《Runes and Gears》


 Chapter 1: Turning The Gears

    Luke Thomas Wesson adjusted the rearview mirror. The reflection showed the back of his head, the black case on the passenger seat, and a sliver of the city behind him. He checked the side mirror. Clear. He signaled and merged into the flow of traffic. The Global Advanced Weapons Expo. He¡¯d circled the date for months. This wasn¡¯t just a presentation; it was the culmination of two years of relentless work. He¡¯d walked away from college, a decision many questioned. But the XMD-73 demanded his full attention. He¡¯d poured everything into it: design, coding, testing. His great-grandfather, Daniel, a skilled machinist, had sparked his interest in how things worked. That spark ignited a passion for engineering, specifically in the field of advanced weaponry. Luke believed automation was the inevitable direction of warfare. His YouTube channel, a mix of technical breakdowns and progress updates, had gained a modest following. It was a way to document his work, connect with other engineers, and generate some pre-expo buzz.


    The traffic light ahead turned yellow, then red. Luke braked smoothly. He glanced to his left. A semi-truck, too fast, barreled through the intersection. The driver wasn''t slowing down. No screech of tires. No attempt to swerve.


    Impact.


    The world twisted and went dark.


    He surfaced into consciousness. Disoriented. Upside down. The seatbelt strained against his chest. A sharp pain radiated from his forehead. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Blood dripped into his eyes. He tasted metal. The acrid smell of gasoline filled his nostrils. He heard muffled shouts from outside. ¡°Get back! Fuel leak!¡± A distorted orange glow reflected on the cracked windshield. He knew what that meant.


    He closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do.


    The explosion was a roar, a wave of heat. Then, nothing.


    He opened his eyes. He wasn¡¯t in the car anymore. He wasn''t in a hospital. He stared at a wooden ceiling. Dark wood beams crisscrossed above him. Not the sterile white tiles of a hospital room. He pushed himself up. His body felt¡­wrong. He looked at his hands. Smaller. The skin smoother. He flexed his fingers. They felt thinner, weaker. He ran a hand through his hair. It was longer than he remembered, brushing his shoulders.


    He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet landed on a cold stone floor. He stood, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He grabbed a nearby table for support. His head throbbed. What had happened? The truck¡­the accident¡­then nothing.


    He saw a mirror on a small table near a window. He moved towards it, his steps unsteady. He looked at his reflection. The face staring back wasn¡¯t his. Younger. The features were similar, but softened, less defined. He looked like a teenager, maybe fifteen. Yet, he felt taller than he should be at that age. He touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The skin was smooth, unblemished. A strange feeling settled in his stomach, a mix of confusion and unease.


    He looked around the room. It was large, sparsely furnished. A heavy wooden wardrobe stood against one wall. A closed wooden door was on the opposite side. A small window showed a sliver of daylight. The room felt old. The furniture, the walls, everything had a worn, aged look.


    He walked to the window and looked out. He saw cobblestone streets below. Buildings constructed of stone and timber lined the streets. No cars. No concrete. No familiar cityscape. People dressed in simple tunics and dresses moved about. Horses pulled carts. This wasn''t his world. This was a world from history books, or from fantasy novels.


    *Where am I?* The question echoed in his mind. A wave of panic started to rise. He forced it down. He needed to focus. He was alive. That was the most important thing. He was in a different place. A drastically different place. And his body was different. Those were the facts.


    He took a deep breath. He was a problem solver. He always had been. Designing complex systems, debugging intricate code, building machines from the ground up ¨C those were his strengths. This situation, as bizarre as it was, was just another problem. A complex one, granted, but a problem nonetheless. He would approach it methodically.


    He turned from the window, his gaze sweeping the room again. He needed information. He needed to understand where he was, how he had gotten here, and what he was supposed to do next. He started with the immediate environment. He walked to the wardrobe and opened it. Inside were more simple clothes: tunics, trousers, a few roughspun shirts. All made of coarse fabric. Nothing familiar. No labels. No clues.


    He moved to the door on the opposite side of the room. He placed his hand on the iron handle. It was cold under his touch. He took another deep breath, trying to calm the unease in his stomach. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.


    He stepped through the doorway. The room beyond was a living area, larger than his bedroom. More dark wood furniture filled the space: tables, chairs, a large, intricately carved chest. Several potted plants sat on tables and window ledges, adding splashes of green to the otherwise muted tones. There were no electronics, no screens, no familiar technology. A fire crackled in a large stone fireplace built into one wall. The floor was made of cobblestones, worn smooth by time. The air carried the distinct aroma of cooking soup, coming from an open doorway that presumably led to the kitchen.


    He walked towards the kitchen, his footsteps echoing slightly on the stone floor. As he entered, he saw a woman stirring a large pot hanging over a small fire in a hearth. She wore a simple, dark dress and an apron. What caught his attention, however, was the long, furry tail that swayed gently from side to side behind her. And the pointed dog-like ears that protruded from her head, peeking out from beneath her dark hair. Despite these distinctly canine features, her face was otherwise human, with normal skin tone and features.


    His foot brushed against the base of a chair, making a slight scraping sound. The woman turned, her eyes widening. "Young Master! You''re awake!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of relief and joy. Tears welled up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She dropped the wooden spoon she was holding and rushed towards him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. The hug was surprisingly strong. He felt a moment of disorientation, caught off guard by the sudden contact.


    The woman didn''t have a snout; her face was human in its structure. Her skin tone was similar to his own. She released him, stepping back slightly, but her hands remained on his shoulders. Her expression was a mixture of happiness and lingering worry. "I¡­ I thought I was going to lose you," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "before your coming-of-age."


    Luke stared at her, still processing what he was seeing. A woman with a tail and dog ears. A world without cars or electricity. A room that looked like it belonged in a museum. And now, this woman calling him "Young Master" and talking about his "coming-of-age."


    He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He felt a strange disconnect, as if he were watching this scene unfold from a distance. His mind raced, trying to find a logical explanation for what was happening. Was he dreaming? Had he suffered some kind of head injury in the accident that was causing him to hallucinate?


    He looked at the woman again, focusing on her face. Her eyes were still filled with tears, but there was also a genuine warmth and concern in them. This wasn''t a hallucination. This was real.


    "Where¡­where am I?" he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What happened?"


    The woman''s expression softened. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "You¡­you don''t remember?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. She took a step closer, her gaze searching his face. "You were¡­you were injured. Very badly. We thought¡­" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.


    She gestured towards a nearby chair. "Please, Young Master, sit. You need to rest. I will explain everything." She picked up the wooden spoon she had dropped and returned to the hearth, stirring the soup again. The scent of it, a rich, savory aroma, filled the air.


    Luke hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the chair and sat down. He felt weak, disoriented. He watched the woman as she worked, her tail still swaying gently. He had so many questions, but he didn''t know where to begin. He decided to start with the most obvious one.


    "What¡­what are you?" he asked, gesturing towards her ears and tail.


    The woman paused in her stirring, a faint smile touching her lips. "I am Elara, Young Master," she said. "I am your¡­your caretaker. And I am a Lupine."


    Luke watched Elara as she stirred the soup, the firelight casting dancing shadows on her face. The word ¡°Lupine¡± hung in the air, adding another layer of strangeness to his already bewildering situation. He rubbed his forehead, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. The accident¡­the explosion¡­then this. This world. This¡­Lupine.


    "Elara," he began, his voice still rough, "where¡­where is this place?"


    Elara stopped stirring and turned to him, her expression gentle. "This is Elistaria, Young Master," she replied. "The province of Silverstream, in the Kingdom of Aeridor."


    Elistaria. Silverstream. Aeridor. None of these names were familiar. They didn''t correspond to any place he knew. He looked around the room again, taking in the details: the rough-hewn furniture, the stone floor, the fire in the hearth. This wasn''t some elaborate prank or hallucination. This was real.


    "And¡­what year is it?" he asked, a knot forming in his stomach.


    Elara tilted her head slightly, a puzzled look on her face. "It is the year 127 of the Ascendancy, Young Master."


    The Ascendancy. Another unfamiliar term. He did the mental math. If this was equivalent to some other calendar system, it was far removed from anything he knew. He was in a different world, a different time. The realization settled heavily on him.


    "You mentioned¡­my coming-of-age," he said, shifting the focus of the conversation. "What is that?"


    Elara''s expression turned serious. She set the wooden spoon down on a small table and sat on a stool near the hearth, facing him. "Every citizen of Aeridor, upon reaching their fifteenth year, must attend the Awakening Ceremony at the Grand Cathedral," she explained. "It is there that they discover their¡­aptitude."


    "Aptitude?" Luke repeated, raising an eyebrow.


    "Yes," Elara confirmed. "It is¡­difficult to explain. It is a manifestation of one''s inherent abilities. Some call it magic, others call it a gift from the Celestials. Whatever the name, it determines one''s path in life."


    She paused, as if searching for the right words. "Think of it as¡­a classification. A way to understand one¡¯s potential. There are many different aptitudes. Warriors, mages, healers, artisans¡­each has their own unique set of skills and abilities."


    Luke¡¯s mind immediately drew parallels. It sounded like character classes in an MMORPG. Warrior, mage, healer ¨C archetypes from countless games. But this wasn¡¯t a game. This was his reality now.


    "So, everyone has to do this?" he asked. "This¡­Awakening?"


    "It is compulsory," Elara confirmed. "It is a sacred tradition, and a vital part of our society. It determines one''s place within the Kingdom."Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "And what happens if¡­someone doesn''t have an aptitude?" he asked, a thought striking him.


    Elara''s expression clouded over. "That¡­is rare, Young Master. But it does happen. Those who do not Awaken are¡­placed in service to the Cathedral. They perform menial tasks, assist the clergy. It is not a dishonorable life, but it is¡­different."


    Luke nodded slowly, absorbing the information. This Awakening Ceremony sounded like a pivotal event, a defining moment in a person''s life in this world. And his was fast approaching. He was supposedly fifteen, according to Elara. Which meant the ceremony was likely imminent.


    "When¡­when is my Awakening?" he asked.


    Elara looked at him with a mixture of concern and affection. ¡°It is in three days, Young Master. On the next full moon.¡±


    Three days. He had three days to understand this world, to prepare for a ceremony that would define his future in a place he didn''t even recognize. The weight of it settled on him, a heavy burden in his chest. He looked at Elara, her tail swaying gently as she watched him with worried eyes. He was no longer Luke Thomas Wesson, the engineer from 2030. He was someone else now. Someone in Elistaria. Someone about to face his Awakening.


    The silence in the kitchen stretched, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Luke stared at the flames, his mind reeling from the information Elara had given him. Elistaria. Aeridor. The Ascendancy. The Awakening. It was all so foreign, so different from the world he knew. He turned back to Elara, his gaze searching her face. He needed more context. He needed to understand who he was in this strange new reality.


    "Elara," he began, his voice hesitant, "you keep calling me ''Young Master.'' Who¡­who am I? Who are my parents?"


    Elara''s expression shifted. The gentle warmth in her eyes was replaced by a deep sadness. She looked down at her hands, her tail drooping slightly. She took a deep breath before speaking, as if gathering her strength.


    "Your name," she said, her voice soft, "is Lucharia Savendorn. But you were always called Luch." The pronunciation was slightly different, a softer ¡®ch¡¯ sound, but the similarity to ¡®Luke¡¯ was undeniable. A strange sense of recognition, a phantom echo of familiarity, resonated within him.


    "Your father," Elara continued, her voice gaining a slight formality, "was Duke Draedoria Savendorn, of the Kingdom of Aeridor. A renowned swordmaster, a warrior of great renown.¡±


    The title ¡°Duke¡± and the mention of a kingdom placed him in a social hierarchy he never imagined he¡¯d be a part of. A noble. A duke¡¯s son. It was almost too much to process.


    ¡°The Savendorn bloodline,¡± Elara explained, ¡°is¡­unique. Duke Draedoria believed that every child bearing his seed, regardless of their mother¡¯s status, was a Savendorn. Every offspring, even those from concubines, were part of the family. He had¡­twelve wives, one official wife, and eleven concubines.¡±


    Luke¡¯s eyebrows shot up. Twelve? It was an archaic practice, something he¡¯d only read about in history books.


    ¡°The Savendorn blood,¡± Elara continued, ¡°almost always manifests an aptitude related to swordsmanship or traditional combat. It is a defining trait of the family. But¡­¡± Her voice trailed off, a shadow crossing her face. ¡°Any child who Awakens with an aptitude for magic¡­is disowned. Cast out from the family.¡±


    The implications of this statement hung heavily in the air. A family obsessed with martial prowess, rejecting those with magical abilities. It painted a stark picture of the Savendorn family¡¯s values.


    "And my mother?" Luke asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Who was she?"


    Elara looked at him, her eyes filled with sympathy. "Your mother," she said softly, "was the Duke''s sixth concubine. She¡­she died giving birth to you, Luch."


    The words struck Luke like a physical blow. He had never known his mother. He had never even had the chance. The realization settled in his heart, a cold, empty feeling. He was an orphan, in a world not his own, born into a family with a complex and rigid structure, a family he had never known.


    He looked back at Elara, her canine ears twitching slightly as she watched him. He had so many more questions, but they seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the weight of what he had just learned. He was Lucharia Savendorn, son of a Duke, born into a world of swords and magic, a world he was only just beginning to understand. And in three days, he would face his Awakening, a ceremony that would determine his place in this strange new reality.


    Elara watched Luke¡¯s face, her expression softening. The initial sadness had faded, replaced by a more thoughtful look. She didn¡¯t know, of course, that the person sitting before her wasn¡¯t entirely the Luch Savendorn she had known. She perceived his quiet contemplation as grief, a natural reaction to learning about his mother¡¯s death and his complicated family history.


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking about your mother,¡± she said gently. ¡°It¡¯s alright to grieve, Young Master. She loved you very much.¡±


    Luke blinked, pulled from his thoughts. He hadn¡¯t been thinking about his mother specifically, not yet. He was still trying to process the sheer volume of information he¡¯d received. But he nodded slowly, not wanting to correct her. It was easier to let her believe he was mourning.


    ¡°Tell me about¡­Luch,¡± he said, using the name Elara had given him. ¡°What was he like?¡±


    Elara¡¯s expression brightened slightly. A small smile touched her lips as she began to recount Luch¡¯s life. ¡°You were always a quiet child, Young Master,¡± she began. ¡°You lived at the main estate with your father and¡­the others, until you were twelve.¡±


    She paused, a hint of hesitation in her voice. ¡°Duke Draedoria was¡­a busy man. He was constantly involved in matters of state, military campaigns, and managing his vast holdings. He didn¡¯t¡­spend much time with any of his children, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°Every six months,¡± Elara continued, ¡°he would summon his offspring to observe their progress in swordsmanship and combat training. It was a tradition, a way for him to assess their adherence to the Savendorn values.¡±


    Luke listened intently. He could picture the scene: a stern Duke, surrounded by his children, each striving to prove their worth with a sword in hand.


    ¡°But you,¡± Elara said, a fond smile returning to her face, ¡°you were different. While the others trained with blades, you were always drawing. You had a fascination with siege engines, catapults, ballistae¡­you would fill notebooks with intricate designs and calculations.¡±


    A flicker of recognition sparked within Luke. A fascination with mechanics, with how things worked. It was a trait he recognized in himself, a trait that had led him to design drones and AI systems in his previous life.


    ¡°The other children¡­they teased you,¡± Elara admitted, her voice softening. ¡°They didn¡¯t understand your passion. They saw it as¡­unworthy of a Savendorn.¡±


    Luke could imagine the scene. A group of children, focused on physical prowess and martial skill, mocking the one who preferred blueprints to blades. It was a familiar dynamic, one that transcended worlds and time.


    ¡°Your father¡­¡± Elara hesitated again, choosing her words carefully. ¡°He never understood it either. He wanted you to follow the Savendorn tradition, to excel in combat. He would often scold you for neglecting your sword training.¡±


    The image of a stern, disapproving father solidified in Luke¡¯s mind. A man bound by tradition, unable to appreciate his son¡¯s unique talents.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t care,¡± Elara said quickly, as if sensing Luke¡¯s thoughts. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­he had a very specific idea of what a Savendorn should be. And your¡­interests didn¡¯t fit that mold.¡±


    ¡°On your twelfth birthday,¡± Elara continued, ¡°your father decided to move you and me here, to Honeydew. He said it would be better for you, away from the constant scrutiny and teasing at the estate. He thought it would allow you to¡­focus on your studies, without the pressure of the Savendorn expectations.¡±


    Luke considered this. It sounded like a banishment, a way to remove him from the family without officially disowning him. A way to avoid further ¡°embarrassment,¡± as he had put it in his thoughts.


    ¡°I think,¡± Elara said quietly, ¡°you thought it would also benefit the Savendorn family¡¯s reputation, not having you constantly deviating from their standards.¡±


    Luke nodded slowly. It made sense. He was the odd one out, a source of quiet shame for a family obsessed with martial prowess. Moving him away was a way to sweep him under the rug, to pretend he didn¡¯t exist. The realization brought a pang of sadness, not for Luch specifically, but for the universal experience of feeling like an outsider, of not fitting in.


    <div>


    Elara saw the shadow that had fallen over Luke¡¯s face. She knew the story of his departure from the estate wasn¡¯t a happy one. She wanted to shift the mood, to bring some lightness back into the conversation.


    ¡°But enough of that,¡± she said, clapping her hands together briskly. ¡°You must be hungry! You¡¯ve been asleep for quite some time. I have some fresh bread and stew ready. Would you care for some breakfast?¡±


    Luke looked up, a faint smile touching his lips. ¡°That sounds good,¡± he said.


    Elara beamed. She quickly set about preparing a simple meal: a bowl of hearty vegetable stew, a thick slice of freshly baked bread, and a mug of warm milk. She placed it on the table in front of Luke.


    ¡°Eat up,¡± she said, her tail wagging gently. ¡°You need your strength.¡±


    Luke took a bite of the stew. It was simple but flavorful, the warm broth filling him with a sense of comfort. He ate in silence for a few moments, then looked up at Elara.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. ¡°This is good.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Young Master,¡± Elara replied, her eyes sparkling.


    After a few more minutes of quiet eating, Luke spoke again. ¡°Elara,¡± he said, ¡°I think¡­I need some time to myself. To¡­process everything.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Young Master,¡± Elara said immediately. ¡°You go ahead and rest. I¡¯ll be here if you need anything.¡±


    Luke nodded and stood up from the table. He walked back towards his bedroom, his mind still swirling with thoughts and questions. He needed to sort through everything he had learned, to try and make sense of this new reality.


    As Luke disappeared through the doorway, Elara began clearing the table. Her movements were automatic, her mind drifting back to the past.


    The Young Master¡­he¡¯s changed. He seems¡­different. More¡­reserved. But it¡¯s understandable, after everything he¡¯s been through. He was always a quiet child, even back at the estate. So different from the other Savendorn children. They were all so boisterous, so focused on swords and fighting. But not him. He was always drawing, sketching his strange machines. I remember how he would spend hours in the gardens, lost in his own world.


    I¡¯ve been his personal servant since he was a babe. I remember when I was first brought to the Savendorn estate. I was just a girl, taken from the slave market. I was so scared, so unsure of what my life would be like. But the Savendorn family¡­they treated me well. Especially the Young Master. He was my first master, and he was always kind. Even when he was just a little boy, he would play with me, sharing his drawings and telling me stories.


    He was always so gentle, so thoughtful. Even when the other children teased him, he never retaliated. He would just retreat into his own world, his mind filled with gears and levers and strange contraptions.


    He¡¯s grown into such a handsome young man. So tall, so¡­refined. His eyes¡­they¡¯re so intelligent, so full of thought. I remember when he was younger, I would often imagine what he would be like when he grew up. I never imagined¡­


    A sudden heat flushed through Elara¡¯s face. She stopped her cleaning, her breath catching in her throat. What was I thinking? she chided herself, her tail twitching nervously. The Young Master is my master. I am his servant. Such thoughts are¡­inappropriate.


    She shook her head, trying to banish the errant thoughts from her mind. I must focus on my duties. The Young Master needs me. He needs someone to care for him, especially now, with his Awakening just days away.


    She resumed her cleaning, her movements more deliberate now, her mind firmly focused on the present. But deep down, a small, secret part of her couldn¡¯t help but wonder what the future held for her and the young man she had cared for since he was a child.


    Luke sat on the edge of the bed, the soft mattress feeling foreign beneath him. He replayed the information Elara had given him: Lucharia Savendorn, son of a duke, orphaned at birth, destined for an Awakening ceremony in three days. A world of magic and swords, a world completely unlike the one he had left behind.


    It¡¯s real. This isn¡¯t a dream. It¡¯s not some elaborate hallucination. I¡¯m¡­someone else. In a different world. It¡¯s insane. Absolutely insane. But¡­it¡¯s happening. I have to accept it. I have to adapt.


    Luch¡­that¡¯s my name now, I guess. Luch Savendorn. Son of a duke. A family obsessed with swords. And I¡­I¡¯m supposed to fit into that? I, who spent my life designing drones and coding AI?


    And this Awakening¡­it¡¯s like choosing a character class in a game. Except it¡¯s not a game. It¡¯s my life. My new life.


    He took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. He had always been a pragmatist, a problem solver. He couldn¡¯t afford to get lost in the shock of it all. He needed to focus, to gather information, to understand the rules of this new world.


    He stood up and began to scan the room. It was sparsely furnished, but there were a few details that caught his eye. On a small table near the window, several rolled-up parchments lay scattered. He unrolled one. It was a detailed blueprint of a siege engine, a large catapult. He unrolled another. A ballista. And another. A battering ram.


    Luch was obsessed with siege engines. Just like me with my own projects. It seems some things carry over, even across worlds.


    He noticed that the blueprints, while detailed, seemed to be missing a few key components, crucial calculations. He had studied historical siege engines in his previous life, fascinated by their mechanics. He recognized the gaps in these designs.


    He moved to the small drawer beside the bed. Inside, he found more parchments, along with ink pots and quills. Standard writing materials. Nothing particularly interesting. He ran his hand along the bottom of the drawer, then upward, feeling along the underside of the drawer above it. His fingers brushed against something thin and flat, tucked away out of sight.


    He carefully pulled the drawer out, revealing a small, leather-bound notebook hidden above it. It was positioned so that it would be difficult to find unless someone specifically knew where to look.


    He opened the notebook. Inside, he found pages filled with strange symbols, unlike any script he had ever seen. But as he looked at them, he realized he could read them. The symbols formed words, sentences, concepts. It was a language he shouldn¡¯t know, yet he understood it perfectly.


    The notebook detailed theories of magic, specifically its application in siege weaponry. It discussed how to imbue projectiles with magical energy, how to create enchantments that would enhance the power and accuracy of siege engines.


    Magic. Real magic. And Luch was studying it. That¡¯s why this notebook is hidden. If the Savendorn family found out¡­


    He remembered what Elara had said: any Savendorn who manifested an aptitude for magic was disowned. This notebook was a secret, a dangerous secret. Even Elara probably didn¡¯t know about it.


    In my old life, magic was fiction. Entertainment. Now¡­it¡¯s real. And it seems I have a connection to it, through Luch. This changes everything.