The sound of the future was a scream.
It came from the Rolling Mill.
Ronan stood on the catwalk, looking down at the massive iron rollers powered by the water wheel. A glowing ingot of Bessemer steel was being fed into the jaws.
SCREEEEEE.
The rollers grabbed the red-hot metal, squeezing it, stretching it, forcing it into the shape of an "I" beam.
"Rail," Ronan whispered.
Beside him, Varrick shouted over the noise. "We have rolled two miles of track, my Lord! The line to the coal mine will be finished by the moon's turn. The Mammoths will be retired. We will haul ten times the coal with half the oxen!"
It was the dawn of the Railroad. Not a steam locomotive yet—they still used horses to pull the carts on the rails—but the friction was gone. Steel wheels on steel rails. Efficiency.
"Increase the water flow," Ronan ordered. "The rollers are slowing down on the intake."
He turned to leave the mill. He needed to check the heartbeat of the castle: The Newcomen Engine at the mine. It had been running non-stop for weeks.
The Sabotage
The mine site was bustling. The "Black City" had grown up around the pit—shacks for miners, storage for the Coke, and the looming tower of the Atmospheric Engine.
Ronan walked into the engine house. The air was hot, smelling of grease and steam.
The rhythm was off.
Hiss... Thud... Splash.
Hiss... ... Thud.
Ronan frowned. He activated [The Architect's Eye].
He looked at the copper boiler.
[Pressure: 15 PSI] (Normal for this low-pressure engine).
He looked at the beam.
[Stress: Normal]
He looked at the Safety Valve.
It was a simple gravity valve—a lead weight sitting on a hole. If the pressure got too high, the steam would lift the weight and escape.
Ronan zoomed in.
There was a wire wrapped around the valve stem. A thin, dark wire, painted to blend in with the soot. It was tying the weight down.
[Threat Detected]
[Sabotage: Catastrophic Failure Imminent]
If the steam pressure rose and the valve couldn't open, the copper boiler wouldn't just leak. It would explode like a bomb. It would level the engine house and kill everyone inside—including Ronan, who inspected it daily at this hour.
"Clear the room!" Ronan roared.
The engineers froze. "My Lord?"
"Out! Now!" Ronan shoved the nearest man toward the door. "Run!"
He scrambled up the ladder to the boiler platform. The pressure gauge—a primitive mercury tube—was climbing fast. The fire below had been stoked aggressively. Too aggressively.
Ronan reached for the wire. It was copper wire, twisted tight with pliers. He couldn't untie it with his bare hands.
The boiler groaned. The copper plates were bulging.
SCREE-EEE. The rivets started to sing.
Ronan grabbed a heavy wrench from the maintenance rack. He didn't try to untie the wire. He swung the wrench at the lead weight.
CLANG.
The weight flew off, snapping the wire.
WHOOSH!
A geyser of superheated steam erupted from the valve. It hit the roof with the force of a cannon blast. The room instantly filled with blinding white fog.
Ronan dropped to the floor, coughing, covering his head as the deafening scream of escaping steam shook the building.
It lasted for a minute. Then, the pressure stabilized. The explosion was averted.
Ronan lay on the floor, soaked in condensation, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He looked at the snapped wire.
"Find him," Ronan whispered.
The Traitor
Captain Jory locked down the mine. No one left. No one entered.
Ronan walked down the line of miners and engineers. He was covered in soot, still holding the wrench.
"Who stoked the fire?" Ronan asked quietly.
A burly man named Karl stepped forward. "I did, my Lord. Just as always."
"Who was on the valve deck?"
"Just the oiler, my Lord. The new lad. From the Dreadfort refugees."
Ronan's eyes snapped up. "The refugees?"
"Aye. Came in last week with the weaving riots. Said he knew machines."
"Where is he?"
Jory signaled. Two Grey Legionnaires dragged a man forward. He was young, nondescript, with the rough hands of a worker. But his eyes were dead calm.
Ronan used the Eye.
[Heart Rate: 50 BPM]
[Status: Prepared for Death]
"You tied the valve," Ronan said.
The man didn't deny it. "The Flayed Man sends his regards."
"Why?" Ronan asked. "I gave you a job. I gave you food."
"You gave me a number," the man spat. "You brand us with paper. Lord Bolton knows what you are. You are a cancer. A spider weaving a web of iron."
"And the fire?" Ronan asked. "Stoking it to burst when I arrived?"
"You are a creature of habit, Lord Blackwood. You check the machine every day at noon. Clockwork."
Ronan looked at the man. He wasn't a master assassin. He was a fanatic. A suicide bomber with a pair of pliers.
"You tried to destroy the Engine," Ronan said. "You failed."
"I broke the trust," the man smiled, a bloody, broken smile. "Look at your people, Lord Ronan. Look at them."
Ronan looked. The miners were looking at each other with suspicion. The refugees were terrified, knowing they would be blamed. The unity of Blackwood—the "Us vs. Nature" spirit—was cracked.
Roose Bolton hadn't just tried to kill Ronan. He had injected paranoia into the system.
"Hang him," Ronan said. "Leave the body on the border."
The Iron Curtain
That night, Ronan sat in his solar. The plans for the railroad were on his desk, but he wasn't looking at them.
He was looking at the ID Papers.
"It's not enough," Ronan said to Varrick. "Papers can be forged. Refugees can be spies."
"What do we do, my Lord?" Varrick asked. "Close the gates? Stop the hiring? The mills need hands."
"We create a filter," Ronan said. "A department. Not for counting grain. For counting secrets."
He took a fresh sheet of paper. He wrote a new title at the top.
[Department of Internal Security]
"I want files on everyone," Ronan said. "Where they came from. Who their family is. If they have kin in the Dreadfort lands, they are watched. If they send messages, we read them."
"That is... tyranny, my Lord," Varrick whispered.
"It is survival," Ronan countered. "Roose Bolton fights with fear. I fight with data."
He stood up and walked to the window. He looked at the smoking chimney of the Coke Ovens, the glow of the Blast Furnace, the steam rising from the Engine.
He had built a machine. Now he had to defend it.
"And Varrick?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"The gunpowder," Ronan said. "The experiment I buried in the woods."
Varrick went pale. "You said it was too dangerous. You said it would end the world."
"The world is trying to end us," Ronan said. "Dig it up. We're going to build a Grenade."
[Tech Unlock: Black Powder (Weaponized)]
[Project Started: The Iron Grenadier]
Ronan watched the snow fall. It was grey with ash.
"Summer is over," Ronan said. "Let them come."
...…
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
I wanted to let you know that I'm releasing bonus chapters for Power Stones. Here are the goals:
100 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
125 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
150 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
Thanks for the support!