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[h1][color=D2691E]Farim[/color][/h1]
[color=D2691E][b]Location:[/b] The Slums of Genesea[/color]
[color=D2691E][b]Time:[/b] 4th of Ventu 1729[/color]

[h2][color=red]Flashback! Part 3[/color][/h2]

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The bell above the door jangled as the boys pushed inside once more, their familiar laughter filling the cramped space. But today, something felt… off. The shop was dimmer than usual—the front lanterns unlit, the curtains half-drawn, the air viscous with incense that smelled faintly of metal and dried herbs. Farim wrinkled his nose. The shopkeep never burned incense.

Malik shrugged it off, craning his neck. [color=teal]“Old man? You in here?”[/color]
A rustle answered from deeper inside. The old man emerged, but his usual wide-eyed grin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looked as though he had aged ten years overnight. His hair was askew, his robe half-tied, and his eyes—those warm lanterns—had dimmed to nervous pinpricks.

“Ah. You boys,” he said, voice thin. “Wasn’t expectin’ visitors today.” Malik blinked. [color=teal]“You sick or somethin’?”[/color] 

“No, no. Nothing like that.” He waved them off, but his hand trembled. “Just… inventory day. Lots of delicate items. Don’t want you two breakin’ anything important.” Farim tilted his head. [color=D2691E]“But we never break anything.”[/color]The shopkeeper looked at him strangely, almost pitying. “…Yes. I know.”

He gestured half-heartedly toward the toys, but his attention kept drifting toward the shadowed back corner. The forbidden section. The shelves seemed even barer today, as if something once resting there had only recently been disturbed.

The boys exchanged a silent agreement. Something was wrong. But curiosity, especially in Farim, burned brighter than caution. While Malik sat near the counter, turning the color cube in his hands, Farim wandered deeper into the aisles. The shopkeep’s muttered warnings drifted after him, but they were too soft and too late. He found himself standing before the forbidden section once more.

Only this time… one book was missing from the shelf. A small rectangle of dust outlined its former resting place. Farim swallowed, goosebumps rising along his arms. [color=D2691E]“Sir… what was here?”[/color]
The shopkeeper froze. Truly froze—like a man caught dipping his fingers into royal coffers. His voice came out taut.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

But Farim wasn’t convinced. And as if to confirm his suspicions, something glinted inside the counter’s half-open drawer: a fragment of aged leather binding, embossed with a swirling symbol matching the dust-outline on the empty shelf. He knew better than to question the man who had provided them sanctuary for so many days, so he left it at that for the moment. Malik ushered him over so they could continue their mock battle between royal guards and daring vagabonds looking to usurp the throne.

But even as they played Farim kept stealing glances at the book, his curiosity building. When they next came through to the shop, the owner was once again missing from the desk. Malik went up to the counter, reaching for whatever toy may be laid out for them, but there was none. It wasn’t strange for the man to be gone and handling inventory or even just taking a light nap while business was slow–but he always left something for the boys now routine visits.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette came bursting from the backroom, his eyelids sunken and skin almost ghastly in color. The two boys let out sharp gasps as he lurched towards the counter, body shuddering. “Sorry to scare you boys. Been losing sleep lately. Had to take a small nap and didn’t get to set up the shop properly.”

Farim’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t buying it. The aged book from the other day was now completely hidden from both the counter and bookshelf. So he raised a finger to point at the old man.
 
[color=D2691E]”I want to see it.”[/color] 

The man looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Come again, lad?”

[color=D2691E]”The book...I want to see it.”[/color] Malik looked at him with concern.

“I can’t. You are too young. The things in those tomes are not for your eyes.”

[color=D2691E]”You know it is bad luck to refuse an up and coming prince.”[/color] The shopkeeper had half a mind to debate with Farim about how he was only son to the King’s brother, not an up and coming prince. But his mind flashed to just who his father was. Grand Vizier Hafiz…A man he did not want to cross nor associate with. Then his eyes went to a naive and foolhardy boy throwing around his royal weight not realizing the consequences it would entail.

Reason, however, gave way to fear. The man dejectedly spoke. “Very well. But only for 5 minutes! You open the book, see what it has written, and then close it. No tricks. No games. This is serious stuff written here.” His look was iron and absolute. Farim had earned his little foray into the unknown, but it would not be for long.

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