The Duke of Kelrath stood on the balcony of his study, a silver cup in hand. Below, the glow of the paper mills flickered like stars trapped in chimneys. Across the desk lay blueprints of a new expansion facility—double output, triple automation.
Sharath sat opposite, legs swinging just above the carpet. He was doodling a rotary printing press.
"You know," the Duke said, "there was a time I thought House Kelrath would fade into history. Comfortable. Respected. Irrelevant."
Sharath looked up. "Not anymore."
The Duke chuckled. "No. Not since you walked into my study and told me you'd fix the kingdom's parchment problem."
He raised the cup.
"To the mind behind the movement. To the future emperor—not of land or sword—but of commerce and thought."
Sharath clinked his glass. "To the empire we write, not rule."