The young man pushed himself up from the dirt, wiping a smear of blood from his split lip with the back of a filthy sleeve. His eyes—ringed with the dark, bruised circles of a man who hadn't slept in weeks—narrowed at the figure standing over him.
Soren smiled down at him, his face shadowed by the black hood. "Yes. If this idea for water you were screaming about actually works, I will give you a job. What is your name, Iron Artist?"
The young man straightened his spine, trying to summon whatever pride he had left. "My name is Homid."
Soren repeated the name slowly, tasting the syllables. "Homid. A solid name. Come. The dirt is no place to discuss business."
He gestured to the closed shop beside them—its heavy wooden shutters bolted, the owner having long since fled the dying city. The street was dead silent now, the tavern's violent noise muffled behind thick doors.
Homid hesitated, eyeing the stranger, then finally nodded. They sat on the cold stone steps, the night air biting through their thin clothes.
Soren didn't look at him. He simply glanced toward the nearest patch of absolute darkness. "Nora. Bring some wine for our new friend."
Nora's voice answered from the empty air. "Yes, my lord."
She stepped out of the shadows, making no sound, and walked casually toward the tavern. The heavy wooden doors groaned open, swallowed her, and closed.
Homid stared at the spot where she had vanished, his jaw hanging open. "Are you crazy? That bar is full of violent drunks. It's dangerous for a girl alone at night!"
Soren's smile widened, amused. "Homid, the only people in danger right now are the drunks."
He turned his attention back to the artist. "So tell me. How exactly do you plan to pull water out of dry dirt?"
Homid's face hardened defensively. "No way. I'm not telling you anything. You're a nobody in a cheap cloak. Why would I hand my life's work over to a stranger in an alley?"
Before Soren could answer, Nora materialized from the darkness. In her hand was a full, unopened bottle of the tavern's most expensive wine. She didn't explain how she got it without paying. She simply handed it to Soren and melted back into the night.
Soren held the bottle out to Homid. Then, with his free hand, he reached up and pulled back his black hood.
Golden hair spilled out, catching the pale moonlight. His face was fully visible now—flawless, aristocratic, with piercing golden eyes that seemed to glow in the dark, looking straight through flesh and bone.
"I apologize. I was being rude," Soren said, his voice smooth as silk. "I am Soren, of the Sun Family. And I want to buy your brain."
Homid froze.
His eyes widened until they looked like they might fall out of his skull. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again like a dying fish. The color completely drained from his face, returning a second later in a rush of terrified red.
"S-S-Soren of the Sun Family?!" His voice cracked an octave high. He threw himself off the steps, falling to his hands and knees in the dirt, his forehead pressing against Soren's boots. "My lord! I am an idiot! I am a blind dog! Please forgive my terrible manners! Please don't cut off my head! I didn't know—"
Soren let out a soft, genuine laugh. He leaned down and grabbed Homid by the back of his ragged collar, hauling him back to his feet.
"Homid, please," Soren sighed, brushing dust off the boy's shoulders. "Stop groveling. It ruins the aesthetic of my charity. Besides, if a billionaire noble appeared in a dark alley and offered me a job, I would probably think I was hallucinating, too."
He popped the cork off the wine bottle with his thumb and pressed it into Homid's trembling hands. "Drink. Then talk."
Homid gripped the bottle like a lifeline. He took a massive gulp, coughing slightly as the rich wine hit his empty stomach. Tears pricked his eyes.
"How... how is this happening?" Homid whispered to the sky. "I get thrown out of a bar, and suddenly the Golden Boy of the West is calling me a friend? I must be dead. That bartender must have actually killed me."
Soren snapped his fingers in front of Homid's face. "Hey. Are you still with the living?"
Homid violently blinked. "Yes, my lord! Yes! I'm just... processing my extreme luck."
"Good. Don't make a mess of it," Soren said smoothly. "Now. Explain the water."
Homid took a deep breath, the wine finally settling his nerves. When he spoke, the drunken beggar vanished, replaced by a brilliant engineer.
"My lord, after the great war between the Black Dragon and the Iron Lion, Emperor Haron Muhammad founded an academy in the Iron Lion territory. The Iron Art School. They don't teach magic. They teach physics. Machinery. They call it Iron Art."
Soren nodded slowly, intrigued.
"I studied there," Homid continued, his hands moving rapidly to draw invisible blueprints in the air. "I learned that even when the surface of the earth is baked dry, there are massive, flowing rivers of sweet, drinkable water buried deep underground. Trapped in the rock."
Soren's golden eyes gleamed. "Fascinating. So how do the Iron Lions get it out?"
"Pressure," Homid said proudly. "We drill a deep shaft. We insert a hollow copper pipe. At the top, we attach a mechanical pump—a system of valves and a handle. When you pull the handle up and down, it creates a vacuum. The earth has no choice but to push the water up the pipe."
Soren stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then, he smiled.
"That is absolute genius," Soren murmured. "Surface water can be hoarded, dammed, and taxed by corrupt men. But the water inside the earth? That belongs only to the man with the longest pipe." He stood up, his dark cloak swirling around him. "I am going to fund your art, Homid. Meet me right here before sunrise. Have your machine ready."
He turned and walked down the alley.
Homid stood frozen, clutching his wine bottle, staring after the golden boy who had just rewritten his destiny.
Soren moved through the silent streets, his boots making no sound on the packed earth. Nora kept pace beside him, scanning the rooftops for imperial spies.
"My lord," she asked quietly. "Can it truly be done? Pulling rivers out of dry rock with nothing but copper and a lever?"
"Everything is possible when people are desperate enough, Nora," Soren replied. "Speaking of desperation, I have a new job for you."
He reached inside his tunic and pulled out a small, heavy glass vial sealed with black wax. Inside, a thick, dark liquid swirled like diseased oil.
"Take this," Soren ordered, handing it to her. "Break into the private estates of every noble in Kohrnes. Drop three drops of this into their private reservoirs and guarded wells."
Nora inspected the vial. "Poison, my lord?"
Soren chuckled darkly. "No. I don't kill unless I have to. It is a harmless fungal extract. But it will turn their pristine water black, thick, and smelling of rotten eggs. A dying dog wouldn't drink it. By sunrise, the nobles won't have a single drop of clean water to sell."
Nora's eyes flashed with dark amusement. She tucked the vial into her belt. "It will be done."
Soren walked to the edge of a crumbling stone wall and sat down in the dirt, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Wake me when Homid finds the right patch of dirt."
Nora bowed and melted into the shadows.
The sky was barely bleeding gray when Nora's voice slipped into Soren's ear.
"My lord. Wake up."
Soren's eyes snapped open. He hadn't truly slept. His mind had been running calculations, building the economic trap he was about to spring.
"Homid found the spot," Nora reported.
Soren stood, dusting off his cloak. He followed her to the eastern edge of the city. There, in a massive, abandoned dirt lot, Homid was frantically pacing. The ground was just as cracked and dead here, but Homid was using a strange, weighted metal pendulum to track something beneath the surface.
"My lord!" Homid gasped, his face flushed with manic energy. "Here! Right under this exact spot! I can feel the magnetic pull. If we drill down forty meters, we will hit a massive underground reservoir!"
Soren stepped into the center of the lot. He knelt, placing his bare palm flat against the cold, dry dirt.
"I was resting," Soren said softly, not looking up. "What did you do while I slept, Nora?"
Nora stepped up beside him. "I finished my task with the nobles, my lord. Then I woke the Iron Artist so he could forge his copper pipes. After that, I woke the local magistrate and bought the deed to this land using Sun Family gold. The man was desperate to flee the city. He sold it for a fraction of its worth. This dirt legally belongs to you."
Soren smiled. "Perfect. Now for the hard part."
He pressed his hand harder into the earth. Suddenly, blinding golden light erupted from between his fingers.
Homid shielded his eyes with a shout. The ground beneath Soren's palm began to violently hiss. The dirt didn't just move—it incinerated. The golden light acted like a divine drill, melting through topsoil, burning through limestone, and vaporizing solid bedrock. A perfectly smooth, circular shaft opened in the earth, plunging down into absolute darkness.
Forty meters down, the golden light hit something that sizzled.
Soren pulled his hand back. His skin was glowing red, smoking slightly as if he had just held a fistful of molten iron.
"You were right, engineer," Soren said, shaking his smoking hand out. "It's wet down there."
Homid stared at the forty-meter hole, then at Soren's hand, completely paralyzed by shock. "My lord... you are a monster."
"I prefer the term 'efficient,'" Soren replied. "Drop the pipe."
Nora helped the trembling Homid carry a massive length of gleaming copper piping. Together, they slid it down into the perfectly smooth, burned-out shaft. It fit perfectly.
Homid scrambled to attach his life's work to the top—a heavy iron pump with gears, a spout, and a long lever. He tightened the final bolts with a wrench, sweat pouring down his face.
He looked at Soren, terrified. "It is ready, my lord."
Soren took a step back, crossing his arms. "Then let us see your Iron Art, Homid."
Homid grabbed the heavy iron handle. He pushed it down. He pulled it up. Down. Up. Metal groaned. Gears clicked.
Nothing happened.
Homid's face shattered. "No... no, the pressure isn't—"
Gurgle. A thick sputter of brown mud shot out of the iron spout. Then, it cleared.
Suddenly, a massive, explosive stream of crystal-clear, freezing cold water blasted out of the pump. It splashed against the dry earth, pooling instantly, running in small, beautiful rivers toward the dusty street.
Homid fell to his knees in the mud. He laughed hysterically. He shoved his face directly into the stream, drinking like a dying man, weeping as the water soaked his ragged clothes.
"It works!" he screamed. "By the gods, it works!"
Soren stood perfectly still, watching the water flow. His face was an unreadable mask of absolute calm, but his golden eyes burned with victory.
Homid wiped his wet face, looking up at his savior. "My lord, how much do we charge? You spent a fortune on the land, the copper... we can undercut the nobles! If they charge ten silver, we can charge five! We will be rich!"
Soren looked down at him. "One copper."
Homid blinked, water dripping from his nose. "What?"
"One copper coin," Soren repeated smoothly. "For as much water as a person can carry."
Homid's jaw dropped. "My lord, are you insane? That's practically free! That won't even cover the cost of the metal! We will lose money every single day!"
Soren crouched down, meeting Homid's panicked eyes. "Homid. You are a genius of iron. But I am a genius of men. If we charge five silver, we are competitors. If we charge one copper... we are gods."
He stood back up. "Trust me."
Heavy footsteps echoed from the street.
Ten men emerged from the pre-dawn shadows. They were the starving farmers who had tried to rob Soren on the road. They were still dressed in rags, but their eyes were completely different. They were sharp, focused, and fiercely loyal. They had received Soren's summons.
Soren gestured to the pump. "Your work starts now. Pump the water. Fill the skins. Run through the streets and wake the city. Tell everyone the new price."
The largest farmer bowed deeply. "My lord... the nobles will not allow this. When they see you selling water for pennies, they will send their guards to butcher us."
Soren's smile returned. It was the coldest, most terrifying smile Homid had ever seen.
"Let them come," Soren whispered.
He turned to Nora. "And the nobles' private water?"
"Rotting as we speak, my lord," she confirmed from the shadows. "They have nothing left to sell."
Soren looked at the gushing water, at the loyal men taking their posts, and at the rising sun beginning to paint the sky over Kohrnes in shades of blood and gold.
"Today," Soren said softly, "this city learns that there are new rules. And I am the one writing them."