Book 1: Tower City Ch 2

Chapter Two:

These seven families, basking in their unique grandeur, owed their affluence to the blessings of Vaneesha, the mysterious benefactor of their fortunes. Through her teachings, she had empowered them to master their crafts with unmatched finesse, transforming their talents into thriving enterprises.

Gone were the days when the seven families humbly acknowledged their indebtedness to Vaneesha for her benevolence. Their gratitude had slowly eroded, replaced by an arrogance that bordered on negligence. They had come to believe that their elevated status was solely a result of their own relentless toil and merit.

Yet, their health, wealth, and prosperity were beginning to wane, like a fading melody dissipating into memory. This decline was not an unfortunate turn of fate nor the capricious whim of destiny but the inevitable consequence of their descent into greed, vanity, and self-indulgence.

The seven families current leaders entered the gala hall one by one. Inside, guests were already enjoying the food and music. Laughter filled the air, conversation buzzed from every corner, and dancers swayed to the rhythm of the string quartet, their flowing gowns whispering across the marble floor as they twirled.

The party unfolded in a luxurious chamber adorned with extravagant grandeur. Rich fabrics cascaded from the walls like flowing silken waterfalls, their sumptuous hues evoking opulence. Every surface glittered with gold and gems, casting dazzling reflections throughout the space.

Tables groaned beneath the weight of lavish feasts, laden with succulent fruits, artisan cheeses, and wine that flowed like a river. The ambiance was further enriched by towering pillars wrapped in vibrant holly. Amidst this decadent display, people gathered in animated clusters, their laughter resonating with pure delight. Yet, as Zorica observed the overflowing abundance, a shadow crossed her expression. She knew all too well that this extravagance had come at a cost—too much had been taken from Tower City to feed this gala.

Zorica and the Seven Families had responsibilities to uphold, and one of them was maintaining the tradition of their extravagant parties. These gatherings were meant to show the people that everything was fine—that the city was flourishing—and to give the families a chance to mingle and speak with citizens about their needs. Without the parties, Zorica knew they would never have the opportunity to truly hear the people. Outside of the parties their lives were too busy to hear the concerns of the people.

But as soon as the seven families arrived, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations hushed, laughter dimmed, and the crowd instinctively gathered around the parents of the seven—eager to offer praise, make connections, or curry favor. The only ones who didn’t move were the children of the seven families and those their age. They remained where they were, continuing their conversations in small groups, ignoring the arrival of their parents as if it were any other evening.

Venus, the second-born child of Darius and Clara, stood slightly apart from her family. She didn’t want to be there. But she had no choice. Her presence was expected. If she didn’t attend, her parents would accuse her of trying to shame them. Of course, it didn’t matter that they hated her. They always had. She had never known anything else from them—only disdain, resentment, loathing, and hatred.

Her mother hated her for being beautiful. At least that is one of the only reason Venus can come up with for her mothers hatred at least.

It wasn’t just that Venus was born second—it was that she was born at all. Darius and Clara had been overjoyed when Mohsin was born, their strong, brawny firstborn son. They hadn't even known another child was coming until Clara’s contractions resumed and Venus entered the world—small and graceful. Where Mohsin was forceful and proud, Venus was quiet and elegant. And they resented her for it. The twins were a study in contrast—Mohsin, brawny and strong; Venus, graceful and serpentine.

No one truly wanted Venus at the gala. But she had to be there. She was part of the seven families, and that meant keeping up appearances.

In the past, a few kindhearted citizens had taken pity on her, tried to befriend her. But those people often ended up leaving the city when their family business failed—or they simply disappeared. Over time, others stopped trying. Even the city itself seemed to turn its back on her.

She had thought, more than once, about leaving on her own. But she didn’t know where to go. She had no money, no means to survive. So she stayed. She endured the cold glares, the whispered insults, the weight of being unwanted in the only home she’d ever known.

Because Venus didn’t know any other life. She only knew how to survive the one she had. With people who hated her.

Mohsin stood at the center of a small crowd of admiring women, basking in their attention, their praise cascading upon him like confetti. With an ego as towering as his stature, he adored his own reflection as much as he did the power he would soon inherit. The family business, built on ships and sprawling trade routes by sea, would one day be his. Yet, his ambitions stretched beyond commerce. Before the gala, his father had informed him of a plan to marry within the seven families. The other six heirs were unaware, but for Darius, the plan was already in motion.

As Mohsin surveyed the glittering prospects before him, he pondered his future. The choices before him were vast: trade by land, expanding their dominion beyond the sea; hospitality, with its exclusive establishments and whispered secrets; or security and metalworks, ensuring the city's protection. His decision would sculpt his destiny, binding him to one of these paths.

Casta, Alaric’s daughter, clung to Mohsin’s side, her hand brushing his arm whenever she could. She was too enamored to notice anything else around her—too consumed by him to care. Her gaze never left his face. Her longing radiated from every glance and touch, yet her affections went unnoticed and unreciprocated. Her family had long been the proprietors of the town’s hospitality sector, overseeing every public house and an array of exclusive restaurants, some of which held secrets known only to a select few. Yet, even surrounded by wealth and privilege, Casta’s greatest desire remained unfulfilled: marrying Mohsin.

Marcus stood nearby, quiet and withdrawn. He didn’t speak, didn’t engage. Just lingered on the edge of the group. He reveled in the social pleasures of the gathering. While intellectual pursuits had failed to captivate him, he had devoted himself to sculpting his body. Cruel childhood taunts had driven him to transform, ensuring he would never be mocked again for being small. His family oversaw the town’s entertainment—theaters, music, and exclusive events catering to both the public and private elite.

Marcus chose to only build up his body in strength, nothing else. He chose to never become an intellectual or learn anything for the stage. Eventually all he saw himself capable of was being strong. Nothing more. Marcus say trying as too hard now and he didn’t want to bother with it.

Across the room, Charis lounged on a pile of velvet cushions beside Goran. They picked at a bowl of grapes between them. Goran basked in unbridled glee, mirroring the laughter and feasting around him. His family controlled the city's agriculture, from livestock pastures to sprawling orchards. The abundance surrounding him was a direct result of generations of labor, yet Goran himself had little desire to toil. He longed for indulgence without effort, wealth without work. In the heart of this jubilation, he harbored a yearning to transcend his predetermined path, to embrace a life of leisure, free from the responsibility of the farm Zorica keeps pushing on him.

Goran sneered at the table full of food. It reminded him of everything he despised about his future—about the farm he was expected to inherit, the life he was being forced into. He glared at the grapes as if they’d wronged him, then popped one into his mouth anyway.

Charis, for her part, was blissfully unaware. Of Goran. Of anyone. She assumed herself too important to bother noticing others. If anyone wanted her attention, they could come to her. And people did. They knew they needed the seven families to survive in Tower City or else they would have to leave or be homeless on the streets like so many before them.

Charis, disinterested in the family business, marriage, and inheritance, immersed herself in lively conversations. She thrived on attention, relishing every moment that reaffirmed her importance in the eyes of others. Born into a family entrenched in land trade, Charis saw the world as a kingdom waiting to be conquered. Her upbringing had been one of unparalleled indulgence; her parents giving in to her every demand. The world had always bowed to Charis, and in her mind, it was merely a prelude to a destiny of limitless abundance and boundless entitlement—all achieved without lifting a finger herself.

Venus watched them all, quietly. She knew these patterns by heart. Marcus, always the silent observer. Goran, ever sullen and lazy. Charis, blind in her vanity. Mohsin, soaking up every drop of admiration. And Casta—poor Casta—so deeply in love, so desperate to be seen by a boy who barely acknowledged her.

Within this symphony of desires, Kenshin discreetly observed Mohsin from a distance. Hidden envy coursed through his veins as he watched the adoration lavished upon Mohsin.

Kenshin’s family controlled the town’s medicine, overseeing the circulation of remedies vital to the populace. Yet, despite their influence, Kenshin often found himself dismissed as too solemn, too grave for the frivolities of the elite. He yearned for recognition, but not at the cost of losing himself. He saw all the sick and homeless on the streets and knew that the city was not okay. But he knew there was nothing he could do, but his best.

Alala, in stark contrast, craved solitude—an oasis of tranquility amid the revelry. Her family was charged with the city’s security, more involved in its protection than the metalworks they also controlled. From childhood, Alala had been trained to remain vigilant, always poised to fend off threats. With the city's growing crime, she was always on guard from raiders and thieves. This constant state of readiness exhausted her, leaving her perpetually weary of a duty she never asked for.