(Luke's POV)
Tap…
Tap…
Tap…
Rain fell in a steady rhythm, then all at once it poured—like the sky had given up holding it back. Water soaked into the dirt, turning the ground into thick, clinging mud. Grass lay flattened and smeared, and a trail of fresh footprints led straight to the front of the house.
Luke stood frozen at the doorway, staring at the figures waiting just a few steps ahead.
His heart began to race.
"No… not now," he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening. We were so close… His fingers curled slightly at his sides. We can't let them take it. We barely have enough to leave.
"I know," Damien replied quietly, though his voice carried a forced steadiness that didn't quite match the situation.
One of the men stepped forward—Mark.
Rain slid down his face, dripping from his chin as a crooked grin spread across his face.
"Hey, you miscreants," he called out, voice low and rough. "We're here for the debt. I know you've got coins from selling your home—don't try to play games with me."
He took another step closer, boots sinking slightly into the mud.
"Pay the forty silver you owe… and twelve more for making me come all the way out here," he continued, his grin widening. "Do that, and I might not pummel you to death. Hahaha."
Luke's stomach dropped.
Fifty-two silver…
He glanced quickly at Damien. "We've only got eighty-three," he muttered under his breath. "If we don't pay… they'll take everything."
"I know," Damien said, quieter this time. "It just… sucks."
Mark let out a sharp laugh. "Hahaha, good. Glad that brain of yours is still working. Now hand it over."
Rain continued to fall between them, filling the silence that followed.
Slowly, Damien reached into the bag and pulled out the pouch. It felt heavier just moments ago—now, it only feels like something being taken away.
The two sides stepped forward.
Mud shifted beneath their feet as they met halfway. Water dripped from their clothes and hair, pooling at their boots. Damien opened the pouch and counted out the coins, one by one, each soft clink swallowed by the rain.
Mark watched closely, his expression amused, almost entertained.
When the last coin was placed into his hand, he weighed it slightly, smirking.
"Pleasure doing business," he said mockingly.
Then—
Punch.
Without warning, Mark's fist slammed into Damien's face.
The sound cut through the rain.
"Argh—!" Damien staggered back, one hand flying to his cheek, pain flaring instantly.
Before he could react, Mark had already pulled his hand back, shaking it slightly as if it were nothing.
"It's just one punch," Mark said casually, a grin still on his face. " I have to leave with something. Besides…" he added, glancing at Damien, "one of my favourite punching bags is running off. Thats is kinda sad, if you ask me."
A few of the others chuckled.
And just like that, it was over.
Mark turned, tucking the coins away as he motioned for the others to follow. Their figures slowly disappeared into the rain, boots dragging through the mud, laughter fading with distance.
Damien stood there, soaked, his cheek already bruising.
Luke didn't say anything.
He just watched his brother—watched the way he stood there, silent, shoulders slightly tense, rain dripping from his hair.
For once, there were no sarcastic remarks.
Just a quiet, heavy realization settling in.
We're too weak.
Luke's gaze hardened slightly.
If they stayed like this… nothing would change.
Walking back toward his brother, Damien's shoulders hung stiff and low, as if the weight of the rain had settled into his bones. His steps were slower now, uneven. Shame burned beneath the surface—sharp, quiet, and suffocating. Not just from the punch, but from everything it meant.
Weak.
He hated the word, even if he didn't say it out loud.
Luke fell in beside him without a word. There was nothing to say.
Together, they turned and stepped back inside the house.
The moment the door shut, the sound of the rain dulled to a distant patter against the roof. Water dripped from their clothes onto the floor, forming small, uneven puddles beneath their feet. The air inside felt colder now—emptier.
They didn't bother lighting anything.
Damien sank down against the wall, the bag resting beside him, lighter than it should have been. Luke moved to the other side of the room, sitting on the edge of one of the wooden chairs, his gaze unfocused.
They had lost more than half their coins.
Their plans were ruined and neither of them knew what came next.