Raoul's first instinct was to gawk at the grumpy construction workers like a stagnant deer in the headlights. Efficiency was evident in the workers' movements. Few did spare cursory glances at the two of them, particularly toward Krocko, who was trudging past tracks of displaced gravel and asphalt with little to no effort. There was notably something different about his aura, and when Raoul spent the extra attention to focus more intently, his eyes caught upon his back, where his trench coat was being blown backward despite the lack of any strong wind current in the area.
Krocko promptly noticed the scrutiny he was receiving and smiled. "The Cycle of Exchange marks the lengthy period when Rynth focused mostly on the movement and trade of goods, cultures, and influence." He waved himself down with emphasis, clearly enjoying his display of interest. "As you might imagine, things moved. A lot. And so, Exchange works by facilitating the sort. S'why you see me moving around so easily."
"What else does Exchange give?" Raoul questioned, hitching his legs over a small pile of metal pipes that were in his way.
"A whole slew of things. If we're talking the solitary effects separate from when you use it to modify existing spells, you get boosts to your people-speaking, cultural mimicry—that's briefly gaining access to peoples' unique skills and tongues—or simply long-distance communication. It's less suited for combat and more reconnaissance."
"From my understanding, Driving is an entirely separate form of magic, different from spells. And yet the two intertwine, with the former being used to modify the latter." He nodded, tone sounding more of an inquiry than a recitation of his cognizance. "Why don't more people "Drive"?"
"'Cause most people are content with letting the Wheel pass us by. They let the ones who steer the Wheel—there's a joke for you—be the ones to decide where Rynth goes. Take the folks you watch every day on Destagt." He then pointed a finger to one construction walker a few dozen steps away listlessly piloting a crane. There wasn't much emotion to be found on his lips nor eyes, and he seemed entirely busy with just maneuvering the two joysticks on its interface. "Or that fella over there. What do you think he does every day?"
Raoul followed his finger to the man and scanned his features. Specifically, his eyes. Those were the first parts he always preferred to look at on a person. After all, they were the gateway to the soul. "He looks… dissatisfied. A bit apathetic to life." He stopped, gaze then following an entire murder of crows as they flew past his cab window. "His eyes didn't follow the crows. It was as if he didn't even notice their existence. As for what he does… I would put forth the nine-to-five. He wakes up at six-thirty, goes about his morning routine, leaves the house at seven-thirty, takes the Highspeed Train or some other method of commute, arrives at work at nine, leaves at five, and then returns home at seven. It's mostly the same schedule every day with little to no difference in variables."
"A life like that would break anybody with enough time, I'd wager." Krocko nodded, agreeing with his guesswork. "Even the first-day joy of working must've been sapped out of him the first few days after he figured out pre-programmed wards do most of the job for him. That kind of guy doesn't have much to think about beyond what he's gonna eat thrice a day and what brand of shampoo he's gonna buy on his weekly shopping run. That kind of guy won't even begin to consider the idea that there's more to the world than what Synthesis is providing for you."
He continued, gesturing for Raoul to follow him past a sunset-lit factory door threshold. "There's a saying we fellow Drivers speak of a lot. Word-for-word, it goes like this: "The more buttons you add to the Wheel, the fewer people actually get to touch the engine"."
"You're saying the easier life becomes from advancements in technology the less inclined people are to consider more than beyond fulfilling their own wants and needs, and in turn the less they are likely to believe they are capable of steering Rynth."
"Good one. I knew you were a smart kid." Krocko chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "The very essence of "Driving" is to have enough conviction to steer Rynth to what you think fits it. Even if it all might be meaningless in the end once Pneficus burns us all."
They continued past a steam-choked hallway, and then winded around three sets of conveyor belts carrying cube-molded blocks of steel. The factory's ceiling stretched high, with hundreds of belts like the three endlessly flowing down the five separated floors. Hard-hatted construction workers blankly watched as the cubes poured out from a carved square hole set at the very top of the factory. On every floor were equally listless hands that swiped on their tablets, ticking checkboxes to help account for the expected load. A few snapped out from their stupor and watched as Raoul and Krocko entered, but promptly returned to their work upon seeing the latter's face.
"I'm recognized here." Krocko muttered in a side comment, to which Raoul recognized with a curt nod. He then pointed downward—directly downward, beneath the floor.
Raoul followed the direction his finger aimed at and curled his eyes in confusion.
"We're going down. Factories like this always have their main core beset somewhere underground. Magical formations, while beautiful in the heat of battle, get irritating to look at with how bright and tight-pressed they are."
They passed a few more workers on the way, all of which let them pass without batting an eye. Hidden in a far corner of the first floor and behind a piping hot active furnace stood a pristine metal door. On its upper half were the words "Central Conduit" painted in bright blue and pulsing at half the pace of a beating heart. Raoul immediately analyzed it as the product of the Magic Words spell and raised a hand to speak.
His caution was wasted as Krocko lifted his leg high and launched a strong but nonchalant kick, sending it bursting open.
Raoul furrowed his brows in annoyance. "I could've opened it. A simple cantrip would've sufficed."
"No time for that," he replied, tone suddenly shifting for the serious. He pointed to where the door gap had been before his kick. "I saw Jati flowing outward. I've been down here before, and the Conduit's a whole fifty meter dash from. Means the Ward's probably suffering from Jati overload and its bleeding out into the rest of the factory. Quick, let's make good time before something else happens!"
A burst of wind left where Krocko was as he burst into a sprint. His steps echoed down the metal hallway in rough but steady bumps, and he disappeared into a thick cloud of steam as he ran deeper in. Raoul followed soon after, his legs already straining from the sudden exertion.
It was hot. The hallway was already far too narrow for two people to move side by side, and the added incessant whizz of steam from both the left and right pipes that made up the walls turned the otherwise short run more dangerous than it should've been. Twice did Raoul trip, but both times he caught himself narrowly.
He pierced the steam veil after half a minute, landing nearly headfirst into a sprawling open four-sided chamber of rapidly heating metal. Connected via dozens of heavy pipes and concentrating into the middle was an enormous structure in the shape of a thick battery cell. Humming and resonant waves of Jati flowed from each tube and continuously pumped it into all sides. The battery's middle body was see-through, being made of thick glass that seemed much more resilient than its alloy foundations. A crude label on the side facing Raoul crafted from another casting of Magic Words depicted the battery as the Main Conduit.
Raoul's eyes landed on Krocko, who was already busy running all around the room on an elevated platform in an effort to figure out the problem. In mere seconds did he hit a eureka, and he lit up as he noticed the boy appear. "There you are. Gist is this," he waved across the entire bundle of pipes that were feeding more Jati into the Conduit as each second passed. "Somebody—I've got no clue yet who—decided in all their wisdom to place an inefficient ward to regulate the flow of Jati. As evident by the fact that you and I are sweating bullets, the ward's not working. It's not regulating Jati, it's adding to it. We've got about three minutes before the Conduit explodes from all the Jati."
The nerves were on. Raoul felt a tense feeling in his legs; a sudden stiffness that made them buckle almost like the time he was first caught attempting to leave his home in order to attend a hangout. "I… I see. What can I do?"
"Tell you what, boy." He huffed, turning rapidly from the Conduit that was starting to shift from a dull red to a bright orange and then to Raoul. "If you and I get through this without burning to death and without the factory collapsing in on us, I'll consider you passed my test. Think of this as both your final test and your first lesson. How good are you at getting stuff done after being told once?"
How good was he? If Krocko had posed that question five years ago, then he would've received a negative. But he was different now. He didn't think there would come a time beyond exams when all those forced memorizations and surprise quizzes would come in handy.
He braced himself and ran forward as fast as his legs could take him. His senses whirred with overload. There was something different about the room. Where he once saw the steam that pervaded the perimeter and the bright orange of the Conduit, now was something entirely different. A warm, yet familiar blue glowed from beyond the heat and steam.
"Good enough."