Chapter 2

  Leander's mind was spiraling in more ways than one.

  He paced around the drawing room, taking drink after drink from his bottle of dark ale, all while processing each of his mother's belongings one by one — a task that he quickly found to be unbearable and soul-crushing.

  He rummaged through closets, cupboards and drawers, finding strange old trinkets yered with dust so thick that tickled his weak lungs. Some trinkets made him grin with nostalgia, and others made his broken heart sting. There were also some items he didn't recognize or understand whatsoever, leading him to wonder if there were still secrets about his mother's legend of a life that he didn't know, yet to be uncovered.

  Occasionally, he found himself idly toying with an unopened letter that he had shoved deeply into his jacket pocket. The letter had arrived for him earlier this morning, its star-clustered sigil seal still intact. He contempted opening it, but had yet to find the courage, knowing the contents could very well change the course of his life in a way he wasn't sure he was ready for.

  Leander's fingers absently traced the crisp clean insignia on his pel and a wave of pride swept over him. Finally, he had trained his entire life for this. There may only be one ruby, but there was plenty of room for more. It was only a matter of time before he was promoted to the Swords of the Raven's next greatest guildmaster. Soon, he would boldly follow in his mother's footsteps, into the life of harrowing adventure and triumphant glory he had always dreamed of. They would be rge shoes to fill, but he was eager to try. And yet, here he was, finally presented with his chance, only for it all to be turned upside down by one single letter.

  If he chose to accept the opportunity that may or may not be inside the envelope, he'd have no choice but to leave the guild matters for Callen to sort out.

  Callen, who did nothing but frolic around in his own world not seeming to care about anything real.

  Callen, who cked the muscle, grit and fighting spirit of a true Bckhammer.

  Callen, who couldn't even be bothered to help him empty their mother's estate when he agreed to. What sort of heir was that? It was often difficult to believe the two were reted, let alone twins.

  As if he had summoned him with his thoughts, Callen entered the room with an uneasy expression. Leander's gaze snapped to him. Despite sharing features — their father's honey brown eyes and tanned complexion, and their mother's stocky frame and freckles — Leander had always smugly considered himself to be the more attractive twin. While Callen was lean in his own right, from a life spent outdoors doing, well, whatever it was Callen did — no one quite knew — Leander was powerfully built from years of disciplined training.

  As his brother's stepped into the room, clothes disheveled and ink-bck hair upsettingly unkempt, Leander couldn't withhold his unimpressed gre.

  “You're te!” He accused.

  “You're drunk,” Callen countered, tossing his backpack onto the desk, careful to avoid the small collection of empty bottles already on it. “Think you're going to be able to handle all this in your state?”

  “Oi, you know I can hold my liquor. And I'm already handling all this — quite successfully, I might add — no thanks to you,” Leander said, putting on a fake grin. “And you're one to talk, where in the nine hells have you been anyway?”

  “Bank, w office,” Callen said simply, retrieving the documents from his bag once again. “The lines were longer than anticipated.”

  Leander squinted at his brother skeptically, before snatching the slightly gnawed will and testament from the pile. “Right. I'm sure all those rodent wyers they hired really slow shit down.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Honestly, Cal, these documents look as though they went through a squall, and they're still bnk.”

  “It's only a copy,” Callen assured. “And we can get another if need be.”

  “That's not the point, Cal and you know it,” Leander responded, brandishing the mangled papers. “It's just the principle. These documents are our family legacy. They deserve some damn respect, not turned into this sorry state.”

  “You think mum treated paperwork with an ounce of respect?” Callen shrugged, with a faint hint of a smile. “She never organized a thing in her life. In a way, I'm actually honouring her.”

  Leander sighed and shook his head. “It's just— it's all we have left of her, is all.” He set the papers down and took another swig of ale, waving it off. “Y’know, never mind, just help me gut out this room.”

  Together, the pair worked in a tense silence. Leander tried to focus his energy on the task at hand. Despite his best efforts, however, his thoughts drifted to the emblem on his chest and the letter in his pocket. The more he thought, the more boured his breath became. Breathe, he told himself, just focus. But he couldn't. His mind only wandered farther and farther from himself.

  He hated it.

  It took a sofa cushion barreling through the air and colliding into his shoulder to finally snap him back to reality.

  “Oi! Cal, what the hell?!” Leander caught the cushion and immediately threw it back, hitting Callen square in the face with pinpoint precision.

  “Ow.” Callen rubbed his cheek letting the cushion fall to the ground. “I was going to suggest we take a break.”

  Leander eyed their progress, then shook his head. “C'mon, we're almost done this room. I'm sure these boxes are heavy for you, but we ought to just power through it.”

  “The boxes aren't the problem. You're the one starting to sound like a steam engine,” Callen said, dryly. “Is everything aight? I know your lungs fre when you get all stres—”

  “I'm fine, Cal,” Leander interjected, making a point to take a full, focused breath. “I just want this done.”

  “Aight,” Callen shrugged with apprehension. He gestured up to a beautifully adorned cymore of sleek bck steel that hung proudly on the wall. “What do you suggest we do with that?”

  “That? You mean Dul’gaen?” Leander rolled his eyes, barely having to look at the sword to know what Callen spoke of. “Are you telling me you don't even know its name?”

  “I'm not that clueless.” Callen scowled. “Course, I know its name, it's engraved right on it. I'm asking what we ought to do with it. Do you want it?”

  “Well, it is gorgeous. Lots of history behind it, too.” Leander pondered for a moment before shrugging indifferently. “But if you want it, it's yours. I've already got my eyes on Nightmare.”

  “I figured that much. Hard to become mum’s mirror without her signature axe.” Carefully, Callen reached up and removed Dul’gaen from the wall. “What's the story with this, anyway?”

  “It's the second order of Bckhammer.” Leander blinked in disbelief. “Belonged to Gramps. You'd know that if you ever paid attention.”

  “I pay plenty of attention,” Callen insisted, though Leander refused to believe it. “I just can’t be bothered to remember every detail of every sword in this house.”

  “It’s more than just a sword,” Leander expined. “It was Gramps’ loyal companion against all sorts of otherworldly threats.”

  “You mean like fey creatures?” Callen asked, tracing his fingers across the bde with a contemptive look.

  “Oh yeah, tons. He used it to fight off countless fey, carved ‘em up into ribbons during the Umbral Moon.” As he spoke, Leander found his grief temporarily subside, repced by a surge of pride and admiration. “I s’pose you could say it’s the sword that kicked off the Bckhammer legacy. It’s the literal symbol of the Swords of the Raven itself.”

  “R-right,” Callen replied sheepishly. He ran his fingers along the hilt.

  “What's it to you, anyway? You've never cared about any of our family's stuff, especially not the weapons.”

  “Just curious is all.” He set the bde down onto the table.

  “That all?” You’re being even weirder than normal today; did something happen at the bank?”

  “N-no—” Callen quickly deflected. “It's just the grief, I guess. You haven't exactly been yourself tely either, y’know.”

  “No shit I haven't.” Leander regretted the hostility in his tone the moment he spoke. “I, uh just… Got a lot on my mind I s'pose.”

  Callen nodded, looking a bit taken aback by Leander’s sudden outburst. He took a deep breath, speaking his next words in a gentle voice. “Look, I get that all this must be hard on you, it is for me too. And if there's anything I can do, just lemme kn—”

  “I might be leaving town soon,” Leander interrupted.

  Callen’s eyes widened. “What? What do you mean you're leaving? You? Where could you possibly have to go that's more important than the house you take so much pride in? I can't sort out all this alone, Lee.”

  “Oi stop it, you won’t do it alone.” Leander couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt. “Look, I know you don’t want to deal with this shit. I talked to auntie st night about just that. She’ll help you handle the Swords until I’m back — she’s second in command, after all. And besides…” He pulled the unopened letter from his pocket. “… I dunno if I’m even going just yet.”

  Callen squinted at the starry sigil. “Is that from House Winters? What are they doing writing to you?”

  Leander nodded. “Mum and I wrote to ‘em first, actually. We'd been trying to arrange some sort of student apprenticeship under the Winters family. She thought it'd be good for me, I s'pose.”

  “Huh. I didn't take you for the astronomy type.”

  “I'm not. Lord Winters is much more than just that. He's a renowned schor of all kinds schools of science and magic, astronomy is only one of ‘em,” Leander said with enthusiasm, rexing back to his easy-going attitude. “Thought maybe I could, I dunno, study artificery, or something.”

  “Magic? You’re truly going to learn magic? Hardly anyone gets a chance to do that.” Callen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “So… does this mean you aren't still taking after the guild?”

  “Course I'm still taking after the guild.” Leander smirked as though it was the most obvious fact in the world. “But the more skills I pick up, the better I'll be at running it.”

  “I s'pose,” Callen shrugged. “So why haven't you opened the letter then?”

  “Bad timing, mostly,” Leander sighed, polishing off his bottle of ale. “If I get accepted, I'll have to leave my life's dedication in your dirt covered hands till I get back, which neither of us want. And if I don't, well, guess I'll feel like I failed to fulfill mum's wishes.”

  “And what of your wishes? Is this — the guild, the apprenticeship—what you want?”

  “You know it is.” Leander blinked in disbelief. “It always has.”

  “If you say so... In any case, you'll have to rip off the bandage sooner or ter, Lee. Leaving yourself hanging like this will only make your lung thing worse.”

  “Oh, shut it, I don't have a lung thi—Gods, fine!” Leander tore open the letter and took a few moments to look it over. His face scrunched up as he read, and his chest tightened with each line.

  “Breathe, Lee,” Callen reminded, crossing his arms in anticipation, “And don't leave me in suspense now.”

  “... He approved… I actually got accepted,” Leander announced, slowly finding his breath. He stared at the letter, bewildered. “Hells… what do I do?”

  Callen was silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts before speaking. “You go. You’d be a fool to throw away such a rare opportunity,” he said with a sigh. “Auntie and I will manage. Besides, we wouldn't want you to go against mum's— your wishes, would we?”

  Leander's mouth twisted into a wide grin. “Hard to argue with that.”

  Callen nodded. “Exactly. Huh, who would have guessed that you'd fly the nest before I did?”

  “Certainly not me,” Leander replied. Heart sinking, he removed the sigil from his pel and pinned it to Callen’s. “Take care of this for me, aight? I worked my damn ass for it. And if I come home to find out you've sold the guild and disappeared off the map, I'll personally hunt you down and have you publicly executed.” His grin grew pyful and even wider.

  “There's my shithead brother I know and love,” Callen softly ughed.

  “Great. And would you look at the state of this room! I'd say a well-earned break is in order!” Leander said, still grinning. He opened two new bottles of ale and handed one to Callen, raising his own bottle into the air. “To new horizons!”

  “The room hasn't changed since I suggested a break, but aight,” Callen said, accepting the drink with a smile. He gently clinked his bottle against his brother's. “But after this, I'm cutting you off. Last thing we need is to make a rger mess than we're already standing in.”