Reitz drafted the invitation to Ezra's birthday as soon as the production for the ink and the resin templates had stabilized.
He did it at his table with the door open, so the steward could come and go. The words were short. The hand was clean. He finished, sanded the ink, and folded it once.
When Ezra came in, Reitz did not look up.
He held the letter out to the scribe waiting near the wall.
"Take this," Reitz said. "Make a stencil."
The scribe hesitated for half a breath.
"My lord," the scribe bowed,
The scribe took the letter with both hands. He glanced at Ezra, then back to Reitz.
Reitz watched him leave.
Ezra sat where Reitz indicated and waited. He could hear the Press Office through the corridor if the castle was quiet enough. But the rhythmic sounds of work echoed clean in the halls.
Reitz took a second sheet and began drafting another letter without looking at Ezra.
"How long," Reitz asked, "from this to a resin template."
Ezra answered automatically. "If it stays this length," he said, "today. The punch is the slow part."
Reitz nodded once, still writing.
"And once the master exists," Reitz asked, "how many in a day."
Ezra replied at once. "Per set," he said, "a few hundred sheets if we run steady. More if we don't bind. Less if we have to cut fine and stack clean. But we can run multiple at once if we have multiple copies of the template."
Reitz wrote another line. "So more templates means more output."
Ezra nodded. "It scales to the number of templates we have."
Reitz set his pen down and looked at Ezra for the first time since Ezra arrived.
"Can we make maps with this," Reitz asked.
Ezra blinked. "Maps?"
"Yes," Reitz said. "Roads. Holds. Rivers. The layout of the province."
Ezra ran the constraints in his head. Fine lines meant shallow cuts and a steady hand. Large surfaces meant warping and uneven pressure. Repeated marks meant the plate had to hold alignment through every pull. And multiple plates meant registration—each layer landing clean on the last, or the whole map turning into a blur.
"It's doable," Ezra said. "But it will take time. Punching is slower when the surface is dense. Maps are dense."
Reitz's brow tightened while he thought.
"I want maps of Fulmen," Reitz said but he didn't stop there.
"I want a book," Reitz said. "Something that shows Fulmen clean. Roads, holds, markets, and where is what."
He paused.
"What do you think," Reitz asked.
Ezra understood what the question was, and what it was not.
"It's a good idea," Ezra said.
Reitz's eyes stayed on him.
"If this is the rate," Reitz said, "we can do it every half year."
Ezra nodded. "Much more," he said. "Once we get going we can print something like this every month. Even daily."
Reitz went quiet for a beat. He looked down at the table, but his stare kept moving beyond it.
Then he spoke again.
"It would be good," Reitz said, "to promote inns in Bren and the whole of Fulmen and other attractions around. Places where people stop. Places where people spend."
Ezra stared at him.
Distribution had been in Ezra's head somewhere, but it had not been first. He had built the press to free hands. To turn scribes into foundations that would make scaling possible. He was just one mind. He needed to replicate what he knew as fast as he could. He wanted a base of knowledge so Bren could start doing things that scaled.
Reitz had gone straight to circulation. Coin movement. Trade. Control of the road economy.
Reitz started to form a thin smile.
Ezra's mouth opened, then closed. He almost saw the dollar signs forming in Reitz's eyes.
Reitz saw the reaction and did not comment on it. He let it pass.
He simply continued, like the next step was obvious.
"I want to print a book," Reitz said, "and send it along with the invitations."
Ezra frowned. "To my part?," he repeated.
"Yes," Reitz said. "To every lord in Fulmen. And to the larger merchant houses that keep wagons on my roads, and to the owners of the places we mention in the book."
He leaned back slightly.
"Pressed invitations," Reitz added. "We make it uniform so that merchants will talk and the lords will talk. Books cost more than you think, Ezra."
Reitz shifted his gaze from his son to the book on the table, then back to Ezra.
"I don't know if you fully understand that," Reitz said. "A book is not just a scribe paid. It's a scribe's time. You created a method that won't need scribes for copying. That means we can sell not only the press itself, but the books we print too."
"We can," Ezra said carefully. "But it will take scheduling. We'll have to cut other work."
Reitz nodded once. "Then schedule it," he said. "You said you wanted a writ for anything pertaining to the Press, right? With that comes responsibility."
The scribe came back with ten pressed letters stacked between boards, the ink still new enough to smell. The text was identical on every page.
Reitz took the stack, flipped the top page, and checked the first line.
"Good," he said.
Reitz paused for a beat and had a pensive look, after a while he turned back to Ezra.
"Actually, I am having second thoughts about selling the press," Reitz said. "Help me understand how hard this is to copy."
Ezra stared back with, eyes fixed on his father's face.
"The idea itself can be copied," Ezra said candidly. "Anyone who knows how to work a seal knows the core idea. Once we let people see this, it will be inevitable that it spreads in one form or another. It may not be how we make it, but the concept will be the same."
Ezra let that sit. Silence held for a moment.
Reitz broke it after contemplating again.
"But... I think there is still merit in selling it," Reitz said. "Sooner or later, once they see the prints—the uniformity, the spacing—they'll figure it out. Spies, merchants, scribes. Just by looking at the result, there will be people who understand the method."
Reitz paused, watching Ezra.
"If you had not set this into the world, no one would have known," Reitz said. "But because you did, the result will echo throughout the realm. So there is merit in being the first to sell it."
Ezra was stunned and shifted uneasily. Reitz had understood the deeper meaning of what the press was.
"We have an advantage if we are first," Reitz continued. "First, we establish authority. If we make this reliably, we secure our position. Second, we have an army. And of course we have me and Aerwyna to enforce whatever it is that needs enforcing."
Reitz let that stand.
Ezra nodded. He understood what Reitz was getting at. There definitely was merit in it. First mover advantage mattered.
Reitz set the stack beside the ledger, like it belonged there.
Ezra watched him do it and understood, late, what his father had seen the moment the first clean copy had come off the press.
Reitz had already envisioned something akin to a proto-magazine/newspaper—circulation and influence—without Ezra even nudging him.
While Ezra was calculating optimization—how much faster knowledge could spread, how many literate hands could be freed for more useful labor—Reitz had already seen what he would use it for: profit, power and influence.
Ezra had been counting hands.
Reitz was counting leverage
Reitz sat at the small table in the side chamber with the reply stack laid out in front of him.
Each letter had his seal broken clean. Each had a name on the outside in Rowan's hand. A scribe stood off to one side with a slate and chalk. Rowan sat with his ledger open, already writing the confirmations into a list.
Reitz did not rush. He checked them one by one.
"Valorfall," he said.
Rowan answered without looking up. "Confirmed."
"Crest Fellern."
"Confirmed."
Reitz moved down the stack, tapping each letter once as he went. It was not ceremony. It was counting.
When he reached the bottom, he set the last reply aside and looked at the scribe.
"How many," Reitz asked.
The scribe glanced at his slate. "Every House that was sent an invitation has confirmed attendance, my lord."
Reitz nodded once.
He leaned back slightly and folded his hands on the table.
"For the name day celebration," Reitz said, "We can ease the inner castle security but tighten the gate searches."
Rowan's pen stopped. Ashen looked at Reitz with a questioning gaze.
The scribe looked up. "My lord?"
"With all the lords in attendance," Reitz said, "the castle will be the safest place in Fulmen. Just wait for them to be all in the castle. We have enough guest rooms for them."
Rowan's voice was careful. "Safe from assassination?"
Reitz's eyes moved to him and nodded. "Any assassination attempt" he said. "Any threat to Ezra's life. Unless a Primarch himself comes to claim Ezra, we can rest assured that Ezra's safety is guaranteed once they all reach the castle."
The scribe shifted his weight. "And a threat that doesn't care about being seen."
Reitz's gaze stayed steady. "Then it will be met in the open."
Aerwyna frowned. "What about the probes? They are to attempt a read on Ezra."
Reitz's eyes narrowed. "Any probes that were worth their salt would already have had an accurate intelligence of Ezra at this point. While no one has yet made a move on his life, I doubt they are making any more moves on Ezra for the time being."
Reitz continued. "Besides, I know for a fact that Ezra is skilled enough to be able to hide his true talent, without being noticed too much. In fact I am not even sure of his current level. You tried getting a read on him, right?"
Aerwyna nodded reluctantly. "Over the past two years he does seem to have improve hiding, his true power. It even feels like he has only improved minimally."
Reitz chuckled. "Yeah, but you don't need to worry about him. I noticed him slip a few times. I think he still needs time to hone his perception, though. I caught him in his room fully engrossed in writing omniscience knows what. It looked odd. They seemed to be glyphs, but glyphs that I am not familiar with at all."
Aerwyna snorted, "he was just playing. I think."
Reitz nodded in agreement and then turned to Ashen.
"Pull men from the inner ring," he said. "Put them on the gates, the corridor turns, and the service passages. Double the searches. All garments for people not in the list will be required to be checked thoroughly so we don't miss anyone wearing void silk. Strip them if you have to."
Ashen nodded, scribbling on his notebook.
Reitz added. "No cloaks unhandled. No bundles uncut."
Ashen glanced up. "You intend to allow commoners inside?"
"I intend to allow the ones I invited inside," Reitz said. "Inn owners. Roadhouse keepers. Ferry men. Warehouse masters. The people who touch the roads every day. They are no threat to trueborns."
He said it like that ended the matter.
Rowan's pen scratched again.
"And the merchants?" The scribe asked. "The factors."
"Only the merchants in attendance with the invitations, with their papers and proof of identity.," Reitz said, "and only those directly invited, are allowed into the great hall."
He tapped the reply stack again.
"They are here because I want them here," Reitz said. "That doesn't mean they get to wander."
"I will draft the entry orders," Ashen said said. "Who is permitted where, under what authority."
Reitz nodded.
He stood.
"Do it," he said.
Ezra's fourth birthday did not feel like a celebration.
It felt like Bren had decided to host a siege and disguise it as a feast.
From the rafters of the great hall, Blackfyre colors hung, gemlamps reflecting their light. The tables were all packed with more merchants than lords. The lords had a table much nearer to the high table where the Blackfyre Family was seated. Various colors from different houses spread across the hall.
Ezra sat at the high table between Reitz and Aerwyna.
Aerwyna's posture was calm, but her eyes did not rest. They moved in short sweeps across the hall and came back to Ezra. Whenever someone looked too long in his direction, she noticed it.
Reitz stood once the hall had filled and the doors had been shut again.
Servants came out from the side doors with jugs and trays. They poured in order: the high table first, then the vassal tables, then the merchant tables, then the outer tables. Reitz watched it like he watched a patrol report—eyes moving, making sure nothing was out of place.
He lifted his cup.
"To Ezra," he said. "May he not level a block in Bren as he did in Anticourt."
A wave or hysterical laughs, roars and jeers came. Reitz eyed Ezra as he said it.
Don't be too sure, Ezra thought, I might level a few for factories.
Ezra rolled his eyes.
Aerwyna placed her hand lightly on Ezra's forearm, a small steadying touch, then removed it as if it had never happened.
That got the response Reitz wanted. Cups rose. A cheer ran across the hall. Someone called out "Blackfyre!" from the vassal side. On the merchant side, a few voices shouted Ezra's name again, smiling like it was good business to be heard.
Reitz nodded once, satisfied, then continued without letting the noise run too long.
"To Fulmen," he added. "To safe roads. To full markets. To a good year."
Cups clinked. The hall settled back into a steady hum.
Reitz set his cup down and picked up a thin book from beside his plate. He held it up so the nearest tables could see the cover.
Fulmen: Roads, Holds and Markets.
Most had carried the book. Some had already opened it and checked their own holdings, their own routes, their own names, even though some could not themselves read it.
Reitz spoke like he was making an announcement in council, but he kept the tone easy.
"As you know, everyone who got an invitation, also received a gift with it." he said. "You have been good friends and subjects. This book..."
He paused showing it to everyone
"Will be revised every regularly."
That got attention. Vassals scrunched their brows. Merchants faces automatically tried to calculate the cost of this task in their faces. It wore the look of: "is Bren really that rich?"
This meant a recurring effort. It meant consistency, and assuming everyone in the room had a copy. The amount of wealth that needed in order for that to happen was astronomical. There were seven hundred people in attendance in the great hall alone. That meant seven hundred copies.
Some of the mouths of the merchants fell open.
Reitz continued.
"It's meant to be useful," he said. "If you travel, it tells you what is where. If you trade, it tells you the major holds, the main roads, and the markets. It's not perfect. That's why it will be revised. Time changes a domain, and we hope to be able to capture that."
He glanced across the merchant tables.
"I invited the owners of the larger inns and roadhouses for a reason," he said. "You know the roads better than most lords do. You know where wagons stop. You know which stretches have trouble."
He shifted his gaze to the vassals.
"And I invited the Houses because you rule this land," he said. "If your roads change, if your holds change, if your markets move, I need to know. So the next issue is better than this one, because all of us can work together to showcase your "
He tapped the book once with a finger, then set it down.
Reitz lifted his hand slightly, palm out.
"If you want your inn, your ferry, your market, or your warehouse included in the next edition," he said, "you can apply."
Reitz didn't look at him. He kept going like this was obvious.
"You send a petition to the Press Office in Bren," Reitz said. "State what you are. Where you are. What you offer. Stabling. Storage. Fees. Days you're open. Anything a traveler would need."
Ezra's face tightened. What? We didn't discuss this. This wasn't in the job description. He is making this as he goes along.
Ezra's palm went to his forehead.
Aerwyna's gaze flicked to him.
The Press Office wasn't built to handle petitions. It was built to do distributions and licenses. Reitz had just added an intake problem on top of production.
Reitz's voice stayed calm.
"We'll set a cutoff. End of year," he said. "Anything after that goes to the next one."
He paused, then added something that sounded mild but wasn't.
"And if someone lies to get themselves printed, they won't be printed again."
A few merchants chuckled. A few didn't. The vassals mostly stayed neutral. They understood what "won't be printed again" meant when the Earl controlled the only press in the province.
Reitz raised his cup again.
"A week after this celebration," he said, "the Houses of Fulmen and the merchant firms directly invited tonight will be asked to attend a short meeting in Bren. We'll do a demonstration of the method. If you're going to deal with this every half, you should see how it's done." Reitz slid down and turned. His face slid into a mischievous grin.
That did more than his earlier explanation. It made people check their invitations in their heads. It made people look around to see who else counted as "directly invited."
Reitz sat back down. He ate like he hadn't just shifted the province's workflow.
Ezra watched the tables. He watched the way the merchants leaned together with the book open, pointing at lines and talking with their hands. He watched a minor lord on the edge of the vassal tables flip pages too fast, like he was looking for his own name.
Aerwyna watched with him. She read the faces.
Ezra kept his frown and glared at Reitz. Yeah give a four year old more work. Slave Driver.
He looked at the crowd and sighed instead. Instead of managing the production, rights and supply, the office is starting to become to public relations and information, like what the word "press" is known for in the modern day.
Maybe, I shouldn't have called the office a press office. Ezra thought as he shook his head.