Within a month, the world changed.
Caravans of scrolls gave way to bundles of broadsheets. Messengers became Information Guards, trained not just in speed but in fact-checking, distribution, and counter-propaganda.
At intersections of trade and politics, post offices emerged—modest buildings flying the Darshan-Vellari sigil. Each one a lantern in the dark, as Sharath described them before the Riverwood Council.
Maps hung in every station showed expanding inkroads—routes not for armies, but for ideas.
When the nobility gathered to review the new infrastructure, Baron Elrik of Westhill, face red and fingers trembling, stood in protest.
"This press undermines order!" he barked. "You'd arm the peasantry with... with thoughts!"
Sharath stepped forward, still smaller than the baron's boots, but towering in intent.
"They've always had thoughts," he said. "We're just teaching them to use their voices."
Gasps echoed. Some stood in applause. Others in alarm.
Krishnaar leaned to Lord Darshan and whispered, "Your son just rewired the soul of the kingdom."
And outside, from villages to castles, people read stories they had once never dared imagine—their own.