Chapter 30 – Ambition on the Press Floor

  The doors of the maglev slid open with a soft chime, and Lucien stepped aboard with Dorian close behind him. The sleek cabin hummed with quiet power, its polished metal walls reflecting the glow of the route lines overhead. As they found their seats near the window, the maglev eased forward — smooth, silent, impossibly fast.

  It still amazed Lucien how quickly the city shifted outside the glass.

  Marilon was enormous — far too large for trams or metros alone.

  Street trams handled the inner districts.

  The underground metro web tied the central zones together.

  But places on the far edges of the Free City — like Stone & Quill Press — needed something faster.

  That was what the internal maglev lines were for.

  Not the intercity maglevs that connected cities across Caelora, but the high-speed routes crisscrossing Marilon itself — built because the city was simply too vast for slower systems.

  Lucien glanced at the passing scenery as buildings blurred into streaks.

  “I didn’t think the press would be this far,” he admitted.

  Dorian tapped a few notes into his slate. “It used to be central,” he said. “But as Marilon expanded, the industrial districts kept getting pushed outward. Small presses like Stone & Quill either relocated or got swallowed up by larger companies.”

  Lucien nodded slowly.

  “It’s strange,” he murmured. “My books have been printed there for quite some time now… and I've never even seen the place.”

  “That’s exactly why we’re going today,” Dorian replied. “You wanted to meet them properly, not just through wristlink calls.”

  Lucien smiled faintly. “Right. I still feel guilty we only talked through holo. The Rendon’s have been doing so much work.”

  “They're proud to do it,” Dorian said. “Still, meeting in person strengthens the partnership. And since you finally have a free day…”

  He gave Lucien a pointed look.

  “…before you get swallowed by fans, orders, or your own writing again.”

  Lucien sighed. “That’s not my fault.”

  “It never is,” Dorian said dryly.

  Lucien leaned back, watching the route display shift toward the outer districts.

  He’d wanted the whole group to come — Riven, Kaelen, Seliora, Evelis — but everyone had their own commitments today.

  So that left him and Dorian — which, considering the purpose of the visit, made perfect sense.

  If anyone was necessary for this trip, it was Dorian.

  “Just us today,” Lucien murmured.

  “Good,” Dorian said firmly. “If the others came, they’d turn this into a field trip.”

  Lucien chuckled. “…Probably.”

  The maglev slowed as the view transitioned into an older zone, where the architecture leaned practical and compact compared to the sleek central districts.

  “We’ll reach the nearest station in three stops,” Dorian said, reviewing something on his slate. “Theo Rendon confirmed yesterday when I passed on your message. They’re expecting us.”

  Lucien rubbed his palms together, a quiet ripple of anticipation stirring in his chest.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he admitted. “I want to see how everything works. How the book becomes… real.”

  Dorian gave a small approving nod. “Then today will be a good day.”

  The maglev chimed as it neared their stop, its smooth deceleration barely noticeable. Lucien straightened slightly, a quiet sense of anticipation settling in. He had imagined this visit for days — the sounds, the machines.

  The doors slid open, and a cool breeze greeted them as they stepped onto the platform. This part of the Free City felt different — calmer, older, less hurried than the center. Pavement stones ran in long, even rows, and the buildings stood in sturdy blocks designed for work rather than display.

  They walked a few minutes in comfortable silence, following a narrow street where delivery bikes and cargo drones zipped by overhead.

  “This area used to be the go-to place for printing in Marilon,” Dorian explained as he checked the address again. “Before the big corporate presses took over most of the major contracts, this district used to be the printing heart of Marilon. Stone & Quill is one of the few independent workshops still holding their ground— barely.”

  “And mine is the first book they’ve printed in a while,” Lucien said softly.

  “One of the first in years,” Dorian confirmed. “Which is why meeting them in person matters. You’re not just giving them work — you helped them restart.”

  Lucien’s steps slowed. “I didn’t think it meant that much.”

  “It does,” Dorian said simply.

  As they turned the next corner, a sign came into view — faded, but unmistakable.

  STONE & QUILL PRESS

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  etched in metal across a broad glass door.

  Inside, faint vibrations hummed through the floor — the rhythmic thrum of heavy machinery at work.

  Lucien’s heartbeat matched the steady rhythm for a moment before Dorian pushed the door open with a quiet, “After you.”

  Lucien took a small breath and stepped inside.

  Warm air, thick with the scent of ink and paper, wrapped around him immediately. The space wasn’t large, but it felt alive — tables stacked with fresh sheets, rails of neatly organized paper, and rows of machines quietly operating with practiced precision.

  And standing near the entrance, wiping his hands on a cloth, Theo Rendon looked up with a grin that reached his eyes.

  “There you are!” he said, stepping forward with an energy that made the workshop feel brighter. “Lucien Vale Ashborne, in person. Welcome to our little corner of Marilon.”

  Lucien returned the smile. “Thanks for having us. I’ve been wanting to visit for a while.”

  Theo gestured animatedly toward the back of the workshop.

  “Come on — Dad’s at the press. You’re in time to see the morning batch.”

  Lucien followed, curiosity stirring as more of the machines came into view — sturdy, well-maintained, and humming with steady motion. Dorian walked beside him, already shifting into business mode as his slate flickered awake.

  Theo’s voice rose above the steady rhythm of the workshop.

  “We started printing the latest orders early,” Theo said, excitement slipping into his voice. “The response from the university promotion has been wild. Orders haven’t stopped since then.”

  Lucien blinked. “…That many?”

  Theo grinned. “More than we expected — by a lot.”

  Before Lucien could respond, a deeper voice joined them.

  “That’s not an exaggeration.”

  Gareth Rendon stepped away from the main press — a broad-shouldered man with steady eyes and ink-stained fingers. He approached with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent a lifetime keeping machines alive through sheer skill and stubborn patience.

  He approached with a grin, wiping his hands on a cloth.

  “There he is — Mr. Ashborne himself. The man whose manuscript has been keeping our presses awake.”

  Lucien shook his hand with a laugh.

  “Just Lucien is fine, Mr. Rendon. We’ve talked enough on holo that the formal titles feel strange now.”

  Gareth chuckled. “Then Lucien it is. And in that case, call me Gareth.”

  Theo stepped forward eagerly. “Same here — Mr. Ashborne—”

  Lucien raised a hand, smiling. “Lucien, Theo. Please.”

  Theo grinned. “Lucien it is, then.”

  Gareth nodded in approval, gesturing toward the interior of the workshop.

  “Good. Now come on — let me show you where your pages come alive.”

  He turned slightly and gestured to the press behind him.

  “Come. The latest sheets are coming off now.”

  Lucien stepped closer — drawn in by the steady roll of paper, the scent of fresh ink, and the soft mechanical rhythm filling the air. A sheet slid into view, crisp and warm, the title bold across the top:

  A Study in Scarlet

  By Lucien Vale Ashborne

  Theo lifted one freshly printed page with practiced care.

  “Want to see?”

  Lucien reached out, taking the page between his fingers.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected, but the sight pulled him in immediately.

  Lucien leaned closer, completely absorbed.

  “This is amazing,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen it for real before.”

  Gareth chuckled softly. “It always feels different when it’s right in your hands.”

  Lucien nodded, the pages suddenly feeling more concrete than he expected.

  Theo excused himself to fetch refreshments, and Gareth followed a moment later to check on a delivery, leaving the press floor momentarily quiet. The steady hum of the machines filled the space between Lucien and Dorian like a low, thoughtful backdrop.

  Dorian glanced around, reviewing numbers on his slate.

  “We should go over the—”

  “I’m thinking of acquiring the press,” Lucien said suddenly.

  Dorian paused, then slowly raised his head from the slate as if he’d misheard.

  “…I’m sorry,” Dorian said, blinking once, “did I hear that correctly, or is my brain malfunctioning? Where did that even come from?”

  Lucien didn’t look away. “It’s not sudden.”

  “Lucien.”

  Dorian lowered the slate, expression shifting into that specific look he reserved for when Lucien said something completely unreasonable, but he wanted to understand before reacting.

  “Explain,” he said. “Preferably in a way that makes sense.”

  “When we first talked about publishing… and you told me about Stone & Quill and how they were struggling, the idea crossed my mind. Not to do it immediately — but the thought was there.””

  “You’ve been thinking about this since then?” Dorian repeated, incredulous.

  Lucien nodded. “I just didn’t expect to be thinking about it this soon.”

  Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lucien, you just finished paying off your family’s debts. Your first book is selling well — extraordinarily well — and the café is doing great. But this?”

  He gestured around the workshop.

  “This is a printing press, Lucien. A full-scale business. It’s capital-intensive, expensive to maintain, and comes with real responsibilities. This isn’t like running a café. This is an entirely different level of commitment.”

  “I know,” Lucien said softly.

  “No, I don’t think you do,” Dorian said, voice level but firm. “Because if you did, you’d know exactly what you’re stepping into.”

  He began counting off points, not angrily — but like a man carefully outlining the edge of a cliff.

  “Firstly: the Rendons are in debt. Deep debt. They’re operating because of your book. But one hit novel is not enough to pull a press completely out of the red.”

  Lucien didn’t flinch. “I’m aware.”

  “Secondly,” Dorian continued, “these machines are old. Good, reliable — but old. Replacing or upgrading them will cost a fortune. You’re talking about significant capital — I mean, significant.”

  “I know,” Lucien repeated.

  “Third,” Dorian said, “you have zero experience running a press. You don’t know the logistics, supply-chain demands, maintenance schedules, technical breakdowns, or workforce management.”

  Lucien straightened a little, absorbing every word without interrupting.

  “And the biggest question,” Dorian said at last, leaning back slightly, “are the Rendons even willing to sell? Because if they’re not, we’re having this conversation for absolutely nothing.”

  Lucien finally looked up.

  His voice was calm — almost too calm for the words that followed.

  “If they aren’t willing, that’s fine,” he said. “I won’t force them. But if not… then I’ll acquire another press eventually. I don’t want to hand over a huge chunk of my profits forever. Owning the process would help our margins in the long run.”

  Dorian stared at him.

  Actually stared.

  “…I’m sorry,” he said after a beat, “but how many books do you think you’re writing?”

  Lucien blinked. “A lot?”

  Dorian put a hand on his forehead.

  “You just published one book. One. And you’re already worrying about ‘long-term margins’ and ‘giving away profits’ like you’re a veteran author with a twenty-series empire.”

  He gestured around helplessly.

  “Even the top authors — the top — negotiate commissions and royalties per book. They fight for better percentages. They do not,” he emphasized, “acquire the printing press.”

  Lucien opened his mouth.

  Dorian cut him off.

  “No — no. I need a moment. I can’t comprehend this level of ambition before lunch.”

  Dorian was still muttering under his breath when Lucien gave him a small, wry smile — the kind that said I know how this sounds, without actually saying it.

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  Because how was he supposed to explain it?

  How was he supposed to tell Dorian that he had an inexhaustible reservoir of stories?

  That he didn’t just have a few ideas — he had an entire world’s worth?

  Books, movies, television, stage plays, songs, poetry, comics, anime, documentaries — thousands upon thousands of stories and cultures and worlds.

  Enough material to write for ten lifetimes, not one.

  He doubted he could even get through the entire archive in his own lifetime, let alone recreate it all.

  And he definitely couldn’t say that out loud.

  Right. As if he could just tell Dorian that he had a secret cross-world cultural archive in his head. Very believable.

  So he just let the thought drift quietly through his mind, tucked safely where no one would ever reach it.

  Outwardly, he simply shrugged lightly, trying to look humble and reasonable.

  “I just… think long-term,” he said instead, hoping that would be enough.

  Dorian stared at him like that explanation only raised ten more questions.

  And just then, footsteps echoed as Gareth and Theo returned with refreshments — completely unaware that the conversation they were walking into could change the future of Stone & Quill forever.