4 Years ago...
The grand courthouse of the Brenthall estate hunched over William like a behemoth, telling the onlookers about the family's legacy, its high ceilings and polished marble floors echoing with the faint murmurs of disapproval.
A young William stood in the center of the room, his dark green tunic contrasting against the sea of stern faces seated before him. His father, Lord Arstan Brenthall, sat on the elevated dais at the head of the chamber, his expression cold and unyielding.
"William," Arstan said, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence, "you have turned our name into a merchant's ledger. The Brenthalls are warriors, cultivators, and leaders. Yet, you insist on lowering yourself to petty trades and trivial pursuits, all for some coins."
William met his father's gaze, unflinching. It seemed to be etched in his bones. After all, he was a Brenthall as well. This did make Arstan nod internally for him.
