Lares stood at the edge of the old workshop and looked around.
Work was happening everywhere.
With skepticism.
With quiet mockery.
With mistrustful glances.
But that had stopped bothering him a long time ago.
He was used to it.
At the academy, most princes had strutted around like proud roosters. They boasted about their battles, the monsters they had slain, the gifts they bought for their lovers, and other things that meant very little in the end.
While they were loud, he had been sitting in the workroom.
Reading books.
Taking samples.
Testing materials.
For hours.
For days.
And at some point, he had noticed something.
Something so simple it was almost ridiculous that no one had seen it before.
In his mind, there could only be one reason.
Magic.
People saw magic as the greatest treasure.
Because it frightened them.
Because it impressed them.
Because it was useful in battle.
But that was all.
For building, for living, for moving forward… it was barely worth anything.
And while everyone stared at magic, they overlooked the obvious.
Glass.
Simple quartz sand.
Heated.
Melted.
The foundation was so basic.
Of course, the first glass had been porous. Brittle. Impure. But after several attempts, it had become stable. Shapeable. Clear.
Something no one had ever truly seen before.
He had prepared everything at the academy.
His experiments.
His notes.
His ideas.
And then he had made sure no one could take them.
Inwardly, he allowed himself a brief smile.
With the help of the Goddess of Contracts, he had bound it all to himself. Everything he had discovered now belonged to him.
And with that, to his land.
No one else could produce it.
Not without his permission.
Not the glass.
Not the concrete.
Not what would come next.
While the other princes patted each other on the back, proud of their small victories, he would take something entirely different from them.
Their money.
Their wealth.
Their dependence.
They had laughed at him.
Because of his father.
Because of his hands.
Because of his love for craftsmanship.
He clenched his teeth for a moment.
I will be the last one laughing.
With that thought, he stepped into the workshop.
And in the very next moment, he tripped over a shovel someone had left lying on the ground.
With a dull thud, he landed in the thick layer of dust covering the floor.
For a moment, he simply lay there.
Then he sighed quietly, brushed the dust from his clothes, and got back to his feet as if nothing had happened.
Master Zaun was at his side immediately.
"Are you all right, young lord?" he asked with concern.
Behind him, three of the others let out a short laugh.
"That's our king, all right…" one of them said with a grin.
"Impossible to mistake."
A brief moment of laughter.
Then it faded.
The three looked down, embarrassed.
Lares brushed the dust off himself as if it meant nothing and pulled off his upper garment to shake out the dirt.
One of the workers gave a low whistle.
"I didn't expect him to be built like that," he muttered.
"I thought he just sat over books all day."
The second snorted quietly.
"He works with stone, you fool. Of course it shows."
The third grinned crookedly.
"Sixteen… and looks like he's worked his whole life."
Master Zaun cleared his throat and gave them a stern look.
"That's enough."
But even he couldn't deny they were right.
The boy was no pampered prince.
His body didn't come from training for battle.
It came from real work.
Even Garett studied him a moment longer than he intended to.
Then one of the three men pulled himself together again.
"Where should the fine dust go, my lord?" he asked.
"It's easy to find. The slag is just lying on top."
At that point, Master Zaun and Garett could barely contain themselves.
"Young lord…" Zaun began carefully, though the excitement in his voice was clear. "May we… take this over?"
Garett nodded eagerly, his eyes already fixed on the fire.
Lares gave a small smile and stepped back.
"Do it."
The large bandit with the loud voice let out a rough laugh.
"Melting dust… Who wants to pour stones?"
But no one was really listening to him.
The two masters were completely in their own world.
They fed the fire, added more wood, and raised the heat until the flames roared high. Then they carefully took the quartz sand and poured it into a heavy bowl, placing it deep into the fire.
Everyone gathered around.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the powder slowly began to change.
It darkened.
Thickened.
Grew denser.
And finally, it began to glow.
A deep, burning red, as if it had become a flame itself.