The village changed its name: Gearrest—the place where gears restlessly turned.
Windmills buzzed like summer bees. Water wheels spun even at night. Street lamps powered by paddle pumps glowed orange across cobbled lanes.
Famine? Vanished.
Crime? Dropped.
Work? Abundant.
People arrived from distant provinces just to see it.
Sharath's apprentices expanded into forge management, irrigation grids, public workshops. Knowledge became currency. Gearrest wasn't a town.
It was a blueprint.
And Sharath? He was no longer just a voice.
He was infrastructure.