Sugar and Saints

The door of the Adventurer's Guild groaned shut behind them, muffling the laughter, clinking mugs, and scent of cheap ale. Outside, Velgrad's evening chill bit harder than before, sharp enough to sting the tips of Radomir's ears. Snowflakes drifted slow and heavy from the darkening sky, and the packed street beneath his boots crunched with every step.

Radomir exhaled, breath curling in front of him like smoke.

"By the gods… wasn't this damn cold when I went in…"

"That's 'cause back then you had hope," Darian said with a grin, pulling his collar higher. "Now you've got a guild tag and a death sentence. Welcome to the club, rookie."

Radomir snorted, boots crunching through the snow as they passed the crooked hero statue in the square. The streets were quieter now, with most villagers tucked indoors for the evening, windows glowing faintly behind frost-laced glass. A thin layer of new snow softened the edges of the rooftops, and the air carried that sharp, clean silence that only came after a fresh fall.

"Great. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll die before I have to pay for new boots."

"Cheer up," Darian said. "You might not be Ironbrand yet, but at least you get to die under someone who is. Think of it as an honor."

Radomir gave him a sideways glance.

"Oh, right. How could I forget? You're practically a war hero now."

"Damn right," Darian said proudly. "One rank above, three times the sarcasm, and all the glory of monster guts in my boots."

Radomir rolled his eyes, though the smirk creeping in ruined his attempt at annoyance.

They turned a corner near the edge of the market square, where the wind picked up and rattled the wooden signs of shuttered stalls. A few lanterns swayed from iron hooks, their flames flickering in protest.

"Could be worse," Darian said, tugging his cloak tighter. "You could be Marek. Poor bastard tried to impress the apothecary's redhead with some flashy swordwork. Snapped his blade clean on a frozen dummy."

"Still claiming it was 'blessed by the gods'?"

"Right up until it turned into scrap metal. Pretty sure he cried. Loudly. Twice."

Radomir laughed, breath puffing white. He pictured Marek's horrified face and the even more horrified face of whoever was unlucky enough to be watching him.

"That idiot's gonna get himself killed trying to flirt."

"Better a broken sword than a broken everything," Darian muttered, grin fading. "Like that guy from Hollowridge."

The laughter died between them. The sound of their boots grew louder without it.

"Kora said they found him just off the cave path," Radomir said after a moment. His voice lowered, like speaking too loud might summon whatever had done it. "Looked like something had… torn through him."

"Didn't even have a face left," Darian added, voice hushed. "Just bone and pulp. Like something didn't eat him. Just ruined him."

A silence settled between them, heavier than the snow. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Darian finally kicked a clump of snow aside and muttered, "That damn cave is swarming with all sorts of icky monsters. Hell, even the rats out there probably have fangs."

Radomir nodded slowly, still staring ahead.

"Yeah... but the payout on that contract was big. Real big. Enough to tempt someone stupid, or desperate."

"Or both," Darian said.

He kicked another clump of snow, his tone quieter now. "He should've just joined the Solhyran Zorya if he wanted to throw himself at death. At least then he'd have a blade blessed by the Light and a name sung in the cathedral."

Radomir let out a breath, his voice low. "Maybe. But I've seen what that kind of glory costs. Not everyone walks away with their soul intact."

Darian gave a sideways glance, then forced a grin. "Well, enough about that shit, man! We should go find Milena. I bet your sister's already charmed half the candy off old Boromil by now."

Radomir snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time. She only has to smile and he forgets what he's charging."

His smile faded a little as the words left him. Ever since their parents disappeared, Milena had taken to wearing that same smile like it was armor. Sweet, bright, untouchable. But Radomir knew better. He saw the cracks when no one else was looking. And as much as he tried to keep things light, a part of him was always waiting for the weight of it all to catch up to her.

They walked in easy silence, boots crunching through the snow-covered street as the last light faded behind the pine-covered hills. Lamplight flickered from windows, casting golden reflections on the packed ice. The occasional villager passed by with a polite nod, bundled in thick coats, scarves drawn high against the cold. Smoke drifted lazily from stone chimneys, the scent of pinewood sharp and clean.

The road narrowed as they passed into the older part of town—quieter, with uneven cobblestones and crooked rooftops leaning together like old friends. Iron sconces lined the walls here, casting pools of warm light into the drifting snow. Somewhere, faint and thin through the chill air, the echo of a bard's melody drifted from an open tavern door, half-muffled by distance.

It was that same tune Milena had been humming for the last week. The one with the rising, hopeful chorus and that little trailing note at the end she always liked to draw out longer than needed.

The fountain came into view—an old thing of pale stone and moss, now frozen solid for the winter. Ice had crept up its sides like veins, and the last rays of dusk lit it in shades of silver and blue. Snow dusted its rim, untouched except for a single clear patch where someone had been sitting.

As they approached, Radomir spotted a familiar figure perched on its edge, boots swinging, wrapped in a wool cloak two sizes too big.

Milena.

She looked small against the frozen stone, but not fragile. Her long brown hair spilled out from beneath her hood, caught here and there by the wind. In the fading light, it shimmered faintly—like strands of copper and chestnut. Her gray eyes were striking in a way that never felt quite normal—cool, clear, and unusual. Radomir couldn't recall ever seeing anyone else with eyes like that.

She had the same cheerful look she always wore, the one that made strangers instinctively smile back. Legs swinging idly, she hummed the bard's tune under her breath while popping multi-colored candies into her mouth from a half-crinkled clear bag resting on her lap.

Fifteen, going on immortal. That's how she always seemed.

And somehow, Radomir thought, she still smiled like nothing had ever broken.

He stepped forward with a smirk, boots crunching against the thin layer of snow. "Oi, what's up, weirdo? Did the old man give you more free candy again?"

Darian chuckled behind him. "Swear you're going to put Boromil out of business one sugar drop at a time."

At the sound of their voices, Milena's head perked up. Her face lit like a lantern, eyes wide with sudden delight. She hopped off the edge of the fountain and jogged toward them, her cloak flaring behind her.

"Brother! Darian!"

She nearly knocked Radomir over as she hugged him tightly, then turned and gave Darian a quick squeeze around the arm. "You're late," she said with mock sternness, though her grin betrayed her.

"He said the sugar drops were 'excess stock,'" she added proudly, holding up the bag like a trophy. "Which is code for: 'I smiled and he panicked.'"

Darian gave her a mock-serious look. "Why don't you use your weird tricks and get old Drazek to make me some new pauldrons, then? Mine are so rusted and beat they'll probably start cutting through my gambeson soon."

Milena tilted her head, pretending to consider it. She popped another candy into her mouth with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Hmmm... nope! But maybe if you and Brother go help me look for injured birds, I'll think about it."

Radomir gave a small shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching with a smile. Of course that's what she'd want. She always had a strange knack for finding things that were hurt—birds with broken wings, stray dogs limping through alleyways, even people who tried to hide their pain. Somehow, Milena just knew.

Her cheerful expression softened slightly as her eyes lingered on Radomir. The playful glow in her face dimmed, just a touch.

"Were you able to register... for the guild?" she asked quietly, the usual bounce in her voice replaced with a more careful note.

Radomir gave her a soft, understanding smile—the kind that said he knew exactly why she was asking. He nodded gently.

"Yeah. I'm in. Officially a walking target now."

Before the mood could settle too deep, Darian cut in with a grin.

"Don't worry! I'll make sure this dumbass doesn't get himself hurt. Well—no more than usual, anyway."

Milena jerked her head his way with narrowed eyes. "Didn't I have to stitch up a wolf bite on you the other day, you dumbass? Who are you to talk?"

Darian pouted, slumping slightly. "Girls your age shouldn't be using that kind of language..."

Milena rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up Darian."

Radomir stepped in with a calm smile, his voice easy and steady. "Don't worry, sis. We'll take some easy stuff first. Might team up tomorrow to kill a couple goblins, nothing too serious."

Milena's eyes lingered on him for a beat longer before she nodded. "Okay... just promise you'll be safe."

She didn't give him time to answer. "Anyway, it's getting late—and I'm freezing. Can we go home now?"

Darian stretched with a dramatic groan. "Guess that's my cue to leave, then. Try not to freeze on the way back. And tell your creepy neighbor to stop glaring at me when I walk past your place."

Milena giggled, already tucking the candy bag away inside her cloak. "You're just mad she saw you trip over her cat."

Radomir bumped fists with Darian, the kind of quiet, wordless gesture that carried more weight than a farewell.

"See you in the morning," he said.

"Bright and early. Goblins beware."

With that, Darian turned and disappeared down the opposite path, his boots leaving fading prints in the snow.

Radomir glanced at Milena and offered his arm. She slipped hers through without a word.

They walked in silence for a while, the kind only siblings could share without discomfort. Houses passed by in sleepy stillness, windows flickering with firelight, the air scented faintly of cooked meat and chimney smoke.

And through it all, the soft crunch of their footsteps marked the quiet road home.