In the fading years of the 1400s, when kings rose and fell like the tides and the scent of war still lingered on the wind, a fellowship of merchants took root in the bustling port city of Crotha. Esteemed by many as the finest of their kind in all Udoris, these men and women were not mere traders but architects of commerce, laying the foundation for what would one day shape the realm's fortunes. Their fellowship, born in the ashes of the Great War and the annexation of Crotha, grew with the inevitability of ivy creeping up a crumbling tower.

  Through cunning and coin, this confederacy of merchant guilds ascended to heights unimagined, seizing control of trade along the Gulf of Verum. From the sun-kissed shores of Gold Bay in the west to the windswept waters of the Caspian Gulf in the east, their reach extended, an ever-growing web of influence. By the turn of the century, this confederation—known now as the Chamber of Commerce—had become not just a body of traders but the unseen hand steering the rudder of trade itself. They codified the laws of commerce, transforming the unruly chaos of barter into a finely tuned instrument of wealth and power.

  As trade flourished, so too did Udoris itself. Merchant enclaves sprang up like spring blooms in every corner of the realm. Neude, Bycrest, and even Hatford—the reclusive jewel of Arien—opened their gates to the golden flood. Partnerships deepened, and with them came the rise of grand consortiums: the Brotherhood of Golden Ships, whose sails dappled every horizon, and the famed Order of Spice and Silk, whose caravans brought exotic wares and whispered secrets from lands unseen.

  With trade came the need for record and protection. The Sanctuary of Scrolls emerged, a bastion of scribes and scholars, ensuring every contract and ledger was preserved against the tides of time. And where there was wealth, there was need for swords to guard it. An order of Verumitte mercenaries, now known across the realm as the Warriors’ Guild, pledged their steel to the Chamber of Commerce. Together, these entities formed a symbiosis of knowledge, gold, and blood, their fates entwined as tightly as the knots in a fisherman's net.

  Even now, centuries later, the Chamber's shadow lingers over Udoris. Its merchants no longer carry only spices and silks; they bear the weight of the realm’s economy. Kings and queens may sit upon their thrones, but it is the Chamber that truly rules, their influence as unyielding and enduring as the tides that once brought them to power.

  …

  Excerpt from Jonas Diane's second book on Udorian powers - 'Capitalism, the mother of a modern civilization'

  ???

  Maidenpool, 2nd Moon, 13th Day, 1624 Symfora Telos

  The birds sang sweetly in the budding trees, their trills threading through the air like harp strings plucked by unseen hands. Bees buzzed about the first blossoms of the season, and the breeze carried the faint, heady scent of thawing earth and blooming flowers. Winter’s grip had loosened its hold on the land, and the snow melted into rivulets that glistened in the weak sunlight, revealing shy greens and hesitant yellows beneath. Nature stirred to life, awakening in fits and starts as the fields came alive with birdsong and the murmur of running water.

  Aden stood by the swiftly thawing Strega, his gaze distant, his broad shoulders weighed with an unspoken burden. His sigh misted in the cool morning air as he turned from the scene, only to feel a playful prod at his side.

  "So," Vaiu said, her voice light as the breeze but sharp with intent. "Do we have an agreement?" Her grin was as mischievous as a fox slipping into a henhouse.

  Aden glared at her, exasperated. "This is daylight robbery."

  "Yes, it is," Vaiu nodded.

  "Blatant banditry," Aden grumbled, his tone bitter as old ale. "That's what this is."

  "Indeed," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, her smile widening as his vexation grew.

  "Could you not make a few concessions?" he asked, his voice tight. "For old friendship’s sake?"

  "No."

  Aden sighed heavily. "Fine."

  Vaiu tutted, her mock reproach like a schoolmarm chastising a disobedient pupil. "You make it seem as though I exploit you, Aden."

  He turned his head sharply, one brow arching high with skepticism. "Do you not?"

  She laughed, a soft, musical sound that only deepened his scowl. Shaking his head, Aden turned away, muttering under his breath. "When His Majesty learns of this—"

  "The Queen assented, did she not?" Vaiu interrupted, her tone smug.

  "Her Majesty is in dire straits," Aden snapped. His irritation was sharp enough to slice through the morning air. "It ill behooves you to exploit her desperation when your people, however unwittingly, played a part in this debacle."

  Vaiu’s smile faded, her expression hardening. "Matters are never so simple," she said, shaking her head. "You know that, Aden. I cannot afford to give my sister further cause to undermine me before the Elders. Your rejection of me, after the dishonor you wrought, has tarnished my standing beyond repair. Rabia stirs enough trouble as it is. If she convinces the Elders that I do not place the Creed’s interests above all, the repercussions would be dire—for all of us."

  Aden’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the thawing ground. A long silence stretched between them before he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. "...I have been inconsiderate," he admitted quietly. "Forgive me."

  Vaiu sniffed, turning away with her arms crossed. "You had best be sorry," she said, her tone tart. "You scarcely comprehend how much I’ve sacrificed for you, you ungrateful wretch."

  Aden opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some placating reply, but his words were interrupted by the approach of a figure from the corner of his vision. A priestess, clad in the modest robes of her station, bowed deeply before Vaiu and extended a small scroll.

  "Your Holiness," the priestess said, "a missive for you."

  Vaiu took the parchment, her expression souring as her eyes scanned the words within. Aden’s brows knit together as he watched her frown deepen. "Is aught amiss?" he asked warily.

  Vaiu hesitated before replying, her gaze flicking to him. "...It seems so," she said at last. "Over the winter, your son razed Mallowston Fort, amassed a peasant host of five hundred men, and now prepares to do battle with Lord Josh of House Hera at his harbour."

  Aden’s face darkened. "...Sean did what?"

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  Vaiu shook her head, her expression as baffled as his. "Not Sean," she corrected, handing him the parchment. "That one fled north to Quilton long ago, stripping you bare of gold and men before he left. No, this was Levi—your trueborn son. He razed the fort after Josh’s heir, Gilbert, threatened to seize Faywyn by force."

  "Impossible," Aden muttered, his hands trembling as they gripped the scroll. "Sean would not... Levi could not..." He shook his head, his denial written across his pale face.

  Vaiu said nothing, her silence heavier than her words could have been.

  "Where is Lord Josh now?" Aden asked finally, his voice low and strained.

  Vaiu exchanged a glance with the priestess, who stepped forward. "Three vessels bearing the Hera crest were sighted passing Maidenpool but hours ago, my lord," the priestess said. "At most, they will reach Mallowston by noon, two days hence."

  "...Fuck," Aden breathed, his face growing pale. "Fuck!"

  ???

  Mallowston, 2nd Moon, 16th Day, 1624 Symfora Telos

  Lord Josh stood upon the quarterdeck of the Dandelion, his gloved hands resting on the weathered rail as he gazed out over the thawing waters of the Strega. The brig pressed forward with the groan of timber and the soft crunch of ice breaking beneath her prow, propelled by the westerly winds. Ahead, the silhouettes of Mallowston Harbour and the rest of his fleet—the Serenity and Endeavour—emerged and receded in the shifting mist like spectres guiding their way. Josh's gaze lingered on the harbour, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was a warmth to the sight, a fondness for the familiar waters of the river he had long sailed.

  "A fine day to be alive, wouldn’t you say?" Josh called out, his voice buoyant as he planted his fists on his hips.

  "Indeed it is, My Liege-Governor," replied the helmsman, a spry nobleman of House Locket, his tone light with jest. The quip drew a chuckle from the knights nearby, their steel glinting faintly in the pale morning light.

  Josh laughed with them, the sound rich and nostalgic. "I am no lord of Faywyn yet, good ser," he said. "Much remains to be done before that honour is mine. First, I must see young Gilbert wed to the Timel girl, lest her boor of a father raises another ruckus. Ah, so many tasks, so little time."

  The helmsman offered a nod, but whatever response he might have made was drowned in the sudden thunder of cannon fire. The first salvo came without warning, tearing through the mist like a beast’s roar. Josh staggered as the Dandelion lurched violently, her timbers groaning under the assault. The sharp crack of chain shot echoed across the river as great bluish plumes of smoke rose from artillery hidden among the cluttered yards of the harbour.

  The Serenity and Endeavour fared no better. The Endeavour took a direct hit to her mainmast, the great beam splintering with a deafening crack. She began to list to port, her shattered mast dragging her downstream as the river’s current caught her.

  On the Dandelion, chaos reigned. Blood slicked the deck where severed limbs and broken bodies lay strewn like discarded offerings to some macabre god. Smoke and the sickly stench of charred flesh thickened the air. Josh struggled to his feet, his face a mask of rage and disbelief. "What in the devil’s name is happening?" he bellowed, his voice just barely audible above the din.

  "An ambush, My Lord!" the helmsman shouted from where he crouched, clutching the ship’s wheel as if it alone might save him.

  "No shit!" Josh snarled. "All hands on deck! Ready the cannons! Shit—belay that! belay that! Hoist the sails and weigh anchor! Helmsman, steer us clear of the Endeavour!"

  Ahead, the Serenity, unable to veer quickly enough, collided with the stricken Endeavour, the dreadful creak of timber against timber carrying across the water. Both ships groaned under the impact, their fates bound together by misfortune.

  Josh grimaced at the sight of his men still hurrying to arm the Dandelion's three two-pounder portside minions despite his orders for retreat. The Dandelion had been partially disarmed to carry men and supplies; at a glance, he could tell in the state she was now, the vessel was no match for the artillery raining destruction from the harbour. Out-gunned, their only hope was a complete retreat. Ahead still, the Endeavor was dragged downstream for a few hundred meters before getting caught on a sandbar about two dozen meters from the western bank.

  "Enemy brigs!" one crewmate shouted, drawing Josh's attention to the two vessels ahead in the harbour. Josh cursed bitterly as he watched the enemy brigs ahead weigh anchor, their dark gunports yawning open to reveal a grim row of cannons.

  "All hands on deck, you cockless fools!" Josh roared, his voice raw as a salvo from the enemy vessels ripped bloody lines of shrapnel through the Dandelion. "Raise the godsdamned sails and set anchor aweigh!"

  The Dandelion turned sluggishly, her anchor’s flared bill catching the strong current as she strained against her own momentum. She maneuvered as quick as she could but the enemy brigs were faster, their lighter frames gliding downstream with a grim inevitability.

  Another barrage roared from the harbour batteries and, ahead, the Serenity shuddered under the assault before slowly listing heavily to starboard. The stricken vessel managed to flee downstream for another three hundred meters before she was summarily caught, gunned and boarded by one of the pursuing brigs. The second, relentless in its pursuit of the Dandelion, sought to board her.

  Josh’s eyes darted to the western bank, where the Endeavour had run aground, her shattered hull spilling men into the icy water. Enemy cavalry and pikemen had emerged from the woods behind the riverbank sometime during the chaos, their numbers vast and their formation disciplined as they sought to encircle the Endeavour’s crew as they emerged from the Strega .

  "By Jove’s bloody yard..." Josh muttered, his voice trembling with disbelief. Then louder, as panic took hold: "Make for land! Now!"

  The Dandelion slowly began to careen to the east, running aground minutes later, her hull grinding against the riverbed before listing heavily to one side. Without hesitation, Josh and the rest of the brig’s crew plunged into the freezing water, thrashing their way to shore.

  Shivering and soaked, Josh turned back to the river. Across the water, the Endeavour’s crew and his bannermen were , their fates sealed by the steel of the enemy. Josh clenched his fists, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the cold bit deep.

  "Bloody hells," he swore, his voice low and bitter as he turned toward the woods. "Bloody hells and damnation."

  Levi stood atop the martello tower, his shadow stretching long in the waning light, cast by the fire-tinged haze that hung over the harbour. Below, the remnants of Josh Hera’s fleet lay crippled, their masts shattered and hulls battered by the relentless assault. The twenty-four-pounder that crowned the fortification had gone silent, its work done. The Dandelion wallowed against the shallows, her decks overrun with his men, while the Serenity burned with a feral hunger, casting twisted shadows on the water. The Endeavour lay dead in the river’s embrace, her broken carcass resting against the southern bank.

  Levi watched the carnage unfold. He stood still as stone, hands clasped behind his back, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips. Beside him, Lancelot shifted uneasily, his gaze darting between the young lord and the slaughter below. The silence between them was broken only by the distant cries of the wounded and the rhythmic crash of waves against the tower’s base.

  “...Inform the men to ready themselves for pursuit,” Levi said at last, his voice measured. His smile deepened, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “I trust you all can manage affairs in my absence?”

  Lancelot hesitated, his mouth working soundlessly before he managed a reply. “...Indeed, my lord,” the viscount finally affirmed, bowing his head low, his expression one of dumbfounded relief.

  Levi said nothing further, his attention fixed on the river below. His smile remained as his cloak billowed lightly in the wind, a specter of dark intent against the blood-red horizon.