The town was alive with the hum of late-morning activity, the narrow streets crowded with merchants hawking wares, children darting through the throng, and the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. Desmond adjusted the brim of his wide hat, keeping his head low as he wove through the crowd. Beside him, Alaric walked with an easy confidence, his slim build and casual smirk making him blend seamlessly with the bustling commoners. Nathaniel, trailing close behind, clutched Desmond's hand tightly, his wide eyes darting between the colorful stalls and unfamiliar faces.
"Stay close," Desmond murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the din.
Nathaniel nodded, gripping his brother's hand as if letting go would send him spiraling into the chaos around them. The boy's disguise—a threadbare cloak and patched tunic—was convincing enough, though his curiosity threatened to give him away at every turn.
Alaric glanced over his shoulder, his tone light as he said, "You know, you don't have to crush his hand, Desmond. He's not going to float away."
Desmond shot him a look, but his grip loosened slightly. "He's nine, Alaric. It's our job to make sure he stays safe."
"And keeping him glued to your side will teach him independence how, exactly?" Alaric quipped, but his smirk softened when Nathaniel flashed him a sheepish grin.
The brothers turned down a quieter street, away from the main market square. The buildings here were older, their shutters hanging crooked and paint peeling from their façades. Desmond's eyes flicked to each alley they passed, scanning for signs of trouble. Even with the morning sun shining overhead, the wrong corner could turn into a trap.
Nathaniel's voice broke the silence. "Why didn't we bring Rael or Gregor?"
"Because this isn't their business," Desmond replied, keeping his tone even. "And because we needed to make sure our crew got paid."
The spoils of the caravan had been divided that morning, each member of their group walking away with enough coin to keep them loyal—for now. Gregor had grunted his approval, while Rael had simply given Desmond one of his unreadable grins before pocketing his share.
Nathaniel frowned. "But what if they need us?"
"They don't," Alaric said with a quick shake of his head. "This is family business. And besides, Rael's probably halfway through his share already, drinking himself into a stupor."
Desmond didn't comment, but he couldn't shake the unease that lingered every time Rael's name came up. The man was useful, but his ambition made him unpredictable. For now, though, Desmond pushed the thought aside.
They stopped outside a nondescript shop with a faded wooden sign that read Mirren's Curiosities. The windows were grimy, the glass distorting the cluttered interior of shelves stacked with trinkets, scrolls, and artifacts of dubious origin.
"Mirren's still here?" Alaric asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought she moved after the last time someone tried to burn her place down."
"She moved back," Desmond replied, pushing open the door. "She's the only one who might know what to do with this."
The shop smelled faintly of herbs and old parchment. The dim lighting made the rows of shelves feel like a maze, each one crammed with everything from cracked vases to ancient coins. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with graying hair and sharp, hawk-like features looked up from a ledger.
"Well, well," Mirren said, her voice dry. "If it isn't the wandering knights. Thought you'd all been hanged by now."
"Good to see you too," Alaric said, grinning.
Desmond stepped forward, setting a small pouch of coins on the counter. "We need your help."
Mirren's eyes narrowed as she pulled the pouch toward her, the coins clinking faintly. "My help doesn't come cheap these days. What are you after?"
Desmond glanced back at Nathaniel, then carefully reached into his cloak, pulling out the silver-inlaid box. Mirren's expression shifted, her sharp gaze honing in on the object like a predator sighting prey.
"Well, that's interesting," she murmured, leaning closer. "Where'd you find it?"
"That's not important," Desmond said curtly. "Can you open it?"
Mirren didn't answer immediately. She took the box from him, her fingers tracing the intricate filigree and the coiled serpent crest. "Valen," she said softly, her tone laced with a mixture of awe and unease.
Desmond stiffened. "You recognize it?"
"Of course I do," Mirren replied. "You'd have to be a fool not to. House Valen doesn't just put their crest on trinkets. Whatever's inside this box is valuable. Dangerous, too."
Alaric leaned on the counter, his grin fading. "So can you open it, or not?"
Mirren tilted the box, examining the small, almost invisible seam along its edge. "Not here. Not now. The mechanism's too delicate to risk tampering with. But I can tell you this much: it's locked with more than just steel. There's magic in this."
Desmond's jaw tightened. Magic complicated things—made them riskier, harder to control. "Do you know anyone who can open it?"
Mirren hesitated, her fingers drumming against the counter. "There's someone," she said finally. "But you won't like it."
"Who?" Desmond pressed.
"A mage," Mirren said, lowering her voice. "Lives outside the city, in the forest to the west. Name's Calla. She's… eccentric, but if anyone can open this, it's her."
Alaric whistled softly. "A mage. This just keeps getting better."
Desmond ignored him, his mind racing. Dealing with a mage was dangerous—there was no telling what Calla might want in exchange for her help, or if she could even be trusted. But if this box was as important as Mirren implied, they couldn't leave it unopened.
"How do we find her?" Desmond asked.
Mirren scribbled something on a scrap of parchment and handed it to him. "She doesn't take visitors kindly, so tread carefully. And if I were you, I'd be prepared for her to ask for something in return."
Desmond tucked the parchment into his cloak. "Thank you."
Mirren arched an eyebrow. "Don't thank me yet. You might regret opening that box."
As they left the shop, Nathaniel looked up at Desmond, his brow furrowed. "Do we really have to see a mage?"
"We don't have a choice," Desmond said, his tone firm but not unkind.
Alaric fell into step beside them, his hands in his pockets. "This is going to get messy, isn't it?"
"It already is," Desmond replied.
The brothers walked in silence for a moment, the weight of their situation settling heavily on their shoulders. But even as the town bustled around them, Desmond felt a flicker of resolve. They would figure this out—together. Whatever the cost.