(3rd Person POV)
Word about electricity spread the way useful things always do — naturally, and fast.
People learned that the same power lighting up the streets could be brought inside their own homes. A light in every room, as bright as the ones lining the market roads. And beyond that, devices that could cool or heat a home without drawing a single thread of mana.
For commoners, this meant something.
Magic was not the limitless resource that people outside the lower districts sometimes imagined it to be. Maintaining a light through the night drained mana. Cooling a room with wind magic was manageable for perhaps ten minutes — after which the heat returned, thick and insufferable, and the caster was left with less than they started with. Most people simply endured it. They woke in the small hours soaked in sweat, swatted at flies in the dark, and waited for morning.
There was a workaround: the «Windflow Sigil», a spell formula inscribed on paper that could be activated once to circulate cool air for a few hours before it burned itself out for good. Single use. Serviceable, in theory.
In practice, it cost one silver per sheet, which put it firmly out of reach for anyone who wasn't already comfortable.
Most commoners had never bought one.
Ruven had not.
He was a dwarf, a blacksmith by trade, a man who spent his working hours beside a forge and his sleeping hours in a room that never quite lost the day's heat. He'd managed it for years. He was tired of managing it.
He had seen what the streetlights did that first night — seen the market district lit up like the sun had simply decided not to set. He and half the city had lingered well past their usual hour, reluctant to leave the light behind. If not for the market closing and the city guards making their rounds, none of them would have gone home at all.
When the Hellfire Power flyers went up announcing residential registration at the central plaza, Ruven didn't deliberate long. He folded the flyer, tucked it in his coat, and went.
He arrived to find the plaza already alive with people.
The Hellfire Power stall was easy enough to spot. The line stretching away from it was considerably harder to miss.
"In the name of Harov—" The words left him before he could stop them. He invoked his god out of sheer reflex — Harov, the Blacksmith God, Mighty Dwarf, patron of the forge and all things made by hand.
"Ruven!" A familiar voice from somewhere ahead in the line. His fellow dwarf blacksmith, Ald, waved him over with a grin. "Looks like you're here for the electricity too, huh?"
Ruven laughed and fell in beside him. "Of course. You saw those streetlights. Knowing I could have that inside my own home — I didn't hesitate for a second."
"Same." Ald nodded. "With a light like that, I wouldn't be lying awake anxiously waiting for sunrise anymore. I'd have my own sun at home."
Ruven glanced down the line, then behind him. Even as they stood there, more people were joining — the queue lengthening by the minute. "And it seems we weren't the only ones impressed."
"Can you blame them?" Ald said. "For as long as anyone can remember, the night has meant darkness, discomfort, all the things you'd rather avoid. Light has always meant something better than that. People want to bring that into their homes."
"And it's not just the light," Ruven added. "The flyer said anyone who registers gets a free electric fan included. No more lying in the heat all night. No more waking up drenched."
"Right!" Ald said. "And from what I understand, this electricity isn't magic at all — it's a different kind of power entirely. That's what runs all these devices Hellfire is putting out."
"That's what I heard too. Apparently it can even power something called a television — like a miniature projector that plays films."
Ald turned that over. "Television. I wonder what it actually looks like."
They talked as the line moved — and despite its length, it moved steadily. It wasn't long before Ald reached the front.
He signed his name, read through the terms, and agreed: monthly payment calculated against usage, measured by the receptor device he was about to receive. The employee slid it across the counter alongside the freebies — one electric fan, one light bulb.
"Now, to receive electricity from the tower, you'll need to adjust the dial on the receptor," the employee explained, tapping the device. It was a compact unit with a small display — simple numerals on a dark screen, nothing more. "That display shows the nearest available channels — meaning the nearest Electricity Tower. When you get home, turn the dial until the number on your dial matches the number on the display. Once they match, you're connected. Electricity will start flowing through the device."
"From there, connect the electric fan — or whatever device you're using — to the extension port on the side of the receptor. That's all there is to it."
Thorough, but clear. Ald nodded along without needing anything repeated. He gathered his items and stepped aside.
Ruven took his place, went through the same process, signed the same agreement, and walked away with the same equipment. He understood it just as quickly.
He made his way back to his blacksmith store with the receptor tucked under one arm and the fan and light bulb in the other, moving with the particular energy of a man who wants to get home and try something immediately.
The moment he stepped through the door, his receptionist looked up from the front desk.
"Boss Ruven — what are you carrying?"
"He-he." Ruven set everything down on the counter. "Honestly? I'm not entirely sure yet." He glanced back at her expression and the equally baffled faces of the rest of his staff. "Better to just test it."
He followed the employee's instructions step by step — adjusted the dial, matched the frequency, connected the extension. Then he plugged in the fan and fitted the light bulb into the ceiling fixture.
Both came on at once.
The fan began to spin, pushing a steady current of air across the room. The bulb lit up clean and bright, throwing light into every corner.
"Woah — what is that?!"
"What kind of artifact is that?"
"I don't feel any magic coming off it—"
Ruven stood there for a moment, genuinely stunned. Then a grin spread across his face. He crossed his arms.
"Hehehe. It worked."
He stood in the moving air and the bright light of his own store — in the middle of the day — and felt unreasonably pleased with himself. The staff continued to stare. He didn't explain anything further.
Within a few minutes, people outside had noticed.
Passersby slowed in front of the storefront window, peering through the glass.
"Why is that store suddenly so bright?"
"Wait — isn't that the same light as those streetlamps last night?"
"It is. But what's that thing spinning over there?"
Word traveled the way it does on a busy street — person to person, in real time. Foot traffic that would have passed the store without a second glance began drifting in instead, drawn first by the light and then, once they stepped inside, by the cool air rolling off the fan. The heat outside was doing its usual work. The store was not hot. The difference was immediate and obvious.
People came in to look. They stayed because it was comfortable. And while they stayed, they bought things.
Ruven watched the foot traffic climb and felt something shift behind his eyes.
'Wait a minute. If one light bulb and one fan did this — what happens if I buy more?'
The thought arrived fully formed. He didn't sit on it. He set down the rag he'd been holding, told his receptionist he'd be back shortly, and walked out the door toward the Hellfire Store.
---
Arthur looked at the subscriber numbers from his office and couldn't help but smile.
"Four hundred and seventy-eight registered subscribers — on the first push alone!" Reiner leaned over the desk, shaking his head. "Lord Arthur, do you understand what this means? At this rate, if we expand registration to the outer districts and run another flyer campaign, we could triple that figure within the month. The infrastructure cost is already covered by the tower installations — everything coming in from subscriptions from here is pure return." He straightened, eyes bright. "Have you considered setting a target number before we begin the electronics rollout? I want to know when we start selling TVs."
Arthur let him talk. He was happy to. The numbers were good — genuinely good — but what satisfied him more than the revenue projection was something harder to quantify.
His foothold in this world was growing. Electricity in the streets, light in people's homes, names like Hellfire Power moving through everyday conversation. Money was secondary. What he was building was presence, and presence was what would eventually make him the Lord of Entertainment in a world that had never imagined such a thing existed.
He was about to answer Reiner when the door opened.
Leonard stepped in, composed as always. "Lord Arthur. You have a guest."
"Who?"
"Delly Wulf, my lord."
Arthur's attention sharpened.
Reiner caught the name and read the room with the instinct of a man who had spent decades in merchant politics. "Well — if Lord Arthur has a guest, I'll take my leave." He gathered his things without being asked.
Arthur nodded. Reiner saw himself out, and Leonard showed the visitor in.
Delly Wulf had aged since Arthur last saw him. Not in the way years did it — in the way stress did. His face carried a tightness around the eyes, a hollowness in the cheeks that hadn't been there before. He smiled as he entered, and it sat wrong on his face — something eager and careful in it at once, like a man who had rehearsed the expression.
"Lord Arthur." He gave a small bow. "I won't beat around the bush. I'm here to ask whether you'd be interested in purchasing my Northern, Western, and Southern Theatres. All three."
Arthur said nothing for a moment.
He hadn't expected this. Of all the moves Delly could have made, walking through his door with an offer to sell was not one he'd placed on the board.
"You want to sell them to me?" Arthur said.
"For a reasonable price." Delly spread his hands in a gesture meant to convey openness. It conveyed something else entirely — there was a calculation behind his eyes that the smile didn't quite cover.
Arthur studied him.
There was a scheme here. There had to be. A man like Delly Wulf didn't surrender assets without a reason, and generous was not a word that fit him regardless of how he tried to wear it. Whatever was driving this offer, it wasn't goodwill.
But that was fine.
Because if Arthur walked out of this conversation owning the Northern, Western, and Southern Theatres — combined with the Eastern he already held — he would control every theatre in Eisen City. And theatres, as it happened, made excellent broadcasting buildings.
He already had a name for it: N.E.W.S. Four theatres, four channels, each with its own programming — but unified in purpose, covering the city from every direction. News. Telenovelas. Whatever else he chose to push through them. The acronym wasn't subtle, but it didn't need to be. It would mean something to this world soon enough.
Whether Delly's motives were clean or rotten didn't change the value of what he was offering.
"Let's talk price," Arthur said.