The kingdom was abuzz. The sound of printing presses echoed through cities and towns, carrying with them the hum of progress and revolution. With the establishment of SK News, co-founded by the young genius Sharath and his maternal grandfather, information flowed faster, farther, and fairer than ever before. But not everyone was pleased.
In the opulent halls of the royal palace, unease grew. The Council of Nobles had been receiving reports. Not just of the speed of SK News's expansion, but of the content. It was informative, helpful, and—most concerning of all—uncensored. The royal family had grown used to controlling the flow of information, but now they found themselves sidelined.
"We must regain control of the narrative," barked Duke Hargold, slamming his gold-ringed fist onto the table. "This... this *child* and his tinkerings have made the people see us not as rulers, but as relics!"
The Queen, serene but calculating, turned to her chief advisor. "Can we buy them out? The printing press, the blueprints, all of it. We will own the means of information once again."
---
A week later, Sharath and his grandfather sat in a grand meeting chamber of the royal palace. Banners hung from marble columns. Tension hung heavier.
"We are prepared to offer you full royal patronage," began Lord Chancellor Eldrin. "Your inventions, your presses, your newspapers—all under the crown's name. You shall be compensated handsomely."
Sharath's grandfather smiled politely. Sharath, however, leaned forward, resting his chin on clasped hands. "And who decides what is printed?"
The room went silent.
"Naturally," the Chancellor said after a pause, "the crown will oversee editorial direction."
Sharath scoffed. "So, lies. Glossed-up royal propaganda, dressed as news."
Gasps erupted from the noble delegates. But the Queen raised her hand.
"Then what do you propose, boy? You sit on a goldmine. You must realize we will not sit idly while a private paper overshadows the crown."
Sharath looked her in the eye, defiant yet respectful. "Then let's make a deal."
His grandfather placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding in agreement.
"We'll give you a press. We'll train your scribes. You can publish your own newspaper—call it whatever you want. But we retain SK News. Independent, free. You don't get to touch it."
There was a murmur, hesitation. The Queen narrowed her eyes. "And why should we agree?"
"Because," Sharath replied, "yours will still be read. You'll have the *official* paper. Decrees. Policies. Foreign updates. But the people want more. They want stories, knowledge, truth. And SK News will give them that. If you try to shut us down, the backlash will be more than even your knights can handle."
---
Thus, the Royal Herald was born. Lavish parchment, ornate scripts, and weekly praises of noble houses. It was clean, polished, and informative—in a dry, one-sided way.
But on the streets, it was SK News that flew off the stalls. Printed daily, dirt cheap, and packed with everything from farming tips to trade prices, town gossip to magic theory, citizen interviews to warnings about corrupted officials (naming no names, but letting readers guess). It was thrilling. It was real.
The Royal Herald struggled to keep up. It printed what the nobles *wanted* people to hear. SK News printed what they *needed*.
---
Then came the second royal summons.
"He mocks us!" roared Lord Vekran. "We gave him legitimacy, and he's turned our own press into a joke. The people call it 'The Sleeping Scroll'!"
"We need results," said the Queen coolly. "Bring the boy again."
---
Sharath entered alone this time. More confident. Taller.
"You asked for improvement?"
The Queen nodded. "The Royal Herald must not fail. Suggest a path."
He walked to a chalkboard and began sketching.
"Your paper is too slow, too dull, too detached. Here's the plan: rebrand it as *The Crown Courier*. Print royal decrees, foreign affairs, and noble actions, yes—but make it *valuable*. Let it circulate *outside* the kingdom. Become the voice of the crown beyond your borders. Use your reach to tell other realms your side of the story."
He turned.
"Inside the kingdom, SK News will remain the people's voice. Let there be two. Truth and power. Balanced."
"And what do *you* get in return?" the Queen asked.
Sharath grinned. "Just the assurance that you stop trying to steal what you don't understand."
---
A week later, The Crown Courier launched with international reach. Bards in distant lands sang verses sourced from royal stories. Decrees reached even the smallest hamlets in neighboring kingdoms. It worked.
But in every tavern, shop, and farmstead, there was still a copy of SK News. With the SK logo at the bottom—S for Sharath, K for his grandfather. A quiet signature of the boy who changed the world with ink and gears.
And in the heart of the kingdom, two papers now ruled: one of power, one of truth. The war for minds had become a dance. A drama of paper and press, with the people watching every page.