Chapter 21 – Bound in Thanks

  The rhythmic thunder of machinery filled the air as the old presses of Stone & Quill came alive again for testing.

  Sheets of blank paper rolled through the feeder, catching streaks of test ink — alignment grids, calibration bars, and color proofs. The sharp scent of oil and pigment filled the workshop as gears turned, checking for even pressure and smooth feed.

  Gareth Rendon stood beside the main offset unit, watching the rollers turn evenly.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Clean contact across the plate. Looks like she’s warmed up properly.”

  Theo crouched by the output tray, flipping through the test pages. “Alignment’s holding. No drift on the second pass either. We can start the actual run once we swap in the master plates.”

  Before they could continue, his wristlink blinked.

  Mr. Rendon wiped his hands on his apron and accepted the call. Dorian’s holographic projection appeared, composed as ever.

  “Mr. Rendon,” Dorian greeted, his tone calm but precise. “I see you’re running calibration.”

  “We are,” Rendon confirmed. “Press is ready to begin the first production batch.”

  “Excellent timing,” Dorian replied, tapping a few commands on his wristlink.

  A file appeared in the air between them — a title page layout for A Study in Scarlet, now bearing a single new line of elegant text near the bottom:

  > Copy No. ___ of 100 — A Study in Scarlet

  “I’d like you to include this addition on the first hundred copies only,” Dorian said. “Leave a small blank section below it for the author’s note or signature. After those, proceed with the standard layout.”

  Theo leaned closer, eyes brightening. “So we’re numbering the first hundred? That’s classy.”

  Rendon nodded thoughtfully. “Understood. We’ll update the template before loading the master plates.”

  “Good,” Dorian said. “Once those are printed and bound, set aside the first twenty copies and ship them to the Ashborne residence. I’ll inform him of the change when he wakes.”

  “Understood,” Rendon replied. “We’ll make sure they’re perfect.”

  The call faded, leaving the faint blue light of the wristlink behind.

  Theo grinned, already pulling up the layout editor. “You have to admit, that man thinks of everything.”

  His father smiled faintly. “That man always thinks three steps ahead — it’s a comfort having someone like that on our side.”

  Within minutes, the new template was loaded. The test sheets were cleared away, replaced by crisp stacks of blank paper waiting for the first true print.

  When the press started again, the very first completed page slid through — numbered neatly at the bottom:

  > Copy No. 1 of 100 — A Study in Scarlet

  Theo held it up carefully, the ink still drying. “There it is. The first of the first.”

  Mr. Rendon nodded slowly, pride flickering through the tired lines of his face. “Let’s make sure the next ninety-nine are just as perfect.”

  ---

  By midday, the first run was complete.

  Bound, pressed, and sealed with care — twenty pristine copies rested in neat stacks under the soft lamplight.

  Theo carefully lifted one of the finished books and turned it in his hands. The matte cover caught the light perfectly; Riven’s artwork gleamed faintly under the varnish.

  “Feels strange,” he said quietly. “We actually made this.”

  Mr. Rendon smiled, pride warm in his voice. “Feels right, though.”

  He checked the cover one last time, then scanned the book with wristlink scanner. “Send this visual proof to Dorian,” he instructed.

  Theo complied, tapping the command. The file shimmered into transmission.

  Moments later, Dorian was studying the holographic projection of the finished book.

  He studied it briefly — the balance, the numbering, the polish — then called lucien.

  Lucien’s wristlink buzzed.

  Still half-groggy from his nap, he answered, expecting a routine update. Instead, Dorian’s calm face appeared midair, with the projection of the book rotating besides him.

  Lucien blinked, then sat up straighter. “It’s done already?”

  “The first batch,” Dorian confirmed. “Twenty copies have been dispatched to your address. You’ll receive them shortly.”

  Lucien smiled faintly. “That was faster than I expected.”

  “There was a small addition to the layout,” Dorian added. “I had the Rendons number the first hundred — collector’s editions. See?”

  He turned the book slightly, showing the inside title page.

  Lucien leaned closer, reading aloud. “Copy No. 1 of 100 — A Study in Scarlet.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve turned my novel into an antique before it’s even left the press.”

  “It’s called foresight,” Dorian replied with a faint grin. “Keep the early copies — their value will rise faster than you think.”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Lucien nodded. “Good thinking. I’ll decide who gets what.”

  By early afternoon, sunlight filtered warmly through the café windows.

  Lucien sat by the upstairs window, the box of freshly printed books open before him delivered quickly by drone. Twenty perfect copies.

  He flipped open Copy No. 1 of 100 and smiled softly.

  Then, with a careful hand, he began to write.

  Copy No. 1 — For Cerys Ashborne

  “For the heart that never stopped believing in me.”

  When he handed the book to his mother downstairs, she was startled.

  Cerys’s breath caught as her fingers brushed the embossed title, tracing it like she could still feel the warmth behind the words.

  Her voice came out soft, trembling slightly. “Lucien… this is the first copy. It’s important to you, isn’t it?”

  Lucien smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Who else would get the first one?”

  For a moment, she just stood there, eyes glistening, and words stuck in her throat. Then she blinked rapidly and laughed under her breath, trying—and failing—to hide the tears threatening to fall.

  Before she could respond, Darius leaned over from behind the counter, his tone mock-serious.

  “So that’s how it is, huh? Mothers first, fathers second. Clear case of bias if you ask me.”

  Lucien grinned, tilting his head. “Hey, she earned it. You didn’t bribe me with midnight pastries.”

  Cerys shot her husband a playful glare through her tears. “Oh, hush. You’ll get yours.”

  Darius chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender, while Alina—watching from the side—giggled. “See? Mom’s crying again.”

  Cerys swatted gently at her daughter’s arm, smiling through damp lashes. “I am not!”

  Alina ducked away, laughing. “You literally told me yesterday not to lie, Mom.”

  That earned her another light tap on the head, a touch firmer this time, and a round of laughter rippled through the café.

  Lucien just stood there, smiling quietly, the book still warm from his hands and his mother’s tears glimmering faintly on its cover.

  Lucien shook his head, still smiling, and handed his father the next book.

  Copy No. 2 — For Darius Ashborne

  “For the pillar that never cracked, even when everything else did.”

  Darius said nothing at first, just running a thumb over the cover. “You did well, son,” he said quietly.

  Lucien knew what that meant — praise of the highest order.

  Copy No. 3 — For Alina Ashborne

  “For the spark that keeps the house noisy enough to feel alive.”

  Alina gasped the moment she saw her name. “Finally! I was starting to think you forgot your favorite sibling!”

  “I only have one,” Lucien said dryly.

  “Exactly,” she said triumphantly, hugging the book close.

  Later, upstairs again, he lined out the next five books, each open and waiting.

  Before writing, he called his group — his friends’ faces flickering to life: Dorian, Seliora, Riven, Evelis, and Kaelen.

  Before any of them could speak, Lucien raised a hand. “Before accusations fly, I didn’t choose the order. Alina wrote your names on paper slips and drew them from a bowl. So blame luck, not me.”

  Seliora smirked. “A convenient alibi.”

  “Efficient,” Dorian corrected smoothly. “Though I’ll still expect the most sophisticated inscription.”

  Lucien rolled his eyes but smiled as he began writing.

  Copy No. 4 — For Dorian Veynar

  “For the strategist who turns chaos into progress — even mine.”

  Copy No. 5 — For Seliora Veyra

  “For the perfectionist who believes art should burn bright, not flicker.”

  Copy No. 6 — For Riven Solayne

  “For the artist who finds music in stillness and color in quiet.”

  Copy No. 7 — For Evelis Lysenne

  “For the quiet strength that keeps the rest of us standing.”

  Copy No. 8 — For Kaelen Draveth

  “For the mind that builds where others only dream.”

  When he finished the last inscription, Lucien leaned back, blowing lightly across the still-drying ink before looking up at the holographic window.

  “There,” he said, closing the cap of his pen. “All written, Happy now?”

  Riven leaned in closer, squinting at the words on his page through the feed. “Wait—‘music in stillness’? That’s actually poetic. I was expecting something like ‘for the loudest nuisance in my life.’”

  Lucien smirked. “That was my first draft. I edited for your sake.”

  Seliora crossed her arms, lips twitching. “And ‘burn bright, not flicker’? You’re dangerously close to flattering me, Lucien. I might start expecting this treatment regularly.”

  Kaelen, from the corner of the projection, adjusted his glasses. “I can live with mine. ‘Builds where others dream’—acceptable level of genius acknowledgment.”

  Evelis smiled gently. “Mine’s beautiful, Lucien. Thank you.”

  Lucien chuckled, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re welcome. Just remember—these are limited edition. Signed, numbered, and impossible to replace. If any of you spill tea or mechanical oil on them, I’m charging double for replacements.”

  Dorian’s dry laugh came through clearly. “A true businessman. You’d charge your own friends for sentimental value.”

  Lucien grinned. “Old habits. Poverty builds character—and a healthy respect for currency.”

  “Or stinginess,” Riven teased.

  Lucien waved him off, laughing. “Call it financial prudence.”

  He leaned back, stretching lightly before continuing, “Anyway, you’ll get to see your books in person soon enough. I’ll be heading to the University now—need to deliver the professor’s and chancellor’s copies myself, and since you five are already there, I might as well drop yours off too.”

  Seliora tilted her head. “You’re coming now?”

  “Yes” Lucien said, glancing at the clock.

  Riven grinned. “Perfect. We’ll be waiting. Try not to bring an entourage of fans.”

  Kaelen added dryly, “Or your sister. She might sell our copies on the way.”

  Lucien laughed. “Don’t tempt her. She already asked if she could open preorders.”

  Even Dorian cracked a smile at that. “She has her brother’s sense of enterprise. Dangerous combination.”

  “Clearly runs in the family,” Seliora said.

  Lucien nodded, smiling. “See you all later, then.”

  As the call dimmed, the faint reflections of their laughter lingered a few seconds longer, echoing softly in the quiet of his study.

  Copy No. 9 — For Professor Aelric Drovian

  “For the one who taught me that genius is discipline disguised as madness.”

  Copy No. 10 — For Chancellor Elira Voss

  “For the vision that allowed mine to grow.”

  He set them aside carefully, those two to be delivered in person — a gesture of respect words alone couldn’t hold.

  After the call ended, Lucien carefully wrapped two more books in plain brown paper, sealing them with a dark blue ribbon. The labels gleamed faintly under the desk light:

  Copy No. 11 — For Gareth Rendon

  “For the craft that turns ink into legacy — may your press find its rhythm again.”

  Copy No. 12 — For Theo Rendon

  “For the hands that kept the gears moving when hope nearly stopped.”

  He typed a short message to attach with the delivery drone request:

  > “Mr. Rendon, Theo — I wish I could deliver these in person, but the day’s been long.

  Consider these a small token of thanks for believing in this project when few would.

  We’ll meet soon — I owe you both a proper visit, and perhaps a fresh batch of pages to print.”

  The drone bay light blinked green as the packages slid into the secure compartment, ready to fly across Marilon’s sky toward Stone & Quill Press. Lucien watched it lift off through the window.

  Before heading out to the University, Lucien made one last stop downstairs at the café.

  He laid out six more copies on the counter, each with a neatly written note inside the cover — one for every member of his staff.

  Copies No. 13–18 went to Mira, Rian, Lira, Jareth, Elias, and Mariel — each inscription tailored to their quirks and roles, a mix of humor and quiet gratitude.

  Mira traced her name with surprised eyes. “You actually wrote one for each of us?”

  Lucien smiled. “I figured I owed the people who kept the place running while I locked myself away writing.”

  Elias let out a low whistle. “Careful, boss. If these sell for a fortune later, I might have to frame mine and retire.”

  Lucien chuckled. “Just don’t sell it before I make it that far.”

  Rian, Lira and Mariel exchanged grins, while Jareth patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll take good care of the café. Don’t worry.”

  Finally, he turned toward two familiar faces seated at their usual corner table and gave the last two of the first batch to the café’s oldest regulars— Mr. Corvan, a retired merchant with a sharp wit, and Miss Elayne, a kindly teacher whose laughter had filled the café since its first day.

  He set a copy before each of them. “For you both,” he said warmly. “Because every morning started with your stories long before mine were worth telling.”

  Corvan grinned, tapping the book cover with a finger. “Then I’ll say I owned an Ashborne first edition before it was fashionable.”

  Lucien laughed. “Make sure you say it loudly.”

  Elayne smiled, eyes glinting with fondness. “We’ll do more than that. We’ll brag.”

  Lucien shook his head, still smiling as he gathered his things. “Good. I’ll need the publicity.”

  He gave the counter one last look before heading out toward the University.