The corridors beneath House Marestel stank of damp stone and rotting straw. Skotos moved like a shadow, his steps soundless against the cold floor. The torchlight ahead flickered lazily, casting long, jagged shadows over the cells.
His target was near.
Two guards were stationed outside a reinforced iron door. Their posture was bored, one leaning against the wall, the other idly tapping the butt of his spear. Skotos didn't waste time.
A step. A twist. A hand over the mouth. The first guard's throat opened under the curve of his dagger, warm blood spilling over the floor. The second had only enough time to widen his eyes before the blade slid between his ribs. Both bodies were dragged silently into a dark corner, left for the rats.
Skotos pressed his ear to the door. He heard nothing—no footsteps, no whispers—only the faint, slow breathing of someone inside. With a single, calculated kick, the lock gave way.
The cell was small, barely lit by the dying light of a single candle stub. Against the far wall, a girl sat curled on a thin blanket, her knees drawn to her chest. She was thin, her arms and face marked by the grime of years without care.
"Lira Verentis," Skotos whispered.
Her head snapped up at the sound of her name. Her eyes—bright but weary—narrowed with suspicion. "Who… who are you?"
"I'm here to take you home," he said.
She didn't move.
He knelt down, pulling a small medallion from his cloak—the Verentis crest, battered but unmistakable. "Your parents sent me."
Her breath caught. "Mother… Father?" The words trembled as if she hadn't spoken them in years.
"They're alive. And waiting for you."
The tension in her frame shattered. She scrambled to her feet, clutching the medallion, tears welling in her eyes. Skotos didn't give her time to think—he swept his cloak over her shoulders and pulled her close. "Stay behind me. Don't speak unless I say so."
The escape was brutal and efficient. Every guard they met fell quickly, their deaths marked only by the dull thud of bodies against stone. Lira flinched at each kill, her grip on Skotos' sleeve tightening, but she kept moving.
At last, the night air hit them. Outside the Marestel walls, a fast horse waited. Skotos lifted her into the saddle before swinging up behind her. "Hold on."
The ride back to the Verentis camp was silent except for the pounding of hooves. When they reached the perimeter, the sentries called the signal, and torches flared in greeting.
In the command tent, Duke Caldus and Duchess Irelya rose from their seats the moment they saw her.
"Lira!" Irelya's cry was half a sob, half a shout of joy.
Lira's eyes widened, recognition sparking instantly. She leapt from Skotos' arms into her mother's embrace, clinging as if afraid they might vanish. Caldus wrapped them both in his arms, his face hard yet wet with tears he did not bother to hide.
Achilles stood to the side, silent. He had imagined this moment differently—he had pictured a sister who would run to him, cry his name, maybe cling to him like the family she'd been denied.
But she didn't even glance at him.
Her world right now was only her parents.
Irelya smoothed her daughter's hair, whispering words Achilles couldn't hear. Caldus kept one arm around his wife and daughter, his other hand gripping Achilles' shoulder.
"She's never met you," Caldus said quietly, as if apologizing. "You left before she was born."
"I know," Achilles murmured. His voice was steady, but deep inside, something twisted.
For Lira, he was just another stranger in armor.
He stepped forward anyway, kneeling to her level when her parents gently turned her toward him. Her eyes studied him—cautious, uncertain.
"This is your brother," Irelya said softly.
Lira blinked. Her voice was small. "…Brother?"
Achilles managed a faint smile. "Yes. I've waited a long time to meet you."
She said nothing, still clinging to her mother, but her gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she buried her face against Irelya again.
Achilles straightened, the weight in his chest heavier than any battlefield armor. This reunion wasn't for him—it was for them. He would wait.
He had waited twenty years for home. He could wait a little longer for his sister's trust.