The inspection request arrived with the morning mail, delivered by a nervous courier who practically threw the sealed envelope at Mira and fled.
Kieran watched from his workbench as she broke the imperial wax seal, her expression darkening with each line she read.
"They want to inspect the forge," she said flatly. "Tomorrow at noon. 'Routine verification of strategic asset safety protocols,' they're calling it."
"They can't do that," Kieran protested, anxiety spiking. "This is private property. Millhaven is neutral territory—"
"They're not asking permission. They're informing us of their intent." Mira crumpled the letter with barely controlled fury. "Marcus Stone will be conducting the inspection personally, accompanied by two imperial assessors and a legal observer. They want full access to your workspace, tools, materials inventory, and 'any relevant documentation regarding artifact creation methodologies.'"
Kieran's stomach dropped. "They want to know how I do it. They want to steal my techniques."
"Worse. They want to establish precedent. If we allow this 'inspection,' it legitimizes their claim that you require oversight. Next time it won't be a request—it'll be mandatory compliance." She began pacing, her mind clearly working through scenarios. "We refuse. Cite property rights and neutral territory law."
"And when they ignore those citations?"
"Then we make it very public that the Empire is violating neutral territory sovereignty. Force them to either back down or openly admit they're willing to break international agreements." Mira's smile was sharp. "The Empire likes to present itself as civilized and law-abiding. Let's see if they're willing to tarnish that reputation over one blacksmith."
The confidence in her voice didn't quite reach her eyes.
By mid-morning, the town square had transformed into something between a religious revival and a political rally.
Brother Cassian Gray stood on an improvised platform—really just a reinforced crate—his voice carrying across the gathered crowd with the kind of projection that came from years of sermon practice.
"—and so we must ask ourselves: what is the proper use of divine gifts?" Cassian's intensity radiated like heat. "When the System blessed this world with magic, with classes, with the ability to transcend mortal limitations, it did so with purpose! Every gift carries responsibility. Every power demands stewardship!"
A portion of the crowd murmured agreement. Kieran watched from the edge of the square, Mira beside him, both trying to remain inconspicuous.
"There are those," Cassian continued, his gaze seeming to sweep across the crowd and land directly on Kieran for a heartbeat, "who would treat sacred abilities as mere commodities. Who would sell divine blessings to the highest bidder, caring nothing for righteousness or moral purpose. Who would partner with merchants—with money-changers—and call it business!"
The murmurs grew louder. Some supportive, some skeptical, all engaged.
"The Sanctum does not seek to control," Cassian said, his voice dropping to something more intimate, more persuasive. "We seek only to guide. To ensure that those blessed with extraordinary gifts use them in service of light rather than greed. Is that so unreasonable? Is it tyranny to suggest that the ability to create weapons of terrible power should come with spiritual accountability?"
"It's tyranny when you're the ones deciding what counts as 'spiritual,'" someone shouted from the crowd.
Cassian's expression hardened. "Mock if you will. But when weapons of war flood the market, when artifacts fall into the hands of the corrupt and power-hungry, when the gift of creation becomes a tool of destruction—who will stand against the darkness then? The merchants counting their gold? The empires building their arsenals?"
He let the question hang, then gestured broadly. "Or those who remember that some things are sacred? That some powers demand reverence?"
A different voice, this one carrying clear authority: "And who decides what's sacred, Brother Cassian? You? The Sanctum Council? Or does everyone with talent get to have their life dictated by your theology?"
Mayor Fletcher had arrived, flanked by town guards, his expression stormy.
"Mayor Fletcher." Cassian inclined his head with exaggerated respect. "I was merely exercising the freedom of religious expression that Millhaven's own laws protect."
"You're inciting unrest and making thinly veiled accusations against a citizen under my protection," Fletcher countered. "Freedom of expression doesn't include harassment."
"I've named no one specifically."
"You don't need to. Everyone here knows exactly who you're talking about." Fletcher stepped closer to the platform. "Here's what's going to happen: you're going to conclude your sermon, you're going to thank people for their time, and you're going to refrain from any more 'spiritual guidance' that targets specific residents. Understood?"
For a moment, Cassian looked like he might argue. Then his expression shifted to something almost pitying.
"Of course, Mayor. I meant no offense." He turned back to the crowd. "The Sanctum's doors are always open to those seeking guidance. We ask nothing but that you consider carefully: in a world of power and profit, who guards your soul?"
He stepped down from the platform to scattered applause and headed directly toward Kieran.
"Master Ashford," Cassian said, his voice lowering to something more personal. "I hope you didn't take offense. My words were meant in spiritual concern, not personal attack."
"Then why does it feel like an attack?" Kieran asked quietly.
"Because truth often feels uncomfortable." Cassian's intense eyes searched Kieran's face. "You have a gift, young man. A genuine, remarkable gift. But gifts can become curses when misused. The Consortium sees you as a profit source. The Empire sees you as a weapon. Neither sees your soul."
"And the Sanctum does?"
"The Sanctum sees potential for something greater than gold or war." Cassian's expression turned earnest. "I know you're afraid. I can see it in how you carry yourself, how you avoid attention, how you flinch from scrutiny. But fear shouldn't drive you into the arms of those who would exploit you."
"As opposed to those who would control me in the name of spirituality?"
Cassian flinched slightly. "We would protect you. Guide you. Help you use your gifts in ways that serve more than temporal power."
"I just want to make swords," Kieran said, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "Is that so impossible to understand? I don't want to serve empires or churches or merchant guilds. I want to practice my craft in peace."
"Peace." Cassian repeated the word like it was foreign. "In this world? With your capabilities? Master Ashford, peace is a luxury that people like you can't afford. The only question is who will control the chaos—secular powers scrambling for advantage, or those guided by higher purpose."
Before Kieran could respond, Cassian pressed a small card into his hand. "The Sanctum's local mission house. If you ever need sanctuary—true sanctuary, not a merchant's protection or a mayor's political maneuvering—come find me. The offer stands, regardless of your current... entanglements."
He walked away, leaving Kieran holding the card and feeling more trapped than ever.
"That was disturbing," Mira said, appearing at his elbow. "The way he talks makes subjugation sound like salvation."
"Maybe to him it is," Kieran said quietly. "Maybe he genuinely believes the Sanctum would protect me better than leaving me free."
"Believing you know what's best for someone doesn't make it true." Mira took the card from his hand and pocketed it. "Come on. We have an inspection to prepare for."
The Consortium's response to the Empire's inspection request arrived that afternoon in the form of three representatives, two lawyers, and what appeared to be a private security detail.
Sylvie Merchant led the delegation, her professional mask firmly in place but cracks showing around the edges.
"Kieran, we need to discuss security protocols," she said, sweeping into the forge with her entourage. "The Empire's inspection request is a clear attempt to intimidate our partnership. We cannot allow—"
"Our partnership?" Kieran interrupted. "Last week you said you'd throw me to them if the pressure got high enough."
Sylvie had the grace to look embarrassed. "I said the Consortium's leadership cares more about profits than individual craftsmen. I didn't say I felt that way." She gestured to her team. "These people represent a significant investment of Consortium resources. Lawyers to fight the inspection legally, security to ensure you're not pressured or threatened, and—"
"And more attention," Mira finished. "More people watching Kieran, more evidence that he's a Consortium asset, more ammunition for the Empire and Sanctum to claim he needs 'proper oversight.'"
"Would you prefer we leave him completely unprotected?"
"I'd prefer you'd asked before turning his forge into a fortress," Mira shot back. "Every move you make to 'protect' him just proves to everyone else that he's valuable enough to fight over."
Sylvie's professional mask cracked further. "What would you have us do? The Empire is preparing to violate neutral territory sovereignty. The Sanctum is preaching sedition in the town square. Our partnership is under direct attack from two major powers. Doing nothing isn't an option."
"Neither is escalating," Kieran said quietly. Both women turned to look at him. "Every time someone tries to protect me, it makes things worse. The Consortium partnership was supposed to give me security—instead it painted a target. Now you're sending lawyers and security, which will just make the Empire push harder to prove they have authority."
"So what do you suggest?" Sylvie asked. "Roll over and let them inspect your forge? Let them catalog your techniques and materials?"
"I suggest we refuse the inspection politely, cite the legal grounds, and don't turn it into a confrontation that forces the Empire to either back down publicly or escalate aggressively." Kieran met her eyes. "Your lawyers can file formal protests. Your security can stay outside and be visible enough to deter casual threats but not so aggressive that it looks like we're preparing for war. We show strength without provocation."
Sylvie studied him for a long moment, reassessing. "You're smarter than you look when you're panicking."
"I've had practice being threatened by powerful people," Kieran said bitterly. "You learn what makes things worse."
After negotiating the specifics—lawyers would handle formal responses, security would maintain a discrete presence, no one would enter the forge without Kieran's explicit permission—the Consortium delegation departed.
Mira waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. "That was good. You're learning to navigate this."
"I don't want to learn to navigate this. I want it to stop."
"I know. But—"
A commotion outside interrupted her. Horses, moving fast. Kieran's anxiety spiked—more trouble, always more trouble—
Then he heard a familiar voice calling his name.
He reached the door in time to see Lady Celeste Varnham dismount from her horse in one fluid motion, Dawnbreaker at her hip, her traveling cloak dusty from hard riding.
Their eyes met, and something in Kieran's chest loosened.
"Celeste," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"