It was dusk by the time the summit reached its turning point. Heated debates. Contract scrolls unrolled. Blueprints passed from hand to hand. Some rose to leave—only to sit back down as another merchant voiced support for the Compact.
Sharath watched the shifting alliances, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His words had landed—not as commands, but as possibility. This wasn't about domination. He didn't want House Darsha to rule Navaleon.
He wanted it to ignite it.
Lord Darshan placed a hand on his son's shoulder as the first ink dried on the new industrial accords. "You've done something dangerous," he murmured. "You've shown men how to dream without magic."
Sharath looked up. "Dreams built the world, Father. I just gave them wheels."
And in that moment, under flickering chandeliers and echoing voices of newfound allies, a child's vision became the bedrock of a nation's transformation.