The factory floor hummed with rhythm—rollers creaked, pulping vats steamed, and conveyor lines fed bundles of SK paper into sealed crates. But amidst this industrious harmony, silence reigned on one topic: how it all worked.
Every laborer signed an oath, overseen by Duke Kelrath's own clerks. Engineers were compartmentalized. No single worker knew the full blueprint.
Sharath had gone further: a three-layered protocol of secrecy. Inner-circle knowledge resided only in his encrypted journals and the Duke's red-sealed vault. Machinery components were deliberately altered—any stolen piece would seem like a design flaw when copied.
Meanwhile, rumors flourished.
"Fairy ink's involved," said one scribe.
"They use dragonscale molds," claimed another.
Even nobles speculated wildly, some believing it was magic, others whispering that SK had recruited renegade alchemists.
The truth was far more dangerous: pure logic, pure science—and a boy who understood both better than the Empire's best.