Alaric flexed his palm. “That was a mean strike,” he complimented Rowan.

“I picked up this move a few days ago,” Rowan said smugly. “Took you by surprise, didn’t I?” He winked.

“That you did,” Alaric chuckled. That strike had been truly impressive — a perfect blend of strength, finesse, and tactics. Mastering such a move at just eleven years old was remarkable. Unlike him, Rowan didn't have years of fighting experience.

Both of them wandered over to the resting area and began munching on some snacks. Their meal consisted of a few slices of bread with cheese accompanied by some fruits. A few guards cast envious glances their way, but neither Alaric nor Rowan paid them any mind. The guards would have their own break soon enough.

Rowan’s gaze drifted into the distance, his expression clouded with concern. Alaric sensed his friend was troubled by something. Nudging Rowan with his elbow, he asked, “What has got you all worried?”

Rowan snapped back to the present, shaking his head before replying, “Something’s got my father on edge. Have you noticed how the guards are always on high alert at night?”

Alaric nodded. “Yeah. I heard the Count is leaving for some important business. I think your father’s just uneasy about the estate’s security when the knights accompany the lord.”

For the past week, Alaric and Rowan had also been training in the evenings. Captain Farrow had insisted they practice fighting in low-light conditions for at least an hour, reasoning that they needed to be prepared for any scenario. None of the guards joined them; they were spread thin, patrolling the estate’s various locations.

Just yesterday, Alaric had noticed an increase in the number of guards making the rounds of the mansion during the night shift. Even the knights, who typically patrolled with an air of confidence, seemed unusually alert and cautious.

With the Count preparing to leave for several weeks, a substantial portion of the house knights would accompany him, leaving the estate noticeably more exposed.

Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t pose a significant risk. The houseguards were capable enough to defend the property against common thugs and bandits.

However, whispers among the servants hinted at a long-standing dispute between Count Eustace and another noble.

That changed everything. A wealthy Count could rally considerable forces, and if conflict erupted, the estate might face a genuine threat. That was probably why Captain Farrow was worried.

Alaric decided to remain a little more alert. Of course, if a battalion of soldiers and mercenaries arrived at their gates bearing arms, there would be little he could do aside from fleeing or surrendering.

But vigilance could still make a difference — it might buy them time to escape or prepare for an impending attack. After some back-and-forth discussion, Rowan and Alaric agreed to meet again later that evening at their usual spot.

***

Alaric and Rowan reclined in the cool grass after their evening training. The sun had dipped below the horizon moments ago, bathing the sky in streaks of orange and red. The soft hues of twilight suffused the garden in a wonderful glow. The distant chittering of crickets echoed through the still air.

Rowan was rambling about something, but Alaric wasn’t paying attention. He wanted to relish these few moments of beauty. Soon, he would have to return to his bedroom to meditate.

However, it was an unhealthy habit to remain perpetually occupied with tasks. After all, the mind and body needed moments of reprieve to function properly.

Both of them were exhausted, their bodies covered in sweat. Yet, instead of heading straight for a bath to wash away the grime, they preferred to linger together, enjoying each other's company and unwinding.

Ever since the Count had departed the estate with his regiment of knights a week ago, a heavy gloom had settled over the grounds. Everybody could feel it in their bones — an impending storm lurking on the horizon. The maids and the whispered anxiously. The guards patrolled the grounds with heightened vigilance. Captain Farrow was on edge all the time.

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The few knights who had remained assisted the guards during their nighttime patrols.

Suddenly, Alaric felt a sharp tingle as the hairs on his neck stood erect. His danger sense flared to life. The icy, creeping sensation was far different from the unease he’d felt under the watchful gaze of the Count’s messenger. No, this time the danger was real.

“Rowan, quiet for a moment,” Alaric murmured. He raised a hand sharply, his expression darkening to indicate the seriousness of the situation. “Something’s wrong.”

Rowan froze mid-sentence. Just as he was about to speak again, both of them noticed a series of shadows stretching across the nearby boundary wall. Moments later, faint, measured footsteps became audible.

“Get down,” Alaric hissed. “Hide behind that bush. Quick.”

Rowan didn’t protest. Both boys darted behind a dense cluster of shrubbery, their small bodies vanishing in the darkness of the evening. The cool, damp leaves pressed against Alaric’s skin, but he remained still — observing — his senses stretched to the extreme.

The muffled whispers and footsteps gradually revealed themselves as a group of figures emerged from the shadows. They were clad in tight, black attire, their faces hidden behind featureless masks.

One figure, however, stood out — he wore a demonic mask etched with sharp features and a menacing scowl. That man is probably the leader of the group.

“Who are they? What’s happening?” Rowan whispered, his voice trembling, his body quivering with fear. Alaric gently squeezed Rowan’s hand, pressed a finger to his lips, and shook his head firmly, signaling silence.

The intruders communicated in hushed tones, paired with sharp hand signals. Suddenly, a guard spotted them. Before he could shout an alarm, one of the intruders struck him swiftly at the base of the neck, and the guard crumpled to the ground.

Rowan flinched violently, nearly crying out, but Alaric’s hand clamped down on his wrist, grounding him.

Rowan turned to Alaric, his eyes wide, sweat glistening on his brow. However, the steady calm etched into Alaric’s face seemed to ease his fear. Alaric cupped his ears, straining to catch snippets of the intruders' conversation. Words like ‘study,’ ‘documents,’ and ‘move quickly’ drifted to him.

The shadowy figures dispersed, melting back into the darkness and disappearing from view. Alaric and Rowan remained motionless for several long moments, trying to make heads or tails of what they’d just witnessed.

“This isn’t an assassination attempt on the Count,” Alaric mumbled.

Rowan blinked, confusion etched across his face. Alaric continued, “The Count isn’t even here, remember?” Rowan nodded slowly. “And they don’t seem like they’re planning to attack the estate directly. There are too few of them for that. I think…” Alaric paused, considering his words. “Their objective is espionage, not violence.”

“But they assaulted the guard. He is probably dead…”

“No, I don’t think they killed the guard. They simply knocked him out. It would be too messy otherwise.”

“What should we do? Should we keep hiding or flee?” Rowan was still panicking. Alaric grabbed hold of his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “Steady yourself, Rowan. We are not fleeing. Listen to me.”

Alaric quickly shared his theory with Rowan. “Please alert your father as swiftly as possible. But be sneaky and stick to the walls. I will head towards my room.” Rowan nodded and hurried off. Alaric lied. He planned on heading to the count’s study to keep an eye on the intruders. It was a risky move, and he didn’t want Rowan to worry about him.

Alaric crept cautiously through the garden’s shadows. Once outside the garden, he avoided exposed paths and hugged the walls. One of the intruders could be keeping watch, and it was crucial to remain vigilant.

He spotted a silhouette scaling the second-floor balcony towards the count’s vacant study. Hmm, looks like my guess is correct.

Alaric couldn’t climb, nor did he intend to make himself an easy target. He slipped through the main entrance doors, noticing guards. As expected, when he relayed what he saw to the door guards, they merely scoffed.

Fortunately, he noticed someone approaching from the east side who might believe him. It was Fenrir.

***

Rowan POV

Rowan crept silently, crouching as low as possible to reach his house. He glanced over his shoulders every few steps. His limbs trembled, but it was not due to the biting chill. He spotted a few unconscious guards hidden behind the bushes.

If Rowan had not been crouched and hyper-focused on his surroundings, he wouldn’t have detected them. His breathing was labored and his heart pounded in his chest.

How did Alaric remain so calm in that situation?

Rowan was sure he would’ve been caught if it were not for Alaric trying to keep him composed. Even now, he could recall the cold, calculative gaze in his eyes. There was no fear in them. Rowan wiped the sweat off his eyebrows with the back of his palm.

He spotted his house in the distance. Just a few more steps... I’m almost there. The sense of fear gave way to urgency. He straightened to his full height and sprinted towards the door.

Unfortunately, after only a few steps, he heard a snap and tumbled on the ground. Pain radiated through his ankles, and he screamed. However, in the next moment, the air around him shimmered, and the noise was abruptly silenced.

“A noisy little mouse... aren’t you? Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you?” a harsh, raspy voice sneered behind him. Rowan twisted around. He spotted one of the intruders advancing slowly, his steps deliberate, as if savoring the hunt.

There was no mask on his face now, and he wore a wicked grin and cruel eyes.

Rowan scrambled backward, but the intruder pinned his injured ankle with a boot. He screamed to no avail. The sound couldn’t escape the invisible sphere surrounding him.

“We weren’t supposed to kill anybody tonight,” the intruder hissed. “But I cannot resist the look of agony on your little face.” A small dagger materialized in his hands, and he dragged his tongue along its edge.

“Who would worry about a small... dead... child?” The intruder raised the dagger to strike him.