Sharath rested his elbows on his workbench, his fingers flying almost as quickly as his mind. The fresh delight of his children, the relentless din of empire-making, and the procession of progress all swirled together in his brain. And now, a fresh notion had seized him: wireless communication. A machine that could send words instantly, joining voices in different miles apart. In contemporary language, what humans might one day term a "phone."
At first, his experiments were chaotic. Tiny sparks leapt from half-constructed devices, magical runes glowed erratically, and words intended to be sent from one device to another were replaced with the occasional sheep bleat or the faint hum of a nearby windmill. 🐧NeuroBoop, hovering invisibly beside him, muttered dryly, "Congratulations. You've invented a messenger that also doubles as an alarm for farm animals."
Sharath ignored the quip and pressed on. He combined tiny wind conduits with magical conduits, incorporating runes which could carry sound and intention, and combined these with tiny dials and numeric plates so that the operator could "dial" a recipient. Each test, however, ran into unintended outcomes. One day, one of the devices placed the sound of a giggling child into the palace dining hall, inducing the visiting dwarven emissaries to collapse into paroxysms of helpless giggles. Once, a prototype projected his own ideas into the courtyard fountain, and dumbfounded engineers listened to Sharath giving orders to pretend squirrels.
Frustration mounted, but Sharath was not deterred. Gradually, the noisy dance of magic, machinery, and sound was tuned. The numerical dials reacted as expected, the runes carried voice cleanly, and tiny suspended receivers could listen to their matched transmitters without distortion. Following an immeasurable series of trials and small explosions that scorched the edges of his workbench, Sharath had a working wireless communication device in his hand.
However, in accordance with this victory, he chose not to announce it. The conference was looming on the horizon, and making such a device public would interfere with negotiations, or worse still, provide a strategic advantage he wasn't yet prepared to cede. The wireless telephones were kept safely in magically shielded crates, each addressed and secreted under defensive wards, as Sharath returned to the grander task of empire with contented humility.
Meanwhile, the other empires were developing their own wonders. Marcel, the dwarven emperor, revealed a engineering marvel: an engine-powered flying machine that could remain aloft for extended periods. It shone in burnished metal, with magical stabilizers maintaining its flight and agility. In the skies over the dwarven mountains, it flew with ease, dwarven engineers cheering as it performed precise movements. The machine was not just for show—it held the promise of swift travel, supply delivery, and reconnaissance.
The elves, never at rest, concentrated on the fabled "treasure beans," miraculous plants. Methodically, they examined the perfect combination of sunlight, sustenance, and moisture, and through careful cultivation, they generated fresh beans that grew exorbitantly tall, sometimes reaching towards the clouds. The trees now stood so tall that their higher boughs seemed to graze against the sky itself, a living proof of elven patience, elven magical understanding, and diligent engineering.
The beastmen, meanwhile, tuned their oil refinement. Where crude oil had previously been crude and wasteful, they now produced several grades of oil, from refined petroleum to tar to specialized lubricants. Nothing was wasted—each byproduct was reutilized or magically augmented to enhance efficiency. Transportation and manufacturing systems across the empire would soon depend significantly on this consistent supply, rendering the beastmen vital allies.
In Sharath's laboratories, too, the empire's very nexus of invention, he worked on several projects at once. His children, meanwhile, now rapidly expanding—four years old and two years old—played within earshot under their siblings' and caretakers' watchful eyes. The nursery rang with the muted thrum of enchanted toys, levitating playthings, and magical automata that moved of their own accord. Now and then, a little invention would float into the playroom—a little tricycle made from a micro-engine, or a radiant block that spelled out numbers in the air—and the kids would laugh with glee.
Sharath, twenty-six years old, bore the burden of responsibility, but also the exhilaration of creation. Each invention, each sketch, each wondrous tweak was a thread in a greater weave: a future where empires would be linked effortlessly, where commerce and information moved freely, and magic and technology became one to serve not monarchs, but people of all races.
With the peak just two days ahead, the empire hummed with preparation. Trains were almost finished, linking key cities and facilitating rapid movement of goods and ambassadors. Elves laid out forests along the tracks for purification and beauty, and also designed schools and evening education programs after Sharath's empire. Dwarves finished engine-driven hover craft and streamlined mechanical infrastructure, and beastmen finished their chain of oil supply. Sharath himself, sending his best engineers and resources to help with these works, went back time and again to his laboratory, perfecting, experimenting, and envisioning devices the world was not yet aware of.
At dusk, the palace glowed softly with magical lamps. Sharath gazed out over the empire from the watchtower, following with his eyes the new highways, the shining railways, and the faintly perceptible magical conduits that intersected the countryside. In the distance, he could discern the early test flights of dwarves' hover machines, the elven treasure bean trees gently swaying in the wind, and plumes of smoke coming from beastmen oil refineries—all indications that the empires were not merely recovering from previous wars but were moving forward together.
Sharath permitted himself a moment of pride. Each challenge—the sabotage by the goblins, the sprawling development, the intricacy of multi-race diplomatic relations—had been addressed with creativity and obedience. And yet, it was far from finished. The summit would be the testing ground for all these innovations, the event that would see diplomacy, commerce, and invention come together in one showy spectacle.
He returned to his laboratory late into the night, reviewing notes for his wireless devices, tweaking magical runes, and imagining how, one day, every city in the empire and beyond would be connected through this new technology. 🐧NeuroBoop, floating beside him, quipped in its usual sarcastic tone, "You do realize, of course, that one day even these infants will demand instant communication, and you'll be blamed for every missed message."
Sharath just smiled. "Let them ask. Let them dream. This is the groundwork we establish today, for a tomorrow that they may not yet comprehend."
Outside, the empire slumbered beneath a canvas of stars, ignorant of the technological wonders soon to be revealed. And within, a father, an emperor, and an inventor labored in secret, making ready for a meeting that would not only cement alliances but reveal a new era of magic, engineering, and invention—one wherein the imagination of a child, the brilliance of an emperor, and the collaboration of several races would merge to remold the world.