"The king will not sit idly by on this matter!" Vorden declared.
"Yes," Casper's voice echoed in the meeting room of the nobles of Syrin, "The king will close off our trade routes, forbidding commerce within this kingdom. However..."
"The capital will soon face a shortage of raw iron and silver ore. I have already negotiated with the ambassadors of the Celestia Dynasty of Carista. We’ve reached a special agreement—tax reductions, a shared harbor, and a monopoly contract on key goods, with prices set by us."
"We will get through this period, and eventually, the king will have no choice but to negotiate and reopen trade with us, because their resources will run out," Casper said with confidence.
The room fell silent, before whispers began to rise among the nobles. They could sense the air of superior negotiation. Syrin was about to take a step forward—not just as a port city anymore, but as the one controlling a vital artery of the entire kingdom's economy.
"Ivan," Vorden turned to a loyal noble. "Go check the markets and make sure there are no obstacles."
The Seahorse Grand Port unveiled its grandeur from the balcony of a fine restaurant, where Theo sat atop a small hill, gazing at the largest port in the kingdom. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore below was a steady soundtrack, while the sea breeze carried a mix of salty air and the scent of spices from the kitchen of the restaurant.
Theo sat at a marble table, his eyes wandering over the hundreds of ships docked in the harbor. Some sported family flags on their masts, while others were passenger vessels freshly arrived. People rushed about, loading and unloading goods, while the bustling cries of merchants rang out from the docks, accompanied by the calls of seagulls soaring low overhead.
Seahorse Grand Port was the beating heart of trade and power. From its humble beginnings as a fishing village, it had grown into a thriving metropolis after Captain Edric Walther—an ambitious seafarer—discovered a secret trade route connecting two continents. Gold, jewels, and precious goods poured in, transforming the port into a grand city.
Legends spoke of the Golden Seahorse—some believed it to be a hidden treasure beneath the sea, while others saw it as a symbol of destiny, guiding the city toward greatness.
The city was a melting pot of diverse people—merchants, pirates, and perhaps even spies of the royal family—interwoven in a web of secrets and bustling trade. Theo raised his glass slowly, savoring the moment, as the sounds of the waves, the people, and the ships crashing against the water merged into a single rhythmic pulse.
If Myriel is the kingdom of miracles… Seahorse Grand Port is the heart that breathes life into those miracles.
The junks sailed in and out without pause, merchants and travelers relentlessly vying for profit. And amid the sea of people, Syrin's hopes began to take root. Ivan walked through the market, lined with goods from every corner of the world. His gaze swept over the docks, where every decision made today could lead to great changes in the future...
"Garlic buttered Syrin black prawn, red scallop ceviche with white wine sauce, and grilled snow pearl sea bass with brandy sauce, served with local salad," the waitress announced as she placed the seafood on the table—a renowned dish that never failed to impress. The prawn was sweet and tender on the inside, with a crisp exterior, and the garlic butter sauce was rich and smooth.
Theo pointed towards the new structure rising above the port. "What’s he building there, Father?" the boy asked.
"I think he's going to build a throne room there, son," Casper replied with a smile.
"Why do you want this place to become a kingdom... and what will you gain from it?" Jessica asked.
"I just want my hometown to prosper. I don't want anyone to suffer from the kind of poverty I once knew," Casper answered, filled with hope.
After their meal, Theo and his family descended from the restaurant, making their way down the lively main street of Syrin. The sound of bells rang out as the door opened—along with the bustle of souvenir shops selling pearls, and the hum of voices as people bartered or chatted with the vendors.
In the town square, not far from the coast, stood the golden seahorse fountain, shimmering in the sunlight. The sweet aroma of pastries drifted from nearby bakeries, blending with the scent of fresh seafood sold along the streets.
Casper gazed at the fountain, his mood light as he spoke, "There sure are a lot of visitors today." He looked around with a smile. "Who wouldn't want to visit a city this beautiful?"
Theo walked alongside his father and mother, amidst the crowds and the elegant homes surrounding the square. He could feel that change was in the air—not only for the city but for his own life as well.
As evening fell upon the capital city of Aidengaard, the most prosperous city in the kingdom, the sky shifted to a rich blend of orange and red. Crystal lanterns, intricately crafted, illuminated the bustling streets and commercial districts, casting their glow upon a city that seemed to pulse with life and success. Yet, within the Blackthorn Citadel, things were different. The grand, understated throne room, bathed in the gentle flicker of candlelight, seemed to harbor secrets in its stillness, as if waiting for everything to be steered in an unpredictable direction.
If Syrin celebrated opulence in its open, extravagant way, Aidengaard conveyed a more subtle form of luxury—refined and unspoken.
Upon a throne both majestic and formidable sat a young man, crowned with a silver-white diadem. His gaze was forward, indifferent to the bustling life outside the palace walls. Above him, a dragon's skull loomed, reflecting an untamable power—symbolizing conquest and dominion.
His unwavering eyes locked onto the horizon of Aidengaard, a city aglow with the sparkles of commerce and wealth. This city was not just an economic hub; here, the most critical decisions of the kingdom were made.
A young man and a middle-aged man, both bearing an air of significance, entered.
The young man, with ash-blond hair, stood beside the throne, his cool gray-blue eyes betraying a quiet resolve.
The older man kneeled before the king.
Every breath in the throne room was filled with an unsettling silence, as if the words to follow held unimaginable significance.
"Everything is proceeding according to the plan we laid out, my brother!" The commanding voice from the Shadow Above the Throne carried undeniable authority, continuing without hesitation.
"We will shut down all trade routes in the kingdom. No city will be allowed to buy or sell goods from Syrin. The resources we've stockpiled are more than sufficient. We will release raw iron and silver ore at low prices through the royal merchants. Basic goods will only come from the capital."
"The negotiations with the Kingdom of Carista have been completed. My brother is betrothed to the Princess of the Celestia Dynasty. The wedding will take place once she turns sixteen," Prince Daemon stated flatly, his words deliberate.
"It is time to reveal the truth that cannot be denied. They will understand, without a single word spoken," the prince paused, his voice firm, "When the time comes, we shall do what must be done."
Prince Daemon Stormveil, only fifteen years old, possessed a demeanor and decisiveness far beyond his years.
"Understood, Your Majesty, Your Highness," Sir Hendrik Ashford, the loyal noble, said in a low voice, bowing in respect.
From the entrance of the throne room, the light from the throne was almost imperceptible. Though the king was but a few years older than Daemon, his posture and words were laced with a determined resolve, as though he bore the weight of all things. Prince Daemon, despite still being a young man, displayed an understanding of the situation and a determination just as profound.
If the king was the shadow pulling the strings, then the prince could be seen as the darkness that extended that shadow, enveloping the entire kingdom.
Who could have known... that the vast lands of Myriel would fall under the rule of these two young rulers?
Morning Bell Newspaper
"Is Count Vorden Betraying the King?"
Sources reveal that Syrin is preparing to declare independence! Count Vorden stands accused of seizing power through the use of beasts and hoarding metal ores for trade beyond the kingdom’s borders…
The streets of Syrin buzzed with conversation as townsfolk unfolded their copies of the Morning Bell. This news was not confined to Syrin alone—it spread like wildfire across Myriel, leaving people questioning their future.
"This is huge... Syrin declaring independence?" a young merchant murmured, flipping through the newspaper.
"Using beasts to expand his influence... hoarding metal ores for trade… Do you think he’d really do it?"
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
"I don’t know… but this makes it clear that Count Vorden might not just be thinking about developing the city," a young woman replied, concern lacing her voice.
Murmurs swelled through the streets, a wave of uncertainty washing over the city. Was Syrin merely a pawn in Count Vorden’s grand design?
The grand marketplace, once teeming with life, now lay eerily silent.
“We haven’t been able to sell anything outside the city since Count Vorden started planning for independence…” a young merchant muttered, his voice heavy with tension.
“No one will buy my beef,” another man grumbled, frustration evident in his tone.
“My bread too,” a woman chimed in. “And the price of grain keeps rising—I don’t even know who to sell to anymore…”
Murmurs of discontent grew louder.
“We’re doomed if this keeps up…” someone sighed.
“What will happen to our goods if we can’t trade beyond the city?” another woman asked, her voice laced with worry.
Anxiety hung thick in the air, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them all. As silence took hold once more, they realized—there were few choices left.
Seahorse Grand Port—Syrin’s commercial lifeline—now lay eerily lifeless.
Ivan strode toward the merchant from Carista, his expression dark with frustration. “Why aren’t you buying the silver ore as agreed?”
The Caristan merchant merely shrugged, his voice calm and indifferent. “I can’t. Aidengaard is selling it for nearly half the price.”
Ivan clenched his jaw. “But we have a contract.”
“A contract to buy at this price… not a contract to buy no matter what,” the merchant replied coolly before turning away to order his crew to unload their cargo.
Once, the port had been alive with the shouts of merchants and travelers. Now, only the wind whispered through the towering masts, their rigging clinking softly in the stillness.
Stacks of raw iron and silver ore—once the lifeblood of Syrin’s economy—now sat abandoned, worthless in the silence. There were no buyers, no transactions, no movement.
This was more than just a slump. It was an economic disaster, slowly eroding Syrin, piece by piece.
The town square, once bustling with the laughter and chatter of its people, now lay eerily silent, as if abandoned.
The shops that once welcomed customers were now tightly shuttered. Wooden doors were bolted shut, and the curtains that had once billowed gently in the breeze now hung limp, devoid of life. The smiles and laughter that once filled the streets were gone, leaving behind only silence and the faint rustle of the wind.
Theo clenched his mother’s hand tightly as they walked along the cobbled streets that had once felt warm but now seemed empty, cold, and hollow. “Mother, why is no one out walking today...?”
Jessica glanced down at her son, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “There are no more travelers, my dear.”
She gently guided Theo past the town square’s fountain. The golden seahorse statue, which once sparkled in the sunlight, now appeared dull and tarnished, stripped of the vibrancy it once had, much like the town itself.
“What is this!” The familiar sound of a fist slamming onto the table reverberated through the room, shaking the very floor.
“Casper! What did you tell me about the capital’s shortage of metals?”
“And yet, what is this!” The newspaper was slammed down onto the table with a resounding thud, causing everyone in the room to flinch. Vorden's face contorted with rage.
The room fell into a tense silence, as if everyone knew that speaking at this moment could only make the situation worse.
“The news about the shortage of resources was nothing but a lie fabricated by the King…” Casper’s voice cracked as he struggled to suppress his emotions.
“The engagement with the princess was planned in advance. The King knew we would have to sign trade agreements, and they’ve already used this to bind the agreement with conditions. Even if we sell goods at the same price as Aidengaard, Carista will never buy from us.”
“But, my Lord... Please, calm down. I have prepared a backup plan…” Casper’s voice quivered slightly, but he still tried to hold it together.
“First, we need to correct the news and prevent panic among the people. Write that the Morning Bell's report is a fabrication."
“The Kingdom of Kyros, which has been trading with us for so long, still needs metals and basic goods. If we can sell, even at a lower price, the economy will gradually recover, and we will bounce back.”
“The middlemen will handle the export of goods as planned. We’ll only need to focus on the prices we require.”
Casper turned to face Vorden, his voice filled with conviction.
“While Aidengaard may be the heart of the economy, we produce more, and we have a backup plan already in place. Regardless, the resources in the capital will run out first.”
“The throne room is nearly complete. I can hardly wait,” Vorden said, his voice dripping with anticipation. “Soon, everything will be mine…”
“My brother, from now on, you need not find anyone else to rule over Syrin.”
“Whoever sits on that throne, they may seem loyal at first, content with what they have. But as time passes, with Syrin flourishing ever closer to Aidengaard, their ambition will begin to grow. They will desire more power, a hunger for conquest, and eventually, they may rise to declare independence from us once again.”
The prince’s voice was firm, as if he could already foresee the outcome of a story that had yet to unfold.
The king gazed at his younger brother with a silent intensity, as if weighing the meaning behind every word spoken. After a moment, his tone softened, yet it carried an undeniable resolve. “I have thought to send you to govern.”
Prince Daemon did not hesitate. He responded confidently, his expression unwavering.
“I will restore Syrin to its former prosperity. Afterward, I will return it to you.”
The young king looked at his brother, once a mere child, but now strong and decisive. A faint smile touched the corner of his lips.
“But I want you to protect it for me… forever.”
His voice softened ever so slightly.
Prince Daemon nodded, accustomed to leadership, understanding well the importance of maintaining balance.
“If that is the case, the people may believe we are dividing our power. They might fall into discord, for Syrin already competes with Aidengaard in terms of prosperity. Those who already hold grudges will only become more divided, making it difficult to govern.”
He spoke carefully, his voice firm yet softened by the tenderness in his gaze.
“After I return Syrin to you, I will take charge of Aidengaard in the meantime, while you must travel between the two.” Prince Daemon added, his posture relaxing slightly.
The king was silent for a moment, taken aback by his brother’s intellect and determination. He said nothing further, only nodding in silent acknowledgment.
This harbor was so tranquil that hardly any sound could be heard except the gentle lapping of the waves and the occasional calls of seagulls. Despite the absence of bustling crowds inspecting the goods unloaded from the hundreds of merchant ships that came and went, the serene evening atmosphere of Seahorse Grand Port still left an indelible impression. Though trade was in a dark and desperate crisis, a few souls remained, standing to gaze at the sun sinking beneath the horizon. The soft blue sky contrasted with the emerald waters below. Among them were families with children running joyfully, groups of young men and women fishing, and even merchants seated in the small, local bar, known only to the townsfolk, sipping their drinks.
In addition to its renowned seafood, Syrin is equally famous for its alcoholic beverages, particularly the "Waltherwitbier," served in frosty pints. This witbier is meticulously brewed in dark oak barrels, infusing it with the fragrant essence of Lilia oranges, a rare variety that can only be cultivated here. Its taste, sweet and velvety, flows effortlessly, making it exceptionally easy to drink. The bar today seemed more lively than usual, with patrons gathered, deep in conversation and sharing their financial woes with a sense of grave concern.
"Emil, I need you to help me," Casper said as he lifted his pint to take a sip.
"What have you been up to, Cas? Do you have any idea how bad things are right now?" Emil asked, his voice tense, raising his own witbier to drink.
"That's why I’m asking for your help..." Casper implored.
"And what could a simple merchant like me possibly do?" Emil sighed softly before placing his pint down on the table.
"You’re a local here, Emil. You know every merchant who comes and goes through this port. Your group is nearly as large as the guild itself," Casper asserted confidently.
"So what?" Emil’s voice softened.
"Syrin will sell its metal ores through you, along with all its basic goods..." Casper said excitedly.
"That’s impossible..." Emil quickly interrupted.
"I’m not finished yet! You buy the goods here, take them to Kyros, and I’ll offer you a price that will let you profit handsomely," Casper proposed.
"Kyros? We’ve been trading with Loom as currency ever since the king helped them out during the financial collapse, along with setting up the Loom currency and the central bank at Aidengaard," Emil said, his tone filled with doubt, pausing to think.
"Exactly! You just sell the goods in Kyros, exchange the Loom for Renn at Aidengaard, then come back to buy more goods here and repeat the cycle. I want your group to do this with every item we’re sending out of the city," Casper said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.
"Agreed!" Emil smiled, relaxing. "I’ll call in my friends for help, and we’ll make a fortune."
"Not just that!" Casper grinned widely. "If you can lead Syrin through this crisis, people will remember your name... Emil Eisenberg, the trading noble and hero of Syrin."
Both raised their pints in a toast, their faces alight with hope.
The sound of the quill scratching against paper nearly matched the rhythm of the movement of people in the room, as the black ink began to dry on sheets containing vital information. Hundreds of desks lined the room, each occupied by individuals engaged in transactions. Merchants haggled over the exchange of gold, noble families discreetly searched for new opportunities, while others scoured for information that could shift the tides of the business world.
A thick sheet of parchment sealed with hot wax was carefully placed in the corner of a desk, unnoticed by those around. The scent of fresh ink mingled with the dusty aroma of aged paper, filling the air of the room. Amidst the bustling chaos, a crucial document was retrieved and carefully unfurled, the wax chipped away from the edges with a sharp metal tool.
As the paper was unfolded,
The name, written in black ink, gleamed under the soft glow of a small candle on the table—Emil Eisenberg.
The document was swiftly folded away, without a single word spoken. Every movement was carried out in silence.
What did this letter mean?
Who was it that sent it here?
