Three weeks later, the ground outside Navaleon trembled—not from magic, but from ambition.
A field east of the Darsha estate, once home to wild lavender, now bore the skeleton of the first Unified Forge Complex. Dozens of cranes—hand-cranked and wind-levered—lifted beams into place. Furnaces roared. Engineers shouted instructions through brass megaphones.
Sharath stood beside the lead architect, reviewing site logistics. "Separate the alloy smelting and finishing bays. Cross-contamination reduces yield."
"You sure you're five?" the architect muttered.
Sharath barely looked up. "You sure you're not mixing your manganese alloys?"
The man blinked. Then barked a laugh.
Every week, caravans rolled in. Steel, tin, copper, wood—some enchanted, most not—arrived from allied provinces. Merchants from distant cities watched in awe as raw materials were sorted, processed, and converted into calibrated components.
And above it all flew the crest of House Darsha: no longer just a flame, but a wheel within the fire.
The forge didn't just build parts. It forged trust, unity, and momentum.