After 19 Ethyros Years
"How dare you steal my goods, you brat!" a merchant in his mid-50s shouted at a young boy.
The boy was Deklan Jorin Ancaris, the seventh son of Arden.
"I'm just trying to feed the poor here! You're being greedy!" Deklan retorted, standing protectively in front of a peasant boy who was clutching a loaf of bread behind his back.
"Greedy has no place in business!" the merchant snapped, his voice rising with anger. "What will happen to my investments if people like you keep taking my goods without paying!?"
"Deklan!" Another boy approached the scene, his voice calm but with a hint of concern. He glanced at the merchant, then at his younger brother Deklan, who was still shielding the peasant boy.
This was Brius, also known as Arden Jorin Ancaris II, the fifth son of Arden I.
"This man here is being greedy, saying I have to pay to feed the poor. Didn't Father always say that kindness can't be measured in gold?" Deklan explained, his face showing confusion.
Brius sighed, looking at the merchant before turning back to his brother. "Yes, Father did say that, but you can't apply it here."
"Well then, if you two know what's going on, pay up!" the merchant spat, extending his hand with an angry sneer. "I have customers to serve, not thieves like you!"
Brius reached into his pocket and, after rummaging around, extended his closed fist to the merchant. When he opened it, the merchant's eyes widened in disbelief. Inside his palm was nothing but a piece of candy.
"What—" The merchant's face darkened in a mix of disappointment and rage. "What the hell is this?!"
Brius smirked. "Apologies, but I think I spent all my money on other things. You'll have to go without our payment for now." He gave the merchant a mock bow, his tone casual.
Suddenly, the merchant's patience snapped. He pulled a knife from his apron and lunged at Deklan, ready to strike. But before the blade could reach him, Brius leapt forward and intercepted it, grabbing the handle just in time.
"Brius!" Deklan shouted, panic rising in his voice. The peasant boy behind him bolted, running as fast as he could to get away from the chaos.
The merchant, now trembling with fear and frustration, released the knife, leaving it embedded in Brius's upper arm. In a final burst of anger, he grabbed his cart of bread and scurried away, leaving the scene.
Daklan, who had been watching in horror, rushed to Brius's side, supporting him as he staggered. "Brother, you're gonna die!" Daklan cried, his voice on the verge of breaking.
Brius grinned through the pain and ruffled his younger brother's hair, trying to comfort him. "I'm not gonna die, moron. But if it were you who'd been stabbed, you probably would've."