The Outrider's Den was bustling with the usual morning energy when Viktor and Arelos arrived, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of quiet unease in the air. Despite the inviting warmth and the lively chatter enveloping the tavern, an aura of uncertainty pressed in, hinting at emptiness that lurked outside its walls.

Viktor and Arelos approached Bryna, who was orchestrating the flow of patrons and workers with her practiced efficiency. Her demeanor was as brisk as ever, but the boys noticed the subtle tension that edged her usually cheerful expression.

"Bryna," Viktor greeted with his characteristic warmth, hoping to offset any burdens the day had thus far carried. "We're here if you need extra hands today."

Bryna paused, wheeling around to face Viktor and Arelos, her eyes radiating a mix of appreciation and mild regret. "Ah, boys," Bryna sighed lightly, a shadow of frustration flitting across her features. "I appreciate that you came, but business has been slow. We haven't filled quite enough rooms yet, and today looks like it might be more of the same."

Arelos tilted his head slightly, noting the tinge of disappointment in Bryna's tone. "So, you don't need us today?" he asked, although the answer appeared self-evident in Bryna's weary eyes.

Exhaling in response, Bryna nodded slowly, the weight of her decision evident. "Not just today," she added, her voice infused with genuine apology. "If things don't pick up soon, I fear I won't be able to call on you tomorrow, either."

Though the news wasn't entirely unexpected, Viktor couldn't help the sting of disappointment that settled in his chest. It wasn't just the loss of wages—it was the feeling of camaraderie, the warming flame of purpose that stoked their spirits in these cold times.

"We understand," Viktor responded, concealing his own crestfallen spirit beneath a veneer of resilience. "Thanks for letting us know anyway. We'll just have to try our luck elsewhere."

Bryna offered them a small smile, a hint of the kinship they had cultivated in their shared struggles lighting her eyes. "You're good lads," she affirmed, her voice resonating with the appreciation that words sometimes struggled to convey. "Whenever things get busy again, there'll be a spot for you."

Viktor and Arelos nodded, bidding their temporary goodbyes to Bryna, as they stepped away from the hearth’s glow into the tavern’s main chamber. Mitigated by disappointment, weight burrowed in each step as they ventured past familiar tables that had cradled their camaraderie and dreams.

Outside, the winter's chill met their faces with a breath that was biting but not overwhelmingly stark. Today, the sun emerged from behind wintry clouds, dappling Lycona’s streets with pale golden light.

Viktor glanced up at the sky, tinged with the soft hues of a midday sun reflecting across the snow-draped cityscape, finding solace and promise within the milder embrace of the day.

"At least it's not as harsh today," Viktor remarked, seeking the silver lining amid uncertainty as they set forth upon the cobblestoned streets. "We can find one of the outdoor stalls or a market—surely someone might need help."

Arelos nodded in agreement, his sharp gaze honing in on the movements of the shifting crowds, seeking instinctively for leads amid the subtle hum of marketplace vitality. "Yes," he concurred, determination flushing out the traces of dejection from his features. "Today’s just another opportunity."

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Viktor and Arelos wound their way toward the marketplace, the cobblestones ringing quietly underfoot, a stage upon which countless ambitions had trod. Despite the gentle warmth of the sun highlighting their journey, a veil of apprehension lingered over them, subdued yet palpable, a remnant of Bryna’s earlier news.

The market, which usually thrummed with the vibrant energy of commerce, seemed muted today. Vendors bustled less and spoke in softer tones, the echoing vitality eclipsed by cautious reserve. Nevertheless, Viktor and Arelos approached with determination, hopeful that amidst the softened cadence of the day, opportunity awaited.

Viktor moved first, leading them into the heart of the market. He engaged each vendor with his usual cheerful charm, extending offers of work—delivery, setup, any labor that might secure a meal or a token of coin. Yet stall after stall yielded little promise. Apologies rendered polite yet noncommittal became the refrain marking their circuit.

Resilient in the face of the quiet refusals, they moved from fresh produce vendors to the cornered stands piled high with fabrics and trinkets. The pattern remained the same, echoes of appreciation tempered by the grim reality faced alongside each stop.

“Guess there’s no luck today,” Viktor murmured after being turned away at yet another potential opportunity, disappointment slipping into his words.

Arelos stepped up beside him, his usually impassive features tinged with understanding. “Market's quieter than usual. It’s not just us that’s feeling it.” He paused, watching the cautious movements of merchants shadowing lowered gazes. “We’ll need to try somewhere else.”

Exiting the market, they set course for another tavern: a modest establishment that captured enough foot traffic to offer a glimmer of hope.

Once inside, they spoke to the tavern-keeper, a brusque man with a keen eye who sized them up with casual scrutiny. Despite their best efforts—the sincerity in Viktor’s words, the quiet practicality in Arelos’s gaze glinting like steel—the reply was swift and firm.

“Sorry, lads. Times are tight, and the locals’ regulars gotta earn their keep first. Try next week?” He shrugged, sidling away before they could object further.

Viktor maintained his composure, but as they stepped back into the waning daylight, frustration gnawed at the edge of his patience. “That’s, what, the third day in a row we’ll have to dip into our savings?” Viktor let his irritation show, though within him it formed a tangle of concern stewed alongside it.

Arelos absorbed his friend’s protest with characteristic stoicism. “It happens,” he noted with casual detachment, his breath condensing into smoky whispers before the chill. “A bad streak doesn’t always forecast the future.”

They walked together, weaving through Lycona’s labyrinthine alleys with familiar grace. Viktor’s thoughts tumbled and turned; Arelos’s silence stood steadfast, grounded in pragmatic wisdom.

Eventually, Arelos spoke plainly, breaking the reverie that had settled upon them. “Perhaps it’s time to change our hunting grounds,” he suggested, the words clear and succinct against the city’s noise.

Viktor glanced at Arelos, amusement momentarily dancing through his frustration. “Hunting grounds, hmm? What did you have in mind?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The air seemed to crackle subtly with the weight of Arelos’s answer. He locked eyes with Viktor, delivering his proposal with crisp emphasis: “The Velvet District.”

Viktor felt a pang of nostalgic familiarity as his gaze drifted toward the distant direction of the Velvet District. He had been there once before, back when his life was defined by different expectations and his family was whole.

"I've been there before," Viktor remarked casually, his tone light despite the weight of the memory. He glanced at Arelos, who stood beside him with his usual composed demeanor.

"With your father, I presume?" Arelos inquired, his voice a blend of curiosity and an understanding that belied the fact they had shared much of their current lives but little of their pasts. Despite spending months together, neither had fully divulged the complexities of their histories to the other, though unspoken deductions had filled some gaps.

Viktor nodded, acknowledging the truth without delving deeper, his thoughts tinted by memories of walking those streets in markedly different circumstances.

Arelos, ever the pragmatist, didn't dwell on the personal revelation. He pivoted smoothly back to the practical matter at hand. "It's quite a trek," Arelos noted, his voice filled with pragmatic caution. "And it comes with its risks. I'm not too certain what sort of luck we might find there, but given the current state of things, it's worth exploring. Think of it as gathering information, expanding our horizons."

Viktor considered Arelos's proposal, weighing the potential gains against their current circumstances. The Velvet District offered opportunities—if one knew where to look—and although it was shrouded in complexities and latent dangers, it presented possibilities their current routes could not.

"Alright," Viktor agreed after a moment's contemplation, determination coloring his voice. "Lead the way."

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The Velvet District unfolded before Viktor and Arelos, drawing them into its bustling heart with a gentle yet insistent tug. This part of Lycona was alive with opulence, the streets meticulously maintained and filled with well-dressed nobles and elite merchants moving amongst their affairs. For Viktor, there was an undercurrent of familiarity, a reminder of his one visit with his father, when life wore a different guise.

Brightly dressed crowds were interspersed with occasional guards, their uniforms gleaming in the interplay of light from the extravagant shops and marketplaces peppering the district. Viktor found the richness of the environment both awe-inspiring and electrifying—a sharp contrast to the stark survivalist backdrop that had defined his life in recent months.

Arelos, for his part, navigated the new environment warily but with decisiveness. He observed the nuances of their surroundings with an intent focus, as if collecting data to interpret the unique pulse propelling this affluent sector of the city.

"There's a lot going on here," Viktor mused, taking in the vibrant scene around them. Despite his own struggles, he couldn't help but marvel at the prosperity and sophistication so effortlessly displayed. "I remember coming here once—it seems... different now."

"That's expected," Arelos replied, his gaze fixed analytically on the passing patrons. "When your perspective changes, so does the world around you."

They traversed through the thoroughfare, letting the district's vivacious energy envelop them. Both considered their options, mindful of the challenges and opportunities the Velvet District might offer.

"We should try some of these taverns," Viktor suggested thoughtfully. "One of them has to have someone willing to give a couple of determined boys a shot."

However, the string of taverns they tried met them with little success. Each tavern, grander than the last, promptly dismissed their inquiries. The rejection carried a mixture of indifference and disdain, judging them by their worn clothes and unrefined appearance. The reminders were issued with varying levels of contempt, underscoring that places like these weren't meant for "charity cases."

Arelos remained composed, his expression unbroken by their lack of fortune. "This is all information," he concluded pragmatically, after yet another dismissal. "We know where we stand, and perhaps what not to revisit."

Viktor couldn't help but marvel at Arelos's composure—the way nothing seemed capable of shaking his focus or resolve. "It's amazing," Viktor admitted, admiration mingling with frustration. "How do you just... not react? You have this way of viewing everything like a puzzle or something, fitting it into a place where it makes sense."

Arelos merely shrugged, a gesture endemic of his diligent resolve. "Observing comes first," he replied succinctly. "After that, reacting—if warranted—is easy enough. We're here to learn, and what comes, comes."

They reshaped their focus, debating amidst a flurry of establishments, Viktor offering potential prospects which Arelos would systematically accept or dismiss based on his appraisal.

As they walked, deep in conversation, Viktor inadvertently collided with a young man whose opulent attire indicated nobility. The sudden impact sent them both sprawling onto the cobbled ground with startled exclamations.

Embarrassment flooded Viktor even as the nobleman picked himself up with indignant haste. An irate frown darkened his face, his eyes alight with a mix of outrage and ire as he glared down at Viktor. "Watch where you're going, you oaf!" he snapped, brushing off his fine clothes with exaggerated distaste.

Viktor blinked, caught off guard by the nobleman's abrupt anger. "I—I didn’t see—" Viktor began, only for the nobleman to cut him off with a dismissive sneer. "Gutterspawn, should stick to their alleys," he spat cynically before storming off in a huff, his ornate garments billowing dramatically behind him.

Viktor stood silent, collecting the pieces of his dignity scattered on the cobblestones, the sting of the nobleman's words lingering.

As they began to move away, Arelos, ever perceptive, spotted something lying on the ground where the nobleman had fallen—a coin purse, likely dropped amidst the chaos.

Viktor froze, noticing it at last as Arelos gestured toward it, the tangible proof of opportunity remained grounded in fortune’s design.

"He left something behind," Arelos murmured, eyes alight with consideration.

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Viktor took a hesitant step towards the coin purse, stealing a glance at Arelos, who observed him with a blend of curiosity and expectation. Viktor crouched, his fingers grazing the elegant leather pouch that lay somewhat forlornly amidst the bustling Velvet District. Although slightly dusty, its once-vibrant material had faded only slightly. His heart beat with anticipation as he picked it up, feeling its unexpectedly heavy contents.

Straightening up, Viktor returned to Arelos' side, sizing up the pouch with a mixture of cautious curiosity and contemplation. "If I hurry," Viktor began, affecting an air of serious deliberation with a theatrical flair, "I'm certain I can catch up to him and return his property." His tone was laced with a sincerity so convincing that it betrayed nothing of the jest lurking beneath.

Arelos studied Viktor with an incredulous half-smile, his typically composed expression yielding to reveal subtle amusement. "You're jesting," Arelos started, pausing for effect, allowing a flicker of knowing concern to cross his face. Then, unexpectedly, laughter erupted from him—a deep, hearty laugh that broke the air around them, resonating with infectious exhilaration. It was the first time Viktor had truly heard Arelos laugh—an unreserved, joyous burst that shattered his perpetual facade of calculation.

Viktor kept his stoic confusion for another beat, playing the charade with admirable poise. "What? What's so funny?" he inquired, though his lips twitched as Arelos' laughter persisted.

Gasping between chuckles, Arelos struggled to regain composure. "You nearly had me there, Vik," he admitted, wiping tears from his eyes. "That noble sentiment suits you—fits like a glove, really. But you, apologizing and handing it back? No, I simply cannot visualize it."

Finally succumbing to their shared mirth, Viktor let his laughter flow freely, bubbling up in joyous spurts. "As if," Viktor wheezed, each word a comical hiccup amidst his giggles, "I'd... return... this divine... offering... to that... pompous buffoon!" His words reignited another wave of shared hilarity, their laughter resounding through the air around them.

Now calmer, Arelos gestured encouragingly. "Go on, see what's inside," he urged, his eyes alight with eager excitement.

With eager hands, Viktor loosened the drawstring of the coin pouch, unveiling its contents with a breathless gasp. Inside were not one, but a dozen gleaming silver coins, their sparkling surfaces casting playful flashes in the muted district light. The sight was overwhelming—a miniature fortune to two young men who toiled tirelessly for a handful of measly wages.

Arelos let out a low whistle, nodding in appreciation as his agile mind calculated the implications. "Silver coins—one silver is worth about 20 coppers," he noted, running quick numbers in his head. "That's nearly four months of our back-breaking work at the inn, even with meals taken into account. Viktor, this... this unlocks possibilities."

Viktor's grin mirrored Arelos's, a rare display of exuberant confidence fueled by newfound opportunity. "It certainly does," Viktor agreed, feeling the weight of possibility pressing softly at the edges of his reality.