Ink & Crown

Chapter 81 – The Weight of Staying

The conversation ended quietly that night.

Not because either of them had run out of things to say, but because there was nothing more that could be said for now.

Eiran eventually went to his room after lingering a little longer than usual, clearly hoping his words had done enough. Taren remained at the table for some time after that, the dishes long untouched in front of him.

The house had settled into silence. Only then did the weight of the conversation return properly.

Taren leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze resting somewhere distant without truly focusing on anything. Eiran’s words repeated themselves more than once in his mind, not loudly, but persistently enough that they refused to fade into the background.

You won’t get chances like this often.

He let out a slow breath. The problem was not that he disagreed. If anything, that made it worse.

Taren had spent enough years in the industry to recognize when something unusual was happening. Most people saw only the surface. A successful book. A suddenly popular café. A newly acquired press.

But behind those things were decisions, very calculated ones and quite risky ones.

And the more he thought about them, the more difficult they became to dismiss as simple luck or youthful recklessness.

Buying a press after the success of a first book was not normal. Most writers spent years trying to secure stable contracts from established companies. Even most successful authors almost never took that kind of step, especially when they can retire on the royalties alone without any risk of business collapsing.

Yet Lucien had and he only just started out and not a veteran author.

Not only that, he had done it decisively enough to reject major publishers without hesitation. That alone shows his conviction.

Taren lowered his gaze slightly. Confidence was common. Real conviction backed by action was not.

And what unsettled him more was that the young man did not seem arrogant from what Eiran described. If anything, he sounded calm, composed, and strangely practical for someone his age. That combination was rare.

His thoughts drifted again toward the press. Stone and Quill.

He still remembered hearing about its decline over the years through industry conversations. Loss of clients, delayed projects, financial pressure. It had been one of many older presses struggling to survive against larger operations and changing distribution systems.

Most people assumed it would eventually disappear quietly. Instead, it had suddenly returned to activity. And somehow, all of it connected back to one young author.

Taren rubbed lightly at his temple.

The situation still felt unusual no matter how he looked at it. Not impossible, but unusual.

His mind shifted again, this time toward Eiran.

The boy had hidden his concern behind excitement, but Taren had noticed it anyway. He knew why Eiran was pushing this hard. It was not just about opportunity. It was frustration that had built up over years.

And honestly, he could not entirely blame him. Things had changed. Taren had known that for a long time now.

The company he currently worked for was not the same place it used to be. The atmosphere had changed gradually after the previous owner Mr. Greyford passed away, slowly enough that many accepted it without noticing how much had shifted over time.

Priorities became different, departments became more aggressive, negotiations became harsher, short-term gains mattered more than long-term relationships. Even internally, positions and responsibilities were no longer decided the same way.

Taren closed his eyes briefly.

There had been a time when he genuinely believed he would spend the rest of his career there without issue. Back then, the work felt meaningful, authors were treated carefully, editors were trusted and discussions carried weight beyond profit margins alone.

Mr. Greyford had believed that publishing worked best when both the company and the writer succeeded together. It was one of the reasons Taren respected him so deeply in the first place.

And beyond work, there were many personal reasons too.

During the difficult years after Eiran’s father passed away, when his sister was suddenly left to manage everything alone while raising a young child, Taren had quietly taken on responsibilities that far exceeded what he could realistically afford at the time.

Expenses piled up faster than he could manage. Rent, medical bills, school costs later on, daily necessities, and all the smaller things that never stopped coming no matter how carefully money was stretched.

Taren rarely spoke about any of it.

He never liked bringing personal hardship into work, and even during the worst periods, he continued handling his responsibilities without complaint.

Yet somehow, Mr. Greyford always seemed to notice more than he let on.

He never approached the matter directly or made Taren feel singled out because of his situation. Instead, the help came quietly, almost naturally, folded into work itself in ways that preserved his dignity.

Sometimes it was an advance approved faster than expected without unnecessary questioning. Sometimes it was flexible scheduling during particularly difficult periods at home. Other times it was opportunities deliberately given to Taren when higher-value projects became available.

Taren still remembered one particular period clearly.

Eiran had been young then, and his sister had fallen ill for several weeks at the same time major deadlines were approaching at the company. Taren had fully expected to lose the project he was assigned to because he simply could not stay at the office for the hours required.

Instead, Mr. Greyford called him into his office personally. Not to reprimand him or to question his commitment to the work.

He simply adjusted the structure of the work, reassigned part of the schedule, and told Taren to handle what he could from home when necessary.

More importantly, he still left Taren’s name attached to the project instead of quietly replacing him with someone else as most companies would have done without hesitation.

That single decision mattered more than the financial help itself. It preserved both his position and his confidence during a time when he felt close to failing both at work and at home.

Mr. Greyford never treated it like charity afterward either. The next day, things simply continued as normal. No reminders, no subtle pressure, and no expectation of gratitude beyond continuing to do good work as usual.

Taren had never forgotten that and many more instances of help he received. Maybe he never would. And perhaps that was why leaving still felt far more complicated than it should have.

Not loyalty to the company itself, but loyalty to someone who no longer existed within it.

The realization settled heavily because deep down, he already knew the truth that the company he stayed for was gone, and what remained was only the name and not the soul.

Taren opened his eyes again slowly.

Even now, despite everything, part of him still felt uncomfortable at the idea of leaving. It felt too close to abandoning something unfinished, even if logic told him otherwise.

And yet…

Eiran’s words had unsettled him precisely because there was truth in them too.

You’re not where you should be.

That part was harder to deny with each passing year. Taren was experienced enough to know the difference between being utilized properly and simply being kept useful. The distinction mattered.

He thought briefly of Varis. Not with resentment exactly, but with exhaustion.

Varis was competent in certain areas. Taren could admit that honestly. He handled pressure well and knew how to close negotiations aggressively when needed.

But increasingly, aggression seemed to be the only quality valued. Patience became weakness. Balance became softness. Fairness became bad business.

Taren had lost count of how many times he argued internally for terms that better reflected the value authors brought to the company, only for the discussions to be dismissed as impractical.

The frustration no longer came from disagreement alone. It came from feeling increasingly out of place in a profession he once understood clearly.

His gaze shifted toward the darkened window nearby. Outside, the city lights stretched quietly into the distance. For the first time in a while, he allowed himself to seriously consider something he had spent years avoiding.

What if Eiran was right? Not about the guaranteed success as no one could predict that. Publishing houses failed all the time, even the most promising ones and Taren knew that reality better than most.

A single successful title was not enough to sustain an entire company long-term. Lucien would eventually need more authors, stronger infrastructure, reliable editorial systems, distribution networks, financial stability, and people capable of managing all of it together.

The risks were very real. But that was not the same as saying failure was inevitable. And strangely enough, the more he thought about Lucien’s actions, the less reckless they seemed.

Young, certainly. Ambitious, definitely. But surely not careless. There was intent and purpose behind the decisions.

That alone separated him from many others who entered creative industries chasing excitement without understanding the realities behind them.

Taren rested his elbow lightly against the table. He could still remember Lucien’s expression during the negotiation at the café. Calm, direct, and completely unshaken.

At the time, Taren thought it was unusual confidence from a promising new author. Now, with everything Eiran revealed, the interaction looked different in hindsight.

Lucien had not behaved like someone desperately seeking approval from a major publisher. He behaved like someone already building his own path regardless of whether others joined him or not.

That realization lingered longer than Taren expected. Eventually, he stood and cleared the table quietly before heading toward his room, but sleep did not come quickly.

Even after lying down, his thoughts continued moving in circles between practicality and hesitation, between opportunity and obligation.

At some point during the night, his mind returned once more to the same thought.

Just go and talk to him once.

Simple words, but not a simple step.

---

The next morning arrived earlier than he would have preferred.

Taren moved through his routine quietly and left for work as usual, though the previous night’s conversation still lingered faintly at the back of his mind.

By the time he entered the office building, the familiar atmosphere had already settled into place.

Employees moved through the halls carrying documents and files, conversations blending into the steady rhythm of another workday. Nothing outwardly looked any different.

But lately, Taren found himself noticing things he used to ignore like the tension in discussions. The constant pressure around numbers, and the way departments increasingly competed against each other internally rather than working together.

It had not always felt like this.

As he reached his desk, he noticed Varis already speaking with someone nearby about another negotiation.

“…if they hesitate now, lower the advance slightly and push harder on the distribution percentage,” Varis said casually. “New writers don’t have many alternatives once they’re this far into discussion.”

The employee nodded quickly.

Taren said nothing as he sat down. The conversation itself was not shocking. He had heard variations of it countless times before. Still, after the previous night, it felt heavier than usual.

Varis noticed him a moment later. “You’re early,” he said.

“Could say the same to you,” Taren replied calmly.

Varis gave a short shrug. “Some people actually like getting work done.”

The remark carried its usual edge, but Taren no longer had the energy to engage with it.

Varis continued speaking while sorting through documents.

“Chief wants updated projections by noon. Apparently, everyone’s suddenly interested in tracking this Lucien situation now.”

Taren looked up slightly. “Still?”

Varis snorted. “Five thousand copies moves attention whether we like it or not.”

Taren remained silent.

Varis glanced toward him briefly. “You still thinking about that meeting?”

“A little,” Taren admitted.

Varis leaned back slightly.

“You think too much,” he said. “Either they succeed or they fail. Doesn’t really matter to us.”

But strangely enough, Taren was no longer certain that was true.

His thoughts drifted briefly again toward Crownspire, toward a crowded café, and toward a nearly dead press suddenly returning to life, toward a young author willing to gamble far more than most people would dare.

And before he realized it, another thought quietly surfaced beneath all the others. Maybe it was worth meeting him once after all.