The days that followed were a whirlwind of design and desperation. Sharath scoured scrolls on ancient flying machines, studied the wings of dragons, the lungs of fire elementals, and the mathematics of updrafts.
He sent letters to old seamstresses—Elina's childhood guild—commissioning enchanted silk tougher than dragonhide yet lighter than a whisper. It had to be beautiful. It had to glow.
The forge near his lab ran day and night. A basket carved from heat-tempered heartwood took shape, reinforced with alloy and wards. Beneath it, Sharath designed a hybrid brazier that combined a controlled magical flame with a self-regulating wood-gas converter—balancing heat, mana, and combustion in perfect rhythm.
His daughter peeked in one night, eyes wide. "Papa... are you building a dragon?"
He chuckled, smudged with ash. "No, sweetheart. I'm building a phoenix."