The heavy oak doors of the Vane-Crest manor groaned as Priscilla pushed them open. The morning air of Severa was sharp, carrying the scent of pine and the metallic tang of the nearby Iron-Vein Mountains. She moved with a deliberate, measured stride that contrasted sharply with the frantic, tripping gait the servants were accustomed to seeing from the youngest lady of the house.
She bypassed the manicured gardens and headed straight for the industrial sector of the estate—the Great Forge.
The building was a blackened cathedral of soot and fire. Massive steam pipes snaked along the exterior walls like the veins of a titan, hissing rhythmic bursts of white vapor into the gray sky. Inside, the roar was deafening. Dozens of blacksmiths swung heavy hammers against glowing orange ingots, their rhythmic strikes creating a chaotic symphony of iron.
"Lady Priscilla?"
Master Hagar, a man whose skin looked like weathered leather and whose beard was singed at the edges, dropped his tongs in surprise. He wiped his grimy hands on a stained leather apron, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"This is no place for you, My Lady. The soot will ruin those silks, and the heat... well, it's not fit for someone of your delicate constitution."
Priscilla didn't retreat. She walked past him, her eyes scanning the bellows, the cooling vats, and the primitive pressure gauges attached to the coal-fed furnaces. She stopped in front of a massive, glowing furnace that was struggling to maintain a consistent temperature.
"The intake is clogged," Priscilla said. Her voice was steady, cutting through the roar of the forge.
Hagar blinked, looking at the other smiths. "Pardon, My Lady?"
"The oxygen flow," she pointed to the manual bellows system being operated by two exhausted apprentices. "You're wasting forty percent of your fuel because the air isn't reaching the core of the flame. It's a stagnant burn. You're heating the room more than the metal."
She picked up a piece of charcoal from a nearby bin and approached a flat, soot-covered stone table. With swift, sharp strokes, she drew a diagram of a dual-chambered centrifugal fan—a piece of technology centuries ahead of the leather bellows they were using.
"Build this," she commanded, the charcoal snapping in her fingers as she finished the sketch. "Connect it to the main steam line. Use the pressure to drive the blades. You'll double your heat output in half the time."
Hagar looked at the drawing, then back at the girl. His jaw dropped. The lines were precise, the geometry perfect. It wasn't the doodle of a bored noble; it was a blueprint.
"I... I don't understand. Where did you learn—"
"Does it matter?" Priscilla interrupted. She turned her attention to a heavy iron bar leaning against a rack. She gripped it, testing the weight. Her arms still felt like lead, the muscles underdeveloped and soft.
She began to lift the bar, a slow, grueling press over her head. Her face remained expressionless, even as a bead of sweat rolled down her temple.
"Hagar," she said, her voice strained but firm. "Clear out the back storage room. I want a floor made of packed sand and a set of weighted iron spheres. From now on, I will be here every morning at dawn. If my father or Alistair asks, tell them I am... observing the family legacy."
"But, My Lady, your health—"
"My health is my concern," she snapped, dropping the iron bar. It hit the stone floor with a bone-shaking clang that silenced the nearby smiths. "The forge is the heart of the North. I intend to make sure it beats harder than ever before."
High above, in the shadows of the mezzanine gallery, a flash of light reflected off glass.
Alistair Vane-Crest stood in the shadows, his silver pocket watch clicking shut. He looked down at the diagram Priscilla had drawn on the soot-covered table, his eyes narrowing behind his spectacles. He pulled out his notebook and wrote a single line:
Observation 002: Subject displays advanced mechanical comprehension and sudden rejection of physical limitations. Personality shift: Dominant.
He watched as Priscilla picked up the iron bar again, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed on the fire with a cold, predatory intensity.
[End chapter 2]