As the butlers carefully rolled the broken cart's wheels into my room, the weight of my next steps pressed upon me. This was more than just salvaging junk; it was about reshaping the future.
Without hesitation, I retrieved the elegant antique chair that once belonged to Sushila from the dining room. The wood was delicate, its history rich in elegance. The kind of furniture nobles admired but never truly appreciated. I dragged it out without a second thought, ignoring the scandalized gasps of passing maids. If this worked, it wouldn't just be furniture anymore.
I knew I couldn't execute my plans alone, so I resorted to sketching furiously on paper, my mind whirring with ideas. I needed hands, skilled, calloused hands that could bend wood and steel to my will. So, blueprint in hand, I sought Thorin's cabin, knowing it would take more than my ingenuity alone to bring this to fruition.
Raina, loyal as ever, carried the chair while I maneuvered the wheels with surprising care. The sound of hammer striking metal filled the air as we approached his forge, smoke curling into the cold night like a spirit dancing between worlds.
I knocked.
The door swung open with a groan, revealing Thorin's perpetually irritated face.
He crossed his arms, his thick brows knitting together. "Kid, I know you're young, but do you have any idea how long it takes to forge a sword? "And this...this nonsense? You're really bringing me wheels and a chair?" His sharp eyes flicked between the chair and wheels. "What next? A teapot and a chandelier?"
I didn't flinch. "These aren't just any wheels or chair."
Then, I unrolled my blueprint.
Thorin leaned in. I watched his skepticism shift, eyebrows rising, lips twitching. Then, without warning, he threw his head back and let out a laugh so deep and thunderous it shook the walls.
"By the gods, kid, you're either a genius or the most entertaining fool I've ever met." He exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Alright. Let's make history."
We returned back to the palace, as I inspected the pieces of my plan, a cold gust of wind swept through my room.
No one had knocked.
I turned and there he was. The Patriarch.
His presence alone sucked the warmth from the air.
"You stole my cold steel," he said flatly. "I don't know who told you about the secret room, since only I know about it, but I pretended not to notice and let it slide. And then, you steal a chair. You're seriously stealing chairs now?"
His face was unreadable. I couldn't tell if he was angry or disappointed and the way he said it made it sound like I was descending into petty theft, one absurd item at a time.
My heart pounded. I hadn't expected to be caught for the cold steel.
"I promise to show you the results once I'm done with it. Please, trust me just this once, Father," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.
For a moment, he just stared.
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
A week passed in a blur of preparation.
Then, one early morning, before the palace had even begun to stir, a sharp clink against my window jolted me awake. I rushed to look outside.
And there he was.
Thorin, his figure half-shrouded in the morning fog, atop a single-horse cart. A heavy tarp concealed whatever lay beneath it.
He barely spared me a glance before grunting, "Hundred gold pieces."
I stiffened. "Wait, what?"
Then he burst into laughter, a sound so loud it threatened to shake the palace walls. "You should've seen your face, kid!" He wiped at his eye, shaking his head. "I'm just messing with you. But if you've got more crazy ideas locked in that skull of yours, you know where to find me. I've been bored for decades!"
With a tap of his reins, the horse began to move, disappearing into the mist.
Relief flooded through me. He had come through, just in time for D-Day, the day the uninvited guest would arrive.
Inside, the anticipation gnawed at me. I took Raina's new sword, the one crafted from the remnants of Ruby's dagger, and inspected it once more. The sheath was crafted from ironwood, a material as hard as steel itself. Embedded at its center, nearly imperceptible, was a wand, blending so seamlessly into the design that one wouldn't even notice it was there.
The cold steel melded perfectly with Ruby's dagger, its form now resembling a legendary katana, dark as the night sky, matching Raina's own raven-black hair.
Unsheathed, it was a weapon of pure lethality.
Sheathed, it was nothing more than a sword-shaped wand.
When she held it, her fingers brushed against the emerald from Ruby's dagger, now dangling from the hilt like a charm. The blueprint had specified a keychain, and Thorin had followed it precisely. A small hole had been made in the emerald, carefully, without damaging it, and the split ring held it like a key.
"It's perfect," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. She wrapped her arms around me in gratitude. With this, I had given her the first step. Now, only her own vision would limit her.
But I wasn't finished.
Sushila's plight weighed on me like a stone pressing against my ribs. She spent her days locked away, a prisoner in her own room. If nothing changed, the tragedy foretold in Chapter ** would come to pass.
She had legs. But what she needed was freedom to move around.
And I would give it to her.
The idea had struck me when I saw the wheels fall from the cart.
And so, the second item I had commissioned was from Earth:
In the year 1670, a German watchmaker named Stephan Farffler had built a self-propelled wheelchair for himself. He was paraplegic, and despite his limitations, he crafted something extraordinary, an invention that would serve as the foundation for all future mobility devices. Farffler's ingenuity, born from necessity, became my guiding light.
Now, it was my turn to do the same for Sushila.
With this, she would move again.
She wouldn't walk, no. But she would be free, to roam the palace, to sit in the garden, to visit the library. And with Zora's help, she could even descend the stairs.
The wheelchair I created for Sushila would be no ordinary contraption. It would be a throne, elevated from the ground, with the strength to carry her with grace. Sushila would look like a queen upon it. She would sit at dinner, her head high, no longer beneath the women the Patriarch called wives.
The wheels from the broken cart had been reforged, reinforced with ironwood. The antique chair had been refitted, its frame stronger, grander, while the chair itself had been outfitted with every comfort imaginable, armrests, a footplate, and a safety belt made from a fallen wyvern's hide to keep her secure. No longer would she be confined to a life of solitude. She would move freely, able to join us at dinner.
They took her ability to walk. They stripped her of dignity, of status.
But they would never look down on her again.
Because her throne stood one inch higher than theirs.
It would be a statement, one that would shake the very foundation of our household.
And just like that, the first wheelchair was invented in this world of mine.
But I couldn't give it to her yet. No, the moment had to be just right. I had a plan, I needed to surprise all of them, including the very woman who had stolen Sushila's ability to walk.
Before the storm hit, Raina and I needed something from the market. Disguised in robes to keep our identities hidden, we wandered through the bustling marketplace of Wolfhard territory. Stalls overflowed with food, weapons, and trinkets. It was a street mall of sorts, a place where the commoners and nobles mingled, each with their own hidden desires.
We ventured down an alley, where the scent of poorly cooked food filled the air.This was where commoners sold their food. Food no noble would ever deign to taste. Food for the poor.
"Raina," I said, my voice low, "buy all the potatoes."
Her eyes widened. "Young master, what are you—?"
"Trust me," I interrupted, already knowing her hesitation. She hesitated only a moment before agreeing, her hands gathering the potatoes. Five hundred in total, each costing barely a silver coin. The market was flooded with them. Potatoes, the sustenance of the poor. I could see the confusion on Raina's face as I began handing them out, one by one, to the common folk. I wasn't doing this for show. I wasn't doing it to appease anyone. I was doing it because I understood their struggle. I knew what it meant to go hungry.
The purchase amounted to 500 potatoes, costing only a single silver coin. That was how cheap they were. How insignificant they were. A staple for commoners and slaves.
I handed out the excess.
Because I knew what it was like to be poor.
Had my grandmother, my sister, and I lived in this world, we too would have been among these people.
When the last potato was given away, 100 remained. It was time to return home.