Nexus: New World

Chapter 7 — The Invention That Shook the Stones and Sang with Water

Chapter 7 — The Invention That Shook the Stones and Sang with Water

At last, the delivery had arrived.

A massive crate, humming faintly with residual mana signatures, was wheeled into the Holloway estate under the watchful gaze of armored sentries and enchanted survey glyphs. The contents shimmered with promise—metallic ores, raw copper, binding crystals, and arcane-tethered alloys—all requisitioned by Elias Holloway, the scion of spell and intellect.

The Holloways’ dominion stretched deep into the world’s commerce veins. Procuring these resources was a trivial matter for a clan that could bend kingdoms with coin and command. And Elias had already selected the site for his sacred endeavor.

The vast Holloway estate was nestled like a slumbering god between forested ridges and forgotten peaks—ancient, untouched land veiled in dew and dusk. Far from mortal eyes. No stray beast dared trespass. It was, in every way, a crucible for creation.

With the quiet of midnight wrapping the halls like a spell, Elias slipped away. His feet whispered across runes etched into stone walls, enhanced by his youthful prowess and a single incantation.

“Air Step.”

The words echoed in silence, and gravity itself flinched. He leapt like a whisper over the estate’s marble walls.

Nexus-1, Elias intoned mentally, I require a workshop. One unseen. One sacred. Find me a site fit for invention.

{Understood. Initiating terrain analysis...}

{Leyline fluctuations minimal. Structural potential: optimal. Proceed northwest, 200 strides.}

Before him, a spectral arrow of aetherlight unfolded midair, pointing into the forest’s heart.

Through dew-kissed branches and under whispering canopies, Elias emerged before a cliff-face—stone smooth and tall as a cathedral wall. Silent. Waiting.

Perfect, he thought, and touched his palm to the rock.

“Stone Break.”

A muted pulse erupted. A dent the size of a helm caved inward, the stone crumbling to memory. Not enough. Not yet.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Each spell was cast with precision, each strike a rite. His mana bloomed, thickening like a second bloodstream. The hollow he carved became a sanctum. A chamber of solitude and design—The Project Vault. Twenty meters square. Five meters high. Its bones etched with runes. Its heart forged in will.

He conjured tables and forges from bent metal. Anchored enchantments into walls. With every manipulation of copper, his command over [Metal Bend] and [Metal Fuse] sharpened like a sword returning to flame.

And then—he began the construction of the artifact itself.

---

DUK! DUK! DUK!

The Holloway manor quaked.

Sounds of war echoed from above. The kitchen shook. Goblets rattled in pantries. Maids froze midstep, hands clenching prayer beads.

“What in the Seven Heavens is happening?” gasped one.

“It’s the young master,” said Bernice, voice calm but tinged with fatigue. “He forbade us from interrupting.”

“Is he bringing down the house?! The Matriarch’s not due back for weeks!”

They looked to Bernice for guidance, but the seasoned handmaid simply shook her head.

“The boy’s forging something greater than tantrum. I can feel it.”

And then—silence.

The mansion exhaled.

Moments later, Elias appeared in the kitchen, caked in dust and concrete like a golem come to life. He poured himself a glass of well water with calm precision.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” he quipped, grinning through soot. “Glory is a dirty trade.”

And he vanished again.

---

The Revelation

The days blurred. Copper whispered under heat and spell. Pipes groaned, bent, and fused. The ceiling split to house a stormcatcher reservoir above. Walls were bored, floors lifted. The entire western wing of the manor became a lattice of concealed aqueducts and mystic valves.

And then—it was ready.

Elias stood alone in his chamber. Before him, fixed into tiled marble, was a simple bent spout with a lever of mana-infused brass. Beneath it, a carved basin. Below that—veins of copper leading downward like the roots of a world-tree.

The moment of truth.

He turned the lever.

A rumble answered.

A hiss. Then a gurgle.

And then—flow.

Pure. Steady. Alive.

Water, summoned not by spell, but by design, surged into the basin, thick as a song and warm to the touch.

“I did it,” Elias whispered, trembling. “I built a fucking faucet in a world that thinks chamber pots are luxury.”

He scooped the water and drenched himself, laughing like a mad poet beneath a monsoon.

Above, the elevated tank he had installed fed the system using gravitational pressure and sealed air chambers—primitive plumbing, elevated to arcane art.

Every wall he broke, every tile he destroyed—it was all worth it.

He had dragged comfort from the stars and nailed it into stone.

---

The door creaked.

“Young master... we need to talk about the noise—”

Bernice’s voice trailed as she entered. Her eyes scanned the wreckage, the dust, the open walls. Fury began to rise—until she saw the water.

She froze.

It poured steadily, rhythmically, unnaturally natural.

“...what... what is this?” she whispered, awe strangling the breath from her throat.

Elias turned, water dripping from his nose, smiling with pride.

“Oh, this?” he said. “Just something I whipped up between naps. Want to give it a try?”

She stepped forward. Touched the stream.

Warm. Real. Untouched by spell.

And when he splashed her with it, she didn’t scold. She didn’t speak.

Because for the first time in her long, weary life—she saw a miracle not born from magic, but from man.

From Elias Holloway.

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