Leo and Mira burst into the workshop just as the morning sun peeked over the hills.
"Elaraaa! Wake up!" Mira called out, dragging Leo behind her by the wrist. "You promised you'd show us the new rune compression test today!"
Leo yawned, clearly still half-asleep. "She's probably still drooling on her pillow."
I sat up groggily, my hair a chaotic mess of braids, ribbons, and static cling from last night's failed capacitor experiment. My blanket was wrapped around me like a makeshift cocoon, and I groaned as reality returned with full force.
"You two are way too cheerful for people who haven't had breakfast," I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
Mira beamed. "That's because we're here for pancakes and science. Priorities, Elara."
I blinked. Right. The compression runes.
I had stayed up late sketching the initial designs for what I hoped would be a mana-powered compression press. The goal? Synthesizing higher-density mana crystals. Or, if my back-of-the-leaf math was right—pressing coal into something harder.
Diamond, hopefully. Eventually.
But before I could dive into industrial alchemy, the village had a new visitor.
And he was going to complicate everything...
The Tinkerer arrived in a cart pulled by a shaggy two-horned goat. A small sign hung from the side that read: "Certified Artificer – Guild Approved."
He looked every bit the part: wiry white beard, round spectacles, a coat with too many pockets, and a hat that refused to stay upright.
He greeted the villagers with a warm smile, shaking hands and giving little bows. The children gathered in awe as he made a small mechanical bird dance on his finger. It chirped and flapped and pooped a glittering gear onto the dirt.
"I'm Master Tolan," he introduced himself, his voice raspy but kind. "Tinkerer of the Guild, here to study rural ingenuity."
My mother tensed the moment she saw him. Mira and Leo's parents exchanged glances. Even their usually indifferent father folded his arms, a rare display of concern.
They knew.
They all knew this could mean trouble.
Still, the village welcomed him—cautiously. He was given the guest house near the market square and access to the forge and general storage. But no one let him near the waterwheel, and they definitely didn't mention the hotplate, the infinite pump, or the growing collection of Elara-brand home appliances popping up in every house.
To the adults' credit, they were trying to protect me.
Even if I hadn't asked them to.
Tolan tried to integrate. He helped fix broken carts, tuned a few wind chimes, and even carved a very respectable owl out of soapstone for the mayor's daughter.
But it was clear he was curious. Too curious.
I caught him once inspecting the control runes on the public fountain.
Another time, he paused at the bakery's auto-kneader, peering at the energy socket and frowning.
I had built both.
But to Tolan, these must've looked like the work of a clandestine adult engineer using the children as cover.
When he saw me one afternoon lugging a heavy granite plate across the field, he approached gently.
"You alright there, little miss?" he asked.
"Perfectly fine," I said, not even hiding the strain in my voice.
He chuckled. "Need a hand?"
"No thanks. I'm training. For science."
He blinked. "Ah. Of course."
Later, I overheard him talking to Mira's mom.
"Remarkable ingenuity. These... devices. Clearly someone around here has an eye for advanced runework."
"Kids do pick up odd hobbies," she said sweetly. "Maybe it's just play."
He didn't look convinced.
Meanwhile, I was trying to solve the problem that had been bugging me for weeks.
Energy density.
All my devices ran on stored kinetic mana, captured via the windmill or waterwheel. But they drained too fast. Even the triple-crystal capacitors couldn't hold a charge more than two days.
And I was tired of replacing them.
So, I began testing new materials.
Granitic stone, I found, held runes much longer and resisted passive discharge. It became my standard.
But I wanted more.
I wanted diamonds.
So I built a press.
A simple hydraulic frame with a mana-powered piston and containment runes. If I could compress charcoal under enough pressure and add just the right heat vector... maybe, just maybe, I could force a crystalline transformation.
At first, Mira thought I was building a torture chair.
"It looks like it eats coal," she said, poking the loading slot.
"That's the idea."
Leo was skeptical, as always. "Why not just mine diamonds like everyone else?"
"Because I'm not a dwarf, Leo."
The first test exploded.
The second melted a hole in my table.
The third glowed faintly for two minutes... then cracked in half.
Progress.
Back in the village, rumors swirled.
Some claimed the Tinkerer was spying. Others thought he was trying to recruit apprentices. A few hoped he would make more toys.
Meanwhile, I continued refining my press, logging heat curves, compression gradients, and rune stability. I began integrating energy recycling loops, redirecting waste mana back into the heating core.
Mira brought snacks.
Leo kept lookout.
We called it "Operation Carbon Crunch."
Tolan, for all his guild credentials, never caught on.
He asked a few probing questions. Dropped hints about workshops. Even offered to "tutor me in the basics."
I thanked him politely and redirected him toward the blacksmith, who had recently installed a mana blower I designed but took full credit for.
Still, something about Tolan's gaze lingered. He wasn't just here for sightseeing. And despite his grandfatherly smile, I could tell he was taking notes.
So I worked faster.
By the end of the season, nearly every home in the village had some minor device I'd crafted. Heated blankets. Lit paths. Water filters. One house even had a mana fridge—though it froze everything solid.
And every week, I collected depleted batteries and recharged them.
It became a ritual.
My way of giving back. And maybe, just maybe, staying under the radar a little longer.
Because I wasn't ready to be discovered.
Not yet.
Not until I turned coal into crystal.
To be continued...