face. Carry many safely. Maybe see the Azure Sea and not get robbed this time."
Ryan (writing): "16) Learn songs from the fantasy world and bring songs from the original world to Veythralis."
Ryan (soft): "Music was my friend when I was lonely. I want to hear this world sing. I want to teach it one stupid Earth song and see people smile."
Ryan (writing): "17) Be rich! — in progress."
Ryan (dry laugh): "Rich is not the point anymore. But coin makes safety. Coin buys time for rules and clean rooms and good sleep."
Ryan (writing): "18) Create a stock market."
Ryan (excited): "High risk, High return. hahaha."
Ryan (writing): "19) Create a secret research room, not a chemical laboratory."
He stopped at line 20. He stared at the blank space. He frowned. Then he laughed at himself like a fool at a door.
Ryan (muttering, rubbing the back of his neck): "God, this is stupid."
He remembered Sera‑chan. Tall, fire hair, a laugh like a steel bell. He remembered saying "Sera‑chan, what are you doing?" at the worst time like a clown. He remembered how his chest hurt and his head felt clean at the same time when she looked at him like he was both prey and friend.
Ryan (writing, face red): "20) Find a waifu and make a harem."
He stared at the words for a long moment, then let out a short, sharp laugh. Alone in the lab, the laugh bounced off brick and came back sounding younger than he felt.
Ryan (hands open, honest): "Fuck it. I was single for years. Ninety percent of the women I talked to were my mother or cashiers. I ate instant noodles and read tech blogs. Now I fight pits, write rules, and ship soap. Why not add 'waifu' to the list?"
He looked at the word "harem" and drew a small box around it, then added in tiny letters: "consent, care, no lies, no assholery." He nodded to himself. Even a dumb fantasy needed real rules.
He kept writing, momentum back.
Ryan (writing fast): "21) Build railroads and trains."
Ryan (writing): "22) Create small fire wards for kitchens — cheaper than losing a house."
Ryan (writing): "23) Build a gun."
Ryan (writing): "24) Learn what the 'Red Moon' truly is. Maybe go out of space."
Ryan (writing): "25) Translate books from earth into Veythralis."
Ryan (writing): "26) Set a public board in Dawnspire: 'Counterfeit signs' drawn big."
Ryan (writing): "27) Explore resources."
Ryan (writing): "28) Create industry."
Ryan (writing): "29) Build a simple dynamo when the time is right. — in progress"
Ryan (writing): "30) Be a science teacher at a magic school."
Ryan (writing): "31) Find a match for Snowball."
He paused and snorted again, then wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, surprised to feel them wet. He had not had a list like this since he was twenty. The old lists were shiny bullshit: exits, seed rounds, valuations. This list smelled of bread and soap and roads.
Ryan (low): "I like this list."
He wrote more, slower now, thinking like a builder looking at a hill and picking where to start.
Ryan (writing): "32) Learn the law of this land so I don't trip myself."
Ryan (writing): "33) Get three city porters to like us because we make their day easy."
Ryan (writing): "34) Talk to the Temple with respect, but never lie."
Ryan (writing): "35) Ask a real mage how magic works. Pay for the answer."
Ryan (writing): "36) Design a water pump that does not break."
Ryan (writing): "37) See the Azure Sea once and not get robbed."
Ryan (writing): "38) Find treasure under the sea."
Ryan (writing): "39) Go to Eryndral Village and make a happy house."
Ryan (writing): "40) Build a skyscraper."
He leaned the chalk on the board's ledge and exhaled. He felt the kind of tired that has a smile inside it, like he had run a race not to win but to feel his legs work.
Ryan (to the quiet room): "This is good."
A soft knock sounded on the door. Ryan turned his head. His brain still sat in the list and took a beat to come back to flesh and wood.
Ryan (calling): "Door's open."
A young man stepped in. He looked eighteen, maybe less, with clear eyes the color of cold water and hair like starlight cut short in a neat way. He wore a robe with very simple stitch‑runes like water lines. He carried a staff with a small crystal at the top that did not glow, it breathed.
Aemond (gentle bow): "Master Mercer. I am Aemond. I have wanted to meet you."
Ryan blinked. He had expected a clerk or Murdock or a porter. Not a fairytale in a simple robe.
Ryan (half a smile): "Come in. Sorry about the mess. I was… making a plan for my stupid life."
Aemond smiled like a man who had seen stupid plans and good hearts.
Aemond (warm): "I like plans. Even the foolish ones. They make us step forward."
Ryan waved him to the bench. Aemond's eyes took the room in with a quick, quiet sweep. The three barrels. The fan. The brick ring. The egg bowl. The tidy, thick rules on the wall. The slate with the tiny knurl. He nodded as if the room had said something true.
Aemond (sincere): "You make rules for hands. That is rare and good."
Ryan felt his shoulders drop a little. He had met two kinds of mages since he arrived: the showmen with sparks and the quiet ones with eyes like books. This one was of the second kind.
Ryan (offering his hand): "Ryan."
Aemond took it. His grip was human. Warm, not crushing, not limp. He sat on the bench like a young man. When he looked up, his eyes had a weight that made Ryan's brain twitch. The weight of years.
Ryan (squinting): "You look eighteen."
Aemond (small smile): "My body keeps a kind shape. My work kept me alive. I am older than I look. Much."
Ryan (laughs once): "Great. One more thing to be jealous of. Sit. Talk. What do you want to do with me? Why me?"
Aemond drew a small circle on the bench with one finger, thinking. He was honest, and he had no need to impress by lying about his reasons.
Aemond (clear): "You make new things that help without blood. You do business without knives. You write rules on walls. That matters. I want to do some business with you. And I want to know how your mind makes paths. Also, I want to answer your questions so you do not break yourself by accident. I like this city. If you grow, and do not rot, we all win."
Ryan's heart did a small, stupid jump at the thought that a real mage had come to him not to use him, but to help. He climbed back up into humor like a ladder so he did not cry like a dumb man at his own bench.
Ryan (grinning): "Then I pay you with coin, not with flattery. I have a list. Number thirty‑five. 'Ask a real mage how magic works. Pay for the answer.' You here to make my day?"
Aemond (chuckle): "I am here to begin. One talk cannot fill a well. But yes—I can give you a map so you do not fall into a hole while looking at stars."
Ryan gestured at the chalk board with the list. Aemond's eyes flashed once when they landed on line twenty. He did not judge. He had been young once. He had been lonely in a way that does not leave scars but lays down quiet ice.
Aemond (teasing): "Number twenty is… ambitious."
Ryan (deadpan): "I wrote 'consent, care, no lies, no assholery.' I am not a monster."
Aemond (laughs softly): "Then you have the core of most law."
Aemond's smile faded into a thoughtful calm. He leaned the staff against the wall and laced his fingers.
Aemond (inviting): "Ask."
Ryan took a breath. He had a hundred questions. He picked the ones that would stop him from stepping in fire by mistake.
Ryan (quick): "Magic. Who can use it? How many? Where? Races. Real rulers. Who hates who. What is Belmara, Drakensvale, Aurelthorn really? And why do people look at me like I am a risky knife when I say 'I want to build'?"
Aemond's face did not move. His eyes warmed a little. He began to speak like a man who has taught before and loves truth more than the sound of his own words.
03:30 p.m. - At Technologia Chemical Laboratory, Frosthaven
Aemond adjusted the hem of his robe, as if setting his words like stones in a clean line. He did not rush. He did not perform. He spoke as if the room were a circle around a small fire.
Aemond (soft): "Magic is not a trick. It is not just words. It is a language between will and world. Some carry it in their bones. Some learn frames to hold it. Most do neither."
Ryan leaned in like a child at a hearth.
Ryan (eager): "How many?"
Aemond (counting with his fingers): "On this continent? One in fifty is truly touched. One in twenty can learn a trick or two—charms, a blessing, a ward—if a teacher holds them steady. The rest see it and fear it, or love it, or try to cheat it and get burned."
Ryan chewed on that and made it into a small truth in his head: magic was rare. Not myth. But not normal.
Aemond (clear): "Most of those who wield power with ease live in the north and the high places. Cold wakes old things. Storms feed edges. Temples and palaces gather strong ones like silver gathers thieves. And yes—most of the gifted are not human."
Ryan's brows lifted. He had seen hints. He had not heard it said so flat.
Ryan (honest): "That sounds rude to humans."
Aemond's eyes did not flinch. He had seen cruelty and hope both, and he was old enough to speak hard truths without liking them.
Aemond (plain): "It is not pride. It is a count. Humans breed quick, love quick, die quick, and build quick. But most human bodies here do not carry deep wells. Among elves, nine in ten carry a spark. Among high demons, all carry a burning coil. Among dragons and their children, power sleeps in bone like iron in hills. Beastfolk—the old clans of the wild—carry strange ways that look like luck and are not. Vampires are old spells made into hunger. Human mages exist—I am one. But we are needles in straw, and that is not shame. It is shape."
He lifted a hand to stop Ryan from shouting "unfair." Then went on.
Aemond (measured): "In this world, the strong often decide life and death. That is ugly. It is also old. Some nations try to turn that strength into law—good law that protects the weak and restrains the strong. Some nations try to turn that strength into meat. You can guess which is which."
Ryan sighed and rubbed his jaw. He did not like it. He could not pretend it wasn't true.
Ryan (half‑bitter): "So Drakensvale is a place where dragons and orcs hold the chain and swing it."
Aemond (nod): "Yes. Drakensvale is a banner under which the dragon cults and orc legions march. Not all are beasts; many are men. But its heart is fire and iron and glory written in blood. Orc warsong, dragon oath. They build roads too—of skulls, sometimes. They do not bow easily."
Ryan (grim): "Belmara then—vampires and demons sitting on thrones in shadow."
Aemond (sighs through his nose): "Belmara calls itself an empire of cunning and night. Vampires run their courts like quiet theatres. High demons rule the corners where law shakes. Dark fae weave much too. They hate light not because it hurts their eyes, but because it shows the dirt. They are patient. Their maps are not of land, but of fear."
Ryan (quieter): "And Aurelthorn?"
Aemond's face shifted in a way Ryan had not seen: respect mixed with worry. He looked at the lab wall, as if he saw a winter field in his mind.
Aemond (slow, careful): "Aurelthorn wears a stag and calls itself a place of code and dawn. Much of that is true. Men here build law, mend walls, and teach kids. Dwarves cut stone in our north and hold the passes with iron and oath. But if you dig deep—and I have—you find two old pillars at our root."
Ryan tilted his head. He thought he knew his kingdom's story. He did not know this story.
Ryan (soft): "What pillars?"
Aemond (voice lower): "First pillar: winter's law—the Wendigo. Not a monster in the hedge, but an old bond. Our founders bargained with winter to keep the old night out. The bargain had teeth. The law is simple: do not waste; do not wander; do not eat what speaks; share fire. Break the law of winter, and wendigo comes. Keep it, and winter carries you into dawn."
He let that sit one heartbeat, then set the second stone.
Aemond (firm): "Second pillar: stone law—the Dwarves. Under the mountain, the old clans swore deep oaths with our founders. Measure true. Weigh fair. Pay the due. Do not cheat steel or stone. Break a stone‑oath, and the mountain closes its roads and its forges. Keep it, and the north stands with us when the snows come and the border burns. So Aurelthorn's deep shield is two‑fold: the cold outside, and the stone beneath."
Ryan's heart thumped once against his ribs in a cold way.
Ryan (blurts): "Wendigo? For real? And the dwarves' oaths—real too?"
Aemond (nodding): "For real. Not the howling thing that eats children; think older. Think a law that watches. And the dwarves' compacts are iron. They do not break. If a king cheats weights, no dwarf smith lights a forge in his realm. That is how our winter laws and stone laws meet—clean hands, fair measure."
Ryan sat still. His brain spun. He wanted to laugh. He did not. He rubbed his face like a man washing with snow.
Ryan (hoarse): "Fuck."
Aemond (kind): "Yes. It is a lot. But it helps you understand why this realm loves rules and clean hands. Why Temple sermons burn rot. Why old hunters leave meat on a stump for the moon on first snow. Why guild scales are watched like altars. Our patrons are not men in chairs. They are old law under old trees and older stone."
Ryan swallowed. He was not sure if he was comforted or terrified. He was both.
Ryan (careful): "How do you know all this? Why tell me?"
Aemond (truthful): "I am a mage of Aurelthorn. My work is to protect life from night and order from rot. I have read scrolls, talked to spirits, bargained with old dwarves who weigh words like iron, and listened to hillfolk who do not speak to city men. The Temple knows some. The palace knows more. I know other pieces they do not, because a mage can walk where bishops and lords cannot. I tell you because you are building a thing that will touch the whole. If you build without knowing what root you stand on, the root might break you when you step wrong."
Ryan nodded, slow. He was shaking a little. He covered it by reaching for the chalk and writing three words on the board under his list:
Ryan (writing): "Know the root."
Aemond watched him with a smile that was almost proud. Then went on.
Aemond (resuming): "You asked about races. I will list the ones you will meet or hear about often, and the ones you may not want to meet if you have a choice. I will use simple words. Philosophers can go write long books; we have work."
He counted again, and the lab felt like a school for a moment, but a kind one.
Aemond (clear):
"1) Humans: most common; fast to love and fight; low rate of magic; high rate of invention; hang in tribes called cities.
2) Dwarves: stone friends; deep law; good at heat and weights; stubborn, fair; love contracts; slow to trust, never betray.
3) Elves: many tribes; wood elves in green halls; high elves in white towers; dusk elves in sad, beautiful places; most can call light or leaf or song into shape.
4) Orcs: legion folk; honor in battle; strength in groups; often used by cruel crowns; not fools—remember that.
5) Dragon‑blood: not just horn and wing; many look like men with old fire inside; pride like mountain; oath‑bound; slow to forgive.
6) Vampires: courts and hunger; beauty like knives; make law for themselves and call it order; night mages; very patient.
7) Fae: tricksters and judges both; bargains are bones; never say 'I promise' to a fae unless you like cages made of words.
8) Demons (high): not just rage; old ideas made meat; speak with edges; they are not fallen angels—do not bring church lies in here; they are other.
9) Beastkin: wolf, cat, bear, hawk, more; clannish; make hearth oaths; their 'luck' is often small magic taught mother to child.
10) Giants: rare; mountain law; slow speech; big kindness or big cruelty—little middles.
11) Naga: serpent riders of deep rivers; cults under the Snake God; truth scents to them; they taste lies in breath.
12) Merrows: sea folk; sing storms down; without trade pacts, they drown men politely.
13) Golems: built minds; laws in their cores; free ones are rare; most are war tools.
14) Witches: hedge mages; old earth; strong in circles, weak in courts; dangerous if afraid.
15) Shamans: speak for places; calm storms with songs; ask river to wait a little.
16) Liches: selfishness that ate its own soul; disease given a crown; kill on sight or run fast.
17) Celestials: light things; very rare; too 'pure' to touch mud; useless in most busy work.
18) Djinn: wind mind; bargain with seasons; never owe them three things at once.
19) Spirits: everywhere; most are dumb; a few are old and clever; do not piss on an old tree's roots without asking.
20) Underdark folk: not always evil; not always kind; it is dark; they learned to survive."
Ryan's chalk scratched out short notes as Aemond spoke. His hand was fast. His face was intent. He was building a new map in his head without roads, with forces.
Ryan (quiet): "You said 'Temple knows some, palace knows more, you know other pieces.' What do I need to know about the three big banners before I fuck up and die?"
Aemond took a breath. His eyes did not flinch. He spoke like a man who had had to cut truth at a table with men who did not like truth but needed it.
Aemond (listing):
"—Aurelthorn: stag and dawn, winter law and stone law at root. Code of Dawnspire says mercy and truth in day; in war we are tired but not soft. The High Council fights in words, not knives (most days). The Temple is a friend if you do not lie and if you do not drag people into fear for fun. If you insult old winter or cheat dwarven measure, expect a very cold hand on your neck and no forge lit for you. If you build clean and pay fair, the old laws stand behind you like a forest and a mountain.
—Drakensvale: ash and iron, a court that loves strong names; they pay their soldiers, they feed their machines, they do not show mercy unless it makes them look grand. They also do business—do not forget that. If you send a clean tool that makes their orders flow faster, they will not kill you for sport. They may copy you. They may conscript your cart. If you travel there, keep your head low and your numbers exact.
—Belmara: shadow and silk, counsel and court; they fear light that shows ledgers, not sunlight itself. They love a lovely lie and hate a boring truth. If you make a clean thing that makes lies harder, they will either try to buy you or break you quietly. They do not often go loud. They like whispers that become law. Bring witnesses and porters with temple seals when you do business near their nets. Make your sign‑offs public on walls. Belmara hates walls with honest words."
Ryan let the breath out he had been holding. He put chalk down and rubbed the chalk dust on his pants.
Ryan (sincere): "Thank you. That's… a lot. But it's a map. I like maps."
Aemond stood, then sat again, as if deciding how much to say. He chose more. He liked this young man's eyes. He also liked the lab's quiet bravery.
Aemond (gentle): "Now for three simple laws to keep you alive as you grow coin:
Never make a thing you cannot explain in daylight. If you cannot write a small sheet for people to read, don't sell it yet.
Pay your debts how you swear and when you swear. That makes stronger walls than any ward I can draw around your door.
Keep a priest, a porter, and a guard as witnesses when you sign with those who rule. Holy, city, and steel. Two of the three, always."
Ryan laughed once, because it was so clean and so damn sensible that it hurt.
Ryan (grinning): "Write that on the board."
Aemond took the chalk and wrote in neat lines.
Aemond (writing): "Holy • City • Steel — two of the three, always."
He put the chalk down. He turned the staff, the crystal catching a dull line of sun. For a moment, the lab felt like a chapel. Then he smiled like a man in a tavern who has good soup.
Aemond (soft): "May I ask a question now?"
Ryan nodded. He had been waiting for it. It was fair.
Aemond (curious): "How did you learn to make rules? Most men who come from nowhere try to be kings of smoke. You write steps on walls."
Ryan's mouth twisted. He looked at the board with "Find a waifu" and "Build a mill town" on the same list and almost laughed. Then he answered honest, because he had come sick of his own lies to this world.
Ryan (plain): "Back home I wrote code. I tried to lead teams. I failed a lot. I learned that if the rules are not plain and if people cannot see them, then fear takes over and someone yells and everyone lies. Here, if I do that, I die. If I write the rules and keep them and replace a jar when it fails and pay a widow fair coin, then the street protects me. I like being protected by good people more than by a sword."
Aemond's eyes warmed again. He stood and took his staff.
Aemond (formal in a kind way): "Then I have a proposal. I will buy two crates of your jars for the mage quarter and the school in the north ward. I will pay in coin, on delivery. And I will trade you three talks like this in the next month in return for a discount I do not need because I like bargains. I will also stand at your door if someone comes with lies and I am in the city."
Ryan blinked. His throat tried to make a sound and failed. He was suddenly, stupidly moved. He recovered by being a clown for a second.
Ryan (half‑bow): "Master Aemond, deal. You get the 'friend of the shop' price, which is the same as the 'people I like' price, which is the same as the 'I do not want to do math right now' price. Also—"
He stuck out his hand. Aemond took it, smiling.
Aemond (warm): "Also what?"
Ryan looked at the list and pointed at number thirty‑five. He grinned like a boy.
Ryan (mock proud): "Also, I can check 'Ask a real mage how magic works' off my board."
Aemond laughed and shook his head.
Aemond (fond): "Write 'begun.' Not 'done.' Pride goes before frostbite."
Ryan (saluting with the chalk): "Yes, sir. Begun."
They walked to the door. Aemond paused with his hand on the wood and looked back with a different gaze—one that saw out beyond the walls, down the road to Dawnspire, to a golden hall with a smiling wolf in red cloth and a woman in white and gold who was too honest for her boss.
Aemond (quiet warning): "One more thing. The Temple moves on rumor this week. Do not give them reason to call your name in a square. If they summon you, go. If they accuse in public, ask for private witness and bring a porter and a mage if you can. Do not use words like 'demon' or 'curse,' ever. Use words like 'clean,' 'replace,' and 'witness.' Words are wards."
Ryan's stomach dropped and then climbed back up with a slow rope. He nodded.
Ryan (firm): "Thank you. I'll use 'witness' and 'replace' like shields."
Aemond inclined his head and slipped out.
The lab was quiet again. The kettle waited for fire. The fan waited for a slow hand. The board with "One hundred things to do in another world" waited for line forty‑one.
Ryan picked up the chalk. He wrote one more line, small and neat.
Ryan (writing): "41) Make human great again."
He stood back, hands on hips, and laughed once, because it was either laugh or worry the skin off his hands.
He chose to laugh. He chose to work. He chose to ship two crates by dawn.
On the way out, he touched the rule board with two fingers the way Peter did, like a small prayer without a god in it.
("Make him loud. Make him proud. Then pull the rug.")
Somewhere in Dawnspire, a red and silver bishop rolled rumor like a bead between his fingers and smiled a sharp smile. But the lab felt safe today, not because a god said so, but because people had done the work.
Ryan went to find Murdock and Jory. He had a crate to load and a list to live.
Ryan (grinning as he opened the door): "Hands, rules, time. Let's build the rest."