Eldridge Grand Plaza overflowed—banners fluttered, hawkers juggled chestnuts, and a hush fell as trumpets blared. Ten horse-drawn wagons, laden with stone blocks, lined one side of the square; opposite, ten cycles gleamed in regimented rows.
King Aldwin's envoy raised a silver baton. "Five leagues to Millbridge and back. Same cargo weight."
Sharath mounted his lead cycle, heart bass-drumming. Jakób to his left, Mira to his right—faces streaked with axle grease war-paint.
The baton dropped. Horses lunged; wheels spun; mud spattered like rain. Cycles surged, lighter, slicing through early mist.
Kilometer one: parity. Horses snorted clouds, drivers whipped. Jakob signaled a gear shift; cycles edged ahead.
Kilometer two: thunder rolled—literal thunder. Sky tumbled dark; rain slammed. Road morphed to sludge. A wagon yoke snapped; team heaved sideways; driver toppled.
Sharath braked, skidding. Aldric's watchers smirked—delay cost time. Yet Sharath leapt off, chain-hoisted the wagon upright with Jakob and Mira. Workers jammed a spare beam. Cheers from soaked peasants.
Back on track. Kilometers three and four blurred. Rain blinded; grit scoured skin. Mira's chain shattered—sabotaged rivet? She faltered; crowd gasped. Sharath doubled back, yanked emergency link from his toolkit, patched her chain under pelting drops. Time bled, but faith gained.
Millbridge turnaround: cycles trailed by mere breaths. Sharath glimpsed Aldric under a pavilion, expression unreadable.
Return leg: mud suction slowed horses; cycles glided on narrow ruts carved by earlier wheels. Sharath counted heartbeats—rhythm of progress. Plaza came into view: crowd roar crescendo.
Cycles crossed; horses lumbered minutes later. Official time: cycles, 1 hour 12; wagons, 2 hours 5.
But proof wasn't just speed. Sharath produced ledgers: feed costs saved, manpower reduced, delivery volumes doubled. King's envoy recorded every figure.
Aldric stepped forward, rain dripping from plumed hat. He removed gloves, applauded—slow, deliberate. Murmurs rippled like aftershocks. "Nephew," he said, voice carrying, "your wheels have outrun my doubts."
Sharath blinked water from lashes, bowed. "Then ride with me, Uncle. Help steer change."
Aldric swung leg over a spare cycle. Tentative wobble became steady stride. Crowd erupted—a symbol of reconciliation rolling across cobblestones.
That evening, Eldridge taverns rang with new ballads: *The Day Stone Blocks Flew.*