Cyrus smiled brightly as he flicked his sword to clean it of blood. "Good gods, I missed this feeling."

He hadn't gone dungeon diving in a decade. The deaths of his siblings had sent him into a dark spiral, and he'd spent years numbing the pain with alcohol and meaningless trysts. Before that, he'd been Cyrus of the Lightning Blade, legendary swordsman and national hero, admired and feared in equal measure. But losing Connor and Malia had left a hole in his heart, one that could never be filled, and he'd slowly given up.

Cyrus had pulled away from his work, from his friends, from everything. He'd become a vagrant, spending the coin he'd saved up for his siblings' future on taverns and brothels along the way. And he would've stayed that way, if his oldest friend and most trusted companion from his days as a war hero hadn't stubbornly followed him everywhere like a shadow, ignoring his outbursts and drunken pleas to be left alone.

Many arguments, thrown punches, harsh words, and a drunken breakdown that'd had him wailing in his old friend's arms later, he'd finally decided enough was enough, and cleaned up his act. With his friend in tow, he'd joined a struggling Adventurers' Guild, and the two had quickly become local legends. People still remembered their exploits, after all.

He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling as he sheathed his blade. "Just like old times, eh, friend? You, me, treasure, and a pile of dead monsters. Can't think of a better way to spend my time."

Cyrus cracked his knuckles and put an arm around his friend's shoulders, laughing as they walked towards the next area of the dungeon. It felt good to work up a sweat again. To get back to doing what he was best at.

He couldn't bring his siblings back. But he could honor their memory. Help fledgling adventurers like them, and ensure the world didn't lose more young talent. The more treasure he picked up, the more resources for the little guild.

And the more time spent with the person who may as well have been his soulmate.