CYRDEL SONASSON, heir apparent to the Alkaran Throne, is a budding inventor against the wishes of his father, the King. But when a friend from the Inventor's District needs help, he has to drop everything and come to their aid, even going as far as...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
2406 Xavem 16, Reshpe
Sunlight streamed past the small window in Cyrdel's shop, blinding him through his closed lids. Light...
He bolted upright, sending a mess of tools and sheets of metal clattering to the ground. His glasses slid from his face and bounced against the table, making his vision even hazier. What time was it? Where was he? One glance at the window and at the bright rays flooding into the shop told him enough. He missed breakfast yet again. And he's late for his morning lectures. As expected. At this point, he'd be shocked if his tutors were surprised at the notion of him being on time for once.
His gaze then landed on the project he unwittingly spent all night working on. There wasn't anything to it just yet. A mess of wires, gears, and a chunk of stadian ore hastily cut from the stock he had from over a year ago. A sigh heaved off him. It'd be one hell of an invention if he finished it. He already had the concept in his mind. He just had to make it happen with his hands.
But he couldn't do that now, could he? If he started acting up and underperforming with his main duty, he might even not be in the palace anymore. Then again, he could always start his own inventing shop in the Inventors' District but did he really want to go through all that hardship?
Cyrdel rubbed his face, chasing away any traces of sleep from his eyes. His fingers patted the table until he found his fallen spectacles. His perception of the world snapped into focus as soon as he put it on.
He pushed himself off the desk before ducking underneath it to flick the switch to the lights lining the edge of his table. It was an ingenious thing to do, if he was asked. He had cut out the center of a normal wooden table, slotted it with glass, and placed lights underneath it. That way, he could place many drafting plans on top of each other and still see through all of them. It's like forming layers upon layers making up one picture. Helped a lot when drafting huge machines with several parts.
He shook his head and stepped away from his wonder invention. What use was this if he couldn't even make plans anymore? He ended up stepping closer again, using his reflection on the glass to see if he had acquired certain streaks of dust on his face while he was unconscious. When had he even nodded off? Some time between the first hour of the first quarter? Could be.
After noting that his face and arms had remained relatively clean, Cyrdel burst out of the shop and tackled the stairs up the small trap door he installed on the floor of his rooms. It was the quickest way to go by unnoticed and the farthest he could go to make noises all he wanted without being heard throughout the manor. It had been a delight when he discovered a discarded attempt at an underground menagerie beneath the palace. Developments had never stopped since.
Warm air blasted him on the face as his fingers splayed against the trapdoor and pushed. Brighter light shining through the huge windows in his rooms slapped his eyeballs, momentarily distracting him from a figure standing just a few steps away. He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking away at the light. Wait...
