《Runes and Gears》 Chapter 1: Turning The Gears Luke Thomas Wesson adjusted the rearview mirror. The reflection showed the back of his head, the black case on the passenger seat, and a sliver of the city behind him. He checked the side mirror. Clear. He signaled and merged into the flow of traffic. The Global Advanced Weapons Expo. He¡¯d circled the date for months. This wasn¡¯t just a presentation; it was the culmination of two years of relentless work. He¡¯d walked away from college, a decision many questioned. But the XMD-73 demanded his full attention. He¡¯d poured everything into it: design, coding, testing. His great-grandfather, Daniel, a skilled machinist, had sparked his interest in how things worked. That spark ignited a passion for engineering, specifically in the field of advanced weaponry. Luke believed automation was the inevitable direction of warfare. His YouTube channel, a mix of technical breakdowns and progress updates, had gained a modest following. It was a way to document his work, connect with other engineers, and generate some pre-expo buzz. The traffic light ahead turned yellow, then red. Luke braked smoothly. He glanced to his left. A semi-truck, too fast, barreled through the intersection. The driver wasn''t slowing down. No screech of tires. No attempt to swerve. Impact. The world twisted and went dark. He surfaced into consciousness. Disoriented. Upside down. The seatbelt strained against his chest. A sharp pain radiated from his forehead. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Blood dripped into his eyes. He tasted metal. The acrid smell of gasoline filled his nostrils. He heard muffled shouts from outside. ¡°Get back! Fuel leak!¡± A distorted orange glow reflected on the cracked windshield. He knew what that meant. He closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do. The explosion was a roar, a wave of heat. Then, nothing. He opened his eyes. He wasn¡¯t in the car anymore. He wasn''t in a hospital. He stared at a wooden ceiling. Dark wood beams crisscrossed above him. Not the sterile white tiles of a hospital room. He pushed himself up. His body felt¡­wrong. He looked at his hands. Smaller. The skin smoother. He flexed his fingers. They felt thinner, weaker. He ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than he remembered, brushing his shoulders. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet landed on a cold stone floor. He stood, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He grabbed a nearby table for support. His head throbbed. What had happened? The truck¡­the accident¡­then nothing. He saw a mirror on a small table near a window. He moved towards it, his steps unsteady. He looked at his reflection. The face staring back wasn¡¯t his. Younger. The features were similar, but softened, less defined. He looked like a teenager, maybe fifteen. Yet, he felt taller than he should be at that age. He touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The skin was smooth, unblemished. A strange feeling settled in his stomach, a mix of confusion and unease. He looked around the room. It was large, sparsely furnished. A heavy wooden wardrobe stood against one wall. A closed wooden door was on the opposite side. A small window showed a sliver of daylight. The room felt old. The furniture, the walls, everything had a worn, aged look. He walked to the window and looked out. He saw cobblestone streets below. Buildings constructed of stone and timber lined the streets. No cars. No concrete. No familiar cityscape. People dressed in simple tunics and dresses moved about. Horses pulled carts. This wasn''t his world. This was a world from history books, or from fantasy novels. *Where am I?* The question echoed in his mind. A wave of panic started to rise. He forced it down. He needed to focus. He was alive. That was the most important thing. He was in a different place. A drastically different place. And his body was different. Those were the facts. He took a deep breath. He was a problem solver. He always had been. Designing complex systems, debugging intricate code, building machines from the ground up ¨C those were his strengths. This situation, as bizarre as it was, was just another problem. A complex one, granted, but a problem nonetheless. He would approach it methodically. He turned from the window, his gaze sweeping the room again. He needed information. He needed to understand where he was, how he had gotten here, and what he was supposed to do next. He started with the immediate environment. He walked to the wardrobe and opened it. Inside were more simple clothes: tunics, trousers, a few roughspun shirts. All made of coarse fabric. Nothing familiar. No labels. No clues. He moved to the door on the opposite side of the room. He placed his hand on the iron handle. It was cold under his touch. He took another deep breath, trying to calm the unease in his stomach. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. He stepped through the doorway. The room beyond was a living area, larger than his bedroom. More dark wood furniture filled the space: tables, chairs, a large, intricately carved chest. Several potted plants sat on tables and window ledges, adding splashes of green to the otherwise muted tones. There were no electronics, no screens, no familiar technology. A fire crackled in a large stone fireplace built into one wall. The floor was made of cobblestones, worn smooth by time. The air carried the distinct aroma of cooking soup, coming from an open doorway that presumably led to the kitchen. He walked towards the kitchen, his footsteps echoing slightly on the stone floor. As he entered, he saw a woman stirring a large pot hanging over a small fire in a hearth. She wore a simple, dark dress and an apron. What caught his attention, however, was the long, furry tail that swayed gently from side to side behind her. And the pointed dog-like ears that protruded from her head, peeking out from beneath her dark hair. Despite these distinctly canine features, her face was otherwise human, with normal skin tone and features. His foot brushed against the base of a chair, making a slight scraping sound. The woman turned, her eyes widening. "Young Master! You''re awake!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of relief and joy. Tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She dropped the wooden spoon she was holding and rushed towards him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. The hug was surprisingly strong. He felt a moment of disorientation, caught off guard by the sudden contact. The woman didn''t have a snout; her face was human in its structure. Her skin tone was similar to his own. She released him, stepping back slightly, but her hands remained on his shoulders. Her expression was a mixture of happiness and lingering worry. "I¡­ I thought I was going to lose you," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "before your coming-of-age." Luke stared at her, still processing what he was seeing. A woman with a tail and dog ears. A world without cars or electricity. A room that looked like it belonged in a museum. And now, this woman calling him "Young Master" and talking about his "coming-of-age." He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He felt a strange disconnect, as if he were watching this scene unfold from a distance. His mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation for what was happening. Was he dreaming? Had he suffered some kind of head injury in the accident that was causing him to hallucinate? He looked at the woman again, focusing on her face. Her eyes were still filled with tears, but there was also a genuine warmth and concern in them. This wasn''t a hallucination. This was real. "Where¡­where am I?" he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What happened?" The woman''s expression softened. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "You¡­you don''t remember?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. She took a step closer, her gaze searching his face. "You were¡­you were injured. Very badly. We thought¡­" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. She gestured towards a nearby chair. "Please, Young Master, sit. You need to rest. I will explain everything." She picked up the wooden spoon she had dropped and returned to the hearth, stirring the soup again. The scent of it, a rich, savory aroma, filled the air. Luke hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the chair and sat down. He felt weak, disoriented. He watched the woman as she worked, her tail still swaying gently. He had so many questions, but he didn''t know where to begin. He decided to start with the most obvious one. "What¡­what are you?" he asked, gesturing towards her ears and tail. The woman paused in her stirring, a faint smile touching her lips. "I am Elara, Young Master," she said. "I am your¡­your caretaker. And I am a Lupine." Luke watched Elara as she stirred the soup, the firelight casting dancing shadows on her face. The word ¡°Lupine¡± hung in the air, adding another layer of strangeness to his already bewildering situation. He rubbed his forehead, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. The accident¡­the explosion¡­then this. This world. This¡­Lupine. "Elara," he began, his voice still rough, "where¡­where is this place?" Elara stopped stirring and turned to him, her expression gentle. "This is Elistaria, Young Master," she replied. "The province of Silverstream, in the Kingdom of Aeridor." Elistaria. Silverstream. Aeridor. None of these names were familiar. They didn''t correspond to any place he knew. He looked around the room again, taking in the details: the rough-hewn furniture, the stone floor, the fire in the hearth. This wasn''t some elaborate prank or hallucination. This was real. "And¡­what year is it?" he asked, a knot forming in his stomach. Elara tilted her head slightly, a puzzled look on her face. "It is the year 127 of the Ascendancy, Young Master." The Ascendancy. Another unfamiliar term. He did the mental math. If this was equivalent to some other calendar system, it was far removed from anything he knew. He was in a different world, a different time. The realization settled heavily on him. "You mentioned¡­my coming-of-age," he said, shifting the focus of the conversation. "What is that?" Elara''s expression turned serious. She set the wooden spoon down on a small table and sat on a stool near the hearth, facing him. "Every citizen of Aeridor, upon reaching their fifteenth year, must attend the Awakening Ceremony at the Grand Cathedral," she explained. "It is there that they discover their¡­aptitude." "Aptitude?" Luke repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Yes," Elara confirmed. "It is¡­difficult to explain. It is a manifestation of one''s inherent abilities. Some call it magic, others call it a gift from the Celestials. Whatever the name, it determines one''s path in life." She paused, as if searching for the right words. "Think of it as¡­a classification. A way to understand one¡¯s potential. There are many different aptitudes. Warriors, mages, healers, artisans¡­each has their own unique set of skills and abilities." Luke¡¯s mind immediately drew parallels. It sounded like character classes in an MMORPG. Warrior, mage, healer ¨C archetypes from countless games. But this wasn¡¯t a game. This was his reality now. "So, everyone has to do this?" he asked. "This¡­Awakening?" "It is compulsory," Elara confirmed. "It is a sacred tradition, and a vital part of our society. It determines one''s place within the Kingdom." "And what happens if¡­someone doesn''t have an aptitude?" he asked, a thought striking him.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Elara''s expression clouded over. "That¡­is rare, Young Master. But it does happen. Those who do not Awaken are¡­placed in service to the Cathedral. They perform menial tasks, assist the clergy. It is not a dishonorable life, but it is¡­different." Luke nodded slowly, absorbing the information. This Awakening Ceremony sounded like a pivotal event, a defining moment in a person''s life in this world. And his was fast approaching. He was supposedly fifteen, according to Elara. Which meant the ceremony was likely imminent. "When¡­when is my Awakening?" he asked. Elara looked at him with a mixture of concern and affection. ¡°It is in three days, Young Master. On the next full moon.¡± Three days. He had three days to understand this world, to prepare for a ceremony that would define his future in a place he didn''t even recognize. The weight of it settled on him, a heavy burden in his chest. He looked at Elara, her tail swaying gently as she watched him with worried eyes. He was no longer Luke Thomas Wesson, the engineer from 2030. He was someone else now. Someone in Elistaria. Someone about to face his Awakening. The silence in the kitchen stretched, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Luke stared at the flames, his mind reeling from the information Elara had given him. Elistaria. Aeridor. The Ascendancy. The Awakening. It was all so foreign, so different from the world he knew. He turned back to Elara, his gaze searching her face. He needed more context. He needed to understand who he was in this strange new reality. "Elara," he began, his voice hesitant, "you keep calling me ''Young Master.'' Who¡­who am I? Who are my parents?" Elara''s expression shifted. The gentle warmth in her eyes was replaced by a deep sadness. She looked down at her hands, her tail drooping slightly. She took a deep breath before speaking, as if gathering her strength. "Your name," she said, her voice soft, "is Lucharia Savendorn. But you were always called Luch." The pronunciation was slightly different, a softer ¡®ch¡¯ sound, but the similarity to ¡®Luke¡¯ was undeniable. A strange sense of recognition, a phantom echo of familiarity, resonated within him. "Your father," Elara continued, her voice gaining a slight formality, "was Duke Draedoria Savendorn, of the Kingdom of Aeridor. A renowned swordmaster, a warrior of great renown.¡± The title ¡°Duke¡± and the mention of a kingdom placed him in a social hierarchy he never imagined he¡¯d be a part of. A noble. A duke¡¯s son. It was almost too much to process. ¡°The Savendorn bloodline,¡± Elara explained, ¡°is¡­unique. Duke Draedoria believed that every child bearing his seed, regardless of their mother¡¯s status, was a Savendorn. Every offspring, even those from concubines, were part of the family. He had¡­twelve wives, one official wife, and eleven concubines.¡± Luke¡¯s eyebrows shot up. Twelve? It was an archaic practice, something he¡¯d only read about in history books. ¡°The Savendorn blood,¡± Elara continued, ¡°almost always manifests an aptitude related to swordsmanship or traditional combat. It is a defining trait of the family. But¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, a shadow crossing her face. ¡°Any child who Awakens with an aptitude for magic¡­is disowned. Cast out from the family.¡± The implications of this statement hung heavily in the air. A family obsessed with martial prowess, rejecting those with magical abilities. It painted a stark picture of the Savendorn family¡¯s values. "And my mother?" Luke asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Who was she?" Elara looked at him, her eyes filled with sympathy. "Your mother," she said softly, "was the Duke''s sixth concubine. She¡­she died giving birth to you, Luch." The words struck Luke like a physical blow. He had never known his mother. He had never even had the chance. The realization settled in his heart, a cold, empty feeling. He was an orphan, in a world not his own, born into a family with a complex and rigid structure, a family he had never known. He looked back at Elara, her canine ears twitching slightly as she watched him. He had so many more questions, but they seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the weight of what he had just learned. He was Lucharia Savendorn, son of a Duke, born into a world of swords and magic, a world he was only just beginning to understand. And in three days, he would face his Awakening, a ceremony that would determine his place in this strange new reality.
Elara watched Luke¡¯s face, her expression softening. The initial sadness had faded, replaced by a more thoughtful look. She didn¡¯t know, of course, that the person sitting before her wasn¡¯t entirely the Luch Savendorn she had known. She perceived his quiet contemplation as grief, a natural reaction to learning about his mother¡¯s death and his complicated family history. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about your mother,¡± she said gently. ¡°It¡¯s alright to grieve, Young Master. She loved you very much.¡± Luke blinked, pulled from his thoughts. He hadn¡¯t been thinking about his mother specifically, not yet. He was still trying to process the sheer volume of information he¡¯d received. But he nodded slowly, not wanting to correct her. It was easier to let her believe he was mourning. ¡°Tell me about¡­Luch,¡± he said, using the name Elara had given him. ¡°What was he like?¡± Elara¡¯s expression brightened slightly. A small smile touched her lips as she began to recount Luch¡¯s life. ¡°You were always a quiet child, Young Master,¡± she began. ¡°You lived at the main estate with your father and¡­the others, until you were twelve.¡± She paused, a hint of hesitation in her voice. ¡°Duke Draedoria was¡­a busy man. He was constantly involved in matters of state, military campaigns, and managing his vast holdings. He didn¡¯t¡­spend much time with any of his children, to be honest.¡± ¡°Every six months,¡± Elara continued, ¡°he would summon his offspring to observe their progress in swordsmanship and combat training. It was a tradition, a way for him to assess their adherence to the Savendorn values.¡± Luke listened intently. He could picture the scene: a stern Duke, surrounded by his children, each striving to prove their worth with a sword in hand. ¡°But you,¡± Elara said, a fond smile returning to her face, ¡°you were different. While the others trained with blades, you were always drawing. You had a fascination with siege engines, catapults, ballistae¡­you would fill notebooks with intricate designs and calculations.¡± A flicker of recognition sparked within Luke. A fascination with mechanics, with how things worked. It was a trait he recognized in himself, a trait that had led him to design drones and AI systems in his previous life. ¡°The other children¡­they teased you,¡± Elara admitted, her voice softening. ¡°They didn¡¯t understand your passion. They saw it as¡­unworthy of a Savendorn.¡± Luke could imagine the scene. A group of children, focused on physical prowess and martial skill, mocking the one who preferred blueprints to blades. It was a familiar dynamic, one that transcended worlds and time. ¡°Your father¡­¡± Elara hesitated again, choosing her words carefully. ¡°He never understood it either. He wanted you to follow the Savendorn tradition, to excel in combat. He would often scold you for neglecting your sword training.¡± The image of a stern, disapproving father solidified in Luke¡¯s mind. A man bound by tradition, unable to appreciate his son¡¯s unique talents. ¡°It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t care,¡± Elara said quickly, as if sensing Luke¡¯s thoughts. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­he had a very specific idea of what a Savendorn should be. And your¡­interests didn¡¯t fit that mold.¡± ¡°On your twelfth birthday,¡± Elara continued, ¡°your father decided to move you and me here, to Honeydew. He said it would be better for you, away from the constant scrutiny and teasing at the estate. He thought it would allow you to¡­focus on your studies, without the pressure of the Savendorn expectations.¡± Luke considered this. It sounded like a banishment, a way to remove him from the family without officially disowning him. A way to avoid further ¡°embarrassment,¡± as he had put it in his thoughts. ¡°I think,¡± Elara said quietly, ¡°you thought it would also benefit the Savendorn family¡¯s reputation, not having you constantly deviating from their standards.¡± Luke nodded slowly. It made sense. He was the odd one out, a source of quiet shame for a family obsessed with martial prowess. Moving him away was a way to sweep him under the rug, to pretend he didn¡¯t exist. The realization brought a pang of sadness, not for Luch specifically, but for the universal experience of feeling like an outsider, of not fitting in.
Elara saw the shadow that had fallen over Luke¡¯s face. She knew the story of his departure from the estate wasn¡¯t a happy one. She wanted to shift the mood, to bring some lightness back into the conversation. ¡°But enough of that,¡± she said, clapping her hands together briskly. ¡°You must be hungry! You¡¯ve been asleep for quite some time. I have some fresh bread and stew ready. Would you care for some breakfast?¡± Luke looked up, a faint smile touching his lips. ¡°That sounds good,¡± he said. Elara beamed. She quickly set about preparing a simple meal: a bowl of hearty vegetable stew, a thick slice of freshly baked bread, and a mug of warm milk. She placed it on the table in front of Luke. ¡°Eat up,¡± she said, her tail wagging gently. ¡°You need your strength.¡± Luke took a bite of the stew. It was simple but flavorful, the warm broth filling him with a sense of comfort. He ate in silence for a few moments, then looked up at Elara. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. ¡°This is good.¡± ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Young Master,¡± Elara replied, her eyes sparkling. After a few more minutes of quiet eating, Luke spoke again. ¡°Elara,¡± he said, ¡°I think¡­I need some time to myself. To¡­process everything.¡± ¡°Of course, Young Master,¡± Elara said immediately. ¡°You go ahead and rest. I¡¯ll be here if you need anything.¡± Luke nodded and stood up from the table. He walked back towards his bedroom, his mind still swirling with thoughts and questions. He needed to sort through everything he had learned, to try and make sense of this new reality. As Luke disappeared through the doorway, Elara began clearing the table. Her movements were automatic, her mind drifting back to the past. The Young Master¡­he¡¯s changed. He seems¡­different. More¡­reserved. But it¡¯s understandable, after everything he¡¯s been through. He was always a quiet child, even back at the estate. So different from the other Savendorn children. They were all so boisterous, so focused on swords and fighting. But not him. He was always drawing, sketching his strange machines. I remember how he would spend hours in the gardens, lost in his own world. I¡¯ve been his personal servant since he was a babe. I remember when I was first brought to the Savendorn estate. I was just a girl, taken from the slave market. I was so scared, so unsure of what my life would be like. But the Savendorn family¡­they treated me well. Especially the Young Master. He was my first master, and he was always kind. Even when he was just a little boy, he would play with me, sharing his drawings and telling me stories. He was always so gentle, so thoughtful. Even when the other children teased him, he never retaliated. He would just retreat into his own world, his mind filled with gears and levers and strange contraptions. He¡¯s grown into such a handsome young man. So tall, so¡­refined. His eyes¡­they¡¯re so intelligent, so full of thought. I remember when he was younger, I would often imagine what he would be like when he grew up. I never imagined¡­ A sudden heat flushed through Elara¡¯s face. She stopped her cleaning, her breath catching in her throat. What was I thinking? she chided herself, her tail twitching nervously. The Young Master is my master. I am his servant. Such thoughts are¡­inappropriate. She shook her head, trying to banish the errant thoughts from her mind. I must focus on my duties. The Young Master needs me. He needs someone to care for him, especially now, with his Awakening just days away. She resumed her cleaning, her movements more deliberate now, her mind firmly focused on the present. But deep down, a small, secret part of her couldn¡¯t help but wonder what the future held for her and the young man she had cared for since he was a child. Luke sat on the edge of the bed, the soft mattress feeling foreign beneath him. He replayed the information Elara had given him: Lucharia Savendorn, son of a duke, orphaned at birth, destined for an Awakening ceremony in three days. A world of magic and swords, a world completely unlike the one he had left behind. (Luke¡¯s internal monologue) It¡¯s real. This isn¡¯t a dream. It¡¯s not some elaborate hallucination. I¡¯m¡­someone else. In a different world. It¡¯s insane. Absolutely insane. But¡­it¡¯s happening. I have to accept it. I have to adapt. Luch¡­that¡¯s my name now, I guess. Luch Savendorn. Son of a duke. A family obsessed with swords. And I¡­I¡¯m supposed to fit into that? I, who spent my life designing drones and coding AI? And this Awakening¡­it¡¯s like choosing a character class in a game. Except it¡¯s not a game. It¡¯s my life. My new life. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. He had always been a pragmatist, a problem solver. He couldn¡¯t afford to get lost in the shock of it all. He needed to focus, to gather information, to understand the rules of this new world. He stood up and began to scan the room. It was sparsely furnished, but there were a few details that caught his eye. On a small table near the window, several rolled-up parchments lay scattered. He unrolled one. It was a detailed blueprint of a siege engine, a large catapult. He unrolled another. A ballista. And another. A battering ram. (Luke¡¯s internal monologue) Luch was obsessed with siege engines. Just like me with my own projects. It seems some things carry over, even across worlds. He noticed that the blueprints, while detailed, seemed to be missing a few key components, crucial calculations. He had studied historical siege engines in his previous life, fascinated by their mechanics. He recognized the gaps in these designs. He moved to the small drawer beside the bed. Inside, he found more parchments, along with ink pots and quills. Standard writing materials. Nothing particularly interesting. He ran his hand along the bottom of the drawer, then upward, feeling along the underside of the drawer above it. His fingers brushed against something thin and flat, tucked away out of sight. He carefully pulled the drawer out, revealing a small, leather-bound notebook hidden above it. It was positioned so that it would be difficult to find unless someone specifically knew where to look. He opened the notebook. Inside, he found pages filled with strange symbols, unlike any script he had ever seen. But as he looked at them, he realized he could read them. The symbols formed words, sentences, concepts. It was a language he shouldn¡¯t know, yet he understood it perfectly. The notebook detailed theories of magic, specifically its application in siege weaponry. It discussed how to imbue projectiles with magical energy, how to create enchantments that would enhance the power and accuracy of siege engines. (Luke¡¯s internal monologue) Magic. Real magic. And Luch was studying it. That¡¯s why this notebook is hidden. If the Savendorn family found out¡­ He remembered what Elara had said: any Savendorn who manifested an aptitude for magic was disowned. This notebook was a secret, a dangerous secret. Even Elara probably didn¡¯t know about it. (Luke¡¯s internal monologue) In my old life, magic was fiction. Entertainment. Now¡­it¡¯s real. And it seems I have a connection to it, through Luch. This changes everything. Chapter 2 Luch left his room. He moved through the living area, looking for Elara. She wasn''t in the kitchen. He pushed open the front door. Sunlight hit his face. He blinked, adjusting to the brightness. Trees surrounded the cabin. Beyond the trees, he saw the town. He stood on a hill. His home overlooked the town. Cobblestone steps led down the slope. The view was clear. The air felt clean, unlike the polluted air of his previous life. He saw Elara hanging clothes on a line. He walked towards her. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since you¡¯ve touched the grass, Young Master,¡± Elara said. ¡°Yes,¡± Luch replied. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful here.¡± He paused, inhaling the fresh air. He scanned the landscape. This place¡­it¡¯s peaceful. Quiet. Nothing like the city I remember. It¡¯s hard to believe this is my life now. This is my home. He turned back to Elara. ¡°Do I have a workshop?¡± he asked. ¡°A place where I¡­spend my time?¡± Elara looked confused. ¡°Yes, Young Master,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s in the basement. You specifically told me not to let anyone in. Not even me.¡± A secret workshop. That must be where Luch worked on his¡­research. His magic. If he told Elara to keep everyone out, it must be important. It must be where he hid his work. ¡°Can I see it?¡± Luch asked. ¡°Of course, Young Master,¡± Elara said. She led him around the side of the cabin to a wooden door built into the hillside. She pulled it open, revealing a dark stairwell leading down. The air coming from the stairwell felt cool and damp. ¡°Be careful, Young Master,¡± Elara said. ¡°The steps are a bit uneven.¡± Luch nodded and started down the stairs. The air grew colder as he descended. The only light came from the open doorway above. He reached the bottom. He found himself in a large, earthen-floored room. The walls were rough stone. A few torches in sconces provided dim light. The room held various workbenches, tools hanging on the walls, and partially constructed devices scattered around. He saw gears, springs, metal plates, and other mechanical components. He also saw strange devices made of wood and metal, with intricate runes carved into their surfaces. This is it. Luch¡¯s workshop. His secret laboratory. This is where he combined magic and technology. This is where I might find answers. He moved further into the room, examining the various objects. He recognized some of the tools: hammers, saws, chisels. Tools he had used in his previous life. But others were unfamiliar, specialized tools for working with metal and wood in ways he didn¡¯t understand. He approached one of the workbenches. It held a partially assembled device: a metal frame with several intricate gears and a small, glowing crystal embedded in its center. Runes were etched into the frame. Magitech. It¡¯s real. Luch was building it. He was combining magic with engineering. It¡¯s¡­fascinating. He ran his hand along the smooth metal of the frame. It felt cold to the touch. He examined the runes, tracing their lines with his finger. They felt strangely familiar, as if he had seen them before. He moved to another workbench. This one held several notebooks and parchments, similar to the ones he had found in his room. He opened one of the notebooks. It was filled with more of the strange symbols, detailing magical theories and experiments. He recognized some of the concepts from the hidden notebook he had found: theories about imbuing objects with magical energy, about creating enchantments. Luch was serious about this. This wasn¡¯t just a hobby. This was his life¡¯s work. And now¡­it¡¯s mine. Luch spent the next two days immersed in the workshop. He poured over Luch¡¯s notebooks, deciphering the strange runes and absorbing the complex theories of magic. He discovered that the runes were not merely symbols; they were conduits for magical energy, each with its own specific properties and effects. He learned about the different types of magic: elemental magic, enchantment magic, and even more esoteric forms he barely understood. He focused on the sections related to imbuing machines with magic, the core of Luch¡¯s Magitech research. He experimented with some of the simpler devices in the workshop, trying to activate the runes and understand how they functioned. He made mistakes, of course, but he learned from each one. He found that his understanding of engineering principles from his previous life gave him a unique perspective on Luch¡¯s work, allowing him to grasp concepts that might have eluded someone with a purely magical background. The morning of the Awakening arrived. The sun streamed through the windows of the cabin, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. Luch woke early, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He felt a strange mix of apprehension and anticipation. He had spent the last two days cramming information, trying to prepare for the unknown. But he knew that nothing could truly prepare him for what he was about to face. Elara knocked gently on his door. ¡°Young Master,¡± she called softly, ¡°a messenger has arrived. He says a butler from the Savendorn estate will be here shortly to escort you to the Grand Cathedral.¡± Luch took a deep breath. This was it. He rose from the bed and began to prepare. He found a pair of scissors in a drawer in the living area and approached Elara. "Elara, may I borrow these?" he asked, holding up the scissors. Elara nodded. "Of course, Young Master. What are you going to do with them?" Luch didn''t answer. He went back to his room and stood before the small mirror he had found. He looked at his reflection. The long, white hair that fell past his shoulders was a stark contrast to the short, practical cut he had always preferred in his previous life. He picked up the scissors and began to cut, carefully trimming his hair until it resembled the style he remembered: short on the sides and back, slightly longer on top. If I¡¯m going to face this new world, I¡¯m going to do it as myself. Or at least, as close to myself as I can be. He then turned his attention to the noble outfit that had been laid out for him. It was a far cry from the simple clothes he had been wearing since he arrived. It consisted of a dark blue tunic embroidered with silver thread, matching trousers, and polished black boots. He had rarely worn anything more formal than a suit in his previous life, and this elaborate outfit felt strange and unfamiliar. He put it on, adjusting the tunic and tightening the belt. He went back to the living area. Elara was waiting for him, her tail wagging nervously. He stood before her, adjusting the collar of his tunic. Elara¡¯s eyes widened when she saw him. Her cheeks flushed a deep red. She stared at him, speechless for a moment. ¡°Young¡­Young Master,¡± she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze lingered on his newly cut hair. It was a stark change from the long locks she was accustomed to, but it framed his face in a way that accentuated his sharp features. It made him look older, more¡­mature. ¡°How¡­how do I look?¡± Luch asked, feeling a bit self-conscious under her intense gaze. Elara blinked, snapping out of her reverie. ¡°You¡­you look¡­very¡­different,¡± she managed to say, her voice still slightly breathless. ¡°The hair¡­it suits you. It makes you look¡­like a true Savendorn.¡± She quickly looked away, as if suddenly realizing the intensity of her stare. ¡°The outfit¡­it is fitting for the occasion.¡± He¡­he looks¡­magnificent. The hair¡­it¡¯s gone. But¡­it makes him look so¡­handsome. So¡­different. I¡­I can¡¯t stop staring. What is wrong with me? She quickly busied herself with straightening a nearby tablecloth, trying to hide her flustered state. Luch, oblivious to the turmoil he had caused, simply nodded. He felt a little more prepared now, both physically and mentally. The butler would be arriving soon. It was time to face his Awakening. Luch returned to his room. Elara¡¯s reaction, though subtle, had given him a much-needed boost of confidence. He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He needed to prepare, not just physically, but mentally as well. He had spent the last two days absorbing information about magic and Luch¡¯s research, but he had neglected the social aspect of this new life. He was a noble now, a member of a powerful family. He needed to act the part. He recalled the books he had found in the living area, texts detailing the history and customs of Aeridor. They painted a picture of noble life: elaborate ceremonies, intricate social hierarchies, and constant political maneuvering. It was a world of appearances, where words held more weight than truth, where compliments masked hidden agendas, and where deceit was a common tool. It reminded him of the early stages of political development in his previous world, a time when power was consolidated through alliances, betrayals, and carefully crafted public image. This is a game. A dangerous game. And I need to learn the rules if I want to survive. I need to blend in, to act like I belong. I need to become Lucharia Savendorn.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. He began to practice. He started with his posture, straightening his back, lifting his chin, and adopting a more confident stance. He recalled the illustrations in the books, the way the nobles carried themselves: with an air of effortless authority, a subtle arrogance that spoke of their high status. He then moved on to his speech. He practiced speaking slowly and deliberately, using more formal language than he was accustomed to. He focused on his tone, trying to project an air of calm confidence, even when he felt anything but. He practiced delivering compliments, carefully crafting phrases that sounded elegant and sincere, even if they were empty of true meaning. ¡°Your grace is truly radiant this morning.¡± ¡°Your insights are as sharp as any blade.¡± ¡°Your generosity is known throughout the land.¡± It all sounds so¡­artificial. But it¡¯s what they expect. It¡¯s the language of this world. He moved around the room, practicing his walk. He focused on maintaining his posture, keeping his head high, and taking measured steps. He imagined himself walking through the halls of the Grand Cathedral, surrounded by nobles and clergy, and tried to project the image of a confident, self-assured young nobleman. They can¡¯t know. They can¡¯t see the confusion, the uncertainty, the fear. I have to be Lucharia Savendorn. I have to be the son of Duke Draedoria. I have to be a Savendorn. He spent a considerable amount of time practicing, repeating phrases, adjusting his posture, refining his walk. He knew it wasn¡¯t perfect. He couldn¡¯t completely erase the traces of his previous life, but he could do his best to create a convincing fa?ade. He had a natural talent for observation and analysis, skills that had served him well in his engineering career. He would use those skills now, to observe, to learn, and to adapt. He paused, catching his breath. He looked at his reflection in the mirror again. The young man staring back at him was different from the one who had woken up in this room two days ago. He was still Luch, still Luke, but there was something else there now: a hint of the noble, the Savendorn. It was a mask, perhaps, but it was a mask he was determined to wear well. The butler would arrive soon. He was ready. Or at least, he would pretend to be. A sharp knock echoed through the cabin. Elara approached Luch¡¯s door. ¡°Young Master,¡± she called softly, ¡°the butler has arrived.¡± Luch took a deep breath. He had spent the last few hours preparing, practicing. Now, it was time to put his preparations to the test. He straightened his tunic, adjusted his belt, and walked to the door. He opened it. Elara stood there, her eyes widening slightly as she took him in. The change in him was palpable. The uncertainty and confusion that had been evident in his eyes just two days ago were gone, replaced by a calm confidence. An air of authority radiated from him, a subtle but undeniable presence. ¡°Elara,¡± Luch said, his voice measured and formal, ¡°would you please inform the butler that I will be with him momentarily?¡± Elara blinked, momentarily taken aback by his formal address. She wasn¡¯t used to this version of Luch. He had always been informal, even playful, in their interactions. This new formality felt strange, yet¡­compelling. She felt a familiar warmth spread through her cheeks, a fluster she couldn''t quite explain. He looked so much more mature, so much more¡­like a true Savendorn. ¡°Of¡­of course, Young Master,¡± she stammered, curtsying slightly before hurrying off to relay the message. Luch walked out of the cabin. A man stood waiting, dressed in the dark livery of a Savendorn butler. Two young men stood behind him, dressed in simpler, but still well-made, clothing. Luch assumed they were squires, likely assigned to accompany him to the Cathedral. He approached them with a steady gait, maintaining his practiced posture. He met the butler¡¯s gaze directly, his expression neutral but firm. He knew enough about noble customs to understand the importance of appearances. He bore the Savendorn name, and he would not sully it with any display of weakness or uncertainty. ¡°Good morning,¡± Luch said, his voice clear and resonant. ¡°I trust the journey was uneventful?¡± The butler bowed slightly. ¡°Good morning, Young Master,¡± he replied. ¡°The journey was indeed smooth. I am relieved to see you are recovering well.¡± He studied Luch¡¯s face, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. ¡°I am quite well,¡± Luch replied, maintaining his formal tone. ¡°Ready for the day ahead.¡± The butler had known Luch for years. He had always been a quiet, unassuming boy, more interested in his drawings and contraptions than in the martial pursuits of his siblings. He was polite, but informal, often fidgeting and avoiding direct eye contact. This new Luch, this confident, composed young man, was a complete transformation. The accident¡­it has truly changed him. He carries himself like a true Savendorn now. The Duke would be¡­pleased. He finally bears the blood of his father. The butler had always felt a pang of pity for the young master, neglected by his father and teased by his siblings. But now, he saw a strength in Luch that he had never seen before. A strength that spoke of the Savendorn lineage, a strength that finally shone through. ¡°Very good, Young Master,¡± the butler said, his voice now tinged with genuine respect. ¡°If you are ready, we should depart. The ceremony will begin at midday.¡± Luch nodded. ¡°I am ready,¡± he said. He glanced back at the cabin, where Elara stood watching him from the doorway, a mixture of pride and something else he couldn''t quite decipher in her eyes. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning back to the butler and the squires. He was ready to face his Awakening. He was ready to face his new life. He was ready to be Lucharia Savendorn. The butler opened the door of the ornate coach, revealing a plush interior with velvet seats and polished wood paneling. Luch stepped inside, followed by the butler and the two squires, who took seats facing them. The coachman snapped the reins, and the horses began to move, the coach swaying gently as it rolled down the cobblestone path. The butler settled into the seat opposite Luch, adjusting his posture. He cleared his throat, initiating conversation. ¡°Young Master,¡± he began, ¡°I must confess, I was¡­surprised by your demeanor this morning. It is a welcome change.¡± Luch maintained his composed expression. ¡°I have been reflecting on my¡­priorities,¡± he replied, choosing his words carefully. ¡°I understand the importance of upholding the Savendorn name.¡± The butler nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. ¡°Indeed, Young Master. The Duke would be pleased to see this¡­growth in you.¡± A brief silence fell between them, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the horses¡¯ hooves and the creaking of the coach. The butler seemed to be considering his next words. ¡°May I inquire,¡± he said finally, ¡°what you have been occupying yourself with since¡­the incident?¡± Luch thought for a moment. He couldn¡¯t reveal his exploration of magic. That was a secret he had to protect. He decided to stick to the truth, but with a carefully crafted omission. ¡°I have been¡­studying,¡± he replied. ¡°Continuing my¡­interests.¡± ¡°Interests?¡± the butler asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. ¡°Yes,¡± Luch said. ¡°My¡­studies of mechanics. Design. Engineering.¡± He paused, choosing his next words carefully. ¡°I have been working on some¡­designs.¡± He saw a subtle shift in the butler¡¯s expression. A flicker of disappointment, quickly masked by a polite smile. ¡°Ah, yes,¡± the butler said, his tone slightly less enthusiastic. ¡°Your¡­drawings. The Duke always¡­hoped you would find a more¡­suitable pursuit.¡± (Butler''s internal monologue) Still with the drawings. A pity. I had hoped the Awakening would steer him towards a more¡­traditional Savendorn path. Swordsmanship. Strategy. Leadership. Not these¡­frivolous pursuits. The butler had hoped that the near-death experience, coupled with the upcoming Awakening, would have instilled a sense of duty in the young master, a desire to embrace the warrior traditions of his family. He had hoped that Luch would finally put aside his ¡°childish¡± interests and embrace the path of a true Savendorn. But it seemed that, at least for now, those hopes were premature. Luch noticed the change in the butler¡¯s demeanor. He understood the unspoken message. The drawings, the designs, the engineering¡­it wasn¡¯t what the Savendorn family valued. It wasn¡¯t the path of a warrior. It was a disappointment. He wants me to be a swordsman. A warrior. But that¡¯s not who I am. That¡¯s not who I was, and it¡¯s not who I¡¯m going to be. He maintained his composure, however. He knew he couldn¡¯t reveal his true intentions, not yet. He needed to play the part, to blend in, until he understood the rules of this new world well enough to forge his own path. ¡°I understand,¡± Luch said, his voice even and measured. ¡°But I believe these¡­studies have value. They require discipline, strategy, and a keen understanding of mechanics. Qualities that are¡­not entirely dissimilar to those required in warfare.¡± He offered a subtle, almost imperceptible, nod, hoping to convey a sense of seriousness and purpose. He saw a flicker of consideration in the butler¡¯s eyes. Perhaps he had managed to plant a seed of doubt, a hint that his interests might not be as frivolous as they seemed. As the coach neared the Grand Cathedral, Luch decided to gather more information. He turned to the butler, his expression carefully neutral. ¡°Are there¡­any notable guests who will be attending the Awakening today?¡± he asked. The butler considered the question for a moment. ¡°Not a large gathering, Young Master,¡± he replied. ¡°The Awakening ceremonies are usually private affairs. Only close family and a few select members of the clergy are present.¡± He paused. ¡°Your elder sister, Lady Rayla, will be in attendance, of course.¡± ¡°Rayla?¡± Luch asked, tilting his head slightly. He feigned a look of mild confusion, hoping to cover his ignorance. ¡°I¡­seem to have a slight lapse in memory. Could you remind me¡­?¡± The butler¡¯s brow furrowed for a moment, then smoothed out. He likely attributed Luch¡¯s confusion to the accident. ¡°Of course, Young Master,¡± he said reassuringly. ¡°Lady Rayla is the eldest child of the Second Lady. She is¡­quite skilled with the sword, much like your father, though perhaps not quite his equal.¡± He smiled faintly. ¡°She has always been very fond of you, Young Master. She sees you as a¡­cute little brother, perhaps a bit obsessive.¡± Luch absorbed this information. A sister. A close sibling. It was a detail Elara hadn¡¯t mentioned. It was also a detail that surprised him. He had assumed that Luch, given his ostracized position within the family, would have been completely isolated. A sister. Someone who actually cares about Luch. That¡¯s¡­unexpected. It could be useful. An ally within the family. But¡­the butler said she¡¯s ¡°obsessive.¡± He recalled some of the anime he had watched in his previous life, the characters with overprotective, almost possessive, siblings. The term ¡°brother complex¡± came to mind. He felt a slight twinge of apprehension. ¡°Obsessive?¡± he asked, keeping his tone casual. The butler chuckled lightly. ¡°She is¡­very protective, Young Master,¡± he clarified. ¡°She worries about you constantly. Especially after¡­the incident.¡± ¡°Very protective.¡± ¡°Worries constantly.¡± That sounds¡­exactly like what I was thinking. This could be¡­complicated. The image of a fiercely protective older sister, constantly hovering and interfering, flashed through his mind. It was a trope he was familiar with, but he had never expected to encounter it in real life, or rather, in his new life. He felt a slight wave of stress. He already had to navigate a new world, a new identity, and a magical Awakening. Now, he also had to deal with a potentially overbearing sister. This is going to be¡­interesting. If she¡¯s as obsessive as the butler says, she could be more trouble than she¡¯s worth. But¡­an ally is an ally. Especially in a family like this. I¡¯ll have to play it carefully. He turned his gaze to the window, watching as the Grand Cathedral came into view. Its towering spires and stained-glass windows gleamed in the midday sun. The sheer size of it was awe-inspiring. He was about to enter a world he barely understood, surrounded by people he barely knew. And he had a sister waiting for him, a sister who might be his greatest ally, or his greatest challenge. He took a deep breath. He would face it, as he had faced everything else so far: with careful observation, strategic thinking, and a carefully crafted fa?ade.