A man was hunched over a stack of documents, his gaze intent on the fine print, his hands methodically flipping through each parchment. Voss Dag, a robust man with a pragmatic air, was nestled comfortably in a well-worn leather sofa, the soft glow of lamplight illuminating his weary eyes.
"Honey, you've been working for half a day. You should take a break," a soft yet firm voice called from the doorway.
Voss glanced up to see his wife, Mary Dag, standing there with a gentle smile. Her hands were dusted with flour, evidence of her work in the kitchen.
"You know I can't. We need to finalize the transport plans before the end of the week," Voss replied, his tone resolute.
Mary let out a small, resigned sigh. "I know, but still—"
"Alright, just let me finish this set," Voss conceded, giving her a brief, reassuring smile.
Their quiet exchange was interrupted by the door creaking open. A slender young man of about seventeen strode in, his steps purposeful and efficient. Despite his thin stature, his presence was commanding. Trailing behind him was a humanoid brass golem, polished and imposing, carrying a leather-bound briefcase with a mechanical precision.
"Here's the contract for the elder silk—all signed and ready," the boy announced, his voice calm and composed. "The first consignment will arrive in a month." With practiced ease, he retrieved a rolled parchment from the briefcase and placed it on the low table before his father.
Voss raised his eyebrows, visibly impressed. "Excellent work, Fornos."
But before Fornos could respond, his mother rushed over, eyes bright with warmth. "Fornos Dag, where are your manners?" she scolded, pulling her son into a tight embrace.
"Mother, I'm not a kid—"
"Nonsense! You'll always be my little boy," Mary declared, squeezing him tightly. "Even your father says so."
Fornos shot his father a pleading look, but Voss simply chuckled. "I'm not about to add fuel to this fire," he said, turning his attention back to the parchment. "But I would feel more reassured if you told me you didn't make the Raya silk guild sign a slave contract."
Fornos managed to wriggle free from his mother's grasp, adjusting his collar. "No, I didn't," he replied coolly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips.
"Oh, really?" Voss countered, tracing his finger over the text. "Then why is there a clause here that specifically opens a pathway for Dag merchants to acquire exclusive rights to Raya silk distribution in the western territories?"
Fornos's eyes gleamed as he leaned in, his tone measured. "It's not coercion, father. Just... foresight. The clause only activates if their production capacity exceeds the quota they pledged. If they can't keep up, they lose exclusive rights, and we step in to help maintain the supply line. It's mutually beneficial."
Voss scrutinized the document again, clearly seeing his son's logic. "Crafty. You've been paying attention to the way nobles draft trade agreements. Not bad."
A faint smile appeared on Fornos' face, a glimmer of pride in his otherwise guarded expression.
Mary finally released her son, glancing at the brass golem. "Still carrying that old thing around?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fornos gave the construct a quick glance. "Brassheart's reliable. Better than the newer models that break down after a few months. Besides, I know how to maintain it myself."
Mary smiled knowingly. "You really are like your father. Once something's useful, you never let it go."
Fornos didn't respond, his mind already running through the next few tasks on his mental list. Yet, even as he thought about the intricacies of their trade routes, he couldn't help but notice his father's scrutinizing gaze.
"You're pushing boundaries, Fornos," Voss remarked, folding the contract and setting it aside. "It's good to be ambitious, but there's a difference between foresight and overreach."
"I understand," Fornos replied calmly. "But we can't afford to sit idle. The noble houses are tightening their grip on trade. If we don't secure advantageous deals now, we'll be edged out."
Mary's face softened, but concern flickered in her eyes. "Just remember, not every deal is worth the cost," she said gently.
Fornos nodded but remained resolute. "Calculated risks are better than stagnation."
The brass golem shifted, its joints creaking softly as it adjusted the briefcase. Fornos turned to it. "Brassheart, store the contract."
The construct's head tilted briefly before it took the parchment and carefully stowed it in the briefcase. Voss watched the golem with a thoughtful look. "You've been tinkering with it again?"
"Improved its response time and efficiency," Fornos replied. "It's not as fast as the new models, but it gets the job done."
Mary moved to the kitchen, humming softly, leaving father and son to their conversation. Voss leaned back on the sofa, rubbing his temple. "You've got a good head for business. But people aren't golems—you can't just upgrade or manipulate them without consequences. The Raya silk deal might make us profit but be careful not to make too many enemies along the way."
Fornos didn't flinch, his expression unwavering. "People will always find reasons to resent us, whether we succeed or fail. Better to be proactive than regretful."
Voss couldn't help but smile, though his eyes held a hint of worry. "You've always had that fire in you. Just... don't let it burn you out."
Fornos glanced at his father, noting the mixture of pride and concern in his gaze. For a moment, he felt a pang of something almost like guilt. But it passed quickly, replaced by determination.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, his tone firm but respectful.
The room fell into a contemplative silence, broken only by the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen and the quiet hum of Brassheart's internal mechanisms. Voss studied his son, seeing in him a younger, more driven version of himself.
"Your ambitions will take you far, Fornos," Voss murmured, almost to himself. "Just make sure they don't take you somewhere you can't return from."
Fornos glanced out the window, where the evening light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gold. He didn't reply, his mind already shifting to the next opportunity—the next move in a game only he seemed to be playing.
As Brassheart stood at attention, unwavering and loyal, Fornos allowed himself a brief, fleeting smile. The world was vast, and opportunities waited to be seized. He wasn't about to let anyone, not even his own father, hold him back.