A/N:- Ho-Ho-Ho. Sorry for delay, merry christmas.
The morning air carried a faint chill, the streets of Sedona City quieter now as the breakfast rush faded, leaving only the hum of early risers and the scent of steamed buns lingering in the air. Bryan sighed heavily, his broad shoulders slumping as he stood in the doorway of his modest home, the weight of his failing clothing business pressing down on him. Each day brought fewer customers, his shelves of tunics and cloaks gathering dust despite repeated price cuts. Any lower, and he'd be selling at a loss.
"Bryan, go for a walk," His wife urged, her voice soft but insistent as she cradled their sleeping son, his tiny breaths a quiet rhythm in her arms. "You've been cooped up for three days. Maybe the fresh air will spark some ideas." Her eyes were warm with concern, her body leaning toward him, the faint scent of lavender on her skin stirring a pang of guilt in Bryan's chest.
"No," Bryan said, shaking his head, his voice low and stubborn. "Going out means spending coins, and we can't afford that." His gaze flicked to his son, the boy's peaceful face a stark reminder of his responsibilities. If his shop closed in a few months—as seemed likely with rent looming—he'd have no choice but to crawl back to his father, a humiliation that made his cheeks burn and his body tense with defiance. "I'll stay here."
His wife's expression softened, her heart aching at the sight of Bryan's thinning frame, his once-robust figure worn down by worry. "Why not talk to Mr. Joe?" She suggested, her voice gentle, her body swaying slightly as she rocked their son. "He might have advice." The hope in her words was a quiet plea, her heart racing with the need to ease her husband's burden.
"Joe?" Bryan scoffed, his lips twisting. "He's too busy living the high life to care about business anymore." He suspected his high prices had driven away the common folk, and even now, with prices slashed, no one knew. The thought of shouting his wares on the street like a common peddler sent a flush of shame through him, his body stiffening at the indignity.
"Then what do we do?" His wife asked, her voice heavy, her eyes shadowed with concern. She'd heard Bryan's sighs in the night, felt the bed shift as he tossed and turned, his love for shadow plays abandoned in his despair.
"I'll get some air," Bryan said, his voice softening as he saw the strain in her face, mirrored by his own. His son's sleeping form was a beacon of purpose, a quiet fire that warmed his chest despite his fears. "I'll be back soon." His body relaxed slightly, the decision a small rebellion against his gloom.
"Buy some wine," His wife said gently, her voice a soothing balm. "It might help you sleep tonight."
Bryan nodded absently, his heart heavy. A bottle of wine was a luxury he couldn't justify, not when every coin mattered. He'd already skipped drinking sessions with other merchants, wary after a chilling encounter with a man named Hank, a merchant revealed to be a slaver. When Hank was hanged, Bryan had been summoned to the security bureau to give a statement, the memory still sending a shiver through him, his body tensing at the thought of narrowly escaping trouble.
*Creak… bang!*
Bryan stepped outside, yawning, the cold morning air snapping him awake with a jolt. His sleepless nights had left him groggy, his body sluggish but craving something—perhaps food to lift his spirits. "I'll grab some buns," He muttered, licking his lips, a faint hunger stirring as he walked toward the main avenue. The streets were quieter now, most workers already at their posts, the idle still tucked away in their homes.
"Newspapers! Get your newspapers! Latest news—Lord Lucas's recruiting over a hundred loggers!" The childish shouts rang out, sharp and eager, as Bryan reached the avenue.
"Sir, want a newspaper?" Ale approached, his red hair blazing in the morning light, his small frame radiating purpose. "It's got articles by Lord Lucas himself!" His voice was bright, his body buzzing with the thrill of his final sale, the last of his twenty papers nearly gone in under half an hour.
"How much?" Bryan asked, his eyes drawn to the dense text on the paper Ale held, his body leaning forward with intrigue.
"Two steel coins," Ale said, his grin wide with excitement.
"Deal," Bryan said, the price so low it sparked a flicker of hope in his chest. He handed over the coins, his fingers brushing Ale's small hand as he took the paper.
"Here you go, sir!" Ale said, pocketing the coins and sprinting back to the news agency, his small body a blur of energy.
"Fast kid," Bryan murmured, watching Ale vanish into the crowd, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He unfolded the newspaper, his eyes scanning the bold title: *Sedona City News*. Reading Lucas's plan to build a bridge over the Whispering River, he chuckled, a mix of awe and skepticism warming his chest. "Lord Lucas's playing big this time," He said softly, his body tensing with doubt. "No way that'll work."
His eyes caught the word "Advertisements," and he frowned, curiosity pulling him deeper. "What's an ad?" He muttered, reading on. The explanation clicked—ads were a way to boost a merchant's visibility. His heart raced, his body leaning forward as he read the cost: five hundred copper coins for a day, rising with sales. It wasn't cheap, but the idea ignited a spark of hope, his fingers tightening around the paper. If he could let people know his clothes were affordable, customers might return.
Bryan rolled up the paper, his decision made, his frame moving with newfound purpose as he jogged toward the news agency, next to the security bureau. His heart pounded, his body alive with a mix of fear and determination. As he reached the agency, he spotted Ale darting out with fresh papers, the boy nodding briefly before vanishing into the crowd.
"Youngsters," Bryan chuckled, shaking his head as he caught his breath, his body heaving with exertion. He stepped inside.
"Hello, sir," A receptionist greeted, her voice polite but curious. "Are you here to share news or buy a paper?" Her eyes flicked over him, her body poised with professional warmth.
"Neither," Bryan said, shaking his head, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. He scanned the sparsely populated first floor, where a few clerks scribbled quietly, their glances fleeting but curious. "I'm here to talk about advertisements."
"Oh?" The receptionist blinked, her body stiffening with surprise. After a moment, she nodded, her eyes brightening. "Please wait a moment. I'll inform Lord Lucas." She hurried upstairs, her footsteps quick, her heart racing with the weight of the request.
"Not bad," Bryan murmured, glancing around, his body relaxing slightly in the agency's quiet warmth. The clerks' focused scribbling and the faint scent of ink stirred a quiet thrill in him, a sense of being part of something new.
*Clip-clop.*
The receptionist returned, slightly breathless, her cheeks flushed. "Sir, Lord Lucas will see you upstairs," She said, her voice eager, her body gesturing toward the stairs.
"Good," Bryan said, nodding, his heart pounding as he followed her, his body tensing with nerves. He wasn't sure if the ad would save his business, but it was a chance—a desperate leap to keep his family afloat.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
"Come in," Lucas's voice called, calm but commanding.
Bryan pushed open the door, his eyes landing on Lucas, who was eating breakfast, the aroma of warm porridge and savory buns filling the room. Bryan froze, his mouth watering, a flush of hunger and nerves warming his cheeks. Perfect timing, he thought, his body tingling with the awkward thrill of the moment, his heart racing as he faced the city lord.
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