Aeliana studied Riven as they walked deeper into the dungeon, her mind filled with questions she couldn't ignore. He was so mysterious—one mont a cocky swordsman clashing with Lucian, the next, a composed strategist moving as if he had already predicted the battlefield ten steps ahead. But what unsettled her most was the way he spoke to Lucian… the way he looked at him. There was history there, deep and tangled, and Aeliana wanted to understand.
Before she could fully organize her thoughts, Riven's golden eyes flicked toward her, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Is there sothing bothering you?"
Aeliana blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "You've been watching for the past five minutes, and not in the usual battle-ready way. You have questions."
Aeliana hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. "I do," she admitted. "About you… and Lucian."
Riven humd in amusent. "Ah. That."
Lucian, who had been walking slightly ahead, stiffened but didn't turn around.
Kael raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. "Might as well spill, since we're all curious."
Even Rowan glanced back, though her expression was more casual. "Yeah, mystery boy. What's the deal? You two bicker like ex-lovers."
Lucian let out an exasperated sigh. "Rowan."
"What? Just calling it how I see it." She grinned.
Riven, for once, didn't throw a retort back at her. Instead, he glanced at Aeliana again, his expression unreadable. "You want to know about our past."
Aeliana nodded. "You called him 'little brother.' But I don't understand what that ans. Are you actually related?"
Lucian finally turned then, his expression dark. "No."
Riven smirked at that, but there was sothing almost… lancholic in his eyes. "Not by blood."
Aeliana glanced between them. "Then how?"
Riven exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "It's a long story."
"Good thing we have ti," Kael said dryly.
Riven glanced around the dimly lit dungeon corridors, as if weighing his options. Then, to Aeliana's surprise, he actually answered.
"My family took Lucian in when he was young," he said, voice oddly neutral. "I suppose, in the eyes of noble society, that made us brothers. But, as you can see—" he gestured vaguely at Lucian's tense stance "—he never quite embraced that concept."
Aeliana frowned. "Your family?"
Lucian's expression darkened. "The Duskbanes."
Riven grinned. "Give the lady a prize."
Kael whistled low. "Wait, wait—so Lucian lived with you? You were raised together?"
Lucian's grip on his sword tightened, but Riven just shrugged. "More or less."
Aeliana processed that. Lucian had never spoken about this before. Never ntioned the Duskbanes. Never hinted that he had once been part of another family—one with a na as infamous as Riven's.
"But you don't consider yourselves brothers," Aeliana said carefully.
Lucian's jaw clenched. "No."
Riven chuckled. "See? Told you."
Rowan, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but what happened? Because you two have the energy of people who went from 'brothers' to 'I will stab you on sight.'"
Riven sighed dramatically. "That, Captain, is a very complicated tale."
"Summarize," Rowan shot back.
Riven smirked. "Let's just say our ideals… diverged."
Aeliana wasn't satisfied with that answer, but Lucian's expression made it clear he wasn't about to explain further.
Kael narrowed his eyes at Riven. "And what about Mal?"
Riven's smirk faltered for the first ti.
Aeliana caught the flicker of sothing—an emotion too quick to read—before he masked it again.
Lucian's voice was cold. "Don't."
Riven exhaled. "Touchy subject, I see."
Aeliana looked between them. "Mal knew you both?"
Riven smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, he knew ."
Lucian turned away abruptly. "Enough of this. We're wasting ti."
Aeliana had a sinking feeling that whatever had happened between Lucian, Riven, and Mal wasn't just complicated—it was sothing painful.
Rowan, sensing the shift, sighed. "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But I will find out eventually."
Riven chuckled. "Looking forward to it."
As they continued forward, Aeliana couldn't help but wonder… How much of Lucian's past had been buried? And how much of it was about to resurface?
....
Rowan scoffed, crossing her arms as she walked ahead of the group, her every movent exuding defiance. "Oh, spare the speech, Dorian. I've heard it all before."
Dorian, undeterred, quickened his pace to match hers. "Not all parties are the sa, Rowan," he said, his voice calm but insistent. There was no mockery, no challenge—just a quiet conviction that made it clear he ant every word.
She let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. "They all start the sa. Promises of trust, camaraderie, protection… and then when things go south, it's every man for himself."
Aeliana, walking slightly behind them, observed with interest. It wasn't often that Rowan engaged in serious conversations, especially not about her past. For all her bravado and sharp wit, she kept her personal history locked away, just out of reach.
Dorian's expression softened, but his tone remained firm. "Maybe most parties. But not Ironveil."
Rowan snorted. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?"
Dorian glanced at her, his gaze steady. "Because we don't leave our own behind."
That made Rowan pause. Just for a fraction of a second, her steps faltered, and her smirk wavered. Then, just as quickly, she masked it with her usual nonchalance. "That's what my last group said too. Right before they ran and left for dead."
The weight of her words settled over the group like a heavy blanket. No one spoke imdiately. Even Riven, who usually had a quip ready for every occasion, remained silent.
Dorian exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, his usual playful deanor stripped away. "But that doesn't an every guild is like that."
Rowan finally turned her head to look at him, her sharp eyes searching his face for any sign of deception. "And what makes you different, Dorian? What makes Ironveil different?"
Dorian didn't even hesitate. "Because we've all been through it. Every single one of us in Ironveil knows what it's like to be abandoned, betrayed, or left behind. That's why we don't do it to others. We know the cost."
Rowan's fingers twitched, gripping the hilt of one of her daggers, but she didn't draw it. There was sothing raw in her expression, sothing unspoken.
"Nice words," she said at last. "But words don't an much, Dorian. Actions do."
Dorian gave a small nod, as if he expected that response. "Then let us prove it to you."
Rowan scoffed again, but there was hesitation in her stance, a crack in the walls she had built around herself.
Lucian, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "No one's forcing you, Rowan. But if you ever decide to stop running, you do have a place with us."
Rowan's lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say sothing, but she held back. Her gaze flickered toward Lucian, then back to Dorian, as if searching for any sign of a trap. When she found none, she clicked her tongue.
"We'll see," she muttered.
Kael, walking beside Aeliana, smirked. "That's as close to a 'maybe' as we're gonna get, huh?"
Rowan rolled her eyes. "Don't push your luck, elf."
Aeliana smiled softly at the exchange. Rowan was stubborn—fiercely so. But sothing told her that the rogue wasn't completely shutting the door on the idea of belonging to sothing bigger than herself. Maybe, just maybe, she would finally find a place where she didn't have to keep fighting alone.
From behind, Riven let out a quiet chuckle, his golden eyes glinting with amusent. "Touching. Really."
Lucian shot him a sharp glare. "Don't start."
Riven raised his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it, little brother."
Lucian's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait.
As they pressed deeper into the dungeon, the atmosphere around them grew heavier. The stone walls, once smooth and structured, began to twist into sothing darker, more unnatural. The air itself felt thicker, charged with an eerie energy that sent shivers down Aeliana's spine.
The real battles were still ahead of them.
But Aeliana was beginning to realize that the greatest battles weren't the ones they fought with swords and spells. They were the ones fought in silence, in unspoken words and buried wounds. The ghosts of their pasts were always lurking, waiting to be acknowledged—or to consu them whole.
And whether Rowan realized it or not, she was standing at a crossroads.
would she take a chance on sothing she once thought impossible—trust?
Rowan found herself lingering on Dorian's words longer than she wanted to. It was kind of sweet, in a way—his belief that not all guilds were the sa, that people could be different if given the chance. He didn't know her, not really, and yet here he was, offering a stranger a place among them, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was almost laughable. Almost. She had t people like him before—the optimists, the ones who believed in the best of others. But how many of them actually ant it when things got tough? How many stuck around when it was no longer easy to be kind? She had seen it too many tis—guilds, parties, friendships that started with promises of trust, only to crumble the mont survival took priority over loyalty.
It was predictable, really. Of course, they were showing her the good side first. That's how it always started. They welcod you in, smiled at you, swore they had your back. But consistency—that was the real test. Would they still be so open and accepting when gold was scarce, when choices had to be made, when soone had to be left behind? The thought sat heavy in her mind. Maybe Ironveil was different, maybe Dorian truly believed in what he was saying… but belief didn't an much when put to the test. Rowan had learned that the hard way. And she wasn't about to make the sa mistake twice.
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