Location: Ducal Throne Room → Armathane City Square → Midgard Company Office
Time: Day 220 After Alec's Arrival
🏛 The Awarding of the Contract
The great hall of the ducal palace echoed with the shuffle of feet and whispers. It wasn't often that the duchess convened the nobles and high guild leaders of the capital for an audience, especially one where she spoke so plainly about money.
Duchess Vaelora sat on the high seat, her hands resting lightly on the carved arms of the throne. She wasn't adorned with jewels today—just the steel-threaded gown and her crown circlet. The message was clear.
"This is not a discussion of ceremony," she began. "This is governance."
To her left stood Alec Castellan, dressed in his usual practical simplicity: dark coat, plain trousers, and not a single insignia. But to anyone who understood the undercurrents of power in the room, he was the one who commanded the tension.
Vaelora's voice didn't waver as she continued.
"For decades, the capital has stagnated. Roads crack. Sewers clog. Workshops lack the infrastructure to scale their production. The market square cannot handle the volume of trade we are beginning to attract. The administrative districts are disorganized and scattered."
She let the words settle, her gaze sweeping the room.
"Midgard cannot afford stagnation."
She gestured toward Alec.
"Which is why I have contracted the Midgard Company to undertake the redevelopment of Armathane. Effective immediately, all city infrastructure projects will fall under Company oversight."
The murmurs rose—soft but unmistakable. Unease.
Baron Eldren, a minor noble whose estate sat on the edge of the city, stepped forward.
"Your Grace," he said carefully, "surely the guilds and masons of Armathane—loyal craftsmen who have served the duchy for generations—would be more suitable to handle such projects."
"They will be employed," Vaelora said coldly. "Under the Company's direction."
"And who will pay for this… undertaking?"
She didn't blink. "The duchy coffers will fund the work, as is our responsibility. The Company will oversee efficiency, resource allocation, and execution."
Eldren pressed further. "And what guarantees do we have that this… foreign-born organization will prioritize Midgard's interests?"
Alec spoke for the first time, his voice calm but carrying. "The guarantee is results. In three months, Grendale was brought from rot to surplus. In four months, the Branhal marshlands were drained and repurposed. If you wish to rely on tradition, Baron, then I suggest you step aside and let progress handle what your loyalty cannot."
The room fell silent.
Vaelora smiled faintly. "You have your answer."
And with that, the contract was sealed.
🗺 Alec's Vision
The next day, Alec stood on a raised platform overlooking the sprawling heart of Armathane. Around him gathered the sector heads of the Midgard Company: engineers, masons, architects, and logistical planners.
A large parchment was unfurled across a drafting table, displaying Alec's blueprint of the new capital.
"This," Alec began, pointing to the market square at the center of the map, "is where we begin."
He gestured outward to the surrounding districts.
"Phase One: Centralized infrastructure. Roads widened and reinforced with crushed gravel and a limestone base. Wastewater channels to divert refuse outside city limits into controlled basins. Secondary canals for flood prevention."
He moved his hand further out.
"Phase Two: Industrial zones. Workshops reorganized into quadrants based on function—metalwork, textiles, woodcraft. Smoke exhaust redirected away from residential areas."
Finally, his finger rested on the far edge of the map.
"Phase Three: Administrative reform. A new central district for ducal offices, registry halls, and Company headquarters."
One of the senior architects, a stout man named Gralden, frowned slightly. "That's… a monumental scale. Do we have the workforce?"
"We will," Alec said. "Rotational labor drawn from city wards, Company staff, and recruited apprenticeships. Paid in structured intervals, with training for long-term positions."
"And materials?" another asked.
"Quarry contracts are active," Alec replied. "Transport routes secured. We've already assessed the resource flow needed for each phase."
He stepped back, surveying the map.
"This isn't just about repair," he said. "It's about positioning Midgard to dictate trade, influence, and expansion. Armathane will be the heart of the duchy—and a city that sets the standard for the rest of Edenia."
⚖ The Deals Made
The day wasn't over before Alec and Vaelora sat privately in the duchess's study, reviewing the payment structure.
"Forty percent of funding will come directly from the ducal treasury," Vaelora said, tapping the ledger. "The rest will be drawn from redirected tolls, trade tariffs, and noble levies."
"The nobles won't like that," Alec said, though there was no judgment in his tone. Only observation.
"They don't have to like it," Vaelora replied. "They only have to comply."
She leaned back slightly, watching him as he made final notes on the Company ledger. "You know, this partnership has risks."
"Every partnership does."
"Do you trust me?"
He paused.
"I trust your goals align with mine. For now, that's enough."
She smiled faintly. "Spoken like a man who keeps one eye on the horizon."
"I keep both," he said. "And so should you."
🔧 Scene Four – The Work Begins
By the end of the week, the streets of Armathane were alive with activity.
Engineers supervised excavation teams digging trenches for new road layers.
Scribes logged every load of gravel, every shipment of wood, every stack of bricks brought into the city.
Alchemists from the Medical Sector prepared solutions for waste sanitation.
Masons worked long past sundown, constructing the first sewer tunnels under Alec's direction.
It wasn't elegant.
It wasn't glamorous.
But for the first time in decades, Armathane was moving forward.
🌒Noble Whispers
From their balconies and estate gardens, the nobles watched with narrowed eyes.
They whispered of debt. Of foreign influence. Of a duchess who was too willing to hand over control to a man who bore no blood crest.
But they also whispered of progress.
Because no matter how much they disliked Alec Castellan, they couldn't ignore what was happening.
The roads were clearing.
The market square was expanding.
And for the first time in years, the capital no longer felt stagnant.
It felt alive.
🕯 Alec's Office
Late that evening, Alec sat in his private office, poring over reports. Resource tallies, payroll logs, delivery schedules.
Serina entered quietly, a steaming cup of tea in hand.
"Still awake," she said, setting it down beside him.
"Still working."
She lingered for a moment, watching him.
"You know," she said softly, "you're building something no one's ever seen before."
He didn't look up. "That's the point."
"And when it's done?"
He finally glanced at her.
"Then we build the next."