Chapter 2. Father and Son

In the twilight of a bewitched afternoon, beneath the shimmering glow of enchanted orbs that lit the avenues of the mystical Marseilles—now a city of crystal spires and whispering magic—Danglars wrestled with a growing sense of jealousy. His thoughts churned like a dark tide, and he couldn't shake his resentment toward young Dantès. Meanwhile, Dantès walked through the bustling thoroughfare of La Canebière. This famous street, its surfaces glowing with arcane murals of legendary rune battles, was filled with the lively energy of merchants, travelers, and spellcasters of every stripe.

He turned onto Runeweavers' Lane, where small shops sold everything from protective amulets to shimmering potions. The cobblestones beneath his boots were etched with faint sigils that pulsed softly, as though they recognized the magic within him. Soon, he reached the winding Rue de Noailles. Tall townhouses stood on either side, their windows gleaming with strange symbols that flickered whenever night approached. He continued until he came to the modest home on the left of the Allées de Meilhan—an area tucked away under the boughs of ancient, sentient oaks whose branches sometimes whispered secrets in the rustling breeze.

Inside this quiet dwelling, reached by a narrow staircase illuminated by gentle rune-lights, sat Dantès' father. Leaning on an old, rune-carved chair, the elderly man was arranging nasturtiums, clematis, and honeysuckle on a trellis by the window. Their petals glowed with faint magical residues, each bloom hinting at some long-forgotten enchantment. He was unaware that the enchanted spellcruiser Pharagon had recently returned to port, nor did he know of the new burden his son carried.

Suddenly, the tranquil atmosphere was broken by a loving embrace. Dantès, stepping softly across the room, wrapped his arm around his father and whispered, "Father—hey, I'm here!"

Startled, the old man gasped and turned. His eyes, as ancient as the runes in the city's oldest towers, widened in surprise. Overcome with emotion, he nearly collapsed into his son's arms, his trembling revealing how fragile he truly was.

"Father, are you all right?" Dantès asked, concern clear in his voice. He crouched beside the chair, steadying his father gently. "You look pale. Let me help you."

"No, my boy," the old man replied, his breath unsteady. "It's just...the joy of seeing you so suddenly. You've been away so long, I feared something had happened."

Dantès tried to reassure him with a small smile. "I'm fine, Father. I'm back now, safe and sound. And I have news—some of it's good, but it's also mixed with sadness."

The old man frowned a little. "Is something wrong?"

Dantès sighed. "Captain Leclere passed away from a terrible fever. It was like a dark curse struck him. But thanks to Master Morrel, I might be made captain myself—unbelievable as it sounds. I'm only twenty, yet they're talking about giving me command of the Pharagon. That means a decent salary and a share in the profits. It's more than I ever dreamed of!"

His father's face lit up despite the sad news. "Edmond, that's wonderful. You deserve it. Though I'm so sorry about Captain Leclere—he was a good man."

Dantès nodded. "He was. And I promise you, Father, with the money I earn, I'll make sure you're comfortable. You'll have a cozy home with a proper garden to grow all the flowers you love—enchanted or not."

The old man's eyes glistened with tears. "That's more than enough for me, my son. But be honest—have you been all right yourself? Are you healthy?"

Dantès gave his father's hand a squeeze. "Yes, I'm just worried about you. The place feels...empty. Why is there no wine on the shelf? You always kept a small supply."

His father lowered his gaze, clearly uneasy. "I've gone without it for a while. I don't need much when I'm here alone."

Dantès glanced at the cupboards, finding them almost bare. "But I left you two hundred silver runestones, didn't I?"

The old man hesitated. "I had to pay a debt—one hundred and forty silver runestones—to Caderousse. He reminded me of it and seemed to think if I didn't pay, Master Morrel would come asking about it. So...I settled the whole amount right away, just to be safe."

Dantès's face fell. "You've been living on just sixty silver runestones for three whole months? That's hardly anything!"

The father tried to manage a reassuring look. "I get by with little, my son. Now that you're here, all is well."

Deeply moved, Dantès knelt by his father's chair. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean for you to struggle. But everything will change now. Here, take this coin I have with me—use it for food or wine or whatever you need. I'll earn more soon enough. We've got cargo in the hold of the Pharagon that includes special coffee beans and tobacco, which we'll sell for a good profit. I'll make sure you're never wanting for anything again."

The old man smiled softly, resting a frail hand on his son's cheek. "Just having you here is enough. But since you insist, I'll accept your help. I don't want people gossiping that I rely on my son for everything—but I'll certainly keep a few comforts in the house."

Dantès nodded, relieved. "Good. Now rest. I've got to meet a few folks in the city. But please, Father—eat well, drink a bit of wine, take care of yourself. I'll be back soon with even more resources for us both."

Just then, they heard footsteps on the stairs. The old man glanced at the doorway. "That must be Caderousse. He's our neighbor, after all, and I'm sure he heard the Pharagon docked."

Dantès stood and folded his arms. "Well, let's see what he wants."

Caderousse appeared—a man in his mid-twenties with a thick beard and an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He held a roll of fine cloth under one arm, suggesting he'd been working on some tailoring project.

"Edmond! So it's true—you've returned!" Caderousse exclaimed. "Word travels fast around here."

Dantès kept his tone polite. "I have, yes. Good to see you again."

Caderousse's gaze flicked around the room, noticing the coins on the small table. "So, you've brought back some wealth as well?"

Dantès shrugged, casually moving to the table to collect the silver runestones. "A bit. Mostly it's to help my father, but if you ever need anything, I'm happy to share—just like I'd do for any friend."

Caderousse put on a broad grin. "Thanks, Edmond, that's generous. But right now, I'm doing fine. Rumor says you're about to become captain of the Pharagon—that Master Morrel favors you."

Dantès nodded, glancing at his father. "It looks that way, yes."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," Caderousse said, though there was a hint of something guarded in his voice. "You've always had luck on your side. Anyway, I came by to welcome you home. I'd better be off—I have work that needs finishing."

He waved goodbye and descended the stairs, leaving Dantès and his father in a brief moment of uneasy silence.

After a few more words with his father—reassuring him again of better days ahead—Dantès set out. On his way down, he saw Caderousse chatting with Danglars at the corner of Rue Senac. Danglars, arms folded, wore an unreadable expression.

"Well?" Danglars asked quietly once Dantès was out of earshot. "Did you learn anything useful?"

Caderousse nodded. "He's definitely aiming for that captaincy. Talks about it as if it's already a done deal."

Danglars curled his lip. "Is Master Morrel already treating him like the new captain?"

"Sure seems that way," Caderousse said with a shrug. "He's also got some money and looks ready to lend it out like he's rolling in gold."

Danglars let out a short laugh. "He's getting a little ahead of himself, wouldn't you say?"

"He's young. But, hey, he offered to help me if I needed it. I turned him down, though. No need to take charity from someone who just got lucky."

Danglars gave Caderousse a narrow look. "You've still got your eye on Mercédès, right? And she's…close with Dantès."

Caderousse crossed his arms. "I hear rumors that she has a tall, imposing cousin from the Catalans—a fellow with dark features. People say he's quite protective of her. Maybe more than just a cousin, if you catch my drift."

Danglars smirked. "That could be…interesting."

"Yes, well, if you're looking to stir up trouble, count me out. I'm just telling you what I know," Caderousse said quickly. "But if you want, we can swing by La Réserve, have a drink, and keep an ear open for more gossip. People are bound to be talking about Dantès tonight."

Danglars's eyes lit up. "That's not a bad idea. Let's go. Besides, I've got my own tab to settle there."

They walked together to La Réserve, a small but lively inn on the edge of the harbor. The place was famous for its vintage known as La Malgue, a wine infused with subtle enchantments that made it taste richer than ordinary blends. Père Pamphile, the old proprietor rumored to have second sight, had seen Dantès pass by not long before and mentioned he was heading toward the Catalans' quarters.

Sitting beneath newly blossoming sycamore and plane trees, the two men sipped their wine and watched passersby. Above them, the branches swayed gently, the bright green leaves brimming with magical energy that filled the air with a soft hum. It was one of the first truly warm days of spring—a perfect time for new alliances, hidden schemes, and quiet hopes to flourish in Marseilles's enchanted streets.

In the branches, birds—each a living hymn to the coming of a new season of magic—sang their jubilant welcome, heralding the dawn of one of spring's first enchanted days.