The morning mist was still clinging to the fields when I finally stood in front of the compression press, breath held, hands slightly trembling. This was it—the eighth try. Last night's adjustments had taken forever, and I'd lost two spoons and a perfectly good boot to unexpected mana discharges. But now... maybe now...
The device hissed. The runes glowed with a soft, stable violet pulse. The containment glyphs held.
"Please," I whispered to the universe, or the mana spirits, or Newton. "Let this one work."
A bright flash, a sudden thump, and the world held its breath.
When I cracked open the reinforced container, what waited inside wasn't coal, wasn't ash, wasn't another cracked disappointment—it was small, it was rough, but it sparkled unmistakably.
A diamond.
"YES!" I shouted, doing a victory lap around the workshop with Mira and Leo gaping behind me. "YESYESYESYESYES!"
"Is it real?" Leo asked, poking it with the suspiciousness of a kid who'd once licked a frog on a dare.
I nodded proudly. "Test it yourself. Scratch anything you like."
He chose my stone workbench.
"Okay, not that!" I lunged, barely grabbing the gem in time.
Once the celebrations died down, I moved onto the real fun—application.
The diamond wasn't big, but it was pure enough. With it, I could finally test high-precision engraving runes. Which meant I needed a new tool.
A laser wand.
Okay, technically it was a mana-focused engraving rod using high-heat vector alignment through diamond refraction. But "laser wand" sounded cooler. And Leo liked shouting it dramatically whenever I activated the prototype.
"BEHOLD! THE LASER WAND!" he cried, before ducking behind a barrel.
And honestly, he had a point. It was dangerous.
The first version cut straight through a wooden beam I hadn't meant to cut.
The second lit my sock on fire.
The third? Stable. Reliable. And terrifyingly precise.
I carved my name on a copper plate smaller than my thumbnail.
"We can engrave runes this small now?" Mira whispered, awe widening her already huge eyes.
"Smaller if I steady the power draw."
That's when things escalated.
The engraver meant we could fit more complex runes into tighter spaces. I started retrofitting our battery packs with triple redundancy sigils, flow regulators, and auto-balance measures. Energy loss dropped by 80% overnight.
I even managed to make miniature batteries that fit inside a bracelet Mira could wear—something to keep her hands warm in winter.
We called it the Mana Cuff. It had a sleek copper frame, a layered diamond lattice to focus energy, and of course, it was pink. Because Mira insisted.
Leo just wanted one that shot sparks.
"You're making these too advanced," Leo warned. "You realize we're just kids, right?"
"Speak for yourself. I'm a prematurely re-reincarnated electrical engineer trapped in a magical eleven-year-old girl's body."
"Exactly," he said, throwing up his hands. "You're weird."
I took it as a compliment.
But not everyone was amused.
The village elder called in my parents. Then Mira and Leo's. Then me.
"We're proud of your achievements," the elder said gently, his beard twitching with every word. "But... you are drawing attention."
He meant Tolan.
The Guild tinkerer had started asking sharper questions. He'd casually mentioned our increased output at the mill. He'd not casually examined one of my mana capacitors.
"He's not a bad man," I said. "Just nosy."
"Nosy men with good intentions still write reports."
And so it was agreed, somewhat against my will, that I should "dial it back."
I didn't.
Instead, I started building new layers of redundancy. Cloaking runes. Dummy cores. A drawer full of "useless" inventions that only I could activate.
Meanwhile, Mira helped me design a workshop under the barn—hidden, sealed, and rune-locked.
We called it "The Lab."
"Is that short for something?" Leo asked.
"Yes," I replied. "Legendary Arcane Basement."
"You just made that up."
"Shhh."
We outfitted it with everything we could salvage—barrels, old planks, a few pieces of copper pipe Leo smuggled in from the windmill project. It was cramped, poorly lit, and perfect.
Over the next few months, I expanded our designs. We made powered carts that could move supplies with minimal effort. A heating grid for winter. Even a very rudimentary refrigerator.
All powered by our diamond-enhanced batteries.
All engraved by the Laser Wand.
Which Mira had taken to wearing like a tiara scepter, claiming it made her feel like a rune princess.
"I am royalty now," she said, twirling. "I command the runes!"
"Please don't point that at anything flammable," I muttered, nudging it away from the haystack.
Leo built a tiny golem that chased chickens around the coop for exercise. We didn't need a chicken chaser, but he insisted it built character.
"For the chickens?"
"No. For me."
I wasn't sure when it started, but the villagers treated me differently now. Not like a child. Not really like an adult, either. More like... the person who fixed things.
It felt good.
And terrifying.
Because if someone powerful really did find out about all this—especially someone with political or guild power—I had no idea what would happen.
I remembered the stories. Bright minds taken away for "training." Families relocated for "security."
So I made another resolution.
If they came for me, they wouldn't find a genius girl.
They'd find a quirky, harmless inventor.
And behind her, a village full of cozy, ordinary people.
And behind them, a basement full of backups.
Just in case.
And one drawer. Locked tight.
Inside, a prototype compression wand.
Not a weapon.
Not yet.
But if it came to it?
It might carve more than copper.
To be continued...