As the first light of dawn crept through the narrow, dusty window of the attic, Viktor sat up from his makeshift bed. He rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes, stretching as he shook off the last vestiges of the previous day's fatigue.

He rose quietly, careful not to stir the others still lost in the embrace of sleep. Arelos, however, was already awake, seated against the wall with a thoughtful expression clouding his face.

"You worried about last night?" Viktor asked quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the twins, who lay sprawled in a tangle of limbs nearby.

Arelos sighed, his gaze never leaving the view beyond the window. "It's not about being worried. It's more about being smart. We're playing a risky game keeping them here."

Viktor sighed, rubbing at his eyes wearily. "Yeah, I get it," he replied, a weight in his words. "We can't afford to let our guard down, not even for a second."

"Do you really get it, Vik?" Arelos's voice was sharp, a hint of accusation buried within it. "I'm not questioning where you come from, but the Hollow Hand is beyond anything we've faced so far. They're not just whispers in the dark or shadows on the wall. I've seen their handiwork, and it chills the bone."

Viktor's jaw tightened. "You think this is all a game to me, Arelos? I've pieced together enough of what we're dealing with from the stories."

Arelos shook his head almost dismissively, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "That's just it, Viktor, stories. It's all second-hand smoke and mirrors to you, but for me, it's real, tangible. I've seen the desperate aftermath."

Viktor’s eyes flashed, meeting Arelos's with a resolute defiance. "Don't mistake my understanding for naivety. I'm with you, Arelos, right here in the thick of it."

Arelos turned to face Viktor, his gaze unwavering. "Then let's cut our losses," he suggested, his voice now an intense whisper. "Fenric and Soren aren't our responsibility. We found our way through, maybe it's time they do the same."

Viktor rubbed the back of his neck, pondering Arelos’s valid concerns. "It’s a risk, I agree," he conceded, "but getting rid of them doesn't sit right with me either. They’re just kids like us, and we can’t turn a blind eye."

Arelos huffed, frustration hanging between them. "So what do you suggest, Viktor? We can't just hope for the best here."

"We lay low," Viktor decided, determination underscoring his tone. "We change our routine, confuse any tails that might be watching. We can't let them track us."

Arelos studied Viktor's face and sighed, realizing that Viktor's mind was set. "Alright, Viktor," he relented, allowing his shoulders to relax slightly. "We'll play it your way. But remember, one false move, and we're all finished. We have to stay sharp and ahead of the game."

Viktor nodded, grateful for Arelos's understanding, even amidst their differing opinions.

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A few days had passed since the boys had decided to lay low, a decision enforced by the danger lurking in the shadows. Their outings were rare and brief—limited to essential trips for food and water, and even these were executed with the utmost caution. Each excursion was meticulously planned and swiftly executed, blending seamlessly into the tapestry of Lycona's urban rhythm.

Despite the looming threat from the guild, Viktor and Arelos made a conscious effort to instill normalcy into their confined existence, spending their days engaged with Fenric and Soren in a blend of games and storytelling. This shared time allowed them to forge subtle bonds that chipped away at the walls separating their pasts.

One afternoon, as the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the attic, Viktor glanced at the twins who sat across from him, their laughter still echoing softly from a spontaneous reenactment of one of their stories. Recognizing the rapport forming among them, he gently inquired, "So how did you two end up with the guild in the first place?"

Fenric shrugged, his jovial demeanor momentarily subdued by the seriousness of the conversation. Soren glanced at his brother, nodding slightly, urging him to speak.

"It wasn't really a choice," Fenric started, a hint of streetwise intonation seeping into his voice. "We was just kids—still are, I guess. And the streets ain’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat unless you got something to offer. We learned quick that if we wanted to eat, we had to take."

Soren chimed in, his words carrying a subtle street edge. "The guild spotted us. At first, felt like they was throwing us a bone—a place where we belonged, you feel me? Told us we could join or... well, deal with the consequences."

Fenric's eyes darkened, shadows of regret casting over his expression. "Things was good for a while. But the guild, they don't care 'bout you. You're just a tool, means to an end." He paused, his fingers tracing invisible lines across the dusty floorboards. "We wanted out, but... leaving ain't easy. The guild’s got eyes everywhere, know what I'm sayin’? There was never a good time to split, not until..."

"Until you snagged that coin purse," Arelos prompted, his voice gently unwinding the thread of Fenric's narrative.

Fenric nodded, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah. The boss just left it there, and I, uh, well, I swiped it. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, and the second I did, I knew. I knew it was the dumbest thing I probably ever pulled."

Viktor observed, taking in the gravity of their plight with quiet understanding. "Why not return it? Just fess up to the mistake?"

Soren shook his head, resignation etched into his features. "Too late for that, man. By the time Fen got his head straight, word was already out. We'd be nailed as the ones who took it. Running was the only play we had."

Viktor nodded, understanding the severity of their former lives. The silence stretched thin between them, the weight of unsaid words anchoring them to their reality.

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After a pause, it was Fenric who broke the silence, his voice low and tinged with genuine gratitude. "Gotta say thanks, Viktor... Arelos. Seriously, if you hadn't stepped in when you did..."

Arelos shifted slightly, his pragmatic demeanor softening for an instant. "Don't thank me," he interjected matter-of-factly. "I would've left you to your fate if Viktor hadn’t intervened. Unnecessary risk for us, you understand."

Fenric nodded, unoffended by Arelos's blunt honesty. "Yeah, I get you. But... really, thank you, Viktor," he repeated earnestly, locking eyes with his newfound ally. "I know I said those scums wouldn’t have harmed us, but truth? We'd probably be in deep trouble—or worse—if you hadn’t jumped in. We owe you everything."

Viktor, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in Fenric's gratitude, simply nodded, brushing it off with a humble wave. "Don’t mention it," he said lightly, though the depth behind the simple exchange resonated with newfound respect.

Arelos broke the ensuing contemplative silence, his gaze sweeping over the others. "Let’s not count out our coins just yet. This whole affair isn’t over. We still need to keep under their radar, especially now that they know we're close."

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A lull settled over the group, like the calm after the fading notes of a song. Soren, ever curious, broke the silence, turning to Viktor and Arelos. "So, what about you two?" he asked, leaning back, his posture relaxed. "How'd you end up on the streets? Ain't like you was born there."

Arelos, shrugged with an air of indifference, delivering his story with directness. "Grew up on a farm south of Lycona," he stated, voice measured. "Parents passed from the Withering. Had no place else, so I gambled on this city. Crossed paths with Viktor and—well, got roped into this partnership."

Viktor let out a low chuckle, warm and unbothered, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Roped in?” he repeated, feigning offense. “I seem to recall it being more of a strategic partnership for mutual benefit.”

Arelos smirked faintly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Call it whatever you want,” he muttered, offering no further argument.

The twins exchanged a glance before Fenric, ever the more outspoken of the two, leaned forward eagerly. “What about you, then, Viktor? What’s your story?”

Viktor hesitated, a glance shared with Arelos—a silent moment of understanding. Arelos shrugged, leaving the choice to Viktor.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost nervous, before drawing a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a quiet strength but also a raw vulnerability.

“I grew up outside the city,” he started, his words slow and deliberate. “In a big house. Too big, honestly. It always felt... empty. Even when it was full of people.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The room grew still, his words drawing everyone in, the usual banter replaced by an intense focus. Viktor swallowed hard before continuing, his voice quieter now, as if each word cost him.

“One day, I came home, and they were just... dead.” His voice cracked on the last word, the memory clearly clawing at him.

Fenric’s face twisted with a mix of shock and confusion. “Wait, wait, what? Dead? Like... all of ’em? What happened?”

Viktor shook his head slowly, his gaze distant. “I don’t know why it happened,” he began, his voice quieter now, as though the memories were too sharp to speak aloud. “All I know is... I came home one evening, and everything felt wrong. The house was too quiet. No voices, no footsteps—just silence.”

His jaw tightened, and he exhaled shakily. “I started looking for them. Room by room. And then... I found them. All of them. The guards, the maids, Barath—” His voice caught on the name. “My parents, my little sister. They were... all there. Together in one room.”

He paused, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. “I don’t know who did it, or why. I just remember standing there, staring at them, and feeling like the ground had been ripped out from under me.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the rawness of the confession silencing even Fenric. For a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Fenric’s curiosity got the better of him.

"Guards? Maids? Ya talkin' like..." He trailed off, brow furrowin' as the pieces clicked. "Hold up. You tellin' me you was—what, some kinda noble?" He let out a snort, but it stumbled quick. "Viktor, don’t be playin’ us. This some kinda joke, right?”

Soren shot his brother a sharp look, then reached over and smacked him over his head. “Shut it, Fen. Can’t you see he ain't playin'?”

Fenric blinked, his gaze darting back to Viktor, who sat stiffly, his hands clenched into fists. For once, Fenric had no snarky remark. He looked closer and saw the faint shimmer of tears in Viktor’s eyes, the tightness in his jaw.

“You’re... serious?” Fenric asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re actually—?”

“A noble,” Viktor confirmed, the word barely above a whisper. “Or... I was. There’s nothing left of that life now.”

Soren leaned forward, his voice gentle but curious. “What happened, Viktor? Who could’ve done something like that?”

Arelos, interjected before Viktor could answer. “Doesn’t matter who did it,” he said sharply. “What matters is that Viktor doesn’t need to spill any more than he already has. Sharing this much was risk enough.”

"It's okay," Viktor assured, waving away Arelos’s concerns with a gesture as casual as it was brave.

He paused for a moment, summoning his resolve before diving into the heart of his past.

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"So you’re sayin’ you heard ’em mention it was your dad’s big plans that started all this?" Soren asked, treading carefully.

“Yeah," Viktor responded, his voice low but certain. "I remember them saying something about ambition getting the better of him, and that 'it was the only move left on the board.' It still echoes in my mind." His eyes clouded over momentarily with the memory.

Fenric, piped up next. "And how many do you think there were? Did you get a good look at them?"

Viktor shook his head, a shadow of that night's terror flitting across his eyes, though he pushed it away quickly. "I never saw them. But I heard at least three voices, maybe more people were there. I couldn’t tell exactly, but the way they talked... there was a chill in it." He paused, taking a moment to steady himself, the memories grasping at him momentarily.

Arelos leaned forward, cutting the somber atmosphere with his directness. "So, you clearly heard them say they got both you and your mum, and that timing was critical?"

Viktor nodded, his expression growing distant as he recalled. "Yeah. It was like getting me was vital. They mentioned something about a window of time. That if they missed it, they couldn’t guarantee they’d get me too. That’s how it seemed to me."

"Well," Fenric chimed in, his voice colored with streetwise confidence. "No way it's the local guilds. The assassin guild don't work outta Lycona, an' the thieves 'round here? Sure, they're rough, maybe even a bit murderous at times, but they ain't dumb enough to mess with a noble house. That's big league stuff, outta their zone."

Arelos nodded in agreement with Fenric's assessment, the weight of this reality grounding the conversation.

A thoughtful silence settled over the group, each boy engrossed in the weight of what Viktor’s words implied. Eventually, Arelos addressed the twins, his voice measured and direct. "You said you owe Viktor your lives, right? For helping you out when you were in a tight spot?"

Fenric and Soren exchanged a serious glance, understanding the gravity of Arelos's unspoken point.

"Yeah," Soren confirmed quietly, nodding back to Arelos. "We owe him."

"Then pay him back by never speaking a word of what’s been shared here tonight," Arelos continued, the certainty in his voice leaving no room for doubt.

Fenric straightened a bit, drawing himself up as though pledging an oath. "Don’t worry, Vik," he promised, sincerity shining through his usual playful demeanor. "Your secret’s safe with us."

Soren nodded in earnest agreement. "Yeah, Vik," he added, his voice echoing his brother's sincerity. "You saved our hides. We got your back on this."

Viktor's serious expression softened a fraction, warmed by their display of loyalty. "Thanks," he replied, appreciation evident in the single word.

In the quiet aftermath, the boys shared a silent understanding. The bonds between them, once merely opportunistic, had evolved, cemented by shared secrets and mutual respect. Despite the swirling uncertainties and omnipresent danger, a semblance of hope glimmered amidst the shadows of the attic. These threads of trust wound around them all, binding them tighter together, a shared resolve to face whatever lay ahead together, as allies, as friends.