Even as the Grand Empire flourished beneath the brilliance of Sharath Virayan Darsha, the world beyond grew restless.
Ambassadors returned home whispering of sky-tunnels, magic-cycles, and cities reborn. Nobles scoffed in public but trembled in private. What began as envy soon mutated into desperation.
From the ivory courts of Velmyria to the frost-citadels of Thalandor, rulers convened hastily. Imitation plans were scribbled on stolen parchment, but each failed to grasp the soul beneath the steel.
In one kingdom, a noble cut corners to hasten road work—only to have an entire bridge collapse mid-festival, killing dozens. In another, forced labor dug trenches for weeks only to be left unpaid and hungry, triggering revolt.
It became clear: they could mimic Sharath's designs, but not his intent.
The fires of innovation could not be kindled by greed alone.