Taming Beasts in a Ruined World

The second morning dawned soft and pale, the kind of dawn that makes the earth seem unsure of itself — neither gold nor gray, neither asleep nor awake. Mist clung low over the farmland, and Alina stood at its edge, the papyrus fields stretching before her like ripples of green silk.

"So we just… wait two days?" she murmured. Her pink eyes wandered, glassy and uncertain. For once, the world seemed still, and she didn't know how to fill that silence.

Luciel's voice cut across the morning calm. "Waiting does no good. Help with the work."

He stood a few paces away, his sleeves rolled, a bundle of reeds in one hand. His tone was even, commanding without force — the kind of authority that left no room for questions. "Idle hands invite darker thoughts," he said. "Move, and your mind won't trouble you."

Alina sighed and trudged forward. "What do you want me to do?"

"Pull up the papyrus and lay it out to dry," Luciel said, gesturing toward the half-meter stalks crowding the mud. "All of it."

She blinked down at the strange plants, their pale stems bending under the dew. "Papyrus," he'd called them. She couldn't recall ever hearing that name before.

Luciel knelt beside the plants, his tone shifting as though to himself. "Among all we've grown, this one shows promise. Paper should be made from it — thin, strong, and plentiful. I've been testing its fibers for days."

"Paper?" Alina tilted her head. "Like the kind from beast hide?"

Luciel nodded. "Exactly. But the hides are too few, too precious to waste. Better to clothe the people in leather than to write on it. This, though—" He ran a gloved hand along a stalk. "This can bring words to the hands of everyone."

Alina rolled up her sleeves and tugged at the nearest plant. It came free with a satisfying snap. "Easy enough!"

"I'll help." Elara stepped forward, crouching beside her. She knew what Luciel was doing — giving them something to occupy their minds, to chase away the worry gnawing beneath their skin. If he'd wanted, he could have done it all with a wave of his hand. But work had its own kind of healing.

From the far side of the field, Ariel hesitated, clutching the hem of her robe. Her cheeks colored faintly as she glanced toward Luciel. "I… I'll return to the workshop. I have experiments to finish." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and hurried away, the strip of cloth on her head fluttering like a pale flag in retreat.

Alina watched her go, a frown tugging at her lips. "Why does she always avoid him? She looks scared… but not exactly."

Elara shrugged. "You could ask her."

"I did," Alina sighed. "She just smiled and changed the subject."

Luciel glanced up from the stalks, his eyes flicking briefly to the two women, then toward the farmhouse. "Sophia" he called.

The steward appeared almost instantly, skirts hitched, her hands still damp with soil. "My lord"

"How fares the sweet potato harvest?"

Her face brightened. "One warehouse is nearly full, my lord. Another day's work and we'll fill the second."

Luciel's expression eased. "Good. Boil a batch, peel them, and cut them into strips to dry. They'll last through the next season."

Sophia nodded, already jotting notes onto her slate. "At once."

The farmland was thriving beyond expectation. The soil of the Black Tortoise carried strange blessings — crops grew in half the time, and roots swelled to twice their size. The air smelled rich, alive, the way a living city should.

Luciel's mind, however, was already elsewhere. "When they're dried, send some to the market street. The stalls there should open soon. We'll need trade flowing before we reach Amestris."

"Yes, my lord."

"And the cabbages?" he asked without looking up.

"They're filling the third storehouse. But they won't keep long."

"Then move them to the cold vaults."

Sophia hesitated. "All of them?"

"Half," Luciel decided. "The rest we'll salt into pickles. A new trade good — mild, but steady."

She nodded again, smiling faintly. "Understood."

When she was gone, Luciel let out a quiet sigh and gazed across the crops. The city's heart was beating, but he could already see what it lacked. "Salt," he muttered. "We're running short."

"Elara. Alina."

Both women looked up, startled.

"Come here," Luciel said. "I need to ask something."

Elara brushed dirt from her hands and approached, wary. "Yes, my lord?"

"Salt," Luciel said simply. "Where does Amestris get theirs?"

Alina blinked. "Not much of it," she admitted. "The city trades for salt through a caravan that travels far beyond the dunes. They bring a shipment every thirty days."

"From where?"

She shook her head. "No one knows. It's a secret guarded by the city lords. Some tried to follow the caravans… but none of them came back."

Luciel frowned, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "So the salt mine is exclusive — hidden, perhaps guarded. That explains why Amestris holds such sway."

He turned the thought over like a stone in his hand. If the Black Tortoise could find its own supply — if it could draw salt from the earth or sea — then they would never again bow to the city's trade chains.

A plan began to take shape, quiet and deliberate. "We'll find our own source," he murmured. "Even if we must carve it from the bones of the earth."

Elara tilted her head. "You mean to mine salt?"

"Perhaps," Luciel said. "In time." Then, shaking off the thought, he looked back at the papyrus field. "For now, these reeds will do. I have other plans for them."

Alina wiped sweat from her brow. "Plans like… eating them?" she teased weakly.

Luciel chuckled, the sound rare and brief. "Not everything green is for eating, Alina."

He raised one hand, and the ground trembled faintly. Dozens of papyrus stalks tore free at once, rising into the air like obedient soldiers. Threads of silver light unfurled from his fingertips — not mere thread, but strands of enchanted silk, gleaming as they coiled around the plants. Within seconds, the entire harvest was bound and neatly stacked beside him.

Alina gawked. "That's cheating."

"That's efficiency," Luciel corrected, dusting off his hands. "Now come. I'll show you something worth your curiosity."

He turned toward the outer courtyard, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. "One of the ten inventions of Black Tortoise."

"The ten what?" Alina stumbled after him, eyes wide. "You've been hiding ten inventions?"

Luciel's mouth twitched, neither confirming nor denying.

Elara exchanged a glance with Alina. "You mean he's been working on all of this while reforming the city?" she whispered.

Alina fumbled for her notes, nearly dropping her quill. "This is history in the making! The ten great inventions of Black Tortoise—imagine how that'll sound in the chronicles!"

Luciel gave her a sidelong glance, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You do love your records."

"I'm a traveler at heart," Alina said, chin high. "What's the point of witnessing miracles if no one remembers them?"

"Then remember this," he said with a faint smile. "The inventions are not miracles. They're necessity, given form."

"Can you at least tell us what they are?" she pressed eagerly.

"Certainly."

Her eyes brightened. "Really?"

Luciel's smile deepened. "No."

Alina froze mid-step, pouting. "That's cruel."

"Patience," Luciel said. "You'll see one soon enough."

He led them down the sloping path past the granaries, toward a low stone building at the edge of the farmland — the workshop. Smoke drifted lazily from its chimney, carrying the faint scent of resin and heated clay. Inside, the walls were lined with strange things: woven meshes of silver wire, gears made from bone, rods of dark crystal humming faintly with stored energy.

Elara paused at the threshold, awe widening her silver eyes. "What is all this?"

Luciel glanced around the workshop, his expression oddly gentle. "The future," he said simply.

Alina stepped forward, unable to contain herself. "Is this one of the inventions?"

Luciel nodded. "The first two are nearly complete. You're standing in the shadow of the third."

"What are they?" Elara asked quietly.

"The first," Luciel said, "is paper — true paper, light enough for letters, strong enough to endure centuries. The second is the printing press that will follow it." He gestured toward a half-finished contraption in the corner, a device of carved stone and enchanted steel. "Words will no longer be bound by scarcity. Knowledge will belong to all."

Elara blinked. "You mean… anyone could learn to read?"

"That is the point," Luciel said. "Education is the soul of a city. Without it, Black Tortoise will wither."

"And the third?" Alina asked breathlessly.

Luciel's gaze lingered on a long table in the center of the room. Upon it lay the papyrus, still damp with dew. "Ink," he said. "Ink that does not fade, that resists water and time. A city that writes its own story must ensure its words never vanish."

Alina's quill slipped from her fingers. "Ink, paper, and printing… those are—"

"The foundation of civilization," Luciel finished for her. "Once the first three are done, the rest will follow. Water systems, storage cells, healing draughts, light crystals… ten inventions in all."

He paused, looking between them. "Each one small on its own, but together they'll turn Black Tortoise into more than a fortress. They'll make it a home."

Elara felt something shift inside her chest — a quiet awe that eclipsed even fear. Amid all the chaos and danger, Luciel still looked to creation, to progress, as if hope itself were an art he refused to abandon.

"Will you show us the rest when they're ready?" Alina asked softly.

Luciel's smile returned, faint and distant. "If you're still here to see them, then yes."

Outside, the wind stirred the papyrus stalks into a whispering song, like parchment waiting to be written upon. The Black Tortoise creaked beneath them, carrying its people steadily toward an uncertain horizon — toward Amestris, and the peril that waited there — but for now, within these quiet walls, invention had given birth to something rarer than magic, A Purpose.