Today is difficult to explain properly.
I genuinely do not know where to begin.
So I will begin with the easiest thing first.
Lady DeLuna’s mother almost killed me this morning.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
We were eating breakfast together in the kitchen.
Everything was calm.
Normal.
Then Miss DeLuna sneezed.
Violently.
So violently that food exited through her nose alongside what I can only describe as catastrophic levels of mucus.
Naturally I froze.
What frightened me was not the sneeze itself.
But Lady DeLuna’s reaction.
Without changing expression even slightly—
Without altering her tone whatsoever—
She simply looked at her daughter and said:
“By the sacred dust beneath the king’s unwashed slipper, what foul creation dareth offend mine eyes thus? I would rather dine with the plague than lay sight upon that again!”
Which I believe translates roughly to:
“Ew.”
I nearly died trying not to laugh.
Miss DeLuna looked deeply offended.
Her father continued drinking coffee peacefully as though this happened every morning.
I am beginning to suspect emotional stability does not survive long within this family.
Unfortunately that was only the beginning of today’s suffering.
The next part is horrifying.
I am fully convinced somebody on this island is intentionally trying to destroy my sanity.
Earlier today, while eating near one of the supply posts, I discovered a loose sheet of paper sitting abandoned near one of the tables.
Initially I assumed it was the notes of a deeply unstable scholar.
After reading it, I now believe the situation may be worse.
For legal and psychological reasons, I am preserving the document here exactly as written in case I eventually discover the responsible party.
The following text is copied without modification:
---
I AM CURRENTLY INSIDE THE HEPHAESTUS WORKSHOP.
HEPHAESTUS.
THEY WERE REAL.
NOT LEGENDS.
NOT DRUNK SAILOR STORIES.
NOT “my uncle saw one once” nonsense.
REAL.
Their ships are sitting in the docks RIGHT NOW.
METAL SHIPS.
ACTUAL METAL.
FLOATING.
ON WATER.
WITHOUT SAILS.
WITHOUT ARCANE WIND SPIRITS.
WITHOUT SOME HALF-NAKED DRAGONKIN ROWING INSIDE THE HULL LIKE A MADMAN.
I THINK I UNDERSTAND IT NOW.
Metal ships float because they are mostly hollow, trapping large amounts of air inside the hull structure, lowering total density below water displacement ratio thresholds.
WHICH MEANS—
THE SHIP IS BASICALLY CHEATING.
IT IS CHEATING AGAINST THE OCEAN.
AND THE OCEAN ALLOWS IT.
UNBELIEVABLE.
And the propulsion system.
THEY DON’T EVEN USE SAILS.
The council members here explained the entire thing to me casually over lunch like this was normal civilized conversation.
Apparently there are MECHANICAL ENGINES inside the ships.
Machines that convert thermal energy into kinetic force which rotates giant underwater propellers.
PROPELLERS.
ROTATING METAL WATER KNIVES.
I almost cried.
One of the council members asked if I was emotionally stable enough to enter the lower engine chambers.
I said no.
He respected the honesty.
This place is incredible.
I have officially decided fire is stupid.
Actually no.
Correction.
Fire is not stupid.
WE are stupid.
We have been throwing wood into boxes for warmth like confused cavemen while these lunatics invented MICROWAVES.
MICROWAVES.
A machine that heats food using electromagnetic wave excitation instead of direct flame exposure.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS.
THEY COOK WITHOUT FIRE.
WITHOUT.
FIRE.
AND THEN THEY SHOWED ME OVENS.
OVENS.
NOT stone ovens.
REAL thermal-controlled enclosed cooking systems capable of precision heat distribution.
I spent fourteen minutes staring at roasted fish because the texture consistency was mathematically offensive.
Then I discovered electric trains.
Which means the Spoon Rail Project is NOT insanity.
IT IS DESTINY.
Apparently these people solved it centuries ago.
Electric trains use overhead electrical transfer systems connected through a BEAUTIFUL device called a pantograph.
PANTOGRAPH.
WHAT A SEXY WORD.
PANTOGRAPH.
It climbs upward and kisses the power line directly like some kind of elegant mechanical insect.
Then the current transfers into traction motors which convert electrical energy into rotational force.
ROTATIONAL FORCE.
THE WHEELS MOVE WITHOUT HORSES.
WITHOUT PULLING.
WITHOUT SUFFERING.
WITHOUT SOME POOR SWEATING MAN SCREAMING AT A MULE.
THEY JUST MOVE.
I HAVE NEVER FELT MORE ALIVE.
And apparently all of this is considered OLD technology here.
OLD.
THEY SAY IT LIKE THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT OUTDATED SPOONS.
Meanwhile I spent six years redesigning ship stabilizers like a complete idiot.
No.
Actually not idiot.
Visionary idiot.
Different category.
Also: GEODESIC DOMES.
WHOEVER INVENTED THOSE WAS EITHER A GENIUS OR A DERANGED PROPHET.
Cross-structured geometric load distribution using waterproof flysheet systems with aluminum or polycarbonate support frames.
I don’t fully understand the mathematics yet but I want to marry whoever invented triangulation.
Even the MATERIALS here are insane.
Things I once considered useless junk are apparently specialized industrial resources.
Half the trash bins on this island contain enough innovation to destabilize continental trade routes.
The Resistance now feels like a child’s toy workshop made from emotional support wood.
I miss it slightly.
But only slightly.
Communication stones are technology too.
I KNEW IT.
LANDLINES.
THEY HAVE LANDLINES.
Actual wired communication systems transmitting voice signals through physical infrastructure.
And then somebody explained DIGITAL SYSTEMS to me.
Apparently information can be translated into binary numerical structures called 0 and 1.
I understood absolutely nothing.
Which is AMAZING.
I HAVE NEVER BEEN THIS HAPPY TO FEEL STUPID.
Usually when I enter a room I am among the smartest people there.
Here?
I am basically a raccoon holding a wrench.
And honestly?
Best week of my life.
Also.
Minor update.
I may have accidentally become an honorary member of one of the councils.
The black robe one.
Yes.
THAT black robe one.
Apparently they “appreciate my approach to experimental thinking.”
I am choosing not to question this because they gave me workshop access.
WORKSHOP ACCESS.
Their workshop alone is worth more than three kingdoms.
I am not going home.
Absolutely not.
Tell Daddy I love him.
Tell Ronan he was right about me eventually violating international engineering ethics.
Tell Ryn she is now legally responsible for all future Spoon Rail expansion projects.
And tell Reine—
Actually no.
I’ll tell her myself tomorrow.
Need further testing.
---
I refuse to believe this document is real.
I absolutely refuse.
This is either an extremely elaborate prank designed specifically to psychologically destabilize me…
Or this island has somehow managed to produce two separate Spathians.
Which may qualify as a continental-level threat.
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