The harsh cacophony of agitated water and grinding steel filled the air in a largely empty room with two notable excepts, a metallic hunk of animated iron in the middle and several men standing around it. While it was an unsightly object... the men in the room knew the potential value that such an object could have as it made repetitive movements. That was the key... it was a tireless metal beast of repetition. It did not have to rest. It did not sleep. It did not stop. It only had to eat. As long as the fires were fueled with coal, the engine would not stop. Day and night, it would continue its repetition. Grueling, repetitive manual labor could be replaced. Hispalis was on the verge of a new revolution.

Yet, the King of Hispalis kept his excitement tempered. The engine worked. It worked TOO well. It had the potential to disturb the jobs and livelihoods of thousands if not millions. Millers, weavers... and more could find themselves replaced by the 'machine'. Productive citizens were a foundation of a nation, and the engine threatened to disturb it if they were too careless with the implementation of the machine. Charles looked to the creator, Julio Vera, and said "Your ingenuity and resourcefulness are a treasure to the nation. Mr. Vera, you will hear from me soon. In the decades to come, your work may span entire cities if not the entire country. I will see to it, but first we must test the engine and see how economically viable it is in commercial use. Until then, farewell and continue to be a shining paragon of Hispalis ingenuity."

---

King Charles looked at the reports from the growing wars to the east. It was a scary fact and statistic to read, yet he knew that for the people who lived there that the horrors of war had reared its ugly head. Perhaps... it could have been avoided, but by now it was clearly too late. He prayed that the conflict would end swiftly and that despite all the bloodshed that it would not be in complete vain.

"...And when the burning moment breaks,
And all things else are out of mind,
And only joy of battle takes
Him by the throat and makes him blind,
Through joy and blindness he shall know,
Not caring much to know, that still
Nor lead nor steel shall reach him, so
That it be not the Destined Will.

The thundering line of battle stands,
And in the air Death moans and sings;
But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,
And Night shall fold him in soft wings."