The Last Banner

Another week had passed, and the fruits of Hadrian's labour were finally ready for display. The prototype matchlock musket rested on the workbench, its polished barrel gleaming faintly in the morning light filtering through the workshop's narrow windows. It wasn't perfect—there were still minor adjustments to be made—but it was functional, and that was enough for now.

Hadrian stood by the workbench, running his fingers over the smooth stock as he mentally rehearsed the points he planned to present to his father. His heart pounded lightly in his chest, not from nerves but from anticipation. This was the first step toward something greater.

The door creaked open, and Cassandra's voice broke the silence. "Are you ready yet? You've been standing there forever."

Hadrian turned to see her standing in the doorway, her curls slightly more tamed than usual, with Sophia beside her. Sophia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "She means to say, we came to check if you're ready. Father doesn't like waiting."

Hadrian chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'm ready. Just making sure everything's in place."

Cassandra leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Are you going to show him how it works? Are we going to see it fire?"

"You'll see soon enough," Hadrian replied, carefully lifting the musket. He glanced at Sophia, who gave him a rare, approving nod.

"You look like you've got it handled," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Just don't let Father scare you into messing up."

Hadrian snorted. "I'll keep that in mind."

Cassandra's grin widened as she tugged at his arm. "Come on! He's waiting!"

With a deep breath, Hadrian followed his sisters out of the workshop, the weight of the musket steady in his hands. The walk back to the manor felt surreal—weeks of effort and planning distilled into a single weapon, a single moment. He glanced down at the musket, its polished barrel catching the light, and felt a flicker of pride.

This was just the beginning.

The study was quieter than usual, the faint scratch of a quill the only sound as Duke Leonidas worked at his desk. His pale complexion and occasional cough betrayed the toll his responsibilities were taking, but his sharp eyes remained as focused as ever. Priestess Althea stood nearby, her crimson and gold robes catching the light as she silently observed the Duke's work.

Hadrian entered the room, the matchlock musket cradled carefully in his hands. Behind him, Sophia and Cassandra peeked into the study before retreating down the hallway with muffled giggles. He ignored them, stepping forward with measured confidence.

"Father," Hadrian began, his voice steady. "I've completed the prototype."

Leonidas looked up, his piercing gaze falling on the weapon in Hadrian's hands. His expression shifted to one of guarded curiosity as he gestured for Hadrian to approach. "Let's see it."

Hadrian stepped forward and placed the musket on the desk, careful not to disturb the papers and maps scattered across its surface. The Duke leaned in, studying the weapon with a critical eye, while Althea moved closer, her emerald gaze narrowing slightly.

"This is it?" Leonidas asked, his tone skeptical but intrigued. "This is what you've spent weeks working on?"

"It's a matchlock musket," Hadrian explained, standing straight. "A weapon that doesn't rely on brute strength or years of training. With enough of these, we could revolutionize our defenses."

Leonidas picked up the musket, testing its weight and balance. His fingers traced the polished stock and the metal barrel, his expression unreadable. "And how does it work?"

Hadrian stepped closer, pointing to the trigger mechanism. "The barrel fires a small metal projectile using explosive powder. It's simple to load, aim, and fire. With proper training, even a farmer could wield it effectively."

Althea's voice cut through the room, smooth and measured. "Explosive powder?" she asked, her brows furrowing. "And what happens when that powder fails? Or when it's turned against us?"

Hadrian turned to her, keeping his tone calm. "Every weapon has risks. But the potential outweighs them. A single volley from a disciplined line of these could turn the tide of a battle."

Leonidas set the musket back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. "And you've tested it?"

"Yes," Hadrian said firmly. "The prototype works. It's not perfect, but it's functional. I'd like to demonstrate it for you."

Leonidas's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flicking between Hadrian and the weapon. "Very well," he said after a long pause. "But if this demonstration fails, this... project ends here."

Hadrian inclined his head, understanding the weight of the agreement. "It won't fail."

The demonstration took place in the courtyard, the cold ocean breeze brushing against Hadrian's skin as he positioned the musket on a makeshift stand. A small crowd of onlookers—guards, workers, and even Sophia and Cassandra—watched from the sidelines, their murmurs filling the air.

Leonidas stood at the edge of the courtyard, his arms crossed, while Althea watched with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Hadrian took a deep breath, steadying himself as he loaded the musket with powder and a small lead ball. His movements were precise, each step a testament to the hours he'd spent perfecting the process. Finally, he aimed the weapon at the target—a crude wooden board propped against the far wall.

The courtyard fell silent.

Hadrian pulled the trigger.

The musket roared to life, the crack of the shot echoing through the courtyard. Smoke billowed from the barrel, and the wooden target splintered as the lead ball struck it dead center. A moment of stunned silence followed before the crowd erupted into murmurs of shock and awe.

Leonidas stepped forward, his expression thoughtful as he inspected the target. "Impressive," he said quietly, turning back to Hadrian. "But one demonstration doesn't prove its worth."

"It's a start," Hadrian replied, meeting his father's gaze. "With time, I can improve the design and train a militia to use it effectively."

Althea's lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing, her sharp gaze lingering on Hadrian.

Leonidas nodded slowly, his expression still cautious. "You'll have your chance, Hadrian. But keep this effort focused. We can't afford waste."

Hadrian inclined his head, relief washing over him. "Thank you, Father."

As the crowd began to disperse, Hadrian allowed himself a small smile. The first step had been taken. The real work was about to begin.