CH741 · Rewrite
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Chapter 741: The Art of Sound Transmission

Roland wiped the fine sweat from Anna’s forehead and held her against him.

In the lamplight, the flush across her face had not entirely faded.

She had grown bolder since their last conversation about the Dream World. She tried things she’d never tried before—learning with the same earnest attention she brought to her books, though progress here was slower. The seriousness of it was entirely Anna: precise, unhurried, unconcerned about looking uncertain while she worked. He found himself the one being patient for once. His visual enjoyment far outpaced the physical. He could not quite keep the pride off his face.

After, they lay quiet together and talked. That was its own ritual.

He pressed his lips to her hair and began—the news from the Taquila Witches, his thinking about the Battle of Divine Will, the civilizations rumored to exist beyond the mountains.

“We already knew our world was just a corner of the continent,” Anna murmured when he finished. “But I didn’t expect there would be entirely different peoples living beneath the mountains. This world really does keep surprising us.” She shifted against him. “Maybe one day we’ll go there ourselves—set foot on that far shore and see what’s hidden across the sea.”

“I promise that day will come.”

And if they couldn’t sail, they could fly. Any land visible through a telescope was reachable. All it required was a combustion engine and enough hull.

“But does God actually exist? He left behind relics that made us fight each other.” A silence. “Maybe he’s watching from somewhere right now.”

“Are you afraid?”

He pulled her closer without thinking.

“No. I want to thank him.”

“For what?”

“For sending you to me.” She looked up, barely above a whisper.

He saw it in her eyes—something she hadn’t tried to hide. A stillness there, and very deep.

Warmth moved through him that had no better name.

“I’ll always be with you.”

“You can’t stay with me all the time.”

“I—”

Her hand covered his mouth before he could finish.

“You’re the king. You’ll be the commander when the war with the demons comes. You can’t stay in Neverwinter forever just for me—I wouldn’t want you to. The soldiers at the front need to see you. The people in the other cities need you. I know that.” Her voice was soft, without bitterness. “Roland, I’m already content. That I get to hear your stories like this—it’s enough.”

He was quiet a moment.

She means it. That’s what makes it worse.

“You’re right. But wherever I am—you’ll always be able to hear my stories. I promise you that.”

She blinked, reading something beneath the words. “Without the Sigil of Listening?”

“Without it.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow.” He rolled toward her, kissed the soft curve below her ear, traced down to the hollow of her collarbone and left a faint mark on her skin. “But right now—it’s my turn.”

They came together again, and afterward the only sound was their breathing, unhurried, the rise and fall of it carrying until it faded entirely.


The next morning Roland walked with Anna through the backyard of North Slope Mountain.

Lucia had arrived ahead of them. She set aside her work and bowed. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty! Good morning, Sister Anna! Sister Nightingale!” Ring echoed her sister’s curtsy with a cheerful noise entirely her own.

Roland waved off the formality and went directly to the workbench. He pulled out a sheet of white paper and began to draw.

He meant to fulfill last night’s promise—before the Taquila survivors departed for the Western Region—and produce a communication tool that needed no magic. A device to carry his voice to Anna across any distance.

A wire telephone.

The principle was elementary: the simplest application of electromagnetic induction. Sound waves would vibrate a metal reed inside a voice tube, changing the magnetic flux through a nearby field and generating a fluctuating induced current. At the far end, the earpiece would reverse the process—electromagnetic coils responding to the current, vibrating a membrane, converting current back into voice.

In other words, the same physics as a generator or a motor, only smaller and quieter; rotation traded for resonance.

As soon as he sketched the design and explained the mechanism, Anna understood. Her eyes lit.

“I’ll get Mystery Moon and Soraya.”

“Electricity and magnetism exchange into voice?” Nightingale wore the expression she reserved for advanced mathematics—alert but adrift. She glanced at Lucia to see whether her confusion was shared, and found Lucia already pondering with a slight frown.

“Electricity and magnetism arise from each other, and magnetism transforms into force…” Ring offered helpfully, looking between the adults. “Sister, is this the second chapter of Elementary Physics?”

Nightingale picked up a piece of dried fish, tucked it under her arm, and stepped into the Mist without a word.

Roland bit back his laughter. He knew the mechanism was simple to describe but not simple to build—the real obstacle wasn’t the phone itself but the signal.

Electrical signals attenuate.

That was precisely why the telephone had spent decades as a curiosity after its invention: past a certain distance, voices became indistinguishable from noise. The vacuum tube—which could amplify the signal—was what made the telephone genuinely useful. But Roland was poorly positioned to make electron tubes. His Dream World knowledge of electricity was thin. Even with access to those memories, he found it intractable.

Since amplification was off the table, the solution was reduction: minimize the loss rather than recover what was lost.

Two methods.

First: increase the wire’s diameter. Anna’s Blackfire could draw copper wire to any specification he required. According to what he recalled, a 4 mm conductor could sustain clear transmission across fifty to sixty kilometers without a repeater—compared to the standard 0.4 to 0.6 mm telephone wire. Wasteful, but it eliminated the amplifier problem entirely.

Second: reduce signal divergence through a coaxial cable. Wrap the signal wire in a conducting metal mesh, insulate both layers, and the result was a Faraday cage that confined the electrical signal within the cable rather than letting it radiate outward. In the history he remembered, cable-wrapping technology had come late, and people had used loading coils in the interim—helical wire casings that reduced signal loss inductively. He didn’t need that workaround. Anna’s precision cutting and Soraya’s special coating could produce a coaxial cable in a single step.

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