The blockade began at dawn, three days after Kieran's public refusal.
The Valorian Empire established their position first—a full military detachment setting up checkpoints on the northern and eastern roads into Millhaven. They weren't overtly hostile, just thoroughly bureaucratic. Every wagon, every traveler, every merchant caravan was stopped, searched, questioned, and delayed for "security verification."
By mid-morning, the Sanctum had mirrored the move on the southern approach. Their priests claimed they were "offering spiritual guidance to travelers," but the effect was identical—anyone trying to enter or leave Millhaven faced hours of delay while clergy asked probing questions about their business and spiritual alignment.
The Consortium, not to be outdone, responded by restricting trade through their controlled routes. Any merchant not affiliated with Asterlin found their credit suddenly questioned, their contracts "under review," their goods mysteriously held up in Consortium warehouses for "quality inspection."
Within twenty-four hours, Millhaven was effectively cut off from the outside world.
Kieran learned about it from Mayor Fletcher, who arrived at the forge looking like he'd aged ten years overnight.
"They're calling it 'protective monitoring,'" Fletcher said bitterly, collapsing onto one of Kieran's stools. "The Empire claims they're preventing 'strategic assets' from falling into enemy hands. The Sanctum says they're 'safeguarding divine blessings.' The Consortium is just protecting their trade interests."
"But they're really—"
"Strangling us, yes." Fletcher rubbed his temples. "No supplies in, no goods out. Millhaven survives on trade—we're a frontier hub, not a self-sufficient city. We've got maybe two weeks of food reserves, less for medical supplies and other essentials."
"This is my fault," Kieran said quietly.
"This is powerful people being bastards," Fletcher corrected. "But yes, you're the excuse they're using. They figure if they squeeze Millhaven hard enough, you'll either accept someone's 'protection' or the town will force you to."
"Will they? Force me, I mean."
Fletcher met his eyes. "Honestly? I don't know. Most people understand you're not responsible for three factions acting like children. But when their kids are hungry because supply wagons can't get through..." He shook his head. "Desperation makes people do ugly things."
After Fletcher left, Kieran stood in his forge, staring at his tools, feeling the weight of an entire town's suffering pressing down on him.
"It's not your fault," Mira said from the doorway.
"Everyone keeps saying that. It doesn't make it true."
"It doesn't make it false either." She moved to stand beside him. "The Empire, Sanctum, and Consortium chose to blockade a neutral town. They chose to hurt innocent people to pressure you. That's on them, not you."
"But they're doing it because of me. Because I won't let them control my work."
"So you should surrender? Let them cage you to save the town?" Mira's voice hardened. "That's not nobility, Kieran. That's just letting bullies win through threatening bystanders."
"Then what am I supposed to do? People are going to suffer. Maybe die if medical supplies run out. How is my freedom worth that?"
Mira was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. But giving up your autonomy won't fix the real problem—which is that powerful factions think they can terrorize civilians to get what they want. Today it's you. Tomorrow it's someone else. Where does it end?"
Kieran didn't have an answer.
Old Marvin's coal shipment didn't arrive. The merchant who supplied the forge with quality steel sent a message apologizing—his wagons had been turned back at the imperial checkpoint, his goods confiscated for "inspection."
Kieran's current inventory would last maybe a month if he worked sparingly. Less if he tried to maintain his normal pace.
Not that it mattered. He'd refused all commissions. His forge sat idle while Millhaven slowly strangled.
In the market square, merchants began rationing their existing stock. Prices climbed as scarcity drove panic. Mrs. Chen closed her tea shop—she'd run out of tea leaves and couldn't get more.
People began looking at Kieran differently when he walked the streets. Not hostile yet, but speculative. Calculating. Wondering if one man's principles were worth a town's survival.
Kieran stopped leaving the forge unless absolutely necessary.
A town meeting was called. Kieran attended because refusing would have been cowardice, though every instinct screamed at him to hide.
The municipal hall was packed, the air thick with tension and barely suppressed anger. Mayor Fletcher stood at the front, looking exhausted and defeated.
"The situation is untenable," Fletcher said bluntly. "The Empire, Sanctum, and Consortium show no signs of lifting their blockade. Our reserves are depleting faster than projected—apparently people panic-buy when they think they're under siege. We have maybe ten days before we face actual shortages of critical supplies."
"So make him leave," someone shouted from the crowd. "Send the blacksmith away, problem solved."
"Except it wouldn't be," Fletcher shot back. "You think they'll lift the blockade if Kieran leaves? They'll just follow him and establish new pressure points. This isn't about Millhaven—we're just convenient leverage."
"Then make him choose!" Another voice, angrier. "Make him accept one of their offers so they stop strangling us!"
Kieran stood up, his heart hammering. "I'm right here. You can address me directly."
The crowd turned to look at him, and Kieran fought the urge to sit back down and disappear.
"You want me to surrender," he said, his voice shaking but audible. "To let the Empire, Sanctum, or Consortium control my work. You think that will solve the problem."
"It'll end the blockade," someone called out.
"Maybe. Or maybe it'll just teach them that terrorizing civilians is an effective tactic." Kieran forced himself to meet eyes around the room. "Today they're blockading Millhaven to control me. What happens next time they want something? What happens when someone else has abilities or resources they want? Do we just surrender every time powerful people threaten innocent bystanders?"
"Easy for you to say when you're not wondering how to feed your family," a woman shot back, her voice breaking. "My children are asking why we can't buy bread anymore. What am I supposed to tell them? That your freedom is more important than their stomachs?"
Kieran flinched. "No. I'm supposed to tell them that I'm sorry. That I'm trying to find a solution that doesn't involve becoming someone's property. That I—" His voice cracked. "That I never wanted any of this."
"But you got it anyway," the woman said, not unkindly. "And now we're all paying the price."
The meeting dissolved into arguments, accusations, desperate suggestions. Kieran slipped out early, unable to bear watching people he'd lived among for two years turn against him.
Outside, he found Celeste waiting, leaning against the wall with Dawnbreaker at her hip.
"That went well," she said dryly.
"I'm destroying this town," Kieran said numbly. "Just by existing here."
"The factions are destroying this town. You're just the excuse." Celeste pushed off the wall. "Come on. Mira's waiting back at the forge. We need to talk strategy."
"What strategy? I can't give them what they want, and I can't let Millhaven suffer. There's no solution."
"There's always a solution," Celeste said. "We just haven't found it yet."
The first real shortage hit: medical supplies. The town healer, a B-rank Cleric named Sister Marion, announced she was running critically low on healing potions and herbal components for treating serious injuries.
"We can handle minor wounds with basic magic," she explained to a gathering of concerned citizens. "But anything serious—broken bones, deep cuts, disease—requires materials I don't have. If someone gets badly hurt..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
That afternoon, a construction accident sent a worker falling two stories. Broken leg, possible internal injuries. Sister Marion did what she could with limited resources, but the man would need weeks of recovery that should have taken days with proper supplies.
His wife visited Kieran that evening.
She didn't yell. Didn't accuse. Just looked at him with exhausted, helpless eyes and said: "Please. Whatever they want, just give it to them. I can't lose him."
After she left, Kieran sat in his forge and broke.
Not dramatically. Just quietly, thoroughly broke. The weight of responsibility, of knowing his choices were causing suffering, of being trapped between principle and practicality—it was too much.
Mira found him hours later, still sitting in the dark, staring at nothing.
"I can't do this," he whispered. "I thought I could fight. Thought I could stand on principle. But people are getting hurt, Mira. Real people with families and lives and—I can't."
Mira sat beside him in the darkness. For a long time, she said nothing.
Then: "My father used to tell me a story. About a merchant who refused to pay protection money to a gang. They threatened him, beat him, threatened his family. He still refused. Said if he paid, they'd just demand more. That standing up to bullies was worth any cost."
"What happened to him?"
"They killed him." Mira's voice was flat. "Burned his shop with him inside it. My mother and I barely escaped."
Kieran looked at her, shocked. "Mira, I didn't—you never said—"
"I don't talk about it. But you should know: my father was right and wrong. Right that giving in to bullies just encourages them. Wrong that principle is worth any cost. Because the cost isn't just yours to pay—it's everyone around you too."
"So I should surrender."
"I didn't say that." Mira turned to face him. "I said your father was wrong that principle is worth any cost. But he was right that bullies escalate if you give them what they want. So the question isn't 'do I fight or surrender?' The question is: how do I fight in a way that doesn't destroy everyone else?"
"I don't know how."
"Then we figure it out. Together." She squeezed his shoulder. "You're not alone in this, Kieran. Stop acting like you have to solve it by yourself."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Celeste entered, her expression troubled.
"We have a problem," she said. "Actually, we have several problems, but one just became urgent. There's a crowd forming in the square. They're talking about... forcing a resolution."
"A mob," Kieran said flatly.
"Not yet. But close." Celeste's hand rested on Dawnbreaker's pommel. "Fletcher is trying to calm them, but desperation is overriding reason. They want someone to blame, and you're convenient."
Kieran stood up, something hardening in his chest. He'd been paralyzed by guilt, trapped by impossible choices, crushed under the weight of responsibility.
But hearing that a mob was forming—that people were being pushed to violence by powerful factions using hunger and fear as weapons—something in him shifted.
"No," he said quietly.
"No?" Mira echoed.
"No more. No more being backed into corners. No more letting them dictate terms." Kieran moved to his workbench, his mind suddenly clear despite the chaos. "They want me to choose between surrendering to their control or watching Millhaven suffer. Those aren't the only options."
"What are you thinking?" Celeste asked carefully.
"I'm thinking that the Empire, Sanctum, and Consortium all want exclusive access to my work. They're fighting over who gets to control me." Kieran's hands found his father's hammer, the familiar weight grounding him. "So I give them what they want. All of them."
"You're not making sense," Mira said.
"An auction." Kieran turned to face them, his expression set with grim determination. "I'll create three weapons—one optimized for the Empire's needs, one for the Sanctum, one for the Consortium. Each one will be exceptional quality, worth fighting over. And I'll auction them publicly."
"They'll just try to take them all," Celeste protested.
"Let them try. The auction will be public, with clear rules. Highest bidder gets first pick. Second highest gets second pick. Third gets what's left. All sales final, no coercion allowed." Kieran started pacing, the plan crystallizing. "I make it so valuable they can't afford to disrupt it. So public they can't just seize everything without looking like pirates."
"And the blockade?" Mira asked.
"Ends when they agree to participate in the auction. That's the condition—lift the blockade, allow supplies through, and I'll create the weapons. Otherwise, I destroy everything in my forge and never make another artifact as long as I live."
"That's insane," Celeste breathed. "You're threatening mutually assured destruction."
"I'm establishing terms," Kieran corrected. "I can't stop them from wanting my work. But I can make the cost of aggressive coercion higher than the cost of negotiation. Either we interact on my terms, or nobody gets anything."
"They might call your bluff," Mira warned.
"It's not a bluff. I'll destroy every tool, every material, every piece of work in progress. I did it before in Greyhaven—sabotaged my own creations to escape. I'll do it again if I have to." Kieran met their eyes. "I'd rather have nothing than live in a cage."
Silence filled the forge as the two women processed his plan.
"It could work," Celeste said slowly. "If you make it public enough, prestigious enough, none of them can afford to be the faction that disrupted it. The political cost would be too high."
"And it gives Millhaven relief immediately," Mira added, warming to the idea. "The moment they agree to the auction, the blockade has to lift or they lose access to the bidding."
"It's risky," Celeste warned. "If even one faction decides the risk of you remaining independent is worse than the benefit of one weapon..."
"Then I destroy everything and run," Kieran said simply. "At least then the choice is mine."
Kieran stood in the town square at noon, facing a crowd that looked exhausted, desperate, and dangerously close to mob violence.
Mayor Fletcher had agreed to sponsor the announcement, though his expression suggested he thought Kieran was insane.
"Citizens of Millhaven," Kieran began, his voice shaking but carrying. "I know you're suffering. I know the blockade is my fault, regardless of who imposed it. And I know many of you want me to surrender to end this."
Hostile murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"I'm not going to surrender," he continued. "But I'm not going to let you suffer either. So I'm making an offer to the three factions currently strangling this town."
He pulled out a prepared statement, his hands trembling as he read.
"I will create three artifacts. One optimized for military use, suitable for the Valorian Empire. One attuned to light and divine magic, suitable for the Sanctum of Radiance. One designed for versatile combat and trade protection, suitable for the Asterlin Consortium."
The crowd had gone silent, listening.
"These weapons will be auctioned publicly in Millhaven's square, four weeks from today. Highest bidder gets first selection. Second highest gets second selection. Third gets the remainder. Minimum opening bid: five thousand gold per weapon."
Shocked gasps. Five thousand gold was a fortune—more than most people would see in a lifetime.
"The conditions are non-negotiable," Kieran continued, his voice strengthening. "First: the blockade ends immediately. All three factions must lift their restrictions and allow normal trade to resume. Second: the auction is public and fair. No coercion, no threats, no attempts to seize the weapons by force. Third: after the auction, I will accept no commissions from any faction for a minimum of one year. This is a one-time event, not an ongoing arrangement."
He lowered the paper and looked directly at where he knew the faction representatives were watching—Stone in imperial colors, Cassian in Sanctum white, Sylvie in Consortium silks.
"Those are my terms. Accept them, and I'll create three of the finest weapons I'm capable of making. Reject them, and I'll destroy every tool in my forge, scatter my materials, and never create another artifact. The choice is yours."
"And if we simply take what we want?" Marcus Stone called out. "If we confiscate your forge and compel production?"
"Then you get nothing," Kieran said flatly. "I'll sabotage every piece I make. Create weapons with structural flaws that won't show up until weeks after delivery. Produce beautiful garbage that looks perfect but breaks on first serious use." He smiled without humor. "I'm an Artifact Smith. I know how to make things that seem flawless and hide catastrophic weaknesses. You can force me to work, but you can't force me to work well."
"That's treason," Stone growled.
"That's self-preservation. And it's not treason to refuse slavery." Kieran turned to address the crowd again. "You have forty-eight hours to decide. Lift the blockade and agree to the auction, or watch me destroy everything and leave Millhaven forever. Either way, this situation ends in two days."
He walked away from the platform, his legs shaking so badly he could barely stand. Celeste materialized at his side immediately, supporting him.
"That was the bravest thing I've ever seen," she whispered.
"That was terror and spite in equal measure," Kieran corrected.
"Sometimes that's all bravery is."
Back at the forge, they waited. Mira paced. Celeste sharpened Dawnbreaker compulsively. Kieran sat at his workbench, running through mental calculations of how long it would take to create three exceptional weapons, whether he could actually do it, what would happen if he failed.
Hours passed. The tension stretched like wire pulled too tight.
Then, as sunset painted the sky orange and red, a messenger arrived.
The three factions had agreed.
The blockade would lift at dawn. The auction would proceed as specified. Kieran had four weeks to create three weapons that would determine Millhaven's future and quite possibly his own.
"We did it," Mira breathed. "You actually did it."
"I bought us time," Kieran corrected. "And made promises I might not be able to keep. Three artifacts in four weeks, each one exceptional enough to be worth thousands of gold."
"You made Dawnbreaker in six weeks while having constant panic attacks," Celeste pointed out. "And Tidecaller in about the same. You can do this."
"Those were individual commissions where I could focus entirely on one piece. This is three different weapons, three different optimization needs, all on the same deadline." Kieran laughed weakly. "I've basically promised to do the impossible."
"Good thing you specialize in the impossible," Mira said.
Outside, word spread through Millhaven like wildfire. The blockade was ending. Supplies would flow again. The siege was over.
And in his forge, Kieran Ashford stood looking at his tools, his materials, his workspace, and tried to figure out how to create three masterpieces simultaneously without losing his mind.
He had four weeks.
Four weeks to forge not just weapons, but his freedom.
Four weeks to prove that talent didn't have to mean chains.
Four weeks to show that exceptional skill could be leveraged without being owned.
It should have been impossible.
But then again, so was creating S-rank artifacts in a frontier town forge.
And he'd already done that.
"Okay," he said quietly to the empty room, to his tools, to the impossibility ahead. "Let's make something worthy of the fight."
His hands found his father's hammer.
And Kieran began to plan.
The auction was four weeks away.
The real work started now.