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James Wentworth was the second son of the wealthy Wentworth family, born into privilege in the bustling city of Port Azura. Marcus, his older brother, was destined to inherit the family's lucrative merchant empire, while James had been allowed the freedom to dream. And dream he did; of the sea, of distant lands, and of the wind in his hair as he sailed beyond the horizon.
As a boy, James would often slip away from the stuffy rooms of his family's estate, shirking his lessons in finance and trade to wander the docks. He found little interest in the wealth and politics that his father and brother thrived in. Where Marcus absorbed every lesson with ease, James only felt stifled, trapped in the suffocating world of expectations. But at the docks, among the fishermen and sailors, he felt alive.
He would watch the men mend their nets, their hands weathered by salt and wind, their stories of the open sea captivating his young mind. They spoke of distant islands and storms that could swallow a ship in seconds, but to James, it wasn't the danger that excited him: it was the freedom.
There were nights when, after a long day in the city, James would sneak out to the docks. He would lie on the worn, sun-bleached planks of the pier, gazing up at the night sky, the stars stretching endlessly above him.
"Will I ever be free?" he would whisper to the stars, his young heart filled with longing. And in the quiet of those nights, the stars seemed to twinkle brighter, as if promising that one day, he too would sail beyond the horizon, far from the expectations that bound him.
One evening, when James was about fourteen, Marcus found him at the docks, staring out at the sea, barefoot, his fine shoes tucked away in a corner. "You know Father will have your head if he finds out you're here again," Marcus said, crossing his arms.
James didn't even look at him. "I don't care. I want to see the ships, Marcus. They're free out there. I want to be free."
Marcus shook his head with a chuckle, but there was affection in his eyes. "You always were the dreamer, Jimmy." He came to stand beside James, the two of them watching a ship fade into the horizon. "But one day, you'll have to wake up. We all do."
That was the crux of it, wasn't it? Marcus was always practical, always grounded in the world of reality, while James lived with his head in the clouds, chasing freedom. But their bond was strong. Despite their differences, Marcus had been the one constant in James's life, the one who guided him, protected him. He was more than a brother: he was James's anchor in the storm of life.
As the years passed, Marcus took on more responsibilities in the family business, training under their father, while James resisted being pulled into that world.
Around that time, the pirate Black Marrow began his ruthless raids along the coast of Port Azura. Merchant ships were plundered, towns ransacked, and soon the violence reached the Wentworth estate.
It was a night of chaos, the air thick with smoke and screams. Black Marrow's men descended upon the estate like a storm, and in the midst of the bloodshed, Marcus stood tall, defending their family with the ferocity of a lion. He wasn't protecting the gold or their father's wealth: he was fighting for James. For his brother.
