Vantias stepped out of the church, a paper bag of apples in his hands. A faint smile played on his lips—one of those rare smiles, hard-won, but genuine. He felt a lightness in his heart; not because he'd found answers, but because he had faced the questions.
A precious gift: a fleeting peace in the midst of life's storm.
He walked through the city streets. Shopkeepers were quickly packing up their stalls to protect their fruits from the rain. Parents called out to their children:
"Come home, you'll catch a cold!"
"I'm coming, Mom!"
A few alleys later, Vantias reached a part of town where poverty clung to the walls—damp houses, cracked walls, shattered windows. Barefoot children ran across the wet cobblestones. In the clamor of poverty, the sound of arguments blended into the everyday rhythm of life. Women with tired eyes and smudged makeup looked around coldly, searching for customers.
One of them smirked and muttered,
"Hey, sweetheart... looking for a special night?"
Vantias dropped his gaze to the ground. Without a word, he quickened his steps.
He reached a house that, among the weary alleys of the slum, looked just a little less wounded. Its windows weren't shattered, the roof hadn't collapsed—but the smell of damp, the cracked walls, and the distant sound of arguments still marked it as part of the city's scars.
The wooden door creaked softly as it opened.
Inside, an old woman sat on a chair beside a dead coal stove. Her face was like aged paper, wrinkled and fragile, and her white hair fell plainly across her shoulders. Her back was hunched, and her eyes—like the old windows of the house—could no longer see clearly.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to form clarity through the blur, then said softly:
"Vantias... is that you? This month's rent still hasn't been paid, dear."
Vantias lowered his head, his voice quiet and ashamed:
"I know, Miss Margaret... Just a few more days, I promise I'll pay it."
The old woman said nothing. She only let out a sigh and silently passed by him, heading toward the stairs. The house was divided into two sections—she lived downstairs, and the upper floor was rented out—a way to survive in a worn-out world.
As Vantias climbed the stairs, he whispered to himself:
"My debts are piling up... I've taken on a lot of trouble. I have to find a job now. Any job."
He reached the top. A room in the attic, simple as it was, had become a haven for him and Ana.
He opened the door...
The smell of old wood and dampness filled the air. The walls were cracked, wallpaper peeled off in corners, and the floor creaked underfoot. The furniture was simple and old: a narrow bed, an unlit coal stove, and a small table with faded paint from years past.
Yet in that room, there was something no luxurious home could offer—the warmth of someone who mattered.
Anna, frustrated, was placing wooden basins one by one beneath the dripping ceiling. When it rained, the house felt more like a boat in a storm than a safe shelter. The sound of water droplets falling into the basins echoed like the relentless ticking of a clock—as if time itself shared in the sorrow of the house.
The room was filled with basins, nearly overflowing. Some trembled, as though unable to bear a single drop more.
Vantias entered in silence. He gently placed the bag of apples on the table and took a step toward Ana—but just before speaking, he noticed the presence of another man helping her with one of the basins.
The man was in his late twenties—with piercing eyes and long black hair tied back. His face carried a quiet strength and calm charm. One of those people who draw attention without trying.
It was Hannibal.
Vantias's and Anna's older brother. The one who had carried the heavy burden of life after their parents' death—not with complaint, but with silent pride. He had always been the pillar of their family—even if he never said so himself.
When Vantias saw Hannibal, a small, involuntary smile formed on his face; one that came from deep within. Hannibal's face also lit up at the sight of his brother. He immediately stepped forward and embraced him.
A firm embrace, like the wall of a house still standing—despite its cracks and storms.
Anna's face brightened with warmth. A soft smile appeared on her lips—not because the rain had stopped or the cursed ceiling had fixed itself, but because of the sight before her—two brothers who had grown up through hardship, now reunited in each other's arms. A small, but steadfast family, standing strong amidst the cold and bitterness of life.
Hannibal chuckled and, with his signature energy, said:
"You have no idea how much I missed you both. I was counting down the days till this mission ended so I could come back to you."
Vantias smiled, a tired but hopeful smile:
"Come, sit down. Tell us... what happened out there?"
The three of them sat around the small wooden table. Its legs were wobbly, but now it had become the warmest spot in the house. Laughter finally returned to fill the cracked walls. Amidst the scent of fresh apples, lukewarm tea, and the glow of an oil lamp, memories and stories were laid out one by one—like pieces of a puzzle that made the house whole again.
When Hannibal heard all that had happened to Vantias and Anna in his absence, the color drained from his face. A sorrowful look filled his eyes—a weight of guilt that, even if it wasn't truly his, he couldn't ignore.
With a soft voice, laced with regret, he said:
"I didn't know it had been so hard... I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."
Anna placed her hand on his arm, giving him a warm smile:
"Don't worry. It's not your fault, Hannibal."
Vantias nodded too:
"Yeah... Now tell us, where have you been? What was your mission?"
Hannibal sighed and leaned back in his chair. A part of his mind still seemed to be on a distant battlefield, far from this small, warm home.
"About three months ago, we got an order from the king himself. We, the knights, were sent to territories under noble control—to identify and punish those rebelling against the crown."
His gaze drifted into nothingness. Then his voice dropped, as if trying not to wake old memories.
"But... I saw things there I couldn't believe were real. Some of the nobles treated ordinary people like slaves. They branded women and even children—like they were property, toys to be used."
Anna gasped, covering her mouth in shock:
"Oh my god…"
Vantias lowered his head. He said nothing—just let the weight of his brother's words settle in. The world was darker than he'd imagined.
Hannibal continued, this time with a graver tone:
"Eventually, we found out those nobles were part of a secret group. A dark cult called The Bloody Smile…"
Vantias looked up, an unconscious frown forming on his face:
"The Bloody Smile? Who are they? What do they do?"
Hannibal took a sip of his tea. The warmth of the cup couldn't match the coldness of the truths he was about to share.
"We still don't know their ultimate goal. But what's clear is that many high-ranking nobles are members of this cult. A kind of hidden corruption... in the shadows."