As they approached the familiar market stall, Brack greeted them with a bright, welcoming smile and a wave. "Hey there, lads! How goes the entrepreneurial journey?" he called out, motioning them over to his booth. The warmth in his voice suggested he had good news to share.
Viktor returned the smile, cautious but hopeful after their morning ordeal. "Managed to sell a few candles, did you?"
Brack grinned, a hint of triumph evident in his laughter. "I sure did, boys. Turns out the other merchants were caught short. I had the last of the candle inventory, and folks were willing to fork over almost twice the copper when they saw I'd cornered the market!" Brack's eyes twinkled with the satisfaction of a well-played hand.
Viktor took a step closer, a hopeful thread weaving through his words. "Does that mean we made a profit?"
"Indeed," Brack replied, sliding a small pouch of coins across the counter toward them. "You've got yourself a moderate profit. Certainly better than breaking even."
The boys exchanged a look of relief and gratitude, the weight of their earlier failure in the Velvet District momentarily lifted by the triumph with Brack.
As they collected the coins, Brack eyed them with a knowing smile. "How'd it go at the Velvet District? Was it a success?" His tone carried a hint of knowing, as if sensing there was more to the story.
Viktor and Arelos shared a glance, a silent agreement passing between them as they decided to share their experience. Viktor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, we got scammed," he admitted, a tinge of frustration tinging his voice. "A merchant took our candles and sold them, but when we came back, he pretended he didn’t know us."
Brack's expression softened with sympathy, and he shook his head, frustration mirroring their own. "Scoundrels like that deserve more than a harsh word," he said, his voice thick with understanding. "You remember the name of the merchant?"
"Rogo," Arelos said quietly.
Brack sighed knowingly. “Not surprising. He has a bad reputation, and he's powerful. Fifth son of the Morgavos family. Best to avoid him in the future.”
The boys nodded, accepting the reality of Brack's assessment with a mix of resignation and determination.
Viktor pocketed the coins, a grateful smile playing on his lips. "Thanks, Brack. We owe you one—for the fair deal and the advice."
Brack waved off the thanks, his demeanor affable and sincere. "No thanks needed, boys. Glad to help when I can." He leaned in slightly, a glint of intrigue in his eye. "If you plan on another go at it, I might know someone in the Velvet District who could help—a more trustworthy sort."
Arelos, still stung by their earlier deceit, immediately interjected. "Our candle days are behind us," he said, his tone firm.
Brack, still smiling, waved them off. "Well, you know where to find me, boys."
With a quick nod of thanks, Viktor and Arelos turned and walked away, the crowd of the market swallowing them up as they headed back toward the Burrows.
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Months quietly slipped by, allowing Lycona to gradually thaw from winter's grip. The chill of winter was long forgotten, replaced by the vibrant bloom of spring, with whispers of summer around the corner. The change in season brought a renewed energy to its bustling streets, and for Viktor and Arelos, it signaled a new chapter in their lives.
Arelos found himself increasingly immersed in his studies at the temple. The wide array of subjects challenged his intellect and curiosity, keeping his mind occupied and his focus sharp. The temple’s hallowed halls became both a refuge and a realm of endless discovery.
His efforts had not gone unnoticed. Hamin, his mentor, recognized Arelos’s potential and agreed to lower his tutoring rates significantly. In return, Arelos took on light duties around the temple—tasks like cataloging scrolls or assisting with research. The arrangement allowed him to deepen his learning while giving back to the community that had begun to nurture him.
Viktor, on the other hand, found himself with ample time on his hands. Arelos's increased study load meant he spent significantly more time at the temple, leaving Viktor to his own devices.
The shifts at The Outrider's Den had become more frequent than they were during the slow winter months, providing Viktor with a welcome distraction. The Den had turned into something of a home away from home, and Viktor found himself spending a great deal of time there, even when he wasn't working. Both the staff and patrons appreciated his presence; his friendly demeanor infused the place with a genuine sense of belonging and ease. Bryna and Soros often expressed how much they enjoyed having him around, making him feel like an integral part of the daily rhythm at the tavern. Viktor's dependability and quick learning amplified his positive impact, turning the tavern into a bustling hub of warmth and laughter when he was around.
In his quieter moments, Viktor retreated to their attic, where he worked tirelessly to refine his magical abilities. Each small success brought him closer to understanding the depth of his talent, fueling his determination to grow stronger. The attic became a sanctuary, a place where he could explore his potential without distraction.
Their finances remained a delicate balancing act. Every silver was stretched to cover essentials, and they carefully invested in weather-appropriate clothing that made them look not only presentable but downright respectable. This new respectability opened doors, making it easier to find opportunities as people were more inclined to trust those who looked the part.
Though life was far from easy, Viktor and Arelos found themselves slowly building a new foundation, one deliberate step at a time. The road ahead was uncertain, but for now, they were moving forward, together.
One particularly brisk afternoon, Viktor settled at a table in the Den with a mug of warm cider in hand, catching up with Bryna during a lull between the afternoon and supper rush.
"You've become quite the regular here," Bryna remarked, leaning against the bar with a fond smile.
Viktor grinned, taking a sip of his cider. "Couldn't stay away even if I tried," he admitted. "Besides, you've got the best company and the best drink in Lycona."
Bryna chuckled, shaking her head. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Viktor," she replied warmly. "It's nice having you here, though. You bring a bit of life into this old place."
Viktor shrugged casually, returning her smile. "Happy to help," he said. "Though I suppose it's a bit selfish too. The Den keeps me out of trouble when Arelos is busy at the temple."
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"How's he doing with all that?"
"Oh, he's thriving," Viktor answered, a hint of pride in his voice. "Hamin's got him buried in books, but Arelos is like a sponge. Never seen anyone soak up knowledge so quickly."
Bryna nodded, pleased. "That's good to hear. That boy's got a head on his shoulders. Both of you do."
Just then, the sound of the tavern's door creaking open drew both their gazes. Soros, the Den's chef, appeared with a list of supplies he needed for the coming days.
Viktor," Soros called, beckoning him over. "Could you do me a favor and settle the account with our regular vendor? We owe them for last week's delivery and it slipped my mind."
"Absolutely," Viktor replied, standing and smoothing a hand through his hair. "I'll take care of it now. Just make sure my cider stays warm. I plan to finish it when I'm back."
Viktor received a small purse of coins from Soros, a gesture that underscored the trust they'd cultivated over time. With the coins secured in his pocket, Viktor set off, the door of the tavern swinging shut behind him, letting in a brief chilly breeze.
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As Viktor stepped outside, he nearly bumped into Arelos, who was making his way towards the tavern.
"Hey!" Viktor greeted, stepping aside. "I was about to run an errand to settle with one of our vendors. Care to join me?"
Arelos shrugged, joining Viktor with a casual ease. "Why not," he said. "I had some time to spare and thought I'd drop by and see what you were up to." His voice had a trace of fatigue, not from weariness but from the long hours spent buried in books and scrolls, yet his eyes remained attentive, eager to catch up with Viktor.
As they walked through the bustling streets towards the marketplace, the conversation flowed easily between them. Arelos filled Viktor in on the goings-on at the temple, the scholars there debating the swell of people streaming into Lycona.
"It's getting crowded," Arelos noted, his voice carrying a hint of skepticism. "People are flocking to the city since farms are going under. The Withering's hit them hard; they can't find enough hands to keep things running.
Viktor listened, nodding thoughtfully. "Makes sense. If there's no one left to work the land, you can't really call it a farm anymore," he remarked, picturing vast fields left untended.
They found the vendor in the market square, a stout man with a welcoming smile, who recognized Viktor immediately as they approached. "Ah, Soros's messenger! Here to settle last week's account, yes?" he said, his hands busy organizing crates of fresh produce.
Viktor nodded, extracting the purse of coins from his pocket. "Exactly. We appreciate your patience this week," he replied, counting out the payment carefully before handing it over.
The vendor waved away his concern with a hearty laugh. "No worries there, lad. Soros does good business, and it’s always a pleasure to deal with him. Just make sure to tell him that the next shipment might be a touch late."
"I’ll pass that message along," Viktor assured him, pocketing the now lighter purse.
With their errand complete, Viktor and Arelos made their way back through the winding alleyways. Their earlier conversation about the city's changes bubbled up naturally, intertwining with the vendor’s mention of a late shipment.
"Do you think the influx of folks into the city is going to shake things up for us?" Viktor asked, a hint of concern in his voice as they walked.
Arelos considered it, a serious look crossing his face. "It’s a chance we have to reckon with," he admitted. "With more folks in town, the city might start reclaiming abandoned places to house them."
Viktor frowned at the thought. "So you think our spot in the attic is at risk?"
Arelos shrugged slightly, his expression calm but thoughtful. "It was bound to happen eventually."
The conversation dipped into silence as they continued walking. Each step felt heavier under the cloud of uncertainty.
Just then, a sharp voice cut through the air, halting the boys in their tracks. "Master ain't gonna be pleased if I don't get back what you nicked, ya rat! Hand it over, or I'll carve ya like a roast!" Each word dripped with menace, setting the hairs on the back of Viktor's neck on edge.
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He exchanged a quick glance with Arelos, whose eyes flickered with alarm. Viktor paused, straining to hear more. Another voice, younger and defiant, shot back.
"I dunno what you're on about. Maybe the master just misplaced his coins 'cause he ain't so sharp."
Viktor felt a primal pull towards the confrontation, a mixture of curiosity and a sense of justice sparking his instincts. He was about to step forward, moved by unspoken imperative, when Arelos’s hand clamped down on his shoulder—a firm, urgent tether grounding him.
“Don’t,” Arelos urged in a low voice, his grip steady. “It’s not worth getting involved.”
Viktor hesitated, tension pulling him between rationality and impulse. “Someone could get hurt,” he argued softly, concern in his voice.
Arelos was firm. “And we could be those someones, Viktor,” he countered quickly. “We’ve got enough to worry about without adding a street fight to the list.”
Yet, Viktor’s conscience pushed back, relentless and insistent. He sighed deeply, a silent resignation to the pull of his heart, before slipping away from Arelos’s grasp, stepping toward the alleyway emboldened by an ineffable sense of duty.
Viktor peered cautiously around the corner, his eyes parsing the subdued light. Three older boys, grim and focused, loomed menacingly over their quarry. Two smaller boys were pinned against the alley wall, almost identical in appearance, fear stark upon their young faces. Their captors held them in place, one boy wielding a knife with gruff determination as he addressed the duo.
"Liftin' from your own, huh?" The knife hovered between them, a sharp punctuation to his words. "Thought the master wouldn’t notice who made his stash vanish?" He leaned in closer, menace flickering in his eyes. "He wants you alive, but dead might save you the trouble. So, cough up the coins now—decide if you’re walkin’ out or gettin’ dragged."
One of the trapped boys, trembling but smirking, sneered, "Big knife, small man. Everyone knows it, too. They talk about you behind your back—say you’re pathetic, trying to act tough when you’re nothing." He spat on the ground, his defiant gaze daring the knife-wielder to prove him wrong.
The knife-wielder's face twisted with anger and an unmistakable intent. Viktor could feel the tension snap as the boy’s grip tightened around the knife, determination etched into every line of his posture as he leaned closer, ready to strike at the defiant boy.
Reacting swiftly, Viktor sprang into action, charging forward with a burst of adrenaline. He tackled one of the older boys—a lanky figure with hollowed eyes—taking him by surprise and sending them both sprawling onto the ground. The impact of their fall loosened the lanky boy's hold on the defiant youngster, allowing the smaller boy to twist free and immediately move to assist his sibling.
With a defiant shout, the freed boy hurled himself at the second thug—a burly youth with a menacing scar. Climbing onto the older boy's back, he lashed out with unexpected tenacity, every punch and kick fueled by the raw energy and determination of someone defending their family.
The alleyway exploded into chaos, a storm of frantic movement and fevered shouts. Viktor rolled to his feet, heart pounding, as he calculated his next move amidst the disorder. Panic clawed at him as the knife-wielder turned his attention towards Viktor, eyes ablaze with rage.
In a moment of pure instinct, he tapped into the power within him, almost without conscious effort. The familiar flicker of energy sparked within him, and a targeted pulse pushed outward, nudging the knife-wielder’s foot just enough to unsettle his balance. The boy staggered, surprise twisting his features before gravity grasped him, sending him stumbling to the ground.
Arelos, seizing the opportunity with precision born from the street, dashed forward. With a sharp kick, he sent the knife skittering from the boy’s outstretched hand, its metallic clatter ringing triumphantly against the cobblestones.
The scarred thug was now wrestling with both younger boys, one still struggling against his grip while the defiant one clung fiercely to his back. His grip began to slip as the smaller boys wriggled and fought with relentless determination. His balance wavered, and in a desperate, wild swing, he destabilized, toppling to the ground with an echoing thud, tangled with both younger boys.
The lanky boy who had been tackled by Viktor scrambled out of the fray, hesitating for a heartbeat as he took in the scene unfolding before him. His eyes darted from the tangled skirmish to the knife now out of reach, and an unspoken decision flickered across his face. Turning sharply on his heel, he bolted, his retreat signaling the end of the fight.
The remaining older boys exchanged quick glances, the realization of their friend's desertion dawning upon them. The balance had shifted against their favor, and with the first boy's departure, they too decided to retreat. Without a backward glance, they fled, their hurried footsteps echoing down the shadowed alley, leaving Viktor, Arelos, and the two siblings in sudden, victorious calm.
Arelos, ever the steady presence, reached down, offering a hand to help Viktor up from the dusty ground. Viktor accepted the aid gratefully, his breath coming in quick, controlled bursts.
"You shouldn't have done that," one of the freed boys said, his voice barely above a whisper yet rich with a mix of relief and residual shock.