Sudrath Manor, Capital Sol-Regis. The Study (Repurposed into a Makeshift Lab) – Morning.
Morning light filtered through the cracks of the freshly cleaned windows, letting motes of dust dance in the air. At the center of a room usually reserved for stagnant, leather-bound books, a massive mahogany table had become a battlefield for innovation. Blueprints covered in frantic scribbles, tangled copper wires, and small shards of Mithril lay scattered across the surface.
Elara Vane stood motionless, clutching a circuit diagram Rianor had sketched. Her brow was deeply furrowed, causing her round spectacles to slide precariously toward the tip of her nose.
"So..." Elara tapped the paper with a rhythmic finger. "You're telling me that if I channel mana into this copper wire, and then interrupt the flow in rapid successions... it becomes a language?"
"Precisely," Rianor remarked, tightening a copper coil with hands already blackened by metallic dust. "It's called Morse Code. Dots and dashes. Short pulses and long ones. Simple, yet lethal when it comes to the speed of information."
"And you want to connect this... strange contraption," Elara pointed to a wooden box on the table that was a far cry from aesthetic perfection, "to a similar device in Northreach? Five hundred kilometers away? Without a physical cable spanning that entire distance?"
"We'll use a cable for the initial prototype," Rianor corrected, wiping sweat from his temple. "But long-term, we'll utilize the mana waves in the atmosphere. Think of it as mechanical telepathy."
Elara let out a huff, though her eyes couldn't hide the spark of genuine fascination. "Rianor, you're absolutely insane. Mana is a sacred natural energy, yet you treat it like water in a tap that you can turn on and off at a whim."
"Try it first," Rianor challenged, stepping aside. "I need you to carve a Rune on this plate to act as an amplifier. The signal will degrade if it has to travel that far."
Elara exhaled sharply, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Fine. But if this thing explodes and ruins my glasses, you're paying for ten replacements."
She began to etch intricate symbols onto a small Mithril plate using a specialized ink pen. Her hand was steady. A faint purple aura began to bleed from the tip of the pen, pulsating in sync with her concentration.
Sir Roland walked in, carrying a tray of coffee whose aroma instantly filled the room. Gulp. He took a quick sip of his own before speaking.
"Morning, mad scientists. Coffee has landed. How's the progress? Have we hit 5G yet?"
"Quiet, Roland," Rianor murmured without looking up. "Don't touch anything. There's a lot of voltage here."
"Voltage? Oh, you're being dramatic," Roland replied, his curiosity piqued. He leaned in, carelessly poking the end of a copper wire connected directly to a mana crystal.
ZZZT!
"Gah! Good god!" Roland jumped back, the tray nearly slipping from his hands. He shook his hand, which was suddenly numbed by a violent tingling. "That hurt! It felt like being bitten by a thousand fire ants at once!"
"Well, that's what we call a mana-induced static shock," Rianor explained with a smug grin. "Which means the circuit is running perfectly."
Elara finished her etching. She slotted the Mithril plate into Rianor's assembly. The device was deceptively simple: a metal tapping lever and a small speaker fashioned from a discarded tin can.
"Try it," Elara commanded curtly.
Rianor pressed the lever. Click.
A crisp metallic tap echoed from the receiving device at the other end of the table. Rianor pressed again in a more complex pattern: Click-Click-Taaap. The receiver responded instantly, without lag: Click-Click-Taaap.
Elara's eyes widened. "No delay? Usually, long-distance communication magic requires a lengthy incantation time. This is... instantaneous?"
"The speed of light, Lady Elara," Rianor smirked proudly. He looked at Elara and Roland with sudden gravity. "Now imagine this. Riven is in danger in Northreach. He presses this button. That very second, we in the Capital know. We report to the King, and reinforcements are sent immediately."
"Our enemies are still busy writing letters on parchment and tying them to the legs of birds that take three days to fly," Rianor continued. "And us? We've won the war before their message even reaches its destination."
Roland set the coffee tray down slowly. His usually playful expression hardened. As a diplomat, he understood the staggering political implications of this small device.
"Information is the ultimate weapon," Roland murmured. "If we have this network... we can control market prices. We'll know the price of grain in the North is rising, and we can buy up the stock in the Capital before other merchants even realize what's happening."
"Smart," Rianor praised.
Elara stared at the device with a look that was hard to decipher—somewhere between horror and awe. "You Sudraths... you're terrifying. You turn sacred natural energy into a pragmatic tool for trade."
"We prefer to call it innovation," Rianor replied nonchalantly.
Midday – The Living Room. Family Mode: ON.
Duke Lucian strode through the front door. He immediately shed his heavy military coat, tossing it onto the leather sofa. His face looked weary, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Well, Father? What did the King say?" Rhea asked, casually polishing her nails with one of Rumina's experimental metallic polishes.
Lucian sat, loosening his tie, which felt like a noose. "King Aethelgard is a cunning old fox. He knows Morvath is corrupt and has a shadow army, but he lacks the concrete evidence to arrest him without triggering a bloody civil war."
"So what's the move?" Aurelia asked, handing him a cup of warm herbal tea.
"The King gave us a privilege," Lucian said, accepting the cup. "We've been granted tax-exempt status for our border mines for two full years. In exchange... the King wants us to be his official 'eyes and ears'."
"Spies?" Roland cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, so we're secret agents now?"
"Yes. The King suspects Morvath is building a secret weapons facility in the Southern territories. He wants us to find out exactly what's down there."
Rianor grinned, gesturing toward the telegraph device on the table. "Perfect timing, Father. We just finished the perfect tool for a spy job."
"What is it?" Lucian asked, taking a sip. Gulp.
"The Magic Telegraph," Rianor answered. "Tomorrow, Riven needs to install a similar unit in Northreach. We'll start building a secret communication network that no one can intercept."
"There's a problem," Elara interrupted from the corner—she had already begun to feel like a hired hand for this family. "The signal isn't strong enough to reach Northreach yet. We need a signal-boosting tower at the midpoint of the journey."
"Hmm... what's halfway between the Capital and Northreach?" Rhea asked, blowing on her wet nails.
Rianor rolled out a large map on the table. His finger traced the main trade route. He stopped at a specific point.
"The Academy City," Rianor said. "The hub for the kingdom's mages and scholars."
Rianor looked at Elara searchingly. "Elara, you said you're from the Academy, right? Could we sneak this device onto the highest tower there to use as a transmitter?"
Elara suddenly choked on her coffee. "Cough! You want to turn the Academy's Sacred Tower into a telegraph pole?! If the Dean finds out, I'll be expelled before I can blink!"
"I'll handle the building fees," Roland coaxed, offering a wink. "Or maybe I can charm the Headmistress?"
"The Dean is a man, ancient, and incredibly grumpy," Elara replied flatly.
"Well... that's a shame," Roland muttered, disappointed.
"But..." Elara thought for a moment, twirling her pen. "Next week is the Academy entrance exam. If one of you is enrolled as a student... you'll have legal access to the tower."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Every eye turned simultaneously toward Roland and Rhea.
"What? Me?" Roland pointed to himself in disbelief. "I already have a degree back in our world! I have to go back to school here?"
"Count me out," Rhea said bluntly. "I have zero talent for memorizing boring incantations. My talent is strictly for stabbing people."
"You don't need to be a mage," Elara interjected. "There are tracks for Magic Swordsmanship and Magical Diplomacy. You can get in through those."
Aurelia offered a sweet smile—the kind of smile every family member knew was an absolute command that brooked no argument.
"Roland, Rhea. Pack your school bags immediately."
"But Mom..." Roland whined.
"No 'buts'. You get into that Academy, you plant that device on the tower, and while you're at it, dig up intel on Morvath's secret weapon. I hear many children of high-ranking officials study there, don't they? Squeeze them for information."
"Just think of it as a 'Work-Study' program," Rianor added, patting Roland's shoulder with a mock-sympathetic tone. "Work-Study... more like Work-Stay-Alive."