GODFORGED

Alex stepped forward, arms open, ready to pull Modred into a hug.

Modred took a step back, hands raised in protest. "No, no, none of that."

Alex sighed dramatically but chuckled, shaking his head. "Still the same old Modred."

Modred scoffed, crossing his arms. "Obviously."

Alex had expected that reaction. Modred wasn't the sentimental type—he preferred snide remarks and had a habit of making sadistic jokes at the worst possible times. But even without showing it, Alex knew he cared in his own way.

Without another word, Modred turned and walked toward the house, his exhaustion showing in the slight drag of his steps. Alex followed, eager to finally get some rest, but something felt… off. The air behind him was still, too still.

He glanced back.

Grey and Modred hadn't moved.

They stood there, staring at him with unreadable expressions. The only thing clear was hesitation.

Alex frowned. "What?"

Grey's voice came, as blank and detached as ever. "You should stop training with the old man across the tavern."

Alex blinked, caught off guard.

Grey continued, his tone never shifting. "It's made you a target… for people who matter."

Alex narrowed his eyes. "So we don't matter?"

Modred smirked, shaking his head. "Well, they don't call us the Forgotten for a reason."

Alex clicked his tongue in irritation. He knew what they meant. The three of them had been cast aside by society long ago, left to survive on their own. The world barely acknowledged their existence, and that had kept them safe.

Modred sighed. "In all of our sixteen years as the Forgotten, I've only cared about one thing—this family. The one we have right here."

He gestured toward the house, where dim candlelight flickered through the cracks in the wood. Inside, the other children—their family—slept, oblivious to the conversation outside.

Grey raised an eyebrow, his face still neutral, but the small motion was enough to show his surprise.

Modred glanced at him and smirked. "I know you're in shock, but others can't tell."

Alex looked between them, his fingers tightening at his sides. "My training will pay off. It's only a matter of time before I become a master with a sword."

Modred's amusement faded. "And what if you had gotten hurt? Or worse—died at the hands of those bullies?" His voice darkened. "No one cares about us. And I'd like to keep it that way."

Alex opened his mouth, but Modred wasn't done.

"Frankly, you draw a lot of attention to my inventions."

Grey let out a low chuckle. "As if you don't like it when he gets into trouble. It gives you more reasons to test your… creations."

Alex snorted. "Of which half don't work. Just junk."

Modred gasped in mock offense. "You wound me, dear Alex."

The three of them laughed, the tension from before fading into the night.

Grey was the first to turn away, heading inside. Modred remained, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, he spoke. "I'll back you up no matter what."

The words carried more weight than Alex expected. He looked at Modred, surprised.

"But not to your death."

The wind ruffled their hair, cold against their skin. It was rare for Modred to drop the sarcasm and speak so seriously.

Modred's voice came again. "When do you intend to register?"

Alex smiled, about to tease him. "Wow, you're getting soft on me—"

Modred cut him off. "I'm serious, Alex."

The wind picked up. It was then that Modred noticed something strange—something he had never noticed before.

The green tint in Alex's eyes.

Modred frowned slightly, making a mental note of it. But instead of mentioning it, he simply scoffed and turned toward the house.

"Get your bronze-skinned self in the bath and wash off the filth."

Alex chuckled, shaking his head as he followed.

Alex chuckled, shaking his head as he followed Modred toward the house.

The old wooden door groaned in protest as it swung open. Inside, the dim glow of candlelight flickered over worn-out furniture and scattered blueprints. The air smelled of ink, metal, and damp wood—Modred's inventions taking up more space than they probably should.

Alex stepped inside, stretching his arms. "I'll wash up later. I'm too tired."

Modred shot him a look. "You reek of sweat and regret. Wash up now."

Alex raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. But one day, I'm dragging you in there with me just to see how much grime you've collected."

Modred smirked but didn't respond. He simply plopped onto the nearest couch, closing his eyes as if exhausted by the mere act of existing.

Grey was already at the far end of the room, rifling through a pile of books and papers. He barely acknowledged them, only pausing once to mutter, "I still think you should stop training with that old man."

Alex rolled his eyes, pulling off his coat and tossing it onto a chair. "You both act like I'm jumping into a war."

Modred peeked an eye open. "Aren't you?"

Before Alex could respond, a loud creak sounded from the floorboards above them.

All three froze.

Their eyes flickered toward the ceiling.

Another creak. Then silence.

Alex's heart pounded. "Was anyone else supposed to be awake?"

Grey shook his head. Modred's hand slowly reached for the dagger strapped to his belt.

Then—

A sudden crash.

Something—or someone—had just moved upstairs.

Alex exchanged a look with the others. Whatever was up there… it wasn't friendly.