The merchant firm towered over the quiet streets of Halewick, an elegant structure of dark stone and towering glass windows, a fortress disguised as a hub of commerce. The very air inside exuded power—not the fleeting, gilded kind that nobles flaunted, but something more insidious, more deeply rooted. Influence. Secrets. The quiet manipulation of trade routes and supply chains that dictated the rise and fall of kings.
Inside, the scent of aged parchment and candle wax mingled with the sharper tang of ink. Ledgers lined the polished shelves, each page carrying the weight of whispered deals and silent betrayals. Maps stretched across heavy wooden tables, routes marked in ink and blood alike. Here, fortunes were made with a stroke of a quill, and wars were decided over a goblet of wine rather than a battlefield.
