The villa was quiet now. The earlier clamor of celebration had faded, leaving only the occasional creak of wood and the muffled sounds of men settling into uneasy sleep. The fire in the hearth burned low, casting faint, flickering shadows across the cracked stone walls.
Desmond sat near the hearth, his poleaxe leaning against the arm of his chair. In one hand, he held a cup of wine, though he hadn't taken more than a sip. His gaze lingered on the dying embers, but his thoughts were elsewhere—on the treasure they'd stolen, the risks they'd taken, and the crest on that infernal box.
House Valen.
The name alone carried weight, and Desmond knew it was only a matter of time before they noticed what had gone missing. Valen wouldn't send an inquiry or a polite emissary. They'd send soldiers. Men who wouldn't stop until the family's honor—and their stolen goods—were restored.
A soft scraping sound pulled him from his thoughts. Across the room, Alaric sat cross-legged on the floor, a small knife in his hand. He was carving something from a block of wood, his movements precise but relaxed. Desmond watched him for a moment, taking in the sharp lines of his brother's face, the intensity in his dark eyes.
"You've been working on that for a while," Desmond said, his voice low.
Alaric didn't look up. "Figured I'd make something for Nathaniel. Thought he could use something to play with besides rats."
Desmond allowed himself a faint smile. "And what's it supposed to be?"
Alaric held up the carving—a rough but recognizable shape of a horse. "Don't laugh. It's not done yet."
"I wasn't going to laugh," Desmond said, though his lips twitched in amusement. "He'll like it."
"Good." Alaric set the carving down and stretched his legs out, leaning back on his hands. "He deserves something nice for once."
Desmond didn't respond immediately. His thoughts had already drifted to Nathaniel, the youngest of the three, who had been only a toddler when their family's world had collapsed. At nine years old, Nathaniel still carried a spark of innocence, something Desmond and Alaric had long since lost.
Almost on cue, Nathaniel appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and clutching his threadbare blanket. His sandy-brown hair stuck out in all directions, and his small frame looked even smaller in the oversized tunic he wore.
"Why's everyone so loud tonight?" Nathaniel mumbled, shuffling into the room.
Desmond opened his arms, and Nathaniel climbed into his lap without hesitation, curling against his chest. "They're just happy," Desmond said gently. "We did well today."
Nathaniel blinked up at him, his expression groggy but curious. "Did you fight people again?"
Desmond hesitated, his grip on Nathaniel tightening slightly. "We had to," he said finally. "But it's over now. You don't need to worry about it."
Nathaniel frowned but didn't press further. Instead, he rested his head against Desmond's chest, the warmth and steady rhythm of his brother's heartbeat lulling him back toward sleep.
Alaric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched them. "You know, for all the trouble he gives us, I think he's going to turn out the best of us."
Desmond arched an eyebrow. "How do you figure that?"
Alaric smirked. "He's not brooding over firelight or obsessing over stolen loot. He's just… a kid. He still believes the world isn't completely broken."
"That's why we're doing this," Desmond said softly. "So he doesn't have to grow up like us."
The smirk faded from Alaric's face, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. "And what happens if House Valen finds us? That box isn't something they're going to forget about."
Desmond's jaw tightened. "I know. But running isn't going to solve anything. If we're going to survive—if we're going to build something that lasts—we need to stop living day to day. We need allies, resources. A place to stand our ground."
Alaric's dark eyes gleamed with curiosity. "You have a plan?"
"First, we secure what we've taken," Desmond said. "Hide it somewhere safe, somewhere not even Rael can get to it. Then, we figure out how to use it. The wealth we stole isn't just money—it's power. With the right moves, we can trade it for influence, protection… maybe even a permanent home."
"And the box?"
Desmond exhaled slowly. "We keep it hidden until we know more. If Valen is willing to go to war over it, there's more at stake than just wealth. We need to figure out what it means to them before we decide what to do with it."
Alaric tapped his fingers against the floor, his expression thoughtful. "And Rael?"
Desmond's gaze darkened. "He's useful, but he's unpredictable. Keep an eye on him. He's clever enough to see an opportunity, and that makes him dangerous."
Alaric's smirk returned, though it lacked its usual humor. "Dangerous is one way to put it. But you're right. He'll need watching."
Nathaniel shifted in Desmond's lap, his small hand clutching the edge of his brother's cloak. "Are we going to move again?" he murmured sleepily.
Desmond brushed a hand over Nathaniel's messy hair, his voice soft. "Not yet. We're staying here for a while. You'll have time to play. I promise."
Nathaniel smiled faintly, his eyes drifting shut as he gave in to sleep.
Alaric watched them for a moment before shaking his head. "You're too soft on him."
"And you're too hard," Desmond replied without missing a beat.
"I'm just saying," Alaric said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "He's got you wrapped around his little finger."
Desmond didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the small, sleeping figure in his arms. For a moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by a fleeting sense of peace.
But it wouldn't last.
Even as the fire crackled softly and the villa settled into stillness, Desmond's mind churned with the challenges ahead. The wealth they had taken would bring opportunities, but it would also bring enemies. And House Valen's shadow loomed large over everything.
He glanced at Alaric, who had returned to his carving, his knife moving steadily against the wood. "We'll figure this out," Desmond said quietly. "One step at a time."
Alaric didn't look up, but his smirk softened into something genuine. "We always do."
Desmond nodded, though the weight of his decisions felt heavier than ever. For now, they were safe. For now, they were together. But the world outside the villa was a dangerous place, and it was only a matter of time before it came for them again.
And when it did, Desmond would be ready. He had to be.