Atticus perched atop a thick, extended tree branch, his figure bathed in the ethereal glow of Ares' twin moons. The deep blue-green canopy of leaves above swayed gently, rustling in harmony with the cool night breeze, carrying the rich, damp scent of earth and forest vegetation.
His upper body was bare, revealing an athletic physique sculpted through relentless discipline.
Unlike Kallen's slightly denser musculature, Atticus' frame was of a slow-twitch muscle dominant athlete, granting him superior vascular endurance, elasticity, and a fluid grace befitting an archer of his caliber.
Every sinew, every tendon coiled beneath his smooth skin, his veins subtly pronounced beneath the sheen of sweat that reflected the silver luminescence of the moons.
He had perfectly symmetrical face, that carried a natural charisma; brows like twin blades, shadowing eyes filled with deceitful laziness.
His nose, smooth and slightly upturned at the tip, twitched lightly as he inhaled the crisp, air. Even now, his senses remained sharp, attuned to the subtlest changes in the environment.
His breathing was deep and heavy, his chest rising and falling in slow intervals. Having just concluded hours of training, his muscles still humming with the aftershock of exertion.
This secluded woodland, nestled within the vast Crimson estate, was a far cry from the structured rigor of the training grounds.
Here, among towering trees and whispering winds, he could exist outside the suffocating walls of tradition and duty.
It had been over two months since his encounter with Kallen, and they had not crossed paths since. Not out of avoidance though, it was simply because neither had made the effort.
The Crimson Castle itself was vast enough to make chance encounters infrequent, and the sprawling estate even more so. Atticus, for his part, spent most of his time here, perfecting his craft in solitude.
Still, his thoughts occasionally lingered on that day.
He had caught glimpses, slivers of the enigma that was his cousin, yet he knew there were still more layers beneath layers, veiled behind that cold, prideful mask.
But that was fine. Kallen was intelligent enough to conceal his hand. A well-forged weapon did not flaunt its edge before the moment of the strike.
Atticus smirked, his fingers idly tapping against the wooden curve of his bow.
"Besides… a truly good manipulation is when the victim still believes they're in control," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper against the night air. A slow, deliberate exhale left his lips, curling into the cold breeze.
He would wait. Kallen would be falling into his hands in due time.
"Hey! Hello? Atticus! What are you mumbling about?"
A youthful voice rang out, cutting through the stillness of the night. Blinking out of his musings, Atticus shifted his gaze downward, his sharp eyes meeting the sight of two identical figures standing beneath the tree.
Elyon and Eliot.
Twin eight-year-olds, nearly indistinguishable from one another, both bearing the signature crimson hair and deep, ember-like eyes of the Crimson bloodline.
Their delicate features and childishly round cheeks gave them the appearance of porcelain dolls, almost too perfect, too symmetrical.
Even their lithe, unassuming frames exuded the same eerie, noble grace all Crimsons possessed—an elegance that would only sharpen with age.
Atticus exhaled softly, his previous thoughts dissolving into the night. He smiled, shifting his weight against the branch as he leaned forward slightly.
"Elyon. Eliot." His voice carried an indulgent warmth, despite the cool detachment that often laced his tone. "Forgive me, I was lost in thought. What brings you here?"
The twins exchanged a glance, their eyes gleaming with mischief.
"I'm at level four now, hehe!" Elyon declared, puffing out his chest.
"Me too!" Eliot immediately chimed in, not about to be left behind.
"I was first, though," Elyon added smugly, tilting his head with an air of superiority.
"But I landed the killing blow," Eliot countered, folding his arms.
"How outrageous! I dealt more damage, you cheap liar!" Elyon's eyes widened like saucers, his indignation practically vibrating off him.
"What nonsense are you spouting? I killed it!" Eliot fired back, his expression one of sheer disbelief.
"If I hadn't injured it first, you wouldn't have been able to!" Elyon shot back.
"If not for my defense, you would've died!" Eliot barked in frustration.
"Died? Like that puny puppy could even scratch me," Elyon scoffed, his nose pointing skyward.
"It's a wolf cub, not a puppy," Eliot corrected with disdain.
"Puppy."
"Wolf."
"Puppy."
"Wolf!"
"Puppy!"
"You'd die!"
"Huh?! You'd die instead!"
"To a pup? How ridiculous!"
"Pup? It's a cub!"
"Says who?"
"Didn't you just say so now?"
"I did? That doesn't count!"
By now, their voices had escalated to such a volume and fervor that it became impossible to tell who was saying what. Their words overlapped, bouncing off the trees and reverberating through the night air like an untamed symphony of nonsense.
Atticus sat motionless, watching the verbal carnage unfold with a placid expression, though the slight twitch of his left eye betrayed the brewing frustration beneath. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee, a silent measure of his dwindling patience.
His once tranquil moment under the twin moons had been unceremoniously shattered by the chaotic squabbling of these two crimson-haired menaces.
These miscreants had ruined his peaceful, magenta-toned after-dusk reverie.
And the worst part? They didn't even seem to be aware of it.
What nonsense! Ofcourse they were aware they just didn't care, absorbed in unnecessary squabble.
"OI, QUIT IT, YOU TWO!" Atticus barked, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. His face darkened like a brewing storm, a single vein on his temple throbbing in protest.
Silence.
For a moment, it seemed like peace had returned to the world. The twin moons cast a serene glow, the trees swayed in a gentle breeze, and even the distant chirping of crickets seemed to pause in reverence.
"He started it, though," Elyon muttered under his breath, arms crossed, sulking like a child denied dessert.
"Curse you… You started it!" Eliot hissed, scandalized, as if his brother had just accused him of a war crime.
"You both—" Atticus quickly attempted, to control of the situation.
But, alas, his voice was immediately trampled beneath theirs.
"Unbelievable! How can you lie this well? You're just a kid!" Elyon demanded, his eyes wide with righteous fury.
"Kid? Mister, you're eight," Eliot retorted, staring at his twin like he was some ancient, delusional sage.
"You're eight too!" Elyon shot back, rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh.
"But you started it!"
"Shut up, you did!"
"Want a taste of my fist?" Elyon raised a tiny, unimpressive fist, his expression one of pure menace.
Eliot, with a kind of haughty disdain that billowed out in waves, scoffed. "If that's supposed to scare me, I might as well forfeit my life!"
"You—!"
"ENOUGH!!!"
Atticus roared. His voice boomed with the force of a battlefield horn, and his eyes practically spitting fire. The sheer volume of his outburst sent a flock of birds scrambling from the trees, their panicked cries echoing into the night.
Silence again.
Two guilty pairs of crimson eyes blinked up at him, small bodies frozen in place like deer caught in a torchlight.
Atticus exhaled, running a hand down his face. "Gods above, grant me patience."
Eliot, ever the defiant one, opened his mouth. "But—"
Atticus' head tilted ever so slightly, his eyes darkening, and when he spoke, his voice dropped to a low, guttural octave—like a beast lurking in the shadows.
"You dare?"
Silence.
Immediate, suffocating silence.
Eliot swallowed. Elyon, for once, wisely chose not to breathe a word. It was as if their bones had turned to ice, their very blood deciding it wanted to defy gravity and flow backward.
Atticus let the silence linger, savoring their visible discomfort. Then, a thought struck him.
_'Williams is probably hammering away at his crafts right now… I'm not one to disturb him, but these two nitwits? Oh, he'll love them.'_
A smirk ghosted his lips. "Since you both are so terribly free… I have a task for you."
Two pairs of hesitant eyes lifted toward him.
"Go find Williams. Tell him I found a strange metal he might like—might even be the breakthrough he's been searching for."
Instantly, their expressions shifted from wary submission to wide-eyed excitement.
"A breakthrough?!"
"Why didn't you say so sooner?!"
And just like that, they vanished—a flurry of red hair and childlike fervor, their argument long forgotten.
Atticus let out a slow exhale, his smirk stretching wider. _'When you get there and I'm nowhere to be found…'_
He chuckled. _'I'd love to see how you explain distracting him. Too bad I won't be there to watch. But hey... a win is a win. Two birds, one stone. You two get roughed up for ruining my peace, and that doofus Williams gets a much-needed break.'_
Absolute perfection.