More months passed.
Lucien turned twenty-seven.
By then, the Middle Continent no longer spoke of Lootwell as a foreign power, a mystery, or a passing disturbance.
It spoke of Lootwell as a fact.
Rumors had become reports. Reports had become travel plans. Travel plans had become business routes. Business routes had become dependency. And dependency, if handled properly, became influence.
The Middle Branch had also gained a name from the people.
At first, it appeared in casual conversations between travelers.
Then on communication channels.
Then in reports.
Then even allied faction notices began using it.
Grand Confluence.
The place where all paths met.
A place where opportunity gathered and community spread.
When Lucien first read the report, he stared at the name for a long moment.
"Grand Confluence," he repeated.
Then he marked the report.
"From now on, use it officially."
And just like that, the Middle Branch ceased being only the Middle Branch.
