The grand hall of House Darsha was awash in afternoon light. Glass-filtered sunbeams pooled over polished stone, illuminating tapestries that bore the weight of generations: lions in battle, scrolls of justice, swords wreathed in flame.
Sharath lay upon a velvet play mat beside the dais—where his father usually dispensed judgment and decrees—chewing on a duck-shaped blanket and quietly observing the flow of power.
Around him, nobles murmured in hushed tones. A visiting baron discussed tax levies. A steward recited logistical reports. One of the old vassals was dramatically requesting permission to execute a tree for dropping too many cursed apples.
These people run an empire. And some of them genuinely fear their orchard.
But Sharath was listening to more than nonsense. He was listening to the subtext.
To how decisions were made.
Who interrupted whom.
How titles bent conversations like gravity bent light.
And how power was inherited, not earned.
❖ Lines in StoneThat week, Sharath was introduced—passively—to the Doctrine Stones: five monumental slabs mounted in the Hall of Ancients. Each one bore the Creed of Nobility, carved in ancient glyphs and sealed with ancestor-binding spells.
Lady Ishvari read them aloud one evening while cradling Sharath against her shoulder.
"To rule is to preserve.""To guide is to reflect.""Change is to be weighed, not chased.""Innovation must honor the past.""The roots must hold, even as the branches stretch."
There it is, Sharath thought. The prime directive of cultural inertia.
It wasn't that innovation was forbidden.
It was simply… distrusted.
Tolerated only when smothered in ritual, bound in precedent, and served with a side of ancient approval.
He filed it mentally as the Stone Ceiling.
If I bring change too fast, I'll shatter their worldview. If I bring it too slowly, I'll die of frustration.
❖ Lessons in StatusLater that week, Sharath was carried into the family garden for fresh air—and witnessed an argument that would reshape his understanding of Navaleon's social order.
A noble boy—perhaps five years old—was lecturing a servant child who had spilled a water jug.
"You bow when nobles pass," the boy said, puffing his chest. "Even to a baby like him."
He pointed at Sharath.
Sharath blinked slowly.
The servant child lowered his head with practiced deference. His tunic was patched. His eyes, cautious.
"Apologize again!" the noble boy demanded.
"I already said I'm sorry," the child mumbled.
The boy raised a hand—half bluff, half habit.
Lady Ishvari's voice cut across the garden like a blade.
"Enough."
Everyone froze.
The boy's bravado wilted instantly. "I-I didn't mean—"
"My son," she said calmly, "will be raised to know that kindness weighs more than bloodlines. And that nobles lead not with fists, but with justice."
Sharath looked up at her, eyes wide.
She glanced down at him and whispered, "You understand, don't you?"
He did.
And more than that—he decided then and there that his revolution wouldn't just be technological.
It would be ethical.
❖ The Privilege PuzzleIn the coming days, Sharath listened to dozens of palace conversations.
And a pattern emerged.
Nobles were allowed more of everything:
More freedom.
More mistakes.
More forgiveness.
Servants and craftsfolk were bound by rules, taxes, and oaths. They ate last, slept least, and prayed first. They lived in the shadows of noble favor.
They are the gears of the kingdom, Sharath thought. And no one's oiling them.
One evening, he was rolled past the estate's outer kitchens and saw a young baker's apprentice using a char-flint box to start a fire—striking the same rune repeatedly, fingers blistered from overuse.
The rune was fading.
Sharath blinked.
That's a rune stone worn thin. You could rebind it in half the time. But he's not allowed. That enchantment is restricted to House-cast rituals.
He was beginning to see the subtle chains—binding not with metal, but with tradition.
And he hated it.
❖ A Visitor in VelvetIt was during one of these afternoons that the inevitable happened.
Uncle Aldric returned.
Dressed in the deep emerald and gold of House Darsha's old-line traditions, he strode into the nursery like a lion inspecting a new cub.
"So," he said, crouching beside Sharath's cradle, "they say you're clever. That you notice things."
Sharath responded by drooling pointedly and turning toward the sunlight.
"Hmm," Aldric muttered. "Let's hope you stay quiet. Some things in this world are not meant to change. Our strength is our memory. Not our ambition."
Then he leaned closer and added, "Your father thinks otherwise. He dreams of modernization. You would do well to disappoint him."
Sharath let out a loud burp and kicked his duck blanket off the side of the cradle.
Aldric left in disgust.
Challenge received, Sharath thought.
❖ The Plan BeginsThat night, Sharath stared at the ceiling runes, thoughts spinning.
He couldn't push revolution.
Not yet.
The aristocracy wasn't ready.
The servants weren't empowered.
Even his well-meaning parents were still products of their world.
But he could begin the work.
Quietly.
✦ Project Emberleaf: Phase OneGoal: Lay foundation for social and technological reform without triggering defensive backlash from noble houses.
Sub-Goals:
Normalize basic enchantments among lower classes through "gifts" or "accidental blessings."
Introduce labor-saving innovations as status symbols, so nobles adopt them first—unaware they reduce class disparity.
Ingrain ethics of empathy through play and stories (target: noble children).
Win trust of both artisans and administrators through small, low-threat improvements.
Status:
Observation complete.
Tactical empathy successful.
Traditions mapped.
First sketches of "household-level" innovations begun.
❖ A Promise in the DarkLady Ishvari visited his crib that night, brushing his hair back as he pretended to sleep.
"You'll change this world," she whispered. "But I hope you'll be kind while doing it."
Sharath let a slow breath escape and curled slightly toward her hand.
I will, Mother. I'll change it gently. Because I know how heavy it is.
And for the first time in his new life, he didn't feel like he was carrying that weight alone.