The fire crackled in the hearth, casting an amber light across the floor, and the battered dining table looked almost dignified under that soft, golden glow. It was warm here, as the house had sheltered Viktor from everything beyond its aging barriers. Outside, winter whispered through the trees, and he could just make out the first flakes of snow as they began their quiet invasion.

  His thoughts drifted to where Rhea and Alycia lived, the shack that pretended to be a dwelling. The last time he visited, the walls were practically made of paper, riddled with holes that let the wind wander in like it owned the place. He wondered how the hell they were going to deal with the cold that was creeping closer and closer. Well, not his problem. Rhea had been living there for years and somehow made it through, while her older sister had managed to survive long enough to die of something else instead. And now, she had that blonde, who should have coughed up a few coins to patch up those damn walls.

  Across the table, Claire ate in silence, chewing without much interest, as if she was just ticking off another item on her checklist. She was still in the clothes she had left the house this morning, though she had undone a few buttons at the collar. The blue ribbon that usually rested there was gone, and the blonde hair that had started the day neatly braided now tumbled loose and tired down her shoulders.

  She came home right before dinner, dragged herself to the table, and would probably drag herself to the bath after. Then straight to bed. Yes, eat, bathe, sleep—just boxes to tick off on a list. Hardly a healthy routine, but hey, it was still better than last month, when she sometimes skipped the bath, or the meal, or both. Once, she couldn’t even make it through the door, and he had to carry her to bed himself. Small mercies, at least she weighed less than the other blonde.

  He was merely doing the job expected of a younger brother, looking after the house, cooking three meals a day for his “sister.” Enough to maintain the fa?ade, enough to keep any suspicion at bay. But he was not interested in playing the role beyond what was necessary. He didn’t really care what she was up to or what happened to her, as long as she didn’t get in his way. She ate her food, and he ate his. And so, the dinner went on in silence.

  Until she broke it.

  “Did you cross to the other side of the river?” Claire asked. “To the haunted castle?”

  His hand paused mid-stir, the spoon clinking against the bowl’s edge. Was she talking about that little adventure he had with Rhea ten days ago? How much did she know? He gave no reply, eyes fixed on the swirling stew.

  That day, after returning to town with that foolish girl, along with Dagnar and Brynhildr, he had asked them to keep everything a secret. As usual, he used Claire as an excuse. “I don’t want to make my sister worried,” he told them. Not that what they knew was particularly important, as they were neither aware of his Reliquary nor the fate of the third bandit. He just wanted to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. So in the end, he had let the duo deal with the two cocooned bandits and take credit for their capture. In exchange, they would go to the castle and tell Jeanne about the gorgon contract. After all, Rhea wanted to pass the information to the redhead, but she didn’t dare to go back there on her own, while he had no intention of doing it for her.

  It should have ended there, quietly and forgotten, but somehow the truth had found a way out. Maybe Rhea blurted it, or Brynhildr slipped up, or Dagnar couldn’t hold his tongue, or perhaps the bandits had spilled everything they knew under questioning.

  Well, it didn’t matter how Claire found out. The point was, now she knew. Again, it wasn’t the kind of truth that could threaten him or disrupt his plans. No, what was coming was not danger, but annoying questions from an annoying woman.

  “You took Rhea to the haunted castle?” Claire continued. “Because Jeanne is living there?”

  “Yes,” Viktor said flatly, pushing a piece of carrot around his bowl with the spoon. He was not going to lie, but he wasn’t giving out free information either. She would get what she already knew. No more, no less.

  “How did you know the way?”

  “Just follow the old Imperial Road, and eventually it’ll take you to the castle,” he said with a shrug. “Honestly, I’m more surprised there are people who don’t know that.”

  Claire’s brow knitted slowly. “So, just the two of you? A thirteen-year-old boy and a fifteen-year-old girl, through the woods, to a place so feared people don’t even dare to whisper its name?”

  “It’s just a stupid superstition,” Viktor replied. “The place is not cursed. Jeanne looked perfectly alive, last time I checked.”

  Claire stared at him, lips tightening, but did not argue. Normally, this would be the part where she started raising her voice, but she didn’t. Because what came next was far worse.

  “And on the way back, you two ran into bandits?”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Yes.”

  “And you lured them away so that Rhea could escape?”

  “Yes.”

  Claire exhaled hard, letting out a sigh so deep and heavy it felt as though she had been holding it in all day. She leaned forward, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

  “You do realize what you did is very reckless, don’t you?”

  “And what was I supposed to do? Leave her behind and escape? You know what they were about to do to her, right?”

  “There had to be another way,” Claire said, but her tone made it clear she didn’t believe it herself.

  “Of course there was,” Viktor said, curling his lips slightly. “Just let Rhea get screwed. Yes, that’s the other way.”

  The woman snapped, “Who taught you to speak like that?”

  Nevertheless, he knew he had won the argument. Because he was forcing her to admit something she didn’t want to say out loud. Obviously, if Claire had to choose between sacrificing her precious brother and abandoning a mere coworker to a cruel fate, she would be just as cold. That was normal. That was how people worked. They picked what mattered to them and discarded the rest. But no one wanted to be honest about it. The truth was too ugly, so they wrapped themselves in comforting lies.

  The silence came back and sat with them. Claire’s expression gradually changed, her frustration giving way to something softer, something closer to pain. Then, she drew in a long breath, as if she were about to plunge into deep water.

  “Quinn,” she whispered, “do you want to become an adventurer?”

  Here we go again. Why am I not surprised?

  “I told you, didn’t I? I haven’t really given it much thought. Why do you keep asking?”

  “Because you’re becoming more and more like...” Her voice faltered, and she shook her head. “Forget it.”

  Forget what? Becoming what?

  Claire reached across the table and placed her hand over his. “Quinn,” she said, “I want you to promise me one thing.”

  He frowned, his fingers twitching under hers. “What?”

  “If... if there’s ever a day when you decide to become an adventurer, I want you to tell me first. Promise me that. I’m not going to stop you or try to change your mind. Just... please, tell me.”

  Viktor gave a noncommittal shrug. “I promise.”

  Smiling, Claire squeezed his hand, then let go and leaned back.

  She returned to her unfinished stew, chewing absently in a way that made him want to slap the bowl off the table. The silence came crawling back once again, but this time, it was no longer welcomed. He tapped his spoon against the rim of his own bowl, irritation building up with each second of wordless eating. What was the deal with this woman? Why did she keep acting like she was actually his sister? The answer was obvious, of course, but knowing it didn’t make it any less annoying.

  “How are you doing at the Guild?” he asked. Not because he particularly cared; he just needed the silence to shut up.

  “Well, busy.” Claire looked up. “But I think you can already see that for yourself.”

  “How do you find the new Guildmaster? Rhea told me you had a hard time with her.”

  She sighed. “That’s right. Guildmaster Isadora’s... demanding. But she’s like that with everyone. Not just me. I feel for Cedric; he must have it rough.”

  “No doubt,” Viktor replied with a chuckle. “But I heard Calyssa was getting it the worst?”

  “She is. She wants to preserve everything Guildmaster Gideon had created, while Isadora wants to tear it all down and rebuild it her way. She said he was too soft, too sentimental, that he only got by on his charisma. It rubs most of the staff the wrong way, but in the end, she’s the one in charge. Her word is law.”

  “So people side with Calyssa?”

  “In spirit? Yes. But in practice? One hard stare from Isadora and everyone falls in line. Calyssa’s the only one who still talks back. Not that it changes anything.”

  Viktor leaned back, grinning. “And you? Whose side are you on?”

  Claire hesitated, looked away. “I should be with Calyssa. I’ve known her for a long time and she’s done a lot for me...”

  “But?”

  She stared into her bowl. “Since the day Isadora took over... my workload has gradually gone down, while my pay has gone up.”

  Viktor barked a laugh. See? At the end of the day, people only cared about themselves. It was easy for them to talk big, until it actually cost them something.

  The sight of her caught in such a predicament had made him feel better. Gleefully, he dug into the last of his stew and finished it with a loud, satisfied slurp. He dropped the spoon with a clatter and was just about to stand up, taking the bowl to the washbasin so that he could be done with this whole cozy-family act, only for Claire to lean forward and pluck it out of his hand first.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, frowning.

  “Pouring you a second,” she said without even looking at him, already halfway to the pot.

  “I’m already full.”

  “No, you’re not. Kids your age should be eating more. Besides...” She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a grin. “How are you supposed to fight off bandits with those toothpick arms?”

  Viktor narrowed his eyes. I thought you didn’t want me to fight bandits?

  Couldn’t say she was wrong, though.

  He had to admit that what he did was reckless. Sure, he had been in control the whole time, but one wrong move, and things could have ended very differently. Physically, he had pushed himself to the edge, and his stamina had run dry more than once. Of course, the lesson he had taken from the incident was that he should never have done something so risky, especially not for a girl he didn’t even care about. But still, there might come a day when he wouldn’t have the luxury of choosing his battles, and when that day arrived, he would probably need a body that could keep up.

  He had always complained about this scrawny frame, but he had never tried to do anything about it. He had told himself he was busy, that there were more important things to worry about. Maybe that was true, but a bigger reason was that, even in his past life, he had never taken his physical training seriously.

  He was practically malnourished before he met his old master, so his body never got the chance to grow into what it could have been. He always stayed away from physical confrontations, knowing full well the odds were never in his favor. And later, he had his Thaumaturgy, which more than made up for his lack of raw muscle.

  But now? Now he no longer had his fancy tricks. Now every little advantage mattered. So why not do something to improve his chances? He was at the right age. His body was still malleable, still capable of growth and change with just the bare minimum effort. Eat more meat, lift something heavy, run daily. It was that simple.

  “Fine,” Viktor said, taking the bowl.