The Power of Creation
Copyright© 2026 by Vasantrutu
Chapter 10: Kingdom Planning
I almost forgot to tell her about the experiments I had conducted during our journey back to the village.
When we reached the eastern gate, we slowed to a halt. The stone path beneath our feet felt different—cleaner, denser, as though it carried a will of its own. The moment we stepped fully onto it, the gate sensed our intent to leave.
Without a sound, the massive doors opened on their own.
Both of us froze.
My sister stared, stunned, while I simply stood there, processing what had just happened. As soon as we crossed the threshold, the gates closed behind us with a deep, resonant finality.
Mira made the mistake of looking back.
She staggered as if struck.
Concerned, I turned to see what had shaken her—and then I saw it. The eyes of the dragon heads, embedded into the gates, were glowing faintly. Not aggressively. Not threateningly. Simply... aware.
I let out a slow sigh and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. “That’s normal.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she steadied herself.
When we reached the end of the stone path, we stopped once more and turned back together. From this distance, the wall looked even more imposing—vast, seamless, and unmistakably menacing. At the same time, there was something strangely reassuring about it. Like a silent guardian standing watch.
Without another word, we resumed our journey toward the village.
When we were about two kilometers away, we took one final break. It was there that I decided to test something I had been thinking about since dawn.
I sat down, closed my eyes, and began to meditate.
Focusing on the mountain, I willed the gold within my domain to come to me.
When I opened my eyes, I saw it—fine golden dust, streaming through the air from the distant direction of my land. It moved like a living swarm, glinting in the sunlight, before slowing and hovering in front of me.
I extended my hand.
The dust settled gently into my palm.
That alone confirmed something crucial.
No matter where I was, I could access all resources within my domain.
For my second experiment, I focused again—this time on shaping the dust. I willed it to condense, refine, and take a familiar form. The domain pulsed once, faint but unmistakable, and when the light faded, a perfect gold coin rested in my hand.
I showed it to my sister and explained what I had done.
She listened carefully, then asked, “What kinds of coins can you make?”
“Copper, silver, and gold,” I replied. “Those are the only ones I’ve seen.”
She exhaled in relief.
“That’s more than enough,” she said firmly. “And never—ever—make mana-infused iron coins. There must always be limits.”
I nodded.
Some boundaries existed for a reason.
During the final stretch of our journey, my sister rarely stayed on the path. She kept drifting into the forest, returning each time with a different herb clasped in her hand. At first, she seemed pleased—until she noticed something odd.
Every time she brought one back, I identified it before she could explain.
By the third time, she stopped hiding her surprise.
We reached the village in just under six hours, arriving in the early afternoon. Mira didn’t let me linger. The moment we crossed the gates, she told me to head straight for the mana altar and replenish myself.
I obeyed without complaint.
Sitting before the altar, I meditated deeply, drawing in mana and storing it away. The familiar calm settled over me, grounding me after everything that had happened. When the bell for the final meal rang, a runner came to summon me.
I followed my sister home.
The moment I entered the dining room, I froze.
Seated at the table were the Village Elder and Iron Hauler.
In the corner of the room lay several neatly arranged items—stone, wood, soil, a basin of water, and bundles of leaves. Their presence was deliberate. Measured.
I was told to sit at the far end of the table, directly facing the elder, who occupied the head chair as always.
The meal began in silence.
Halfway through, my sister started speaking.
She recounted everything—our four-day journey, the mountain, the wall, the gates, the dragons, the rings, and my abilities. She left nothing out. The room grew heavier with every word.
When she finished, the elder set down his bowl and looked directly at me.
“Is everything your sister has said ... true?”
I nodded once.
After a brief pause, he spoke again, his tone calm but far more serious.
“I was aware that you possessed Creation magic. That alone was remarkable. But the combination with Spatial magic was ... unexpected.”
His gaze flicked briefly to the materials in the corner.
“These are for later. After the meal, you will create a replica of what you have built—your land, your walls, your defenses. We need to understand it fully.”
Then he leaned back slightly.
“As for spies,” he continued, “I am already aware of every one of them.”
My heart tightened.
“There are two paths before us,” he said. “The first is formal. We petition the Ironspine Capital to recognize us as a minor mining city. That will require purchasing additional land. For city status, we must control a minimum of ten kilometers of radius from a central point—either evenly or extended in one direction.”
He gestured north.
“As a mining village, expanding northward into the mountains is the optimal route. This gives us two advantages. First, increased access to resources for defenses and housing. Second, once recognized, the capital will be forced to withdraw all spies from our settlement.”
The elder’s eyes hardened slightly.
“The second option,” he said, “is the one your sister proposed.”
“To remain hidden. And allow you ... to build your kingdom quietly.”
Silence followed.
I swallowed and spoke carefully.
“Elder ... may I ask a question?”
He inclined his head once.
“You may.”
“You said that a ten-kilometer radius is required to declare a settlement as a small mining city,” I said carefully. “Then how much land would I need ... if what you’re calling this is a kingdom? First my sister used that word, and now you are as well.”
The elder did not answer immediately. He took a slow sip of water before replying.
“You are only beginning, so no one will question you now,” he said calmly. “But to answer you honestly—you would need at least twenty-five kilometers of radius, or land equivalent to that area.”
He fixed his gaze on me.
“Now tell me, Rowan. Which option do you choose?”
I set down my bowl and folded my hands in front of me.
“Elder,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “I am only ten years old. I respectfully ask everyone present to make this decision on my behalf.”
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then, one by one, heads began to nod.
Not in disappointment—but in approval.
The elder’s lips curved faintly before he spoke again.
“Very good,” he said. “You are wiser than most adults twice your age.”
He straightened.
“I choose Option One.”
A murmur of agreement passed through the room.
“As it stands,” the elder continued, “we intended to declare ourselves a city within a few years anyway. This merely accelerates our plans.”
Then his eyes shifted to me—sharp, calculating, and amused.
“As punishment,” he said, “you will be responsible for creating all the stone blocks required for the new city.”
Before I could react, he turned to my father.
“Ragan, I have an idea. Once we formally claim the northern lands, we will accelerate extraction. Within a decade, we will mine every ore and shard available.”
His voice softened slightly.
“After that, we retire. And the land ... will be gifted to Rowan.”
I nearly choked on my food.
The elder continued as if discussing the weather.
“This village consists mostly of elders and aging adults. If Rowan eventually declares himself a lord within Ironspine, the capital will be obligated to provide infrastructure, defense support, and resources.”
A sudden voice broke the rhythm.
“Village Elder,” my sister said, her tone sharp but controlled, “why not form an independent kingdom instead of remaining subordinate to Ironspine?”
The room froze.
My father half rose from his seat, fury flashing across his face—but the elder raised one hand, stopping him instantly.
“To answer your question,” the elder said slowly, “yes. It is possible.”
He looked at Mira, then at me.
“But the moment you declare independence, you invite war. Nobles, kings, and adventurers alike will descend upon you. Only a land with overwhelming defenses survives such a declaration.”
I nodded once, absorbing the warning.
And continued eating.
When the meal ended, my mother and sister cleared the table while Father and Iron Hauler brought forward the materials that had been stacked in the corner—stone, soil, wood, water, leaves.
I placed my hands over them and focused.
Creation magic surged.
When I opened my eyes, the raw materials were gone.
In their place sat a perfect miniature replica of my domain—the mountain, the outer wall, the keeps, the gates, the cleared land. Every detail was present.
Everyone except my sister and I leaned forward, examining it closely.
They inspected it for a long time.
Finally, the village elder nodded.
“Store it,” he said. “We will need it later.”
One by one, the adults stepped outside.
I sat there, nerves tightening in my chest, wondering what decisions were being made beyond the door.
When my father returned, his face was ... peaceful.
Pleased.
He placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Continue your experiments,” he said. “Your domain is yours to shape. Do as you see fit.”
He paused.
“You and your sister will attend the morning council meetings from now on.”
With that, my parents left the hall.
I turned to look at my sister.
She looked back at me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
We simply stared at each other—utterly, completely stupefied.
My sister only shook her head, muttered something about me being an idiot, and walked away. I merely shrugged and headed outside. When I reached the altar, I sat down on the cold stone and slipped back into meditation.
The moment my consciousness returned to the island within my void, I acted.
I willed the land to form another wall, identical in design to the outer one—but this time at a two-kilometer radius from the center point. Stone rose, compressed, and fused. Towers followed. The process was slower than before, more deliberate. By the time the wall stood complete, half the night had already passed.
As silence returned, my thoughts wandered.
A memory surfaced—one from my previous life. A medieval city-building game. I had played many such games, but one settlement stood out above the rest. It wasn’t grand or decorative. It was functional, brutally efficient, and painfully realistic.
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