The sun dipped toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the city of Lycona as evening settled in. Inside the attic, the four boys lounged in their makeshift home, their laughter and talk echoing softly off the wooden beams above.
"I'm bored," Viktor announced, staring up at the ceiling and tapping his fingers in a restless rhythm against his knee. "We should go to the Den tonight."
Soren and Fenric perked up at the suggestion, eager for a change in scenery. However, Arelos, ever the voice of caution, narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
"I don't know," Arelos began, looking from Viktor to the twins and back again. "It's only been a few days since the scuffle. Is it really worth risking another run-in, just to break the monotony?"
Viktor shrugged, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. "I'm pretty sure things have cooled down by now. Besides, we've been cooped up here long enough."
Soren leaned forward, catching a hint of challenge in Viktor's tone. "You know, we could play a game here, if you looking for a thrill," he suggested, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "How 'bout a round of dice? Quarter copper per throw."
Fenric immediately chimed in, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah, quarter copper each! Highest number wins."
Viktor’s curiosity piqued, his competitive spirit stirred. He chuckled, clearly game for some entertainment. "Alright," he agreed, reaching for a small purse of coins at his side. "I’m in."
Arelos shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting between the twins and Viktor. His instincts nudged at him, but before he could voice a warning, Viktor cut in with a dismissive wave.
"Relax, Arelos," Viktor said, his tone lighthearted. "It’s just a game."
They settled in a loose circle. Soren and Fenric each took turns against Viktor, but the game began with Viktor winning the majority of throws, a streak of luck that seemed unbreakable.
As they played, Viktor quickly began to sense a quiet rhythm in the proceedings, an undertone of orchestrated chance.
After a few rounds, Fenric leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Time we up the ante," he proposed smoothly, his words laced with cool confidence. "Two coppers a pop. Whaddya say?"
Viktor paused, considering the offer as he glanced at his small pile of winnings. His gaze momentarily flickered to Arelos, who was regarding him with a pointed look, skepticism evident in his expression.
"You in?" Soren prompted, rearranging the dice with a dexterous, casual motion.
Viktor nodded, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I'm in, let's see if my luck holds."
Soren leaned forward, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he cupped the dice in his hands. The faint clatter of bone against bone filled the room as he shook them with practiced confidence. With a dramatic flourish, he released them onto the floor. The dice tumbled and bounced, spinning wildly before coming to a halt—double fives.
"Hard to beat that," Soren said, leaning back with a satisfied grin, his eyes glinting with triumph.
With a deftness that was hard to spot, Soren picked up the dice after his throw, slipping in an almost imperceptible switch as he handed them to Viktor.
Viktor watched, amused rather than alarmed, at the twins’ clever maneuvering. Their scam was a well-worn routine, but one Viktor had quickly surmised.
Arelos sat up straighter, his focus narrowing as Viktor accepted the dice from Soren. There was a flicker of tension in the air as Viktor cupped them—both the switched die and the other—in his hand. He weighed them thoughtfully, his expression unreadable, before giving them a slow, deliberate shake. The dice clicked against each other, the sound sharp and rhythmic, filling the attic with a quiet anticipation.
Viktor’s throw was smooth and controlled, the dice tumbling with a satisfying clattering sound across the floor. The first die landed on a five, drawing a hum of interest from Soren and Fenric. The second, the switched die, wavered as it slowed, teetering toward a one. Viktor’s focus sharpened. As it spun toward an inevitable loss, he reached inward, a quiet pulse of his power nudging it ever so slightly. The die wobbled, paused, then tipped with a near-imperceptible shift, landing firmly on a six.
For a moment, there was surprised silence. Fenric's eyes widened in disbelief, his gaze pinged to the dice then to his brother. Without missing a beat, he swatted Soren on the back of the head.
"You botched the switch, dumbass!" Fenric exclaimed, indignation lining his voice. "What you do, snag the wrong dice?"
Soren waved his hands defensively. "No, I did the switch clean," he protested, a slight frown creasing his brow. "I ain't slipped up, fen. It's just bad luck or... somethin'."
"Luck my foot!" Fenric shot back, his voice seasoned with streetwise intonation. "You mucked up the swap! Ain't it the time I told ya to keep them rigged ones apart from the rest?"
Soren shook his head furiously, trying to defend his actions. "Nah, man, I didn't mix 'em—you're just salty 'cause you got duped into buyin' a dud," Soren argued, his voice pitchin' higher like it always did when they got into it.
"Oh please," Fenric jeered. "I tested the die hundreds of times before I coughed up the coin!"
Soren groaned, flopping backward with exaggerated frustration. "Well, maybe all that rough handlin' broke the bloody thing."
Their voices rose, intertwining with both disagreement and the unfettered playfulness of siblings who knew each other all too well. Viktor couldn't help but snicker as he watched their dynamic unfold.
Arelos, on the other hand, sat back, his arms folded with an incredulous expression at the spectacle, as if he were watching one of nature's little mysteries unravel.
Eventually, drawn to a halt by their inability to reach consensus on who exactly messed up the plan, the twins turned sheepishly back to Viktor and Arelos.
Fenric offered an embarrassed grin, averting his eyes slightly. "We’d have given the money back, you know," he assured, though a mischievous undercurrent still threaded his voice. "Just a bit of fun—like practice."
“No harm done,” Viktor said easily, his tone dismissive yet kind. “And to be honest, it’s not like I played entirely fair myself.” His confession carried a playful edge, sparking curiosity among the group.
The room fell into a thoughtful quiet, the air still carrying the echoes of laughter and playful argument. Viktor, satisfied with the evening's unexpected turn, rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully as he glanced around at his companions.
"You know," he said slowly, rising to his feet, "I think maybe it's time we hit the Den for some food and drink."
Arelos sighed, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, it seemed like he might argue, but instead, he simply gave a reluctant nod. "Alright," he agreed, pushing himself up from the floor. "Let's go."
The twins exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them, before they too stood, ready to follow Viktor and Arelos down from their attic retreat into the waiting night of Lycona
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The four boys moved briskly along the cobblestone paths of Lycona, their legs driven by the anticipated warmth and hearty fare of the Outrider’s Den. The sun had let go of the horizon, giving way to the subtle glow of street lanterns, casting a soft light upon their eager expressions.
Arelos fell into his familiar role of watchfulness, his eyes scanning the faces in the crowd with cautious precision. Every passerby was inspected with a discerning glance, Arelos’s observant nature keeping him ever vigilant for any sign of recognition or trouble. Despite his vigilance, the twins, seemingly carefree, chatted animatedly between themselves, their youthful exuberance undimmed by the shadows of caution.
As they weaved their way through the thinning throngs, Soren's curiosity finally got the better of him. He turned to Viktor, a curious gleam in his eye. "So, what'd ya mean back there 'bout not playin' fair?" he inquired, his mind grappling with Viktor's earlier claim.
Viktor grinned, acknowledging the probing question. “Well,” he began, chuckling softly at the memory, “it wasn’t another switch or some sleight-of-hand. Let’s just say there are ways to cheat without rigged dice.”
Soren's eyes narrowed, a calculating look sliding across his features. "You sayin' you didn't swap 'em dice?" he asked, intrigued but puzzled.
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With a shake of his head, Viktor dispelled the notion. “Yeah, it's nothing like that,” he assured. “Imagine a trick without touching the dice—no rig needed.”
Fenric, who had been listening with growing interest, leaned in, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Like what, you got some kinda throw trick?" he posed, excitement threading through his voice.
Viktor shrugged, a secretive note dancing in his eyes. “You could say that,” he offered cryptically, “although I’m not good at it. Realized it’s something I can do just recently.”
“What is it, then?” Soren pressed, now fully engaged, the idea capturing his imagination. “Can you teach it to me?”
Viktor hesitated, considering the proposal, tinges of uncertainty crossing his mind. A moment passed—with him weighing the cost of sharing his burgeoning ability—before he replied, “I don’t think I can teach you, Soren. It’s not something you can really pass on.”
Soren's skepticism rose to the surface, his eyes narrowing slightly, a challenge in his gaze. “Alright, keep your secrets for now,” he conceded with a playful edge to his voice, “but I’ll keep askin' till you spill the beans.”
Their banter floated into the night air as they continued on towards the Den, the promise of food and drink buoying their spirits.
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The boys entered the Outrider’s Den, the lively hum of conversation and the warm scent of freshly baked bread greeting them as they stepped through the door. The tavern was busier than usual, with nearly every table occupied by patrons eating, drinking, and laughing. The atmosphere was lively, with a bard strumming a lute in the corner, adding a soft, melodic backdrop to the commotion.
Arelos immediately tensed, his eyes scanning the crowded room. “It’s packed tonight,” he remarked, his voice low and cautious. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
Viktor clapped Arelos on the shoulder with a grin. “Relax, Arelos. We’ll be fine.”
Fenric surveyed the room, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face. “Busy place, yeah? So, which one’s the Bryna lady ya been talkin’ up?”
Before Viktor could point her out, Bryna spotted them from across the room. She waved enthusiastically and gestured toward the last empty table in the far corner. “Over here, boys!” she called out, her voice cutting through the din.
“There she is,” Viktor said, leading the way as the group weaved through the crowded room.
The table was tucked into a cozy corner near the hearth, the warmth of the fire offering a welcome reprieve from the chilly night air. They slid into their seats, settling into the lively ambiance around them.
As the boys adjusted to their surroundings, Soren leaned over to Viktor. “So, this where ya work, huh?”
Viktor nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yep. Whenever they’ve got need of me. I try to check in every morning to see if there’s anything to do.”
Fenric perked up, his curiosity piqued. “Think they might have need for more hands?”
“Possibly,” Viktor replied with a grin. “You guys any good with knives?”
Fenric leaned forward, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. “Oh, the best! You just tell me who needs slicin’, and I’ll sort it.”
Viktor blinked, momentarily at a loss for words, trying to gauge if Fenric was serious, before breaking into a chuckle. “I meant for peeling vegetables.”
Fenric froze, realization dawning on him. “Oh,” he said, leaning back with a sheepish laugh. "I suppose I could try.”
The group erupted into laughter, the tension of the busy tavern dissipating as the twins’ antics lightened the mood.
Before long, Bryna approached their table with her usual air of authority carrying four mugs of warm cider. “Good to see you boys again,” she said, her eyes landing on the twins. “And I see you’ve brought some new faces.”
Viktor gestured to the twins, an easy grin on his face. “These are our new friends, Fenric and Soren.”
Bryna tilted her head, one eyebrow arched. “Friends, huh? I don’t suppose they’re trouble, are they?”
Fenric, ever quick on his feet, leaned forward with a mock gasp. “Trouble? Us? Never! We’re as innocent as lambs.”
Arelos snorted, his expression deadpan. “Sure, innocent lambs with a knack for landing in wolf pens.”
Bryna chuckled, her gaze sharp but playful. “I see. Well, you’d best behave yourselves here, boys. The Den’s not a place for troublemakers.”
Fenric grinned, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Bryna, ya wound me. We’re nothin’ if not upstandin’ gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen, is it?” Bryna asked, her tone skeptical but amused. “I suppose we’ll see about that.”
Viktor, who had been quietly observing the exchange, smirked. “Fenric here claims to be great with a knife.”
“Oh?” Bryna’s eyes twinkled with interest. “That so, Fenric?”
Fenric puffed up, mischief written all over his face. “The best. Just point me at the trouble, and I’ll handle it.”
Bryna leaned in slightly, her tone dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “Think you can handle peeling a few carrots?”
The entire table erupted into laughter, and Fenric groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Carrots? Should’ve seen that one comin’.”
Bryna shook her head, her smile widening. “Don’t tell me a big, bad tough guy like you can’t handle a vegetable peeler?”
Soren chimed in, his tone dry. “Oh, he’ll do it. Might cry a bit, though.”
Fenric shot his brother a mock glare. “I’ll have you know I’m more of an artist with the blade, not a kitchen hand.”
Bryna chuckled again, clearly enjoying herself. “An artist, huh? Well, if Soros needs help in the kitchen, I’ll let him know we’ve got a master vegetable peeler in the house.”
Fenric sighed, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine, if it keeps me fed, I’ll give it a shot.”
Bryna nodded approvingly. “Good answer. You’ll fit in just fine here.” Her gaze shifted to Soren, her smile turning sly. “And what about you, Soren? Got any hidden talents we should know about?”
Soren shrugged, his tone perfectly deadpan. “Yeah, stayin’ outta trouble. Mostly by cleanin’ up Fenric’s messes.”
Bryna laughed, shaking her head. “I like you two already. A handful, no doubt, but I can see why Viktor and Arelos brought you along.”
Soren offered a small smile, his usual reserved nature softening under Bryna’s warmth. “Thanks, ma’am.”
Bryna wagged a finger at him. “None of that ‘ma’am’ business. Call me Bryna. I’m not old enough for ma’am.”
Fenric, not one to miss an opportunity, leaned forward with a grin. “Ya sure? Them gray streaks in your hair say otherwise.”
A stunned silence fell over the table as everyone waited to see Bryna’s reaction. For a moment, she simply stared at Fenric, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she placed her hands on her hips and leaned down to Fenric’s level.
“Gray hair, huh?” she said, her tone so calm it was almost disarming. “You’ve got a sharp eye, kid. But let me tell you something.” She leaned in just a fraction closer, her lips twitching as if fighting a smile. “Every one of these grays has a story. You keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure one of them is named after you.”
The silence broke with a wave of laughter. Viktor nearly choked on his drink, Soren smirked behind his hand, and even Arelos allowed himself a quiet chuckle. Fenric, for his part, grinned like a cat caught in the cream.
“Well played, Bryna,” he said, sitting back with an exaggerated air of defeat. “Well played.”
Bryna straightened up, brushing her hands off with a theatrical flourish. “Alright, boys, enjoy your cider while I go make sure Soros knows we’ve got hungry mouths to feed. He’s been in a creative mood tonight, so you’re in for something special.”
With a wink and a sly grin, she turned on her heel and strode off toward the kitchen, her presence leaving the table buzzing with renewed energy.
Soren was the first to speak, his gaze lingering on the kitchen door Bryna had disappeared through. “She’s sharp. Ain’t much gets past her.”
Arelos, ever observant, smirked. “And she pegged you two for troublemakers in about five seconds flat. That’s impressive.”
“She’s the best,” Viktor agreed, lifting his mug in a small toast. “And if Soros is in one of his moods, we really are in for a treat.”
“She’s great,” Fenric said, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile. “I think I like this place already.”
“Looks like you’ve made a good impression,” Viktor said, nudging Fenric with his elbow. “If Bryna’s joking with you, you’re already halfway to being part of the Den.”
Fenric puffed up his chest theatrically. “Naturally. I’m very charmin’, you know.”
Soren snorted, shaking his head. “Charmin’ ain’t the word I’d use.”
“Jealousy don’t suit you, brother,” Fenric quipped, earning another round of laughter from the table.
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The evening chill hung in the air as the four boys made their way back to the attic, their bodies warmed by the hearty stew from the Outrider's Den. The moonlight painted their path with a silvery hue, casting long shadows that danced with each step they took.
"That stew was wicked good!" Fenric exclaimed, patting his stomach with satisfaction. "Might've been the best grub I've had since... well, ever."
Viktor chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Soros is a real wizard in the kitchen," he said, his voice infused with the contentment of a well-fed belly.
As they walked, Arelos's sharp eyes picked up a subtle movement from the corner of his eye. A shadow that seemed too deliberate, too keen on matching their pace. He sidled closer to Viktor, nudging him gently to get his attention. Viktor followed Arelos's gaze and saw it—a figure moving stealthily in the shadows.
They exchanged a brief, tense glance, quick to understand the gravity of the situation. Viktor leaned closer to the twins, his voice lowered to a whisper barely above the ambient night sounds. "Uh, guys," he murmured, "I think we're being followed."
Soren, under the guise of stretching, cast a surreptitious glance behind them, confirming Viktor's fears. "Yeah," Soren admitted quietly. "He's guild—definitely one of 'em. Probably solo 'cause someone else is runnin' back to call the crew."
A nervous energy rippled through the group, awakening a readiness forged by street smarts and survival instincts. Viktor took a steadying breath, his mind assembling a plan with swift precision.
"Here's what we'll do," Viktor said, catching each of their eyes to ensure he had their attention. "We'll keep walking like normal. Once we hit the corner, we break into a sprint. Arelos, you take the lead—quick turns, get us out of sight and confuse them. We can't let them track us back to the attic, or it's game over."
Arelos nodded, taking his position a few steps ahead of the others, his expression set with a determined resolve. Viktor fell back, ensuring the twins were securely in front of him as they approached the street corner.
They moved with casual precision, as though enacting yet another practiced dance on the city's cobbled stage. The corner loomed, and as they rounded it, Arelos burst into a sprint, his movements fluid and purposeful. The others followed suit, their legs pumping with speed born of urgency.
Turn after turn, Arelos led them with unerring certainty, navigating the twisting alleys of Lycona as deftly as a mariner navigating a treacherous reef. Each rapid turn and sudden twist was executed with practiced grace, their path weaving a labyrinth that would hopefully shake their pursuer.
Eventually, Arelos signaled for a halt, his chest heaving as he drew in deep breaths.
They doubled over, hands on knees, chests rising and falling in unison as the adrenaline surged through their veins.
"I think we lost him," Viktor panted, straightening up after catching his breath. "But let's keep moving—quickly, before they send more after us."
The group nodded, their momentary respite ending as they resumed their pace, moving briskly but not at the frantic clip of before. Displaying a calm urgency, they wound their way through the city, the shadows now their protective cloak as they navigated toward the attic.
Arriving at their destination, they scurried up the ladder with practiced ease, Viktor and the twins slipping inside with a collective breath of relief. Arelos lingered a moment longer, peering into the night's shadows with an instinctive vigilance.
Satisfied that they were no longer being tailed, Arelos climbed the ladder, the attic's embrace offering a semblance of security in the swirling uncertainties of the night.
"That was a close call," Viktor remarked, settling down with palpable relief. His words carried a weight of significance, echoing the unspoken understanding of their narrow escape. None of the others responded; the silence lingered, heavy with the realization of what might have been.