Behind closed doors, whispers traveled faster than ink.
"Why is Kelrath building two new banks?"
"Why does House Darsha now fund five academies?"
"Why do all petitions to the crown bear the SK watermark?"
It became impossible to ignore: the Empire's gravity was shifting.
Traditional royal suppliers—centuries-old families with ink-stained ledgers and dusty storage yards—found their warehouses empty. No orders came. Nobles no longer courted their contracts. The crown still demanded taxes, but no longer controlled the flow of parchment.
The power once hoarded in scrollrooms and seal-houses was now held by an eight-year-old inventor and a seasoned Duke.
The King's ministers protested.
Sharath only smiled and sent them ten reams of paper—for free.
Each bearing his logo.
Each a quiet warning