Viktor and his companions walked the quiet streets, the silence between them heavy with thought. Faros’ warning lingered in their minds, each trying to make sense of his cryptic words in their own way.

Fenric broke the silence first, his usual bravado slightly tinged with unease. "What d'ya reckon he meant about new players shakin' things up?" he asked, glancing between Viktor and Arelos.

Arelos shrugged, his face thoughtful. "It could mean a lot of things," he replied. "But if Faros is worried about it, maybe we should be too. He doesn't strike me as the type to get rattled easily."

"You know," Viktor said. "Faros seemed to know a lot about us... like he did his homework. Think he had us tailed or something?"

Arelos nodded thoughtfully, his expression pensive. "Likely," he replied. "I've got a guess about which guild Faros might be representing."

Soren, curious as ever, perked up. "Yeah? Which one do you reckon he's with, Arelos?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual but failing to hide his interest.

Arelos was silent for a moment, weighing his words before answering slowly, "The Black Cipher."

Soren's eyes went wide, disbelief written all over his face. "You're joking, right? The Black Cipher?"

Viktor looked between them, realizing he was missing a piece of the puzzle. "Mind filling me in? Who exactly are they?" he asked, curiosity piqued.

Fenric puffed up a bit, eager to share his knowledge. "You mean to say you ain't heard of 'em? They're only the oldest guild around here. Legend, really."

Arelos nodded in agreement, adding to Fenric's explanation. "The Black Cipher deal mainly in information. It is said that they've got eyes and ears everywhere. They don't have much muscle, but their information network is second to none."

Viktor considered this, his interest growing. "So, why do you think Faros is linked to them?" he pressed.

Arelos hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It's just a hunch, really."

Viktor paused, letting the topic settle before speaking. "In the end, it doesn't really make much difference to us," he said, glancing at each of his companions. "Let's just steer clear of this chaos altogether."

Arelos nodded, his agreement evident. "Yeah, best not to get more involved than we already are," he said.

Soren gave a quick nod, and even Fenric, who usually seemed drawn to danger, seemed to agree this time.

The group shared a brief, knowing glance, the mutual decision wrapping them in a sense of collective resolve. They quickened their pace slightly, eager to put distance between themselves and the city's underbelly.

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With their recent adventure and the encounter with Faros behind them, the boys settled into a more stable routine. Days blended together, filled with familiar tasks and a quiet normalcy that had been absent for some time.

The seasons eventually shifted, gradually dragging them through the warm touch of summer and into the quiet embrace of autumn. The air grew cooler, and the city streets were soon carpeted with the vibrant hues of fallen leaves.

Arelos, ever the scholar, resumed his studies at the temple with renewed vigor, often immersed in books until nightfall. His pursuits extended beyond knowledge, as he took it upon himself to teach the twins, Fenric and Soren, the basics of reading and writing. While Soren embraced the lessons with genuine curiosity, Fenric was less enthusiastic, often snickering about his brother turning into a "worthless scribbler."

"Bet you too dumb to even learn to read, Fen," Soren teased in return, flicking his brother on the forehead.

Fenric initially shrugged off Soren's challenge, maintaining his nonchalant demeanor. However, as the days went by, Fenric began to focus more during Arelos' lessons, seemingly determined not to let his brother outdo him.

To everyone's surprise, Fenric started picking up the basics faster than anticipated. Arelos’s methodical teaching style struck a chord with him, and soon he was proficient enough to write simple sentences. Just as quickly as he picked it up, he decided he'd learned enough, declaring triumphantly, “That’s it, I’ve clearly mastered the skill. Any more of this nonsense and I risk ending up a ink-smudged bookworm, scratching at paper and drooling over letters all day” he boasted, clinging to his carefree attitude.

Arelos chose not to press further with Fenric, turning his attention to Soren, whose interest in learning offered a more focused engagement.

Viktor, meanwhile, found a more balanced routine, dividing his time between working at the Den and enjoying its warmth as a patron. The twins often joined him, filling their spare hours with lively banter and camaraderie.

Arelos decided to invest in books and writing materials using his part of their earnings, supplementing his relentless pursuit of knowledge. Viktor, on the other hand, indulged in acquiring a few pieces of finer clothing, much to the twins' amusement. They teased him mercilessly, calling him a 'spoiled lord' and mocking his weakness for fashion. Viktor took their jibes in stride, laughing along with them, understanding it was all in good fun.

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Fenric and Soren, however, were far less careful with their coin. What once felt like a fortune had dwindled shockingly fast, and by the time the first autumn leaves began swirling through the streets, more than two-thirds of their share had mysteriously vanished.

One evening as dusk settled, Viktor cornered the twins, curiosity etched on his face. "I'm seriously curious," he began, eyeing Fenric and Soren with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Where did all that silver go?"

Neither twin seemed particularly eager to answer, sharing an awkward glance between themselves before Fenric offered a vague shrug. “You know how it is, stuff just adds up,” Fenric mumbled, scratching his head as if hoping the gesture might summon a more detailed explanation.

Next to him, Arelos leaned back against the sloping walls of the attic, watching the exchange with mild amusement. “It’s a little concerning that ‘stuff’ has whittled down your coin like that,” he commented, his words gentle yet firm.

Viktor shook his head, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’d like to think we’d see something worth our while rather than it vanishing into thin air.”

“Wasn’t just me!” Fenric protested, pointing an accusing finger at Soren.

“Oh, don’t drag me into your mess,” Soren retorted with a smug grin. “I didn’t see you putting that shiny knife back down when you had the chance.”

“A knife?” Viktor repeated, eyebrows arching slightly in mock surprise. “And here I was, thinking it’d be something grand, like a jeweled crown.”

Fenric rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in defiance. “Not every day you see one that nice at such a low price,” Fenric explained defensively, though his voice carried the tone of someone who knew they'd erred.

Arelos cleared his throat, drawing the group’s attention back toward him. “Given the way things are going, we’d better think about pooling our resources,” he suggested calmly. “The city will probably reclaim this place soon. It might be wise to hold onto enough funds for when we need proper lodgings.”

Fenric crossed his arms defiantly. “Well, what if I spot something nice I fancy buying?”

Soren rolled his eyes, giving his brother a sharp glare. "That's exactly what got us in this mess to begin with, Fen," he replied, exasperation edging his words.

Fenric shrugged nonchalantly, waving a dismissive hand at his twin. "As if you’re any different, with your fancy tavern hops? Overrated places if you ask me; nothing beats Soros' cooking nor his prices."

“It’s not like we’re trying to shortchange you or anything,” Viktor said quickly, cutting off any retort Soren might’ve had. His gaze moved between them, steady and sincere. “But if we want to keep this going, everyone’s got to pull their weight.”

Soren and Fenric exchanged another glance, this time letting the reality of the situation settle over them. After a moment, the fight drained from their postures, and they nodded in unison.

As Soren reached into his pockets, fishing out his coin pouch, it slipped from his fingers. The pouch seemed to hang momentarily in the air before drifting towards Viktor, who caught it with a practiced ease and handed it to Arelos.

"Gets me every time," Soren admitted, shaking his head in amazement. "I still can't wrap my head around you being a mage, Vik."

Viktor gave a theatrical bow, the gleam in his eye playful. "Maybe I should start charging for shows," he teased, a grin spreading across his face. "With how fast you're burning through your savings, I might not have a choice. Someone's got to earn enough to keep a roof over our heads come winter."

Fenric snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Aw, spare me! If it gets desperate, we can just pull another job."

Viktor's expression grew more serious, his voice firm but calm. "No more heists, Fenric. I’m not comfortable with stealing. Rogos was different—I didn’t mind taking from him. It felt more akin to setting things right. But taking from those who haven’t wronged anyone? No, I can’t justify that."

Fenric scratched his head thoughtfully. "How do we know they aren’t deserving of it, though? Most folks with coin aren’t exactly saints."

Viktor shook his head, pushing back on the implication with a calm certainty. "And who’s to say they do deserve it, just because they’ve got wealth?"

"Rich people can’t get that way by playing fair," Fenric replied, an edge creeping into his voice. "Only way to stack enough coin is to take it from others."

Arelos listened to the exchange with a wry smile. "I’m continuously astounded by the vast and varied scope of your economic expertise, Fenric. Truly."

Viktor gave a soft chuckle, trying to ease the tension that had sprung up. "Are you suggesting that all affluent individuals have somehow swindled their way to the top?"

Fenric shrugged, as though it was the simplest understanding of the world. "Seems logical. You gotta be willing to step on a few folk to get ahead. If folks got gold piled high, they’ve likely climbed over someone to get it."

With a good-natured sigh, Viktor countered, "You know, not too long ago, you two had quite a stash. Would that have made you the bad guys?"

Fenric, seemingly victorious, leaned back with a smug grin. "See, the key thing here is 'had.' I've spent it all, proving my fine character," he declared.

Viktor shook his head, trying to hide a smile. "So, blowing all your ill-gotten gains instantly turns you into a saint?"

Fenric nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Makes sense to me," he replied, utterly convinced by his own logic.

Arelos, unimpressed, shook his head. "The sages of virtue ought to make it their life's calling to examine you and your extraordinary 'principles,'" he remarked, his voice dry.

Viktor, sensing the conversation was spiraling into absurdity, decided to shift the focus. "You know, it's getting late," he remarked, ignoring Fenric's answering grin. "How about we head to the Den? I'm starving."

Soren let out a laugh. "Always about the food with you, isn't it?"

Viktor shrugged, unbothered. "Well, everyone has their priorities. Besides, I hear Soros has a new dish to try. Been waiting all day to get a taste," he added, pulling on his coat.

The boys gathered their things, preparing to leave the attic.

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The boys shuffled along the cobbled street, the evening air cool against their skin. The hustle of the city provided a comforting backdrop, a hum of life that filled the silence between them.

Fenric turned to Soren. "You ever think about how hungry we used to get before all this? Feels like a lifetime ago," he mused, his tone casual yet thoughtful.

Soren quietly agreed, tucking his hands into his pockets as they walked. "Yeah, as long as someone doesn’t buy another knife," he teased, giving his brother a playful nudge.

The conversation drifted off, leaving them in a comfortable silence as they continued their walk. As they approached a narrow alley cutting between two old stone buildings, the atmosphere shifted abruptly. Viktor felt a prickle of unease run down his spine as two large men emerged from the shadows, stepping deliberately into their path.

"Hold up," Viktor murmured, his body tensing as he instinctively put out an arm to halt the group’s advance, gently urging them to reconsider their direction. Yet, even as they turned to retrace their steps, his worst fears were confirmed—two more men appeared behind them, blocking their exit.

The initial knot of unease tightened in Viktor’s stomach. He scanned the area quickly, eyes darting between the imposing figures that penned them in.

It was one of the men in front who broke the silence, his voice carrying an edge that sliced through the alleyway’s heavy atmosphere. "The Hollow Hand sends its regards, boys" he sneered, his gaze locking onto Fenric and Soren, making his threat pointed and personal.