Chapter 13: Mystech and Mutiny
The campus of the University of Mystech was unlike anything Farhan had seen in this world.
While much of Ylmare clung to cobblestone streets and traditional architecture, the University's grounds shimmered with magic and invention. Copper vines lined glass towers that pulsed with arcane light. Floating platforms ferried students from building to building. Enchanted chalk scribbled formulas midair, and crystal spheres whispered lectures to hovering notepads.
Mystech — the fusion of magic and technology — was at the cutting edge of the new world. And they were interested in him.
Farhan adjusted his cloak as he stepped through the archway of the Grand Hall of Applications, where his lecture would be held. Students bustled around him, some with metallic familiars perched on shoulders, others engaged in spirited debates over alchemy versus synthetic compounds.
Denel followed close behind, her expression wary. "This place gives me a headache. Too many glowing things."
"You'll get used to it," Farhan replied with a smile.
A tall man in slate robes approached, his goatee neatly trimmed and his robes stitched with the insignia of an open eye over crossed cogs. "Mr. Farhan Rahman. I'm Dean Halvaric Graymist. Welcome to the University of Mystech."
"Thank you for the invitation, Dean," Farhan said, offering a hand.
The Dean shook it firmly. "Your work with non-magical technology has caused quite the stir. The Alchemist's Guild is in chaos. Half want to burn you at the stake. The other half want to fund your next invention."
"Sounds about right."
Halvaric chuckled. "Follow me. Your audience is waiting."
—
The lecture hall was packed.
Rows of tiered seats climbed toward a domed ceiling etched with runes and rotating diagrams. Students, professors, guild members, and curious nobles all crowded in — some skeptical, others wide-eyed with anticipation.
Farhan stepped up to the lectern, cleared his throat, and activated the display orb beside him. A floating screen appeared, showcasing diagrams of items he'd already introduced to Ylmare: cold packs, electric lanterns, and battery water purifiers.
"Let's begin," Farhan said. "Today, we're going to talk about innovation — not through spells or rituals, but through science, engineering, and mass production."
He paced slowly as he spoke, his voice confident and clear.
"In my homeland, magic is a myth. But science gave us machines, medicine, and information. What your world achieves through incantation, we achieve through design. What takes you years of apprenticeship, we replicate through blueprints and factories."
He held up a small object: a smartphone.
"This device holds a library larger than all the tomes in this city. It lets us communicate across oceans in seconds. Not with a magic crystal — but through satellites orbiting our world."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room.
A student raised his hand. "Can you summon more of these devices?"
"I can import them, yes. But I'm selective. These are powerful tools — and dangerous in the wrong hands."
Another professor stood. "And what do you expect in return, Mr. Rahman? Coin? Influence? Loyalty?"
Farhan met his gaze. "All I want is partnership — to build a bridge between worlds. One that allows us to learn from each other."
A noblewoman in the front row frowned. "And what if your 'science' threatens our traditions? Our way of life?"
Farhan didn't flinch. "Then your traditions will evolve — or fade. That's the price of progress."
Silence fell. For a moment, it seemed like the room might turn hostile.
Then Dean Halvaric clapped.
Slowly, others followed.
By the time Farhan stepped down, the hall was buzzing. Questions poured in. Invitations. Proposals. Even a few veiled threats.
Denel joined him as he stepped outside into the courtyard, the evening sun casting long shadows.
"You're stirring the hornet's nest again," she muttered.
Farhan smiled. "That's how you get the honey."
—
That night, while Farhan dined with Halvaric and the University's senior faculty, Denel returned to the Merchant's Hearth. But something was wrong.
The doors were ajar.
Inside, shelves had been knocked over. Boxes torn open. The back storage room door — always locked — hung from a broken hinge.
She drew her dagger, scanning the room.
"Show yourself."
A soft scuffle came from the upper loft. She moved silently, step by step, her eyes narrow. Then—
A hooded figure leapt from above, throwing a vial that exploded in a flash of green smoke. Denel ducked, slashed, and caught the attacker's arm.
The figure yelped and stumbled back.
Denel tackled them, tearing off the hood.
It was a girl — maybe sixteen. Dirt-smeared face, sharp amber eyes, and ragged robes. She clutched a stolen device in her hands — one of Farhan's imported pocket heaters.
"Who sent you?" Denel hissed.
"No one!" the girl cried. "I needed it! For my brother — he's freezing to death in the lower slums!"
Denel paused. Her dagger remained pressed to the girl's neck.
"You broke in… just to steal *this*?"
The girl nodded frantically. "I heard the shop sold miracle things! I just needed one — just one!"
Denel lowered the blade slowly. "What's your name?"
"…Tika."
Denel helped her up. "You picked the worst day to break in, Tika."
The door creaked open again — and Farhan entered, eyes sharp.
"What happened?"
Denel explained quickly.
Farhan looked at the girl. She flinched under his gaze.
Then, to her surprise, he knelt down and offered his hand.
"Come back tomorrow," he said. "I'll give you a heater. Free of charge. And a blanket. But you owe me a story."
Tika's eyes widened. "Why?"
"Because no one else listens," he replied simply.
—
Elsewhere, in a shadowed villa on the northern edge of Ylmare, a group of cloaked figures gathered.
The room smelled of wax and blood.
At the head of the table sat Lord Veynar — once a major investor in the Black Dune, now displaced and seething with hatred.
"So," he said coldly, "Rahman's little tech parade continues."
A spy nodded. "He has allies now. The University. The Guild. Even street urchins speak his name like a legend."
Veynar clenched his fist. "Then we destroy the legend."
Another figure stepped forward. "We've located one of his supply caches. A caravan of goods — foreign ones. Headed for Ylmare in two days."
Veynar's lips curled.
"Burn it."
—
Back at the Hearth, Farhan sat at his desk, scrolling through his shopping interface.
Orders from Earth were becoming more expensive. The connection seemed to strain with each delivery.
\[Warning: Dimensional Interference Detected. Transit Cost Increased.]
He sighed.
But it didn't matter.
People were relying on him now — not just for profit, but for survival.
"Let's see," he muttered, "What can I bring next? Generators? Solar panels? Or maybe…"
He smiled.
"…sewing machines."
The revolution would be stitched, printed, bottled — and delivered.