They summoned him again.
This time, Sharath walked into the throne chamber taller, his step steadier, his voice no longer that of a boy but of a force.
Lord Vekran roared, "He mocks us!"
The Queen, more tired than furious, gestured him forward. "Your Royal Herald is dying," she said. "Fix it."
Sharath didn't answer. He took a piece of chalk from his sleeve and, without asking permission, began drawing on the polished floor.
A triangle. Audience. Purpose. Reach.
Then—circles connecting domains: Foreign Eyes. Domestic Hearts. Strategic Messaging. Storycraft.
He turned back. "You built a wall. I built a window."
The Queen stared.
"Do you want control?" Sharath asked. "Then don't look inward."
"Look outward."