Weaves of Ashes

Chapter 108: Chapter 103: The Mechanical Dream

Location: Ryunzo Home - Study

Time: Day 516 | Telia: Day 7

Realm: Telia

The afternoon sun slanted through the study’s window as Elder Ryunzo closed the door behind them. The room was modest but comfortable—shelves lined with ledgers and maps, a large oak desk scarred from years of use, chairs arranged for serious conversation rather than ceremony.

Master Whitestone was still buzzing with energy from the morning’s charcoal demonstration, gesturing animatedly as he described potential forge improvements. But Elder Ryunzo’s expression had turned somber, the weight of leadership settling back onto his shoulders.

”Sit, please,” he said quietly.

Jayde settled into a chair, Reiko curling at her feet. The shadowbeast had been remarkably patient all morning, content to watch humans discover fire technology that the Federation had mastered millennia ago.

[This is the important conversation,] Reiko observed. [The one he’s been building toward.]

Elder Ryunzo poured tea—simple ceremony that bought him a moment to gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with years of accumulated frustration.

”The charcoal will help. The coal, when we find it, will help even more.” He set down the teapot with careful precision. ”But our real problem... our real problem is that we simply don’t have enough hands to work the land we own.”

Population resource allocation. Classic post-war demographic collapse.

”How much land?” Jayde asked.

”I own just over a million hectares.” He said it without pride, just tired acknowledgment. ”Most of it forest and mountains, but there are at least twenty thousand hectares of arable land. Good soil. Good water. Could feed thousands of families.”

”But you can’t work it,” Whitestone finished grimly.

”We have three hundred people in Tardide. Mostly women, children, and the elderly.” Elder Ryunzo’s hands clenched on his teacup. ”The warlords take our young men. Every year, more conscriptions. Some come back. Most don’t. The ones who return are often...” He gestured helplessly. ”Broken. Missing limbs. Minds shattered.”

(That’s evil. Just taking people’s children to fight stupid wars.)

Forced conscription of civilian population. War crime under Federation law. Exploitation of agricultural base weakens long-term economic stability.

”Last year,” Elder Ryunzo continued, voice dropping, ”we managed to cultivate forty hectares. Forty. Out of twenty thousand available. The women work until their hands bleed. The children help when they should be playing. We grow barely enough to feed ourselves and pay the warlord’s taxes.”

”How do you pay taxes if you’re barely surviving?” Jayde asked.

”We don’t.” Bitter laugh. ”We’re three years behind on payments. The warlord hasn’t sent collectors yet because Tardide’s so small and remote we’re not worth the effort. But eventually...” He shook his head. ”Eventually, they’ll come. And when they do, they’ll take everything. The land, the village, probably anyone young enough to work or fight.”

The room fell silent except for the ticking of a small clock on the shelf.

”You can’t hire laborers?” Whitestone asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

”With what gold? We’re a poor village barely feeding itself.” Elder Ryunzo set down his teacup, the ceramic clicking against wood with finality. ”I’ve been the elder here for thirty years. Watched this village slowly die. Every year, fewer people. Less land is cultivated. More poverty. It’s like watching someone bleed out drop by drop, and there’s nothing—” His voice cracked. ”There’s nothing I can do.”

(He’s hurting. Really hurting. This isn’t just numbers—these are people he cares about.)

Village leader experiencing long-term resource crisis. Population hemorrhage. Economic death spiral. Classic failure pattern without intervention.

Jayde reached into her spatial ring—carefully, so it looked like she was just retrieving something from her bag—and pulled out parchment and charcoal.

”What if,” she said slowly, ”you didn’t need more hands?”

Both men looked at her.

”What if three people could do the work of three hundred?”

Elder Ryunzo’s expression twisted between hope and skepticism. ”Magic? I know you’re powerful, but even mages can’t—”

”Not magic.” Jayde spread the parchment on the desk. ”Engineering.”

She began to draw.

Federation agricultural equipment database. Historical Earth technology. Pre-industrial steel plow designs. Adapted for local materials and draft animals.

Her hand moved with practiced precision—not because fifteen-year-old Jade knew how to draft technical schematics, but because sixty years of Federation military engineering training included field equipment design. The lines appeared on parchment: clean, exact, labeled.

”This,” she said, ”is called a mechanical plow.”

The design took shape. A curved metal blade—the moldboard—attached to a sturdy wooden beam frame reinforced with metal. An adjustable depth control mechanism using a simple lever and pin system. A dual-harness attachment point designed for Bildeson, the large ox-like beasts that Tardide used for heavy hauling.

”The blade cuts into the soil,” Jayde explained, pointing as she drew. ”But see how it’s curved? That’s critical. The curve doesn’t just cut—it turns the soil. Lifts it, flips it over, buries the weeds and crop residue while exposing fresh earth for planting.”

Whitestone leaned in, his trained eye following the mechanical principles. ”The angle...”

”Exactly. The angle matters. Too steep and it just digs. Too shallow and it skims the surface. This angle—” she marked it carefully, ”—uses the Bildeson’s forward motion to generate both cutting force and lifting force simultaneously.”

Leverage mechanics. Force multiplication through geometry. Basic physics translated to pre-industrial implementation.

”The frame distributes the stress,” she continued, adding cross-braces to the design. ”Wood for flexibility, metal reinforcements at critical stress points. The depth control here—” she sketched the adjustment mechanism, ”—lets you set how deep the blade cuts. Shallow for light soil, deeper for breaking new ground.”

Elder Ryunzo was staring at the drawing like it was written in a foreign language. But Whitestone... Whitestone’s eyes were gleaming with the particular hunger of an engineer seeing a beautiful machine.

”The harness attachment,” he breathed. ”You’re using two Bildeson?”

”For larger plows, yes. For smaller ones, one beast can manage.” Jayde added detail to the harness design. ”The key is weight distribution. You want the draft force—the pulling force—distributed evenly so the animals aren’t fighting each other or the plow.”

She sat back, studying her work. The schematic was clean, detailed, and technically sound. Everything labeled clearly enough that a skilled blacksmith could forge the parts.

”With this,” Jayde said quietly, ”two people and two Bildeson can plow eighty hectares in a week.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

”Eighty...” Elder Ryunzo’s voice was barely a whisper. ”In a week?”

”Eighty hectares. Deep, clean furrows, ready for planting.” Jayde met his eyes. ”What takes your village months of backbreaking labor with hand tools, this machine does in days.”

”That’s...” Whitestone’s hand trembled as he reached for the parchment. ”That’s not possible.”

”It is. My master’s people used these. I’ve seen them work.” The lie came easier now, smoothed by repetition and necessity. ”The principle is simple—use animal strength efficiently, multiply force through leverage, let the machine do the work humans can’t.”

Federation development protocol: appropriate technology transfer. Match solution to civilization’s manufacturing capability and resource base.

Whitestone studied the drawing with intense focus, his mind clearly working through the construction process. ”The blade... I’d need high-carbon steel for the cutting edge. With the new charcoal, I could forge it. The curve is complex, but...” His finger traced the moldboard’s arc. ”I’d need to build a form, heat the steel, hammer it over the form while it’s hot...”

”Exactly.” Jayde felt a spark of satisfaction. ”The frame is mostly wood—you already work with that. The metal parts are challenging but not impossible. You have the skills and tools.”

”The adjustment mechanism here,” Whitestone tapped the depth control. ”Simple pin-and-hole system. Easy to operate in the field.”

”A child could adjust it.”

Elder Ryunzo had gone very still. His eyes were fixed on the schematic, but Jayde could see his mind racing, calculating implications that extended far beyond simple farming efficiency.

”If we could plow eighty hectares a week,” he said slowly, ”we could cultivate... all twenty thousand hectares of arable land in...” His voice cracked. ”In less than a year.”

”With a single plow, yes. With multiple plows...” Jayde let the implication hang.

”We could feed everyone.” The elder’s hands were shaking now. ”Could grow surplus. Could trade excess grain for gold. Could pay off our taxes, hire more workers, expand further...” His breath caught. ”Could actually thrive instead of just surviving.”

(He’s seeing it. The future opening up.)

Economic transformation cascade. Agricultural surplus enables population growth, trade, capital accumulation, infrastructure development. Breaks poverty cycle.

”This...” Elder Ryunzo’s voice broke completely. Tears streamed down his weathered face. ”This would save us. Would save the entire village.”

”It’s more than the village,” Whitestone said, his own voice thick with emotion. ”Other villages have the same problem. If we could make these plows, sell them or trade the design...” He looked at Jayde with something like awe. ”You could transform all of Telia.”

(That’s too much. I’m just trying to help one village.)

Wider implications acknowledged. Technology diffusion inevitable once demonstrated. Consider political ramifications.

”There’s a risk,” Jayde said carefully. ”When the warlords find out about this—and they will—they’ll want it. Will try to take it, control it, use it to strengthen their armies by freeing up labor for conscription.”

The hope in Elder Ryunzo’s face dimmed slightly. ”You’re right. They’ll see this as a military advantage.”

”So we need to move carefully.” Jayde leaned forward. ”Build the first plows quietly. Demonstrate them. Create demand from other villages and cities before the warlords can monopolize the technology. Spread it wide enough that no single power can control it.”

Federation doctrine: technology proliferation prevents authoritarian control. Democratize access to tools of production.

”Make everyone richer,” Whitestone said slowly, ”so everyone has a stake in protecting the technology.”

”Exactly.” Jayde touched the parchment. ”This design is yours now. Tardide’s. You can build them, sell them, teach others to make them. Just promise me one thing.”

Elder Ryunzo wiped his eyes. ”Anything.”

”Make sure everyone benefits. Not just the wealthy. Not just the nobles.” Her voice hardened with sixty years of watching Federation corruption. ”Don’t let this become a tool for oppression. Use it to build a better life for everyone—the farmers, the workers, the families just trying to survive.”

The elder placed his hand over hers on the parchment, his grip firm despite the trembling. ”I swear it. On my honor, on my family’s name, on everything I hold sacred—this will be for the people. All people.”

Acceptable terms. Monitored implementation recommended but not feasible given the mission timeline.

Whitestone was already making notes on a separate piece of parchment, listing materials needed, calculating forge time, sketching construction sequences. His engineering mind had fully engaged.

”I’ll need three, maybe four days for the first one,” he muttered. ”Longer if the curve gives me trouble. We’ll need to test it thoroughly before—”

”Actually,” Jayde interrupted gently, ”there’s something else.”

Both men looked up.

She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and began drawing again. This design was more complex—a mechanical harvester with a blade assembly, a collection platform, and a binding mechanism.

”This is for reaping grain,” she explained as the schematic took shape. ”Similar principles—animal draft, mechanical advantage, efficient force application. But this one cuts the grain stalks, collects them, and even ties them into bundles for collection.”

Whitestone made a sound that might have been a whimper.

”How much...” Elder Ryunzo’s voice was strangled. ”How much grain could this harvest?”

”Twenty acres a day. Maybe more with practice.”

The elder collapsed back in his chair like someone had cut his strings.

”My master,” Jayde said softly, filling the stunned silence, ”believed that the purpose of knowledge was to reduce suffering. That the greatest power wasn’t in magic or cultivation, but in understanding how the world worked and using that understanding to help people live better lives.”

Federation foundational principle. Service before self. Protect the weak, empower the helpless, create conditions for flourishing.

(He would have liked that. If he existed.)

”Your master,” Elder Ryunzo said hoarsely, ”must have been the wisest man who ever lived.”

Jayde thought about silver dragons and interdimensional contracts, about Pavilion trainers and Federation memories, about being a fifteen-year-old girl with a sixty-year-old soldier’s tactical mind.

”He tried to be,” she said simply. ”And he taught me that when you have power—any kind of power—you have a responsibility to use it for something more than yourself.”

Whitestone was staring at both schematics, tears streaming down his weathered face. ”I’m a blacksmith. A simple blacksmith. And you’re asking me to forge tools that will change the world.”

”I’m asking you to forge tools that will feed people.” Jayde’s voice was gentle but firm. ”The world will change because people won’t be starving anymore. That’s all.”

[You’re very good at this,] Reiko observed. [Making revolution sound simple.]

(It is simple. People need food. These tools help grow food. Everything else is just complications.)

Elder Ryunzo stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the village beyond. At the small fields barely scratched from the earth, at the people working them with bent backs and bleeding hands.

”We’ll need to be smart about this,” he said finally. ”Build the first plow quietly. Test it thoroughly. Once we know it works, we approach the Merchants’ Guild in Oldstrand.”

”The Guild?” Jayde asked.

”They have connections to every city in Telia. If we can convince them to back us, to help distribute the technology...” He turned back, eyes gleaming with strategic thinking. ”They can protect us from the warlords better than any militia we could raise.”

Economic alliance. Leverage merchant influence against military power. Sound strategy for technology protection.

”We’ll need a demonstration,” Whitestone said, already planning. ”Something undeniable. Show them what one plow can do in a single day.”

”And we’ll need leverage.” Elder Ryunzo looked at Jayde. ”These designs are valuable, but we need something more. Something to make them need us rather than just want our technology.”

Jayde thought about the herbs growing in her spatial ring. About the vast fields she could plant with magical acceleration. About Afeaso and Sapphire Bloom and a dozen other valuable plants that were rare enough to be worth fortunes.

”I might have some ideas about that,” she said slowly. ”But first, let’s make sure the plow actually works.”

Whitestone laughed—slightly manic but genuine. ”Oh, it’ll work. This design is brilliant. Elegant. Everything I need is right here.” He clutched the parchment like it was made of gold. ”Give me four days. Just four days, and I’ll forge you a machine that will change everything.”

***

They talked for another hour, planning details. Where to source wood for the frame. How to keep the construction quiet. Which field to use for initial testing. Elder Ryunzo sent for his most trusted advisors—people who could keep secrets and understand the magnitude of what was coming.

By the time Jayde left the study, the sun was sinking toward the horizon, and her head was full of logistics, timelines, and contingency plans.

[You look tired,] Reiko observed as they walked back toward their room at Mrs. Ryunzo’s.

”I’m exhausted. And I haven’t even started the actual work yet.”

[The dragons will be hungry soon. We should hunt tomorrow.]

”Tomorrow morning. Then I’ll come back and help Whitestone with the forge work.” She glanced back at the elder’s house, where lamplight already glowed in the study window. ”This is going to be complicated.”

[Everything you do is complicated.]

(But this is good complicated. Building-things complicated, not killing-things complicated.)

Mission parameters expanding beyond initial objective. Dragon family secured, but village transformation offers broader humanitarian impact. Acceptable mission scope creep given available resources and timeline.

”Do you think the Federation would approve?” Jayde asked quietly. ”Of what I’m doing here?”

[The Federation fell because it forgot to care about people,] Reiko said with surprising insight. [You’re remembering. I think that’s what matters.]

Jayde scratched behind his ears, grateful for a companion who understood without needing detailed explanations.

Behind them, Master Whitestone was already gathering materials, his forge already burning with new charcoal, his mind already racing through construction sequences.

Ahead of them, a village slept—unaware that in four days, their entire future would change.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, Jayde would hunt for dragons, because promises were promises and Yinxin’s family needed food.

But after that?

After that, she’d help forge a revolution.

One plow at a time.