The following morning, a vibrant atmosphere permeated the workshop. Scholars and artisans gathered on one side of the room, scanning the bulletin board. An official announcement was posted there, declaring the conclusion of the Solitary Particle Theory.
Murmurs swelled throughout the crowd—some in amusement, others in disbelief.
"I can't believe it actually happened..."
"Who's this Herta again? A research aide?"
"No, they're saying she's the creator of the device that solved the theory."
"Ridiculous! This must be a mistake!"
The gossip spread like wildfire, igniting debates that swung between awe and doubt. Despite the professional setting, opinions simmered just beneath the surface. Some commended the breakthrough, others refused to believe a child succeeded where many minds had failed.
At the back of the crowd stood Rubert II, silent and unmoving. His eyes locked on the freshly published parchment, his clenched fist shaking. The ink of Herta's name seared into his mind like a brand. His mouth twitched, and a bitter sneer formed.
Without a word, he turned away and marched out of the workshop.
The sun had only just begun to rise over the district's rooftops as Rubert made his way down the forgotten alley. His polished shoes echoed against cracked cobbledstones as he entered a decaying building long abandoned by time.
Old paint peeled from the walls, windows were boarded up, and dust hung in the stale air like a curtain of silence. He moved with purpose, pulling aside a leveled shelf to reveal a trapdoor hidden underneath a tattered rug.
With a rugged groan, he pulled it open and descended a staircase leading to darkness. Each step took him deeper under the city, where light from the surface couldn't reach. Elemental-powered lanterns flickered on as he passed, casting long shadows against rusted walls.
At the bottom lay a cavernous hall, once part of an ancient lair—its mechanical ribs distorted like the remains of some colossal beast. At the far end, raised on a fractured platform, sat a robotic corpse slumped lifelessly on a throne of gears and scorched iron.
Its body was completely robotic, lacking any flesh and bone, lenses cracked, face warped by time. Frayed cables spilled from its spine like withered tendrils, and its recessed eyes stared through the gloom.
Rubert approached, kneeling before the throne. His voice, tight with shame, resonated in the hollow space as he spoke.
"I failed you, Master."
He pressed his fist against his chest.
"I tried to persuade them... to show them the brilliance of the Scepter Optics. But they chose hers... That little brat's device..."
Recalling the moment he got demoted, his jaw tightened.
"Herta... She humiliated me and ruined everything we worked for."
A heavy silence followed—only the faint hum of forgotten machines stirred in response.
But then—
Crrrk~
A creaking groan broke the stillness as the corpse twitched, and Rubert stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.
Pssssh~
The shattered figure exhaled—a dry, metallic exhale, as though wind coursed through rusted pipes. Then, in a low voice, rough and mechanical, it whispered—
"...my... disciple.."
Rubert's eyes widened. He leaned in, barely breathing.
"Master?"
"Come... here..."
"What is it?"
The robotic corpse turned its head to meet its disciple's gaze. Another whisper followed, this time clearer, each syllable chilling in its weight.
"...Sabotage... the nuisance... to continue... the mission..."
A slow grin unfurled across Rubert's face. He stood upright, eyes lit with malicious purpose.
"Yes... I understand now."
Turning toward the stairs, he chuckled, twisted and venomous, echoing off the walls like the screech of a dying engine.
"This time… her brilliance will bow before the mechanical overlord."
--------------------------------------
Back at the workshop, the afternoon sun blazed overhead, pouring its warm light through the glass-paneled windows as the day reached its peak. Scholars and artisans returned to work, expanding upon the concept of Spiritron.
Two of those individuals were Albrecht and Bellum, both standing in front of a blackboard filled with equations. While they worked, one question lingered in Wissenschaft's mind.
"Where the heck did Benjamin go?"
"He took Miss Sommerville on a date."
The gentleman didn't take his eyes off the board as he said it, prompting Albrecht to turn his head instead.
"Wait, are you serious?"
Bellum nodded nonchalantly as he continued to write his computation.
Albrecht blinked slowly, surprised by the revelation. "Huh... bold of him to call it that already."
"That's what I heard," the gentleman agreed, pausing long enough to fix a formula. "Though, in fairness, she didn't reject him."
A small laugh escaped Albrecht as he returned to scribbling his memos. The quiet rhythm of chalk against slate resumed between them until another thought crossed his mind.
"And how about Ruan Ling? I haven't seen her all day."
Bellum clicked his tongue lightly, knowing his colleague would ask this question.
"Well, she doesn't feel like attending."
Suspicious, Albrecht raised his eyebrow.
"But why, though?"
"I stopped by her estate to find out her situation, but her steward told me that she was busy with something personal."
Albrecht nodded slowly. He didn't press further, but his eyes lingered on the chalkboard, his thoughts drifting.
—
Meanwhile, elsewhere....
Far from the hustle of the workshop stood the Ruan family manor, a modest estate nestled in the eastern hills of the Nasca kingdom. Ascending like a palace of discipline and tradition, its curved rooftops were tiled in lacquered red, and cherry blossom trees framed its pathways.
Servants traversed through the courtyard like clockwork, trained and silent. Beyond the inner garden and down a set of concealed stone stairs lay a compartment rarely spoken of, known only to a select few.
This is Ruan Ling's private laboratory.
Within its walls, the hygienic glow of bioluminescent lights hummed over rows of oriental and cultivated equipment. Complex spell diagrams flickered across floating parchment, and tubes pulsed with radiant substances flowed into containment chambers.
The air was cold, clinical, and utterly quiet.
In the middle of the lab stood a tall, cylindrical capsule, reinforced with arcane seals.
Ruan Ling stood before it, recording data on her memo pad. Her brows furrowed in relentless focus, monitoring any changes on the specimen she's working on.
tap... tap... tap...
Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind her, soft but hesitant. A loyal servant stepped down the stairs, pausing just before crossing the threshold of the laboratory's inner sanctum.
"Lady Ling," he called out with a respectful bow. "The High Elites have officially declared the conclusion of the Solitary Particle Theory. The entire workshop was talking about it."
"...."
She didn't respond, and her stylus didn't pause either.
"Um..." The servant shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. Eventually, glancing at the capsule, he asked, "What are you making, Lady Ling?"
Ruan Ling finished her last record before responding, her voice firm and straightforward.
"I'm making a specialized genomic construct, synthesized from my own somatic tissues, with engineered modifications to its neurogenetic lattice—enhancing synaptic plasticity, memory encoding, and adaptive cognitive functions."
The servant stood motionless, his face contorted in confusion.
"I don't understand."
She turned slightly, just enough for him to see her narrowed gaze.
"In other words, I'm creating my prodigy."
His gaze drifted back to the capsule. Within, a barely formed embryo floated in suspension—its shape no larger than a bent thumb, with translucent tissue and faintest signs of limb bud.
As the amniotic fluid gleamed softly, pulsing in rhythm with the arcane system that regulated its growth, Ruan Ling gazed at her creation with pride and expectations.
"Soon... You will rival her in every way possible."
-----------------------------------------
As the sun began to set, orange light enveloped the entire kingdom and filtered through the arched windows of Nasca Castle. Its lofty spires stood over the city like a crown of authority, observing as artisans and scholars returned home, reveling in the historical breakthrough.
In the vast, solemn throne room, adorned with tapestries of the royal bloodline, Zandar stood respectfully before the king and queen, both seated on their royal thrones. Next to him were guards in silver armor who remained silent, flanking the chamber like living statues.
The king, Lakshavir Nasca, spoke first, his voice regal and curious.
"What brings you here at this hour, Zandar One Kuwabara?"
Zandar stepped forward and kneeled before them.
"I'm here to bring you some good news, Your Highness."
King Lakshavir raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Good news, you say? Well then, let us hear it."
The director raised his head, his tone composed but proud.
"I'd like to inform you that the Solitary Particle Theory has been successfully solved. Our High Elites have confirmed it—what was once deemed unsolvable is now complete."
The queen, Rosalia Nasca, leaned forward, her eyes reflecting a mix of disbelief and wonder.
"Really? After all these years? Who achieved such a feat? A renowned scholar? An elite?"
Zandar smiled faintly, shaking his head.
"No, your majesty, it was a little girl by the name of Herta Wissenschaft, daughter of Albrecht and Theresia Wissenschaft."
Queen Rosalia widened her eyes with stupefaction.
"What? A child? Do you mean a young mind uncovered what the greatest minds could not?"
"It is what you say, your majesty. Her logic, methodology, and knowledge of particle behavior surpassed expectations. The breakthrough was not random—it was deliberate and precise."
A brief silence followed, thick with contemplation. King Lakshavir studied Zandar with a stern gaze before lowering his gaze.
"I'd say it's commendable for Albrecht to raise such a brilliant child. Sending him a letter was the right call. But I suppose you didn't come here to flaunt someone's achievement, Director."
Zandar met the king's gaze with calm confidence.
"Indeed. I have a proposal."
"A proposal? What is it?"
The director stood up, prepared to speak with steady conviction.
"I believe it is time we invest in something long overdue—a national academy where capable children can learn, grow, and sharpen their abilities from the earliest age. We no longer have to wait for brilliance to blossom. If talents like Herta's exist, then we must foster them early."
The queen exchanged a glance with her husband before returning to Zandar, fascinated.
"That's interesting. Are you planning to bring together the brightest children and inspire them collectively? Is that even possible?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Zandar guaranteed. "Imagine the kingdom of Nasca becoming the heart of geniuses across the continent, not only of tradition and history, but of innovation. A cradle of the next generation of thinkers, strategists, magicians, and inventors."
King Lakshavir narrowed his eyes, considering the weight of the proposal.
"And what about the risks? Such minds can change the world, for better or worse."
The director nodded, understanding the king's worries.
"Which is why these young minds should be guided under the sovereign's watchful eye. If we don't lead them, someone else will."
Queen Rosalia rested her chin on her hand, thoughtful.
"Do you already have someone to attend this academy?"
Zandar's smile returned, softer this time.
"I have several in mind, but I wish to extend an invitation first to your son and daughter."
The king remained silent for a moment, then offered a slight nod, approving yet cautious.
"We will consider it. But listen to this, Zandar—if you are to shape the future of this kingdom, we expect full transparency. These are children, not tools."
"Of course, Your Highness. That concludes my visit for today."
"Good, you may leave now."
Zandar bowed once more, offering a profound and respectful gesture, before being escorted from the throne room by the silent silver-clad guards.
Once he left, Queen Rosalia turned to her husband.
"Do you think this is a good idea?"
King Lakshavir leaned back, contemplative.
"It depends on whether our son is ready to lead these intelligent minds, especially that young girl named Herta."
-----------------------------------------
Finally, the sun dipped beneath the distant hills, painting the kingdom in crimson and gold, as if the sky itself is closing the chapter.
In the castle courtyard, shadows stretched from the tall tree at its center. A little girl with soft pink hair sat in the grass, her back resting against the trunk as she flipped through the pages of her book. The fading daylight highlighted the edges of her silken dress, creating a delicate shimmer across its threads.
Tap... tap... tap...
Suddenly, a rustle of footsteps approached from behind.
"Princess, it's time for dinner," a servant reminded with a respectful bow.
She closed the book quietly, her finger pausing at its cover before standing with a nod.
"Understood."
Before stepping away, she turned towards the training yard.
"Big brother, time to come inside!"
Across the far end of the courtyard, a young boy swung a wooden sword energetically. His blonde hair clung to his forehead from sweat, and his stance exhibited both stubbornness and fatigue. Upon hearing his sister's voice, he halted and turned, his red eyes catching the last ray of daylight.
He sheathed his sword by his side and jogged towards her without a word, the two vanishing together into the castle's warmth.
Beyond the castle walls, the cobblestone path was bathed in twilight.
Zandar descended the steps alone, his silhouette extended against the bluish pavement. His meeting with the king and queen had gone better than expected, and yet, the familiar weight of something greater pressed against his mind.
His thought stirred—until he heard it.
flap... flap... flap...
A soft flutter, rhythmic and deliberate, beat against the air behind him.
The director didn't turn, recognizing the presence, and sighed in resignation.
"I did what you asked," he muttered. "The academy will be constructed soon."
A familiar voice, calm and feminine, answered.
"Thank you, Director. Your cooperation never disappoints."
Zandar exhaled through his nose, then glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes.
"What's the purpose of these prophecies, angel lady?"
He turned around, a knowing smile forming.
"Or should I address you with your name, Marlene?"
There she stood, a woman with flowing platinum blonde hair cascading down her back, clad in a caretaker's uniform, her white feathered wings stretched wide beneath the early glow of the stars, and her eyes held a serene, inscrutable quality, almost divine in their calmness.
She met his gaze with a serene smile, her voice soft and comforting.
"It is all according to the Star King Dragon's design. Every step is unfolding as it must."