“See, Viktor,” Arelos quipped, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, “I always said your ability would open doors for us.”
Viktor shot him a dry, deadpan stare, his brow lifting in mock exasperation. “Really, Arelos? That’s the best you’ve got?” he replied, voice tinged with playful sarcasm. Despite himself, the hint of a smirk betrayed his amusement.
Their attention returned to the dim room before them, the air heavy with the scent of age and disuse. No light illuminated the space beyond the faint streams filtering in from behind the boys, framing their silhouettes in the doorway. The faint golden shafts fell upon a long-abandoned chamber, casting stark, angular shadows across its sparse interior.
The room was bare but for a few scattered remnants of its past life: dust-coated shelves that clung to the walls like forgotten sentinels, their surfaces bowed under the weight of disuse; a threadbare rug stretched unevenly across the floor, its intricate patterns dulled by years of neglect; and at the room's center, a small wooden desk stood, its surface aged yet unyielding, with a chair placed neatly beside it as though left in expectation of a returning occupant.
A stubby, half-burned candle rested atop the desk, anchored in a wrought iron holder. Its waxy remnants dripped and pooled, forming an uneven, petrified cascade. Beside it lay a lockbox, its dark surface gleaming faintly as though recently polished, adorned with delicate carvings of vines and leaves that wound intricately across its lid. It seemed oddly pristine amidst the dust-covered surroundings, its presence a silent sentinel of whatever secrets it held.
“Let me guess,” Viktor muttered, his voice dry but tinged with faint humor, “another lock to get through.”
Arelos snorted softly, his hand already reaching for the box. “Don’t sound so thrilled,” he said, brushing the thin layer of dust from its surface. His fingers traced the intricate carvings, a momentary reverence flickering across his face. With a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted the lid.
To Viktor’s surprise, the box opened effortlessly, its hinges silent despite their apparent age. Arelos straightened, glancing back at him with a faintly smug expression that needed no words to convey its message. Viktor rolled his eyes but stepped closer, curiosity overriding his feigned annoyance.
Inside lay a modest trove of objects, each speaking to a history neither boy could yet fathom. A weathered, leather-bound notebook rested on top, its cracked cover marked with faint symbols that Viktor did not recognize. Beside it was a small coin purse, its faded material bulging slightly with its unseen contents. A dagger, beautifully ornate, gleamed beneath the faint light. Its hilt was wrapped in leather, while its blade bore fine etchings that shimmered faintly with an elegance that defied the room's gloom.
Nestled among these items were two silver rings, their bands delicately engraved with golden patterns that caught the faintest hint of light. They lay side by side, their craftsmanship so exquisite that even the dull glow from the doorway made them seem alive, the gold etchings shimmering like trapped sunlight.
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Arelos was the first to speak, his mind already assessing the value of each item. "This dagger looks like a genuine heirloom," Arelos mused aloud, lifting it carefully from the box. The intricate craftsmanship and balanced weight felt foreign yet familiar in his grip.
Viktor, watching with keen interest, nodded in agreement. "It could probably fetch us a good ten to fifteen silvers," Arelos continued, already merging his practiced pragmatism with hopeful audacity. "Might even stretch to a gold piece—it's solid steel, and good steel isn't cheap."
Viktor nodded, brushing his fingers over the dagger’s etched blade before turning his attention to the rings nestled in the lockbox. Their silver bands shimmered softly, the golden patterns etched into their surfaces adding an understated elegance. "And these," Viktor began, lifting the rings to inspect them more closely. "Pure silver with gold accents. By weight alone, they’re worth a few silvers each. Add the craftsmanship, and we might be looking at double that."
Arelos leaned in, inspecting their gleaming edges closely. "I agree," Arelos concurred, his eyes reflecting thoughts of opportunity and provision. "It's amazing what you can find in a forgotten corner like this." His words carried a note of approval for Viktor's sharp appraisal.
Viktor didn’t reply, his attention shifting to the coin purse. With practiced care, he loosened the leather strings and tilted its contents into his palm. The satisfying clink of coins filled the room as five silvers and a scattering of twelve coppers spilled out. For a moment, both boys stared in silent awe at the small fortune—a treasure that could mean warm meals for months to come.
"This’ll keep us going a good while," Arelos said, his tone practical, his eyes fixed on the small fortune. "As long as we’re careful about how we spend it."
Viktor nodded, brushing his fingers lightly over the coins before tucking them into his satchel. "Yeah," he agreed softly. "That’s a good bit of breathing room."
With that, Arelos turned his attention to the final object in the lockbox—a weathered, leather-bound notebook. It was smaller than he had expected, no larger than his hand, and the cracked leather cover bore faint scuff marks and scratches, hinting at years of use. Faint, faded stitching lined the spine, holding its thick pages together, while the edges of the parchment were uneven, some curled and worn thin from time.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
A faint, earthy smell rose from the book as Arelos lifted it, the scent of old paper and leather mingling in the still air. The cover bore no decoration except for a faint indentation in the center—a rough stamp of sorts, worn smooth with time. The book had the utilitarian look of something meant for function rather than flair, its simplicity adding an air of mystery.
"What do you think it is?" Viktor asked, his gaze lingering on the small, nondescript object.
Arelos turned it over in his hands, weighing it carefully. "No idea," he admitted after a moment, his tone even. "Looks like it belonged to someone who used it a lot, though."
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Viktor's mind buzzed with a mix of satisfaction and plans as Arelos stepped back into the main attic space, his nose practically buried in the leather-bound notebook. While Arelos engrossed himself in the text, Viktor turned his attention to the remnants of their discovery.
First, he carefully returned the silver coins to the coin purse, ensuring each was tucked away securely. As he held the weight of their newfound fortune, he mentally calculated the reprieve this new currency would offer them, the slight relaxation it would mean for their tight budgets and wary minds.
Next, he placed the remaining items back within the lockbox. The quiet clink of metal echoed faintly in the still attic air as he adjusted the contents. His hand brushed against the polished steel of the dagger, its cold surface a reminder of its finely crafted utility. Viktor paused for a moment, weighing it in his palm before laying it down neatly among the other objects.
Taking a moment to survey the room beyond the opened door, Viktor frowned slightly. The space, though intriguing, was dim and unwelcoming, with shadows pooling in its corners and little light to make it truly useful. He hesitated, considering whether it held any further value for them. After a moment, he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble—not yet, anyway. The secrets it had guarded were now theirs, and the room itself could wait.
With a thoughtful pause, Viktor came to a decision. He placed the lockbox in a corner behind the door where shadows stretched long and the light rarely ventured, ensuring it was hidden even when the door was open. The security of its concealment offered a sense of surety amidst uncertainty.
Viktor then turned his attention to the abandoned chair and desk, a small smile dancing across his lips. With a grunt of effort, he dragged the desk into the main attic, where the warmth of sunlight seeped in through the window. He maneuvered it to face one of their precious light sources, planning both comfort and efficiency for the future hours spent at study or leisure.
The chair followed closely into this arrangement, and Viktor took satisfaction from this small act of transformation, adding a touch of practical luxury to their surroundings. It wasn’t much, but it was something tangible, a small victory rendering their makeshift home a touch more homely.
Lost in a world of his own, Arelos walked past the newly placed chair and dropped into it without as much as a flicker in his focus—not realizing the change that had occurred nor the convenience that had silently settled into their living space.
Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle at this, shaking his head as that involuntary smile graced his features. Arelos remained absorbed in the mysterious notebook, its weathered pages likely lacing intricate tales or cryptic wisdom. There was a comfort in the quiet moments they shared amidst the flurry of discoveries.
Perhaps, Viktor mused, these small victories, and the continuity of hope amidst the day-to-day constraints, were what truly mattered.
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The sun had set by now, and the attic was cast in deepening shadows, with only the reflected moonlight from the snow outside illuminating the dim space. Arelos had repositioned the chair by the window, trying to capture as much lunar glow as possible to continue reading the notebook they had discovered. Meanwhile, Viktor had resumed his practice with the coins, not wanting to interrupt Arelos’s newfound focus. He knew that once Arelos was ready to share his findings, he would. Another hour passed in this silent companionship before Arelos finally spoke.
“So…” Arelos began, breaking the stillness as he leaned back against the chair, eyes glinting with the faint light from outside. "Here's what I've learned so far."
Viktor paused in his practice, looking up with interest to listen. "What did you find?"
Arelos set the old notebook down on his lap, turning slightly to face Viktor. "Apparently, the man who owned this house was a merchant. These rings – they were his and his wife’s wedding rings," he said, gesturing to the silver bands Viktor had placed back in the lockbox earlier.
"It mentioned her coming down with the Withering," Arelos continued, his voice taking on a quiet, contemplative edge. "She passed from it, and I guess we can assume he did too, not long after. He wrote about dropping the rings into the lockbox—it was his way of keeping her memory close, I think."
Viktor nodded at the revelation, an understanding of loss subtly passing between them.
Arelos flipped back through several pages, tracing his fingers over the faded script. "The rest of the entries," he said, his tone now more pragmatic, "detail elements of his trade. Things like price discrepancies, significant trade deals, some arbitrage opportunities."
Viktor hoisted himself up, dusting off his hands from the practice to join Arelos. "Anything of real interest?"
Arelos made a slight gesture, tapping on a particularly filled page. "Yeah, some of it. A lot of sections are crossed out, so maybe the opportunities expired or weren’t viable anymore. But some entries are circled, which might mean they held special importance to him, possibly connections or methods he thought were worth keeping in mind."
Intrigued by the potential, Viktor leaned in for a closer look. "No mention of the dagger though?"
Arelos shook his head, flipping to the next blank page in the notebook with a soft sigh. "Nothing about the dagger. No documentation of its significance or origin."
Resting back against the chair, Arelos suddenly looked tired. "Interesting stuff, but I can't say it's immediately useful—at least not yet."
Viktor gave Arelos a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "We’ve uncovered a lot today. Maybe the rest will reveal itself in time."
They both sat there for a while, reflecting on the day's discoveries and the merchant's life painted in the aging pages of the notebook. The atmosphere between them was one of tempered excitement and thoughtful consideration.
"I suppose we should turn in," Arelos eventually suggested, his gaze drifting to the window where moonlight bathed the attic in pale hues.
Viktor nodded, stowing the coins and other items safely to the side. "Yeah," he agreed. "Tomorrow, we'll need to come up with new plans given how things have changed."
The two boys made their simple preparations for sleep, spreading out their blankets and settling in for a night's rest. Despite the uncertainties that continued to linger over them, and the cold that still breathed its chill into their makeshift home, there was a shared sense of anticipation—secured by hope and opportunities yet unfolding.
They drifted off with their thoughts sparking like embers in the quiet, ready to embrace whatever the next day might bring.