Two years after the miracle—no, the curse—of long-range communication spread across the seven continents like an untamable plague, the Dag estate sat quieter than usual. But silence here was never peace.
Upstairs in the eastern study, Fornos Dag looked more like a disheveled old man than the 21-year-old he was. His coat was halfway slid off one shoulder, boots muddied from a nighttime ride, and ink stained three fingers on his left hand. The circles beneath his eyes were nearly purple. But his hands didn't stop. They moved across parchment with relentless discipline.
"You've barely slept," Voss Dag finally said, voice low, watching from his own desk stacked with economic scrolls and mint reports.
"No time," Fornos muttered, not looking up. "It was my fault for not predicting this."
"You're not omniscient," Mary said gently from her seat beside the window, a cup of herbal broth steaming in her hands. "No one thought it would happen this fast."
Fornos's hand froze briefly. Then he leaned back in the stiff-backed chair and exhaled, jaw tight.
"Every nation on all seven continents uses the Relay Web now," Voss said, not quite proud, not quite regretful.
"And everything is on fire," Fornos answered bitterly. "From intelligence to trade—legal or illegal—every network has been wrecked. These lines aren't secure. Anyone can listen if they know the core phrases and how to tune the vibration locks."
"Which is why we didn't switch from letters," Voss said simply. "The Dag system still uses hand-delivered runes and dead-drops."
"I know," Fornos said. "You've told me six times this week."
Mary glanced at him over her cup. "He's right to keep saying it. You built a weapon to share the future. The world turned it into an empire's knife."
Fornos gave a sardonic smile. "That sounds poetic, coming from you."
"I'm your mother," Mary said with mock offense. "It's my job to scold you with poetry."
Voss cleared his throat, changing the subject. "How's the Ash Company coming along?"
Fornos leaned forward again, finally setting the pen down.
"Ten thousand strong," he said. "With teeth."
"I take it you absorbed the remaining factions in Varnhollow?" Voss asked, one brow raised.
Fornos nodded. "The guild holdouts, the splinter mercs, even the alchemist warbands. It took a year and some compromises, but yes. We now run everything east of the Folded Teeth and south to the Silver Scar."
"The mines there have been very useful," Voss said. "And the quartz deposits stabilized our arcane contracts with the Collegium."
"Dag shipping now moves thirty percent of refined mana-crystals in the mainland," Fornos added absently.
Mary sipped her tea.
"Our profits have swelled by forty percent this quarter," Voss added with a small smile. "Despite the relay panic."
Fornos gave a dry laugh, finally leaning fully back in the chair. "Gratham must be grinding his teeth."
"He really hates when any non-noble starts acquiring power," Voss said with genuine amusement.
"Serves him right," Mary muttered. "Arrogant bastard. Thought that little show at the Gathering would keep our son a footnote."
"Enough with the business talk," she declared more loudly, standing and crossing the room. She yanked Fornos by the sleeve. "You've become weak. You need rest."
Fornos blinked. "I am literally handling three full military supply lines and sixty percent of our smuggling ring's cover permits. Rest comes after the next revolution."
Mary raised an eyebrow.
"I will call Roa."
Fornos paused. "…You wouldn't."
"Want to test me?"
Voss smirked and folded a contract. "She's been waiting for an excuse."
"…Fine. One hour."
"Six."
"Two."
"Four. Final offer."
"Three and you have to cook dinner."
"Deal."
Later that evening, down in the estate's inner garden
Fornos lay sprawled on a woven bench, the scent of crushed basil and sun-heated brick filling the air. Mary sat nearby, casually reading over reports she had pretended to confiscate. Voss had retreated to the private distillery, likely preparing a celebratory bottle for their quarterly trade victory.
As twilight sank over the estate, the distant glint of mana lights from Varnhollow could be seen against the rising smoke plumes of industrial forges.
"Do you think they'll ever stop?" Fornos asked, eyes closed.
"The nobles?" Mary asked.
"No. The world."
She considered. "No. But maybe it'll slow down when it finally trips over its own cleverness."
He snorted. "Optimistic."
She smiled at him.
"You did the right thing, you know," she said. "Releasing the relay design to everyone. The chaos now is better than monopoly later."
"I wanted to build a bridge," he whispered. "Not a cage."
Mary leaned over, brushing his bangs from his eyes. "That's the problem with people like you. You build things with purpose. And the world steals them for power."
Fornos didn't answer.
She stood quietly, letting the silence hang like an evening fog.
Meanwhile: Varnhollow
The forge-lights flickered. The smelters burned blue with quartz fire. Deep in the converted war-foundry, the engineers of Ash Company toiled over a prototype—a relay tower, thinner but stronger, fitted for mobile deployment.
Park stood silently over the blueprints, signing instructions to Martin.
Konos arrived moments later, brushing soot off his shoulder.
"Word from the merchant?" he asked.
Martin shook his head. Park signed:
He's resting.
Konos raised an eyebrow. "Miracle."
Then he looked at the blueprints again. "What do you think?"
Martin tapped the runic stabilizer. "It'll work. The range will be half what the towers reach, but we can mount them on golems. Relay war-commands mid-battle."
Konos gave a grim smile. "Fornos won't sleep again for the next year once he hears this."
Park didn't reply.
He simply raised his hand and pointed to the horizon.
The first stars of the season were starting to emerge.
Above them, somewhere distant, lines of invisible mana already carried messages between nations, armies, spies—and fools.
The world was talking.
But Ash Company was still listening.