After securing the mines and leaving Roshi and Fermer to oversee the first full shipments of ore, Kylia turned her steps toward the heart of the state's spiritual authority: the Kylian Church.
The building stood modestly at the edge of the Rosa-Roscof confluence—stone walls weathered by centuries of wind, a wooden steeple patched with new planks, and a courtyard swept clean by the hands of its devoted priests. Though small, it was one of the few places in the state where true learning was preserved. The church kept old scrolls, fragmentary histories, and the remnants of the Slavic and Hylian traditions that had shaped the region for generations.
When Kylia entered, six figures awaited her:
Three younger Hylia priests in light blue robes and three older Slavic priests.
They bowed politely.
"Valord Kylia," said the eldest Slavic priest, his voice echoing faintly in the hall. "You honor us with your presence."
"I've come to discuss the future of the state," Kylia replied. "And your role in it."
The priests exchanged glances—curious, wary. Over the milenia, different lords changed the state religion between the Slavic Myths and the Hylian Religion. Only in the last couple hundred years had both factions been equal.
Kylia unrolled a parchment and spread it across their table: diagrams of spinning jenny, water frame, powerloom, and the principles behind the new textile factory she intended to build. The priests leaned in, murmuring among themselves.
The eldest Hylian priest traced a line on the parchment with a thin finger.
"This wheel… it spins from flowing water?"
"Yes," Kylia said. "The river will power the machines. With a single wheel and a proper frame, we can spin as much thread in one hour as fifty villagers produce in a day."
The young Hylians exchanged startled glances; one whispered a quiet prayer of awe.
The Slavic priests leaned closer, eyes narrowing.
"These devices…" the eldest Slavic priest murmured, pointing at the spinning jenny, "they replace the hands of dozens of workers?"
"They multiply the hands of workers," Kylia corrected. "Every woman who spins thread, every man who weaves cloth, every child who helps at home—they will all do ten times what they could before."
Another priest tapped the diagram of the power loom.
"And this? It moves on its own?"
"With belts and shafts, yes. Once the wheel turns, the entire factory moves together."
The room fell still. Even the candles flickered as though leaning closer.
"This," said a young Hylian priest slowly, "will change the lives of every family in Kylia."
"It must," Kylia replied. "Without faster textile production, we cannot clothe a growing population. We cannot equip soldiers with uniforms. We cannot trade cloth for grain or coal. If we rely on households weaving cloth by hand…" She shook her head. "We will fall behind the moment our neighbors hear of our steelworks."
At the word steel, the priests stiffened.
"We did hear whispers from the artisans," one Slavic priest said hesitantly. "That something miraculous happened by the river. That the state forged steel in quantities unseen since ancient times."
Kylia nodded. "It is true."
The priests fell silent again, reverence mixing with apprehension.
"I will be expanding those steelworks soon," she continued. "But steel alone is not enough. If we cannot make clothing, armor padding, tent canvas, sacks, ropes—then we cannot feed, clothe, or arm more people."
The eldest Slavic priest folded his arms inside his robe.
"The state does not have the skilled workers to build such a thing yet."
"Precisely why you six must help me."
The priests looked at her.
Kylia took a breath.
"I need people who can understand these designs. People who can measure, calculate, read, write, and teach others to do the same."
She gestured around the church hall.
"And I want that place to begin here."
A young Hylian priest's jaw dropped.
"You want the Church to become… a school?"
"No," Kylia said firmly.
"I want you to create a university."
Shock rippled through the six priests.
"A—a university?" one questioned.
"What is the difference between a school and a university?" another added.
"We are priests, not baby sitters!"
Kylia held up a single finger.
"You only need to train fourteen adult students."
The priests froze.
"Fourteen?" the eldest Slavic priest asked skeptically.
"That is enough," Kylia said. "Fourteen minds to learn measurement, arithmetic, drafting, and the principles behind these machines. I will provide resources—ink, parchment, tools, food. You provide the teaching. At the end of the year these fourteen students will move into a different building and you all can go back to preaching"
A young Hylian priest whispered, "Fourteen we can manage…"
"Barely," muttered an elderly Slavic priest—but his tone had shifted.
Kylia pressed forward.
"If Kylia is to survive, we must advance faster than any state in the Rosa Basin. These machines will change the world and we must understand them before anyone else does."
The priests huddled briefly, speaking in hushed Slavic consonants and soft Hylian chants.
Finally, the eldest Slavic priest stepped toward her and bowed deeply.
"We agree, Valord Kylia."
The eldest Hylian priest followed.
"We will teach your fourteen. And we will begin copying and studying these designs at once."
Kylia allowed herself a relieved smile.
"Then today we found the Kylian Institute of Technology."