The sun rose slow over Outpost Brinn and its orange light washed across the rough wooden walls. Logan Mercer stood at the forge long before anyone else woke. He had barely slept as his mind spun with ideas and questions. He knew shaping the beastbone dagger last night had crossed an invisible line. It meant he was no longer only fixing weapons. He was creating something new. Something the world had never handled before.

He held the dagger in his hand now. It felt unreal. The blade was light and smooth with no vibration when he tapped it. The edge was sharper than anything the outpost carried. He had seen advanced alloys and composite blades on Earth but this was different. This was natural material pushed by evolution to extremes. Beastbone had a layered structure like reinforced fiber. When shaped correctly it could rival high end steel.

Rhea approached him from behind. She had dark circles under her eyes which meant she had not slept much either. Her voice was low. You worked all night again

Logan nodded. I needed to finish this.

She stared at the dagger with a mix of awe and worry. That weapon will draw eyes from every corner of the realm. You know this

Logan exhaled slow. Yes. But if I do not learn how to work beastbone someone else eventually will. Id rather control it than be surprised by it.

Rhea looked around as if the walls might be listening. You do not understand the scale of this realm. There are kingdoms fighti

Before Logan answered a horn echoed through the outpost. A guard shouted from the wall. Movement on the plains. Riders approaching.

Rhea pulled her helmet on. Logan follow me. Now.

They climbed the nearest tower. Dust rose from the distant horizon as a small group of riders approached on massive scaled beasts that looked like armored horses. Each rider wore dark cloaks trimmed with red thread. Rhea cursed under her breath.

Mercenary riders from the Crimson Trace she said. They roam between kingdoms but they mostly work for themselves. They fight for coin. They steal for coin. They live for coin.

Logan felt his stomach tighten. You think they are here for me

Rhea answered without hesitation. Yes. Word travels too fast. That dagger of yours has not even left the forge and already someone is here to claim the creator.

The riders stopped outside the gate. One stepped forward carrying a long staff with a cloth banner wrapped around it. He shouted loud enough for the whole outpost to hear.

We seek the craftsman who shaped the bone of a night hound. Bring him out and we will speak without violence.

Rhea whispered. Stay behind me. Do not speak until I say.

She ordered the gates opened but only halfway so soldiers could form a barrier. Logan stayed behind the front line. The lead rider removed his hood. His face was stern with eyes that looked like they could see through metal.

I am Captain Draven of the Crimson Trace he said. Yesterday a messenger told us an outsider crafted a weapon of rare material in this outpost. We come with an offer of employment. If he accepts he will be paid in gold and protected by our riders. If he refuses we will still take him. Protection ends there.

The threat was clear. Logan watched from behind Rhea. She stood tall.

There is no craftsman here for sale she said. Leave now before violence becomes unavoidable.

Draven smiled thin. Violence is already unavoidable Captain. We only choose how much.

He raised a hand. His riders dismounted in perfect formation. Their beasts snarled with thick armored necks. These were not simple mercenaries. They were trained and disciplined. The kind of group that could burn the outpost to the ground if provoked.

Rhea leaned toward Logan. If they take you they will force you to build weapons for their leaders. You might never leave their camps. You must stay behind the line no matter what happens.

Logan swallowed. I cannot let people die because of me.

Rhea shook her head. This is not your fault. This is the world we live in. You just arrived but the wars were already here.

Draven stepped forward again. Last warning. Hand over the craftsman.

Rhea lifted her spear. Not going to happen.

The tension snapped like dry wood. Draven swung his hand down and his riders surged forward. The outpost erupted into chaos as guards raised shields and braced for impact. Logan backed away but he kept his eyes on the battlefield.

The riders were fast. Faster than the outpost defenders expected. Their beasts slammed into shields and broke the line. Logan watched as weapons bent under impact. The defenders fought desperately but their gear was weak and old. Logan saw a guard swing a sword only for the blade to snap midair.

That was the moment he understood something deep. These people were dying because their tools failed them. They were losing not from lack of courage but from lack of quality. He felt anger rise in his chest. He grabbed a reinforce plate he had shaped earlier and rushed down the stairs.

Rhea saw him running and shouted but he kept moving. A rider charged with his spear pointed. Logan dodged and slammed the beastbone plate into the spear shaft. The wooden shaft shattered from the force and the rider lost balance. Guards collapsed on him and dragged him down.

Another rider attacked. Logan rolled behind a broken cart and grabbed a discarded crossbow. Its bow arm was cracked. He ripped the cracked piece away and used his belt tools to reinforce it with the beastbone fragment he carried. He tightened the string. It held. A guard beside him stared with disbelief.

You just fixed that under pressure

Logan loaded a bolt. It slid smooth. Aim for the joints he said.

He fired. The bolt struck a rider in the shoulder forcing him off his beast. Guards swarmed him.

Logan kept working. Repairing. Reinforcing. Improvising. Every weapon he touched became stronger. More stable. More lethal. Soon the outpost soldiers rallied with newfound confidence. Draven realized the tide had turned and signaled retreat. His riders pulled back and fled across the plains.

Rhea limped to Logan. Blood trickled from a cut on her arm. She looked at him with disbelief.

You changed the entire fight she said. No outsider has ever done that.

Logan wiped sweat from his face. I only fixed what was broken.

Rhea shook her head. You do not understand. They came for you. They failed. They will return with more. And next time they will not ask.

Logan looked at the broken battlefield around him. Swords bent. Shields splintered. The outpost barely survived. All because of him. All because he created something the world wanted too much.

He understood now that he was not just a craftsman in this realm. He was becoming something else. Something dangerous. Something influential.

Rhea met his eyes with quiet seriousness. Logan. The world will keep coming. You need allies. You need a plan. And above all you need to decide what kind of craftsman you want to be.

Logan looked down at the reinforced crossbow in his hand. He knew the answer.

Not just a craftsman he said. Something bigger.

The outpost stood silent around him. The choice he made would echo across every kingdom.

He would not only fix weapons
He would change them
He would create them
He would sell them

And the realm would never be the same.