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...
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2410 Crescin 18, Daleth
Cyrdel rubbed his eyes free of sleep threatening to pull his lids shut. His glasses lay a few notches to his left so his vision wasn't the best this morning. Completing his project took more time than he had anticipated.
They couldn't wait a few more days, with the spores affecting more and more farmers, so Cyrdel pulled an all-nighter just to finish. Now, a gadget the size of his palm sat inside the pocket of his trousers like it was another trinket he fiddled with during his lectures. He still hadn't thought of a name for it but he knew what it was supposed to do.
Selva had been diligent in gathering the tools and materials Cyrdel needed in building the hastily-drawn plan Cyrdel had come up with as soon as they got to hut overseeing the fields. Ravalee floated around the hut, eyeing the mechanical tools and the sharp plow teeth but never once reacting more than a small wrinkle of her nose.
Then, Cyrdel spent the whole afternoon and evening hammering sheets of metal, slotting gears and rings together, and finally pushing a small chunk of stadian ore in the middle of the device as its source of magic.
Ravalee had fallen asleep next to the sacks of grains and Cyrdel had to fetch a spare roll of textile at the back of the hut to drape around her shoulders. Then, he got back to work, accompanied by Selva. The man didn't appear to be blinking and only did with Cyrdel's occasional prodding.
By the time the sun shone through the curved windows slotted at the hut's walls, Cyrdel suppressed his yawn as he slowly put the last final piece of his invention. As soon as the lock clicked into place, he had breathed a sigh of relief and pumped his fist in the air. A loud whoop made Ravalee flinch awake with a groan. Selva patted Cyrdel on the back and asked what the gadget did. Cyrdel remembered holding a finger to his lips and telling the custodian, "You'll see."
Now, the three of them stepped into the field. It was quiet with the absence of farmers and noure working in the vast expanse. The details of the plan roiled at the back of his head. He glanced at Ravalee then nodded at Selva. Without another word, he stepped into the middle of the field, wincing at the splotching noises his boots made against the submerged soil.
It had taken a few minutes for Selva to evacuate the whole expanse, telling them to rest for the day as Cyrdel and Ravalee went to work. The silence was disconcerting as Cyrdel climbed into one of the pools' raised border. It's what the farmers use in moving from pool to pool without having to trod through the water. He scanned his surroundings, noting Ravalee coming up behind him, a cloth mask tied around her nose the same way as him. What they're doing would be dangerous. There's going around it.
"Ready?" Cyrdel asked more to himself than to Ravalee.
A flash of orange stemmed from her fingertips. Ready, she signed.
"Alright," Cyrdel blew a breath, bringing out his invention and tapping its center. The simple action sparked life into the ore inside it. "Here we go."
