Logan Mercer ran across the dusty plains with the wrapped prototypes bouncing against his hip. The morning sun climbed slow over the horizon and the air grew warmer with each step. He looked back only once. Outpost Brinn stood small in the distance with tiny figures moving along the walls. Rhea would hold the line but he knew she could only delay the Silver Courts not defeat them. His presence was the prize and every kingdom would eventually learn his name whether he wanted them to or not.

He focused ahead. Rhea said the abandoned outpost lay three miles south. Logan followed the trail on the small worn map she gave him. The land dipped into shallow valleys where the wind carried traces of old battles. Rusted spearheads half buried in the dirt and broken shields scattered across forgotten camps. He felt the quiet weight of history pressing down. This world was shaped by war long before he arrived.

After nearly an hour of jogging he saw the outline of the outpost on a low ridge. It was smaller than Brinn and partially collapsed. Wooden walls rotted and fallen beams leaned against shattered stone. Grass pushed through cracks in the ground. Logan slowed his pace and approached carefully. He moved around the edge and slipped through a broken gate. Inside the courtyard was silent except for distant wind.

It reminded him of an empty workshop back home. The kind left behind when a company shuts down and workers take everything useful. Only scraps remain. Tools forgotten. Machines rusting. This place had the same feeling except the danger was real. If the Silver Courts chased him here he would have only broken walls and his own skill to rely on.

He found a small barracks building still standing. The roof sagged but held together. Inside he found wooden bunks weakened by rot but stable enough to sit on. He set the prototypes down and took a long breath. His legs shook with exhaustion. He could still feel the vibration of the magic core from the blade in his hands. It was like the weapon carried its own pulse.

He placed both weapons on a table and unwrapped them. They seemed different now that he was alone. They were no longer prototypes. They were the start of a chain reaction. Logan wondered what Vorn planned to do with them. He wondered what kind of buyer was willing to meet in a private deal. He wondered what kind of wars might be fueled by what he made.

He shook his head. Overthinking would only slow him down. He needed a plan. He needed information. He needed allies stronger than one outpost with cracked walls. Rhea helped him without hesitation but she was only one captain in a border region. He needed more than that if he wanted to survive what was coming.

He sat back against a post and listened to the wind. Hours passed. He repaired a few tools he found in the abandoned forge area. A rusted hammer. A chisel. A bent set of tongs. He worked quietly letting the rhythm calm him. Creating order in broken things felt natural. Reminded him of home.

Near midday he heard faint footsteps outside. His pulse jumped. He grabbed the weapon cloth and moved behind the doorway. Footsteps approached slow and cautious. Logan gripped a small metal tool as an improvised blade. The tension thickened until a familiar voice broke the silence.

Logan Are you here

Logan lowered the tool and stepped into the doorway. Rhea stood outside catching her breath. Her armor was dusty and her hair wind blown. She had run hard to reach him.

Rhea What happened Logan asked

She raised a hand trying to steady her voice. The Silver Courts scouts arrived as expected. They questioned everyone demanded your location and searched the outpost. We hid your forge tools and destroyed traces of your work. I stalled them but they grew suspicious. They will return with more men next time. You cannot go back.

Logan nodded. I figured as much.

Rhea stepped inside. Are you safe here

Safe is relative Logan said. But it is the best option for now.

She looked at the prototypes on the table. These weapons are dangerous Logan. Not because of what they can do but because of what people imagine they can do. Rumors give them more power than steel.

Logan leaned against the wall. I know.

Rhea hesitated then said Logan I cannot protect you alone. You need allies. Proper allies. Someone with resources and reach. Someone who can stand against a kingdom.

Logan crossed his arms. And who exactly do you have in mind

She hesitated before answering. The Merchant Coalition.

Logan blinked. The what

Rhea explained. A loose alliance of trade families city guilds and neutral groups. They operate between kingdoms and are not tied to any ruler. They protect trade routes and manage independent markets. They hate the Silver Courts. They hate forced control even more. If anyone can shield you from being captured it is them.

Logan considered this. Merchants reminded him of corporations back home. Motivated by profit not loyalty. But they also valued freedom. They valued supply and demand. And people like him were supply.

He nodded slowly. How do I reach them

Rhea pulled a small bronze token from her belt pouch. It had a geometric symbol etched into its center. This is a marker. Merchants recognize it. Show it at a Coalition trading post. It will get you a meeting.

Logan accepted it carefully. Why did you have this

Rhea smiled faint. I was not always a border captain.

He raised an eyebrow. You used to be a merchant

More like a guard for merchants she said. But I know how they work.

Logan placed the token in his pocket. Then that is my next move.

Rhea frowned. You mean to go alone

For now Logan said. Until I know who I can trust.

She looked troubled but did not argue. Instead she said softly Promise me you will stay alive Logan. You are not meant to vanish in some forgotten ruin.

Logan gave a small smile. I plan to live long enough to annoy every kingdom in this realm.

Rhea stepped closer. That is not reassuring.

Before Logan could reply a sound echoed across the plains. The distant rumble of hooves. Rhea stepped to the wall and looked out.

Riders she said. But not the Silver Courts. Different formation. Fast.

Logan felt heat rise in his chest. Another threat

Rhea shook her head. No. These riders ride under the symbol of the Merchant Coalition.

Logan stared. They came this fast

Rhea nodded. The black market moves quickly. If Vorn traded information it reached them instantly. They may already know your name.

Logan stepped toward the open gate. Three riders approached wearing light armor marked with silver geometric lines. They looked serious not hostile. They slowed near the entrance and dismounted. The leader stepped forward.

Are you Logan Mercer

Logan exchanged a glance with Rhea then stepped out. Yes.

The rider bowed respectfully. The Coalition requests your presence. Your work has reached important ears.

Logan's stomach tightened. Rhea whispered careful Logan.

He nodded. I know.

The Coalition rider continued. We are escorting you to a secure location where you may discuss future arrangements.

Logan narrowed his eyes. What kind of arrangements

The rider smiled faint. The kind that change markets.

Logan grabbed his wrapped prototypes and stepped forward. Rhea placed a hand on his arm. You go alone

He gave her a steady look. I will return.

Rhea nodded though worry flickered in her eyes.

Logan mounted one of the Coalition beasts. The saddle felt well made and the reins were woven with polished threads. These riders were organized wealthy and confident.

As they began riding south Logan looked once more at the abandoned outpost. The place where he took his first step into becoming something more than a craftsman.

Now he was heading somewhere new.

Somewhere deeper in the world of power and profit.

Somewhere an arms dealer truly belonged.