Altan stepped back as the pyre burst into a blaze, watching as the bodies were rapidly reduced to ash. His voice was quiet, but firm, as he addressed the flames, as if speaking to the souls of the departed.

“For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands.” He paused, his gaze lingering on the fire. "These people fought, they survived, they lived, just like all of us here. And now, they rest, not in the ruins of this world, but in a place that’s been promised to them."

He paused, the heat of the pyre stinging his face. It wasn't the first pyre he'd started, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. “May their souls find peace in that eternal house.”

Bryan nodded, and stood solemnly as the funeral pyre died down, leaving naught but cinders and ash. He hesitated, then spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think Pappa’s in heaven? That he’s... happy now?”

Altan’s gaze stayed on the fire as he considered his answer. “I don’t know, kid. But what I do know is that your father loved you. And wherever he is now, I bet he’s proud of how strong you’ve become.”

Bryan nodded slowly, clutching his father’s rifle a little tighter. “I hope you’re right.” He took another long look at the remains of the pyre, and let out a heavy sigh as he slung his bundle of belongings over his shoulder. "I'm ready to go."

Altan nodded and tapped Delilah on the shoulder, catching her attention. She glanced up, blinking in surprise when he pushed the grenade launcher they'd found yesterday into her arms.

"What?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion.

Altan smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You didn’t think I was going to carry this thing for you, did you? You two found it, so you get to handle it."

He didn’t wait for a response, draping the bandolier of grenades over Bryan’s torso with a satisfied nod. Bryan gave him an incredulous look, while Delilah stood frozen, the weight of the weapon more than just physical.

"This is because we lied to you about the case, isn’t it?” Bryan said with a pout, adjusting the bandolier awkwardly.

Altan’s smirk widened. "Partly. Consider it a little lesson about trust and responsibility. But more importantly," he paused, his expression softening, "I wouldn’t hand this over if I didn’t think you could handle it."

Delilah’s frown flickered into something closer to pride, though she quickly masked it. She turned the launcher over in her hands, examining it with wide eyes. "It’s... heavier than it looks," she admitted, her tone almost reverent.

"It sure is. And that’s why you’re both going to learn how to use it properly before we head out," Altan said firmly, reaching out to take the weapon back. She squawked in protest but reluctantly let go.

Altan demonstrated the loading and unloading process, explaining the cross-bolt safety and reminding them of the launcher’s explosive potential. "This isn’t a toy, and it doesn’t forgive mistakes," he said gravely, his gaze flicking between them to ensure they understood.

When he handed the launcher back, Delilah accepted it more carefully this time, her grip steady. Bryan, meanwhile, stood straighter under the weight of the grenades, the earlier complaint replaced by a determined set to his jaw.

“Good,” Altan said, his voice lighter now. “Five reload drills each, and then we hit the road. Think of it as a warm-up."

Bryan's eyes widened as he took the launcher, his movements careful and reverent, while Delilah’s focused expression revealed how seriously she was taking the task. Altan watched them pass the launcher between themselves, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. They were still kids, but they were learning—step by step—to shoulder the weight of survival.

When Delilah finished her fifth reload, the metallic clink of the empty casing hitting the ground seemed to echo in the quiet air. Altan reached into the bandolier draped across Bryan’s torso and pulled out a live grenade, the dull green casing glinting faintly in the sunlight. He held it out to Delilah, his expression firm but calm.

Delilah hesitated, her eyes widening slightly as she stared at the device. Finally, she took it gingerly, her fingers trembling just enough for Altan to notice. The weight of the grenade launcher caused it to slip awkwardly from her arms, its sling catching and swinging against her side.

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Altan rested a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Easy,” he said gently. “It’s just another tool, like any other weapon. Handle it with care, but don’t let it scare you.”

Delilah swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the grenade as she carefully brought the launcher back up. Altan guided her hands as she slid the grenade into the chamber, the faint click of it slotting into place sounding far louder than it should have.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “Now snap it shut and engage the safety.”

She did as instructed, the launcher’s safety clicking into position with a finality that made Bryan let out a soft, almost inaudible “Whoa.”

Altan gave them both an approving nod. “Good work. Keep that same focus anytime you’re handling it, and you’ll be fine. The arming distance on these is supposed to be around 15 yards, but don’t count on it. Treat it like it’s always armed.”

Delilah nodded, her earlier nervousness giving way to a small, proud smile. Altan adjusted the launcher’s sling so it rested more comfortably across her back. “We’ll need to find a better sling eventually, but this’ll do for now. You’re ready.”

Bryan looked at Altan, then at Delilah, and finally down at the grenades strapped across his chest. “I guess this makes us a real team now, huh?”

Altan chuckled, ruffling Bryan’s hair. “Damn right.”

With that, he slung his own rifle over his shoulder and motioned for them to follow. “Alright, let’s get moving. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and I’d rather not do it after dark.”

They set off, Altan leading them along the road by the riverfront. "If the directions I got are right, we’ll follow this road past a neutral spot run by someone called Grandma Sparkles. We’ll stop there for snacks and directions." He chuckled as the kids perked up at the mention of snacks. "Then we pass a raider checkpoint—"

Delilah froze, her voice trembling. "Raiders? Are we going to fight them?"

Altan shook his head. "Shouldn’t have to. From what I’ve heard, they’re under the bridge to keep an eye on the Citadel. If they act up, the Brotherhood will put them down." He crouched and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "We’ll probably just pay a toll and move on."

Bryan frowned. "And if they don’t let us?"

Altan met Bryan's gaze with a calm steadiness. "Then we’ll figure it out. And if worst comes to worst," he patted the rifle slung across his torso, "I’ve got thirty reasons why they should’ve just let us pass."

Bryan’s eyes widened slightly, but a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Delilah let out a nervous laugh, and though she didn’t fully share in the humor, the tension eased. Altan gave their shoulders a squeeze before standing and leading the way forward.

Delilah shared a glance with Bryan, nodding hesitantly. Her fears still lingered, but she kept them to herself. She fell into step behind Altan, the grenade launcher shifting on her back with every step—a weight both intimidating and oddly reassuring.

It wasn't long before they spotted Grandma Sparkles' cafe in the distance, an open-air setup of about a dozen tables with chairs, a large cooktop and a cooler under an awning set up against a shack. Grandma Sparkles’ shack was a hodgepodge of scrap metal and faded signs, perched on the edge of the waterfront. The woman herself stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a sly grin on her face.

“Well, ain’t this a surprise,” she drawled, eyeing Altan’s group. “Don’t see too many folks with kids these days. What can ol’ Grandma Sparkles do for ya?”

“Good afternoon. We're heading to Rivet City, and we could use some snacks, maps if you've got them, and maybe some advice,” Altan said, keeping his tone polite.

“Advice don’t come cheap,” she replied, her grin widening. “But I’ll throw in a pack of sugar bombs if you’ve got caps to spare.”

Altan nodded, fishing around in his duster. He pointed to a table, and the kids sat down. "We're looking to cross at the bridge up ahead. I hear there's a raider checkpoint. You got any advice? We're peaceful travelers just looking to get by."

Grandma Sparkles gave him a pointed look, her gaze drifting from the rifle laying across his chest to the magazines and grenades hanging off his vest. Her eyes then flicked over the weapons slung across the children's backs. She raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.

"Peaceful travelers, huh?" she muttered, clearly unconvinced.

“Peaceful, not harmless,” Altan replied, his voice low but sharp, a clear challenge in his gaze.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken understanding. Finally, the older woman gave a slight nod. "Fair enough. Those boys and girls up there charge a fair toll—twenty-five caps a head. They ain't *my* boys and girls, but they ain't all bad sorts, either." She rolled her eyes at Altan's incredulous look. "Oh, don't give me that. You've got a green look about you, so I'll give you this bit of advice for free. Most folks out here are just trying to get by. A lot of 'em don't have much choice in how they do that—even raiders—and they don’t want to die any more than you do. Keep that in mind, and you’ll keep your head."

Altan’s eyes softened for a moment, a brief flash of guilt crossing his face. It was gone just as quickly as it came, replaced by a sigh. "Thanks. What do I owe you?"

The old woman "hmm'd" for a moment, her eyes glinting with calculation. "A hundred caps ought to do."

Altan raised an eyebrow, his voice dry. "Fifty caps, and I tell you that Greyditch is full of freshly dead ants. Enough to feed an entire town for weeks."

Grandma Sparkles paused, her gaze narrowing as she considered the offer. She let out a low chuckle, her smirk widening. "Dead ants, huh? Ain't heard that one before. But alright, you drive a hard bargain." Altan nodded, and the deal was struck with a quick exchange of caps. A box of sugar bombs found its way into Altan's rucksack, and he glanced back at the children, still lost in their game of rock, paper, scissors at the table.

"Lily, Bryan, let's go."