The Grand Hall blazed with anticipation. Nobles in velvet. Mages in robes. Farmers in awe. Sharath took the stage, robes smeared with soot, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
He held a single bulb in one hand. Elina stood beside him—not as princess, but as co-builder.
He spoke without flourish.
"This is not magic. This is not miracle. This is intention, shaped into reality. A new way to see. A safer way to live."
He whispered a word—ancient, precise.
The bulb ignited. Warm. Clear. Silent.
The court rose in stunned silence.
The King stepped forward.
"Let this light be our new sigil. From this day, we lead not with torches—but stars."