The awakening of a person with dual aptitude and a talent rating of 8 out of 10 sent ripples through the ranks of great powers and knowledgeable figures alike. The odds of someone being born with such talent are estimated to be a mere 15 in the entire world population. This year has proven to be particularly remarkable, as several other extraordinary geniuses have also come to light, prompting widespread speculation about how so many gifted individuals could have emerged all at once.
While some were shocked by this phenomenon, others rejoiced. The intelligence department of the Holy Kingdom discovered that one of the newly awakened geniuses was the nephew of one of the 12 Bodies. This meant that out of the 7 newly born geniuses, 3 had connections to the Holy Kingdom. The citizens were overjoyed; it is said that if you walked near the king's chamber, you could hear him laughing with delight. Reports claimed he was always grinning, even during lunch, dinner, or breakfast.
In the Imperial Palace of the Arvon Empire, officials met to discuss how to keep the newly awakened child loyal to the crown. They knew that maintaining the child's loyalty was crucial to prevent losing him to rival factions. The room was filled with advisors, each suggesting different plans to ensure the child understood his importance to the empire. The atmosphere was tense as they focused on finding the best ways to secure the child's future with the imperial family.
Unaware of the ripples he had caused, a boy named North was shopping in the commercial district of Drybay, accompanied by his mother Elenna and their maid Stiri. They were browsing the market to buy all the necessities for North to start his studies at the Garden Private School, the most prestigious pre-academy in Drybay.
The market buzzed with life, a vibrant tapestry of sights, sounds, and aromas woven together beneath grand, copper-clad arches that loomed above. It felt like stepping into a living organism, thrumming with a mechanical heartbeat. Brass gears ticked and sputtered as vendors maneuvered their ingenious contraptions, displaying everything from iridescent glass baubles to intricate clockwork toys. The air was thick with the scent of coal smoke mingling with sweet notes of candied treats, contrasting with the earthy aroma of fresh produce piled high in wooden crates. I could feel the warmth of steam rising from a nearby stall where a young man operated a curious machine brewing perfumed teas, the fragrant steam curling around me like an embrace.
As I wandered deeper into the labyrinth of stalls, I spotted an elderly woman with wild gray hair meticulously polishing a collection of sparkling goggles. Each pair seemed to carry a story, the designs reflecting the dreams of inventors and explorers alike. I couldn't resist a closer look, drawn in by the way she spoke about every lens as if it held a secret world within its glass.
Around me, gentlemen in top hats and ladies in flowing skirts adorned with gears and cogs strolled by, their laughter and chatter mixing with the rhythmic clinking of metal and the occasional pop of steam escaping from someone's pneumatic device. A street musician played a lively tune on a mechanical accordion, drawing a small crowd that began to sway with the music. Everywhere I turned, marvels of invention captivated my imagination. A vendor demonstrated a small automaton that danced with an elegance that belied its metal joints. Just beyond a stall filled with salvaged parts and peculiar gadgets, a shimmering display of jewelry caught the afternoon light, each piece uniquely crafted, hinting at the stories of those who wore them.
Wow! I thought that even if we were in a steam discovery era, the market should have been more "medieval." But look at the table moving on its own and all those metallic tentacles grabbing the fruit you point at! I definitely need to reevaluate the technological level of this era. Even if they do not have electricity, ether is a far more powerful and versatile type of energy.
As we were walking, I noticed that my mother and Stiri quickly bought everything I needed: a pair of ether vision goggles, books on introductory topics, a variety of quills, notebooks, and other miscellaneous items.
As I meandered through the bustling market, the cacophony of voices and machinery faded into a soft murmur at the entrance of a narrow alleyway. Drawn in by irresistible curiosity, I stepped away from the lively thoroughfare and discovered a quaint little shop tucked between two larger buildings. Its weathered sign swung gently in the breeze, adorned with intricate engravings that read, "The Gilded Quill."
Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the quiet tick of an ornate clock that seemed to echo the rhythm of a heartbeat within the dimly lit space. The interior was a feast for the eyes—walls lined with shelves stocked full of quills of all shapes and sizes, each more extravagant than the last. Some were elegantly crafted from iridescent feathers, while others appeared to be made of gleaming brass, with intricate filigree designs twisting along their shafts. In one corner, I could see an artisan diligently at work, his goggles perched on his nose as he meticulously carved delicate patterns into the nib of a quill. The air was tinged with the distinct fragrance of ink—a blend of rich earthiness and the intriguing scent of something floral.
A small steam-powered contraption sat on the counter, churning out vials of colorful ink, each labeled with curious names: "Midnight Sapphire," "Sunset Amber," and "Whispers of Lavender." As I wandered deeper into the shop, I felt a magnetic pull toward a display of writing instruments that boasted both beauty and function. There were quills that unfolded like flowers to reveal hidden compartments for ink and parchment, and others that seemed to adjust their flow based on the writer's mood. I could almost hear them whispering stories of legends long past, eager to accompany someone on a journey of words.
Suddenly, a bell chimed above me, and the shopkeeper, an eccentric gentleman with a shock of white hair, appeared from behind a velvet curtain. His eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and wisdom, and he beckoned me closer, eager to share tales of his wares. "Ah, my dear! You have the look of a fellow dreamer. Perhaps you seek a quill that captures not only ink but the essence of your thoughts?" I smiled, intrigued by his offer.
I walked slowly through the shop until a spectacular silver quill caught my attention. The elegant quill rested gracefully in its plush velvet cradle. Crafted from a lustrous silver alloy, its body gleamed with a soft, reflective sheen that caught the light with every movement, casting delicate patterns on the surface around it.
The design of the quill was both ornate and functional, merging beauty with purpose in a way that seemed to breathe life into the inanimate object. The shaft of the quill featured intricate filigree work, interwoven with motifs of swirling vines and gears that twisted along its length. Each curve and contour was meticulously crafted, as if the quill were adorned with stories waiting to be told. Near the nib, a small, brilliant sapphire was embedded, set within a delicate bracket of shimmering brass that matched the warm tones of the silver. This gem appeared to pulse faintly, reflecting shades of blue that danced like ink spilled on parchment.
The nib itself was an exquisite piece of engineering, designed to mimic the grace of a bird in flight. Slightly elongated with sweeping curves, it allowed for a fluid writing experience. Tiny gears progressed seamlessly along its side, adjusting the ink flow even as the writer crafted their thoughts. Its precision suggested not just utility but also an understanding of the nuances of expression—the quill glided effortlessly across the page, producing lines that varied from bold strokes to the softest whispers of ink.
Additionally, the quill featured a clever mechanism at its end, where a subtle twist unfurled a tiny compartment for storing ink—a blend of rich ebony and shimmering silver that complemented the quill's elegance. A fine steam-powered ink reservoir was woven into its design, ready to deliver a steady flow of ink with just a gentle squeeze, allowing for uninterrupted creativity.
Holding the quill in my hand, I felt its balance and weight—an extension of my thoughts.
"I see, so this is the one that called you here, um, um, test it. It should be suitable for you. Take it," the shopkeeper encouraged.
"Sorry, but at the moment I do not—"
I could not finish the sentence before I magically reappeared behind my mother in the exact spot where I had stood moments before.