January 1610 draped Surat in a soft winter haze, the Tapti River glinting like a silver thread under a sun that warmed without scorching. The Vora household hummed with quiet purpose, the spice stall thriving on the Mughal contract's renewal and the "Wings of Freedom" mystique that still set tongues wagging in the market. Jai Vora, nine years old, moved through his days with a merchant's cunning and a warrior's fire, his mind ablaze with plans for Vora Trading Company. The Emperor System, his secret AI-spirit guide, buzzed with its usual cheek: "You've got Surat whispering your name, Jai. Those 63 silver and Papa's trust? Time to build that empire before the EIC creeps back."
Jai, guarding the system's existence like a hidden gem, grinned. "Slow and steady, system. Papa's handling the face-work—I'm weaving the web." His vision—a trading empire spanning cloth, blacksmithing, food, and construction—was now Anil's to champion, with Jai orchestrating from the shadows.
In the Vora home's modest courtyard, Anil and Leela sat after dusk, the air fragrant with jasmine and the faint smoke of a neighbor's fire. A clay lamp flickered, casting shadows on the tiled walls. Leela, her Wisdom=15 softened by maternal instinct, sipped cardamom tea, her eyes tracing Anil's furrowed brow. "You've been restless since Jai's talk, Anil-ji," she said, her voice gentle but probing. "His dream—this trading company—it's grand, but is it safe? The other merchants won't take kindly to us stepping on their trades."
Anil, his Wisdom=16 etched in worry lines, nodded. "It's bold, Leela, bolder than anything I dared at his age. Cloth shops with tailors, forges in bulk, food stalls, construction—it's a merchant's empire. But Jai's right: we have talent. Sarita's ledgers are sharper than a moneylender's eye. Kofi and Amir could arm a battalion. Vikram, Ram, Shashi, Kali, the others—they're not just boys, they're a force." He paused, the "Wings of Freedom" note flashing in his mind, a secret he suspected Jai held. "He wants me to lead, stay the face while he plans. But it needs coin—more than our stall can muster."
Leela's gaze softened, her hand resting on his. "We have the farmland—thirty acres near the river, inherited from your father. Sell Some. Buy a plot near the city, big enough for Jai's shops. A cloth emporium, a forge yard, food stalls, maybe a builder's workshop. But keep it quiet—the Banias, the smiths, they'll stir trouble if they sniff our plans."
Anil exhaled, the weight of decision settling like dust. "Sell the land? It's our anchor, Leela. But for Jai… for his fire…" He met her eyes, resolve hardening. "We'll do it. In secret. And I'll call on allies—merchants who trust us, who've Seen jai's genius.' Jai said no partners, but loans? Those we can take."
The next evening, Anil moved like a shadow through Surat's quieter lanes, slipping into a discreet haveli owned by Pravin Shah, a textile trader with a penchant for bold bets. The meeting was cloaked in secrecy, the room lit by oil lamps, its walls adorned with faded tapestries. Six merchants gathered—Pravin, the cloth dealer; Hiralal, a spice rival turned friend; Meena, a grain trader; two jewelers, Sanjay and Kirti; and old Dhanraj, a retired caravan master with sharp eyes and deep coffers. Anil, his Charm=8 bolstered by Jai's vision, stood tall, his voice steady.
"Friends," Anil began, "you know Vora's name— My son, Jai, has a dream: a trading company, not just spices but cloth, metal, food, buildings. We need a plot near the city—a hub for shops, forges, stalls. I'm selling land to start, but I need loans to build. Double your coin back in a year. No partners—Jai's firm on that—but your trust will forge a legacy."
Pravin leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "Jai's the talk of the market—nine years old, but a trade prodigy, they say. I'll lend 50 silver." Hiralal chuckled. "That boy's a comet. 30 silver, Anil." Meena nodded. "30 silver—Jai's got a spark." Sanjay and Kirti each pledged 35, but Dhanraj, stroking his beard, offered 100 silver—and a partnership. "Join us, Anil. Your son's vision, my coin—we'd rule Surat."
Anil shook his head, Jai's words echoing: No partners, Papa. We control the dream. "Thank you, Dhanraj, but loans only. Double in a year." Dhanraj shrugged, grinning. "Bold boy. 100 silver, then." By night's end, Anil secured 280 silver in pledges, plus allies who saw Jai as Surat's rising star. The merchants swore secrecy, their trust in Anil—and whispers of Jai's genius—sealing the deal.
Back home, Anil shared the news with Leela, his voice thick with pride. "We'll sell the land tomorrow, buy the plot by week's end. Jai's dream—it's real now." Leela's eyes glistened, her hand squeezing his. "Our boy's building an empire, Anil-ji. And we're his roots." The system, silent to all but Jai, pinged in his mind as he eavesdropped from his cot: "280 silver and allies? You're a puppet master, Jai! Quest progress: Establish Vora Trading Company, 20% complete. Keep it sneaky, kid."
Jai grinned into the dark, the EIC's distant shadow no match for his growing web. Vora Trading Company was rising, and Surat would never be the same.