Midsummer glow bathed Eldridge amphitheatre where King Aldwin convened the Great Connectivity Summit—an unprecedented congress of nobles, guildmasters, clergy, and citizen delegates chosen by town councils. Neither crown decree nor noble edict would dictate the Lightning Line's final shape; the network belonged to all.
Sharath opened with statistics: courier coverage—97% of settlements within fifteen leagues; telegraph line—3,200 miles strung; literate population—sixty-eight percent, projected seventy-five within two years. "We stand," he said, pointer tapping map's mesh of red and copper threads, "on verge of simultaneous awareness. No village need wait for audience at capital; no injustice hide behind distance. But we must govern this network wisely."
Debate spilled like mead. Baroness Telra demanded tolls on wire messages to fund maintenance. A baker's guild delegate argued tolls would price out common folk. Bishop Luron called for moral oversight to prevent "sinful correspondence." Sister Calliane countered: knowledge is no sin, only its misuse.
Elina proposed tiered service: basic legal and weather wires free; commercial traffic low fee; bulk data packages negotiable. Garrick presented maintenance budget: lines, towers, rune crystals, horse-drawn supply wagons. The numbers sobered even the talkative merchant princes.
Mid-afternoon, lightning cracked clear sky—summer heatstorm brewing. Delegates flinched. Sharath saw omen: talk of unity must face nature's impartial test.
Storm struck at dusk: sheets of rain lashed amphitheatre awnings. Conference recessed; delegates scattered to inns. In tower control room, telegraph clerk shouted: "Signal lost Birch Hollow to Wheatfen; tower struck."
Sharath, drenched, sprinted to equipment room. He and Azra monitored surge crystals glowing dangerously. Fail-safes held; damage isolated. Within an hour Red-Cap relay reported Birch Hollow beacon intact—line severed by felled oak. Maintenance crew dispatched before second lightning flash faded.
At dawn, summit reconvened, benches still damp. Sharath described night's events: system contained strike, rerouted messages via northern spur. "Resilience," he said, "cost us copper, rune labor, planning. But it saved lives—no false alarms, no rumormongers exploiting blackout."
Vote followed. Crown Courier & Lightning Line Charter adopted: joint crown-citizen board to set tolls, fund maintenance, enforce ethical codes. Every tower would display flow-chart of maintenance funds, monthly audit open to public.
Sister Calliane drafted Ethical Edicts—privacy respect, libel penalties, emergency priority rules. Town delegates insisted on citizen ombuds presence in every regional hub.
King Aldwin ratified charter with emerald seal. "We are"—he paused, surveying crowd—"not merely kingdom of land, but kingdom of mind, bound by lines of copper and trust. May we guard both."
Celebrations erupted. Fireworks—pyro-runes in aether shells—painted sky with wheels and lightning bolts entwined. People read about charter signing in next morning's Truth—delivered before celebration embers cooled—thanks to Grace, the new optimized multiplex line.
Sharath sat on tower balcony, shoulders wrapped in Elina's shawl. Below, towers blinked green across valley, like rhythmic heartbeat pulses. He recalled his first infant observation of mana patterns swirling in nursery air—mysterious, intangible. Now he guided patterns consciously, harnessing them into message that united a nation.
"El," he whispered, squeezing her hand, "imagine voice traveling this wire. Not code, but speech itself. If we could modulate current—vary waves—"
She smiled, eyes reflecting distant beacons. "One dream at a time, dear inventor."
He chuckled. "Dreams overlap." Already he pictured voice telegraphy, electro-phonic tubes, image transmission—starlight futures.
But for this night, he allowed himself pride: a kingdom once divided by terrain, ignorance, and fear now shared same sunrise news, same rainfall warnings, same conversation across leagues. Copper, crystal, and red-capped grit had drawn scattered hearts into chorus.
"Connected," Elina said softly.
"And ready," Sharath replied. Ready for storms yet to come, for inventions yet to birth, for truths yet to speak. The lines would carry them all—and carry the kingdom into mornings unlimited.