The Lake of the Past III

"You ought to learn how to keep your hands where they belong," Young-Alistair said with a sneer, stepping into the gloomy dungeons. His path was lit up using the fire in his hands, ever at the ready to hurl out at any who dared to oppose him. "Don't go touching things that aren't yours, Daphne."

He, too, had grown up a little more. Alistair was taller and stockier, and the effects of his no-doubt grueling training had already come into effect. If it weren't for the fact that the boy in question was Alistair of all people, Daphne would've even felt pity for the poor boy who had his childhood ripped away from him at such a young age.

"Nereus isn't yours," Young-Daphne sharply quipped back. She held no fear for her older brother, immediately standing to her full height as she glared at the slightly older boy.

"Father gave him to me," Alistair retorted, narrowing his eyes.

"He isn't Father's either," Daphne said.