The journey back to Oakhaven was a slow, heavy crawl, but for the first time, the weight wasn't a burden. The "Iron Caravan" carried the official Imperial Seal, a literal license to print money—or at least, the coins that represented it. Yet, as the familiar jagged peaks of the Northern Range loomed over the horizon, Deacon felt a shift in the environment. It wasn't the air, but the ground.
As the wagons entered the valley, the rhythmic vibrations of the Oakhaven foundries felt... amplified.
"David, leave the crates for the quartermaster," Miller shouted, waving a grease-stained cap from the doorway of the deep-well pump-house. He looked exhausted, but it was the frantic energy of a man who had seen a miracle, not a ghost. "You need to see the new exploratory shaft. Section 4-B."
Deacon handed his reins to a stable boy and followed Miller, Julian trailing behind with a hand on his sword, still wary of the Capital's reach. They descended into the cool, damp dark of the lower mines.
"We were drilling for a secondary water source to feed the new Steam-Stamps you promised the Empress," Miller explained as the elevator cage clattered downward. "We hit a pocket of metamorphic quartz. We expected a flood, but what we got was... pressure."
They stepped out into Section 4-B. The air was warm—unnaturally so for a northern mine—and smelled of clean, ionized water. In the center of the shaft, a capped pipe was vibrating with a low, musical hum. A needle on a nearby brass gauge was pegged at its maximum.
"It's a dry-steam vent," Deacon noted, his Logistical Insight instantly calculating the flow rate. He knelt, placing a gloved hand on the pipe. The heat was intense but steady. "You didn't hit a pocket, Miller. You hit a Geothermal Siphon."
"A siphon?" Julian asked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Is it magic? Some lingering spell from the First Era?"
"No," Deacon said, standing up. "It's geology. The mountain's core is heating the groundwater, and the quartz layer we just breached was acting as a natural pressure cooker. This is a gift, not a curse. This 180°C steam is pure energy. If we can pipe this directly to the surface, we won't need to burn a single ounce of coal to run the main foundries."
The realization settled over the group. The Silver Circle had tried to choke Oakhaven by controlling the coal trade. With this discovery, their primary weapon was neutralized. Oakhaven was no longer just a workshop; it was sitting on its own power plant.
"But the infrastructure..." Miller started, rubbing his chin. "David, to move this much pressure to the surface foundries, we'll need high-tensile piping. Our current cast-iron won't hold. It'll shatter under the thermal expansion."
"Then we make better iron," Deacon said, his mind already shifting to the next phase of the industrial build-out. "We have the Royal Charter. We have the funding. We're going to build a District Heating and Power System. We'll pipe the excess heat under the town's streets to keep the winter at bay and use the primary pressure to drive a centralized drive-shaft for the entire Industrial Zone."
Deacon looked at the gauge. It wasn't a countdown to an explosion; it was the heartbeat of his new city. The "First Era" hadn't left behind a bomb; they had left a foundation.
"Julian," Deacon said, turning to his brother. "The Silver Circle will send 'Inspectors' once they realize we aren't buying their coal. Let them come. By the time they arrive, Oakhaven won't be a barony anymore. It'll be a factory that never sleeps."
He looked back at the vibrating pipe. The struggle for the North had entered a new stage. It was no longer about surviving the audit; it was about the Great Integration. They had the spark; now they had to build the engine that could contain it.