Then he lay back, arms behind his head, sipping wine like a man who refused to let stupidity ruin his nap.
Raven had barely slept, but as the first light crept over the horizon, he was already on his feet. He glanced at the two still snoring like pigs after a festival and shook his head. With a tired sigh, he kicked one of their boots square in the face.
"Still asleep? What's the plan—wait for the guards to come tuck you in and drag you to jail?" he muttered. "Get up. Clean this dump. Then disappear. I'm out."
Faraq stirred, blinking like he was trying to remember where—or who—he was. He scratched his beard and groaned. "We, uh… never really figured out when we'd see you again. Or if that's even a thing. You being... you."
Raven stared at him, flat expression. Like the man had just asked if he believed in unicorns.
"Tell you about me?" Raven snorted. "Sure, let me just hand over my life story to two amateurs who can't stay awake through the night. Want my full name too? Maybe my favorite childhood snack?"
Faraq mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "No, I just meant... you know... when do we team up again? If you feel like it."
Raven's eyebrow twitched. "Team up? I don't do calendars. If I need you, I'll show up—with a burning cart, some angry nobles, probably no explanation. You'll figure it out."
He grabbed his loot, flicked his cloak, and disappeared into the morning mist—leaving behind only the faintest trail of sarcasm.
The scene shifted.
It was spring in the city of Peru, nestled in the heart of the Alaska Kingdom. Morning air filtered through the crooked roof of a modest house—peeling paint, slanted porch, and just enough charm to make you forgive the creaky floorboards. It stood like it had something to prove, and maybe it did.
Inside, the rustle of newspaper pages mixed with birdsong. Kelvin, sixteen and freshly graduated, sat at the kitchen table in his usual half-awake state—bedhead in full rebellion, socks mismatched, and an apple half-eaten in his hand. His eyes were sharp though, tracking the headlines like he expected one to leap off the page and bite him.
Knock knock.
Kelvin sighed without looking up. "You're late. Again."
The door creaked open.
"Let me guess," Kelvin continued, deadpan. "The train exploded. Or you slipped into a financial coma during a client meeting."
Raven strolled in with his usual swagger—coat open, collar popped, hair artfully tousled like he'd just escaped a wind tunnel. He tossed a heavy bag onto the counter, which made a distinct clink.
"No comas. No explosions," Raven said, stretching like he'd just come from war. "Just a night of intense negotiations and ruthless accounting strategies."
Kelvin glanced at the bag. "That your salary?"
Raven smirked. "Plus bonus. For... exceptional spreadsheet bravery."
Kelvin raised an eyebrow and opened the bag—only to freeze.
"Is this—are you joking?" he asked, pulling out a small gold bar like it might bite him.
Raven leaned on the counter with casual confidence. "Some clients prefer old-school compensation. You know. Classic. Classy. Shiny."
Kelvin narrowed his eyes. "Are you telling me you got paid in gold bars? What kind of financial company is this?"
"The kind that respects my talents," Raven replied, brushing invisible dust from his coat. "And possibly operates offshore."
Kelvin looked at him like he'd just declared himself the king of Neptune. But after a moment, he sighed and gave the gold a soft tap. "You are either the world's worst liar... or the world's best one."
Raven grinned. "Why not both?"
Kelvin shook his head, trying not to smile. He didn't ask where the gold really came from. He never did.
Because as far as he knew, Raven was just an overworked, underpaid financial advisor from the next town over—one who'd practically raised him since the accident.
Raven had been seven when he was found on the streets. No name, no past. Just sharp eyes and quick hands. Kelvin's parents took him in like it was nothing, and for a while, it was perfect. Then came the crash. Sudden. Brutal. Only the boys survived.
Since then, Raven had kept them afloat—first as a brother, then as a guardian, and now as a man juggling two lives: one that looked normal, and one that was anything but.
"Anyway," Raven said, tossing Kelvin an apple with a wink. "Breakfast of champions. And tonight, I'm making dinner. Something heroic."
Kelvin caught it. "Just don't set anything on fire again."
"No promises," Raven said, biting into his own apple. "But hey, if I do, we can melt the gold and call it modern art."
Kelvin laughed. "Right. I'll put that in the budget."
Outside, spring stretched its limbs and yawned into bloom.
Inside, two brothers lived beneath the quiet hum of a lie—one keeping it alive, the other believing it without question.