The thug shifted slightly, his gaze fixed on Fenric and Soren. "The boss is none too pleased with you two," he growled.

Fenric put on an unbothered front, but Viktor could sense the worry underlying his bravado. "When was he ever pleased? Miserable sort, as I recall," Fenric said, his tone light.

Before the thug could respond, Viktor stepped forward, raising a hand. "Let's not be hasty. Surely we can work something out where no one gets hurt," Viktor said calmly.

The man turned his attention to Viktor, his eyes cold. "I don’t know who you are or why you’re tangled up with these fools, but my orders are very clear: make it quick, no witnesses," he stated flatly.

Unable to resist, Fenric leaned forward slightly. "Quick, you say? Yet here you are doing nothing but yapping," he jabbed.

The thug's expression darkened. "Never knew when to shut up, did you, boy? Big guy wants you dead, but how you meet your end—well, that's up to me," he said, slowly drawing a dagger from his belt, the metal gleaming in the dim light.

Fenric crouched low, his eyes narrowing as he pulled out his own dagger, ready for a fight. "You want a go? Let’s see you try. I'm putting you down like one would a rabid dog," he hissed, defiance in every syllable.

Suddenly, cries erupted behind them. Viktor spun around to see two thugs on the ground, clutching at their legs, blood seeping through their fingers. A new figure stood over them, clad in dark clothes that seemed to drink in the light. In each hand, he held a dagger, their blades gleaming wet with freshly drawn blood.

The scene silenced the alley, every breath held as tension crackled in the air. Finally, the dark-clad man spoke, his voice smooth and commanding. "Get behind me," he ordered.

There was no time to second guess. Viktor quickly ushered the others behind their unexpected savior, his heart pounding with urgency.

The thug, previously so confident, hesitated, glancing at the wounded men. His gaze flicked back to the dark-clad man, assessing the new threat.

"You’ve interfered with Hollow Hand business, friend," the thug warned, trying to reassert his authority amidst the disruption.

“You'll find you have no friends here tonight,” the stranger declared, his voice cutting cleanly through the quiet tension that clung to the alley like thick fog.

The thug's bravado faltered for a moment, but he quickly rallied. "Oh, is that how it is? You're stepping into dangerous territory," he shot back.

The stranger's gaze didn't waver as he nodded toward the injured thugs. "Your men are bleeding out. You’ve got a choice to make," he said evenly. "Get them to a healer now, and they might live. Or you can take your chances here and end up joining them in poor shape indeed."

Caught in the harsh reality presented so plainly, the thug hesitated, his bluster faltering. He shifted from foot to foot, casting glances at his injured comrades. Seconds ticked by, and though it was apparent he loathed to give ground, the urgency gnawed at him.

Finally, letting out a growl of frustration, he sheathed his knife with a sharp, irritated motion. “This ain’t over,” he spat, resentment dripping from his words. “You got in our way, but you'll regret it, mark me.”

The man simply shrugged, unfazed by the threat. “Life's full of regrets. But breathing’s a better option. Just don't forget the choice was yours,” he answered, as if the matter were trivial.

Turning his attention to Viktor and the boys, he gestured for them to follow. “We’re moving out,” he instructed, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

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As the darkness clung to the edges of the alley, Viktor fell into step behind their mysterious savior, his friends close beside him. Soren and Fenric kept to Viktor's side, Arelos flanking them, ever watchful.

"Who are you?" Viktor asked, his voice steady as they moved at a brisk pace.

The man glanced sideways before answering. "Faros sent me," he replied simply, offering no further explanation.

Viktor raised an eyebrow at the vague response. "And why are you helping us? What's your stake in this?"

The man shrugged, his eyes scanning the darkened windows as they passed. "Orders are orders," he said, as if that sufficed.

Surprised but not entirely convinced, Viktor nodded anyway. "We need to head back. It’s not safe out here."

The man slowed his stride slightly, casting an appraising glance at Viktor. "You're right about one thing—it’s not safe. But that house you've been holing up in? They probably know about it already."

Viktor frowned, processing the implications. "So, what are you suggesting? We find an inn?"

The man turned slightly, just enough to give Viktor a curt shake of the head. "Wouldn't recommend it. The Hollow Hand can reach you there just as easily."

Viktor felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "So, what then? We can't exactly keep running forever," he said, frustrated by their dwindling options.

The man turned a corner sharply, gesturing for them to follow quickly. "We've got safe houses. Places where they can’t touch you," he offered.

Scepticism crept into Viktor's voice. "You expect us to trust that? For all we know, those might've been your men, playing some sort of sick game with us."

Fenric, unable to hold back, cut in decisively. "I've seen those men's faces before, Vik. Hollow Hand, through and through."

"Alright, but why are you sticking your neck out for us? Faros will want something in return, I’m sure," Viktor pressed on, still wary.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The man smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I'm just following the orders given to me. If I had my way, you lot would've been on your own."

Viktor sighed, glancing over at Arelos for guidance. "What do you think? We've still got enough coin to just skip town if we want."

Arelos took a moment to mull it over before addressing the stranger. "You're with the Black Cipher, right?" he inquired, a shrewd edge lining his words.

There was a brief flicker of surprise on the man's face before he nodded subtly. "Didn't expect you to clock that," he admitted. "But yes."

Upon receiving this confirmation, Arelos turned to Viktor, his expression one of cautious acceptance. "I say we go with him."

Viktor’s eyes flicked to Fenric and Soren, who both gave casual shrugs, seemingly unconcerned.

"Fine," Viktor said, his decision made. "But we need to stop by the attic and grab our things. I'm not leaving what valuables we have behind."

The man frowned, his expression stern. "Not wise. We should go straight to the safehouse."

Fenric bristled at the suggestion, his voice growing stubborn. "No way am I leaving my mug behind."

Everyone paused, blinking in shared disbelief at Fenric's statement.

"Really, Fenric? It’s just a mug," Arelos countered incredulously.

Fenric shrugged off the disbelief. "Means a lot to me, that’s all," he said firmly, sticking to his guns. "Sentimental, you know?"

Arelos crossed his arms, his tone skeptical. "You've had it for only a few months. How can it mean that much to you?"

Fenric stood his ground, undeterred. "Mysteries of the world, Arelos. Ain't my job to explain things to you. Go ask one of your dull books"

Viktor decided to bring the conversation back on track. "We’re getting our belongings, and that's not negotiable," he concluded.

Heaving a sigh, the man relented. "Fine, but be quick about it," he advised. "I'm not throwing away my life for you if they show up with reinforcements."

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The group reached the attic swiftly.

The stranger, swathed in shadows, remained outside, his form blending with the darkened walls as he kept watch, alert for any approaching threats.

Inside, the boys hurriedly gathered their most cherished belongings.

"Let's do this fast," Viktor urged.

Fenric dove into his usual spot, a pile of fabric and linens, rummaging through until his fingers latched onto the well-worn handle of a wooden mug. A grin spread across his face as he hoisted it up triumphantly for all to see.

Arelos, not for the first time bewildered by Fenric's choice in keepsakes, shook his head but refrained from comment, prioritizing speed over another fruitless debate. "Come on, grab what we need and let’s go," he said, focusing instead on stuffing a small pouch of coins into his coat pocket.

Soren picked up his own sparse bundle, a couple of extra shirts and a knife, wrapping them efficiently into a makeshift sack. "Half of that better not be junk, Fenric," he warned, glancing at his brother’s mismatched heap being assembled bit by bit.

Fenric waving off Soren. "Nah, just essentials this time," he promised confidently.

Viktor took a moment to look around, feeling a pang of nostalgia and a sense of loss tug at his chest. "This place was good to us, you know," he spoke softly, almost to himself.

Each boy paused, acknowledging the sentiment. "Yeah, a real home," Soren agreed with a nod, throwing one last lingering look around.

"Almost can’t believe we gotta leave now," Fenric mused, the forced cheer in his voice not entirely masking his reluctance.

Arelos, always quick to ground them in practicality, nudged them forward. "I know, but we can't stay. Let's get going."

With the attic stripped to bare essentials, only scattered remnants of their time left behind, they departed, each casting farewell gazes over their shoulders. Their hearts carried the weight of both goodbye and the anticipation of what awaited beyond the safety of these worn walls.

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The man led the four boys through a maze of shadowy alleys, the sparse lanterns casting faint light on their winding path. Silence enveloped them, broken only by distant echoes in the night.

Viktor walked just behind the man, his eyes occasionally darting to the shadows around them. "We've put a lot of trust in you," Viktor said, breaking the silence that had settled over the group like a heavy fog.

The man kept his pace steady, his eyes scanning the path ahead. "Trust is a difficult luxury in times like these," he replied.

Fenric shot a questioning glance at Viktor, encouraging him to press further. Taking the hint, Viktor added, "It would help if we at least knew your name. Makes trusting you just a little easier."

The man exhaled, his breath mingling with the cool night air. After a brief pause, he spoke again. "My name is Voralis," he offered, his tone resigned but honest.

"Well, nice to meet you, Voralis," Viktor said, injecting a hint of warmth into his voice. "I'm Viktor, and these are my friends."

Voralis let out a short, soft laugh. "I'm well aware of who you are, all of you," he said knowingly. "I've been keeping an eye on you lot for months now."

Fenric let out a mock gasp, his expression one of exaggerated shock. "For months? You some kind of pervert?"

Flustered by the comment, Voralis shook his head. "It’s nothing like that. It’s strictly on orders. I assure you," he retorted, a bit of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

Fenric smirked knowingly, leaning closer to Soren. "Sure, sure. 'Orders,' he says," he whispered loudly enough for Voralis to hear.

Choosing to ignore Fenric's comment, Voralis addressed the group as a whole. "Your backgrounds—most of them, at least—are no mystery to me," he continued, casting a pointed look in Viktor’s direction. "It’s just that some threads are more tangled than others."

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Voralis led the group through the winding streets until they arrived outside a large, nondescript house. It was well-kept but unremarkable, blending into the urban sprawl like a shadow. Voralis gestured for the boys to step inside, opening the door and quickly scanning the street behind them before following them in.

"This house is part of our operations," Voralis explained as they entered a hallway that echoed with the soft murmur of nearby conversations. "It's in use by our guild as both an operational hub and a safehouse. We don't typically extend this level of trust to outsiders, so consider yourselves lucky. However, understand that your presence here involves a risk for us, and if your presence jeopardizes our operation, there will be consequences."

The boys nodded, sensing the underlying seriousness of Voralis' words. Viktor glanced around, taking in the hurried movement of several men within the house, each carrying documents and speaking in hushed tones.

Voralis led them through the ground floor, pointing out key locations such as a rear exit that could be used in case of an emergency, a small washroom to clean up, and a modest area designated for food preparation. "Our safehouses are well-organized. If anything goes wrong, use the side door here," Voralis instructed before leading them upstairs.

The upper floor was quieter, with doors leading to various rooms. Voralis led them into a room with eight beds neatly arranged along the walls. "You'll be staying here," he said. "If you find yourself besieged, there’s a window at the far end from which you can climb down."

Satisfied they were settled, Voralis prepared to take his leave but paused in the doorway. Viktor, driven by a lingering sense of gratitude, called out to him. "Voralis, I know you're not helping us purely out of goodwill, but thanks for stepping in earlier."

Voralis hesitated, an unexpected flicker of something softer passing across his face. "If you owe thanks, it’s to Faros," he finally replied. "The resources and risks are his, after all."

Viktor shifted on his feet slightly. "Well, that all depends on what he wants in return," he responded, his voice light-hearted but tinged with caution.

The man nodded, acknowledging Viktor's point, before disappearing down the stairway without another word.

The boys each claimed a bed, their belongings scattered across the room as they settled in. Fenric was the first to break the silence, flopping onto his mattress with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Man," he remarked, looking around, "this is some serious luxuary."

Soren, lying on the neighboring bed, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, feels weird having real beds after the attic."

Viktor shifted on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment before turning to the others in the room. "We didn't get a chance to try Soros' cooking tonight," he said, a bit of regret in his tone. "I was looking forward to it; I'm still starving."