Hi! This is my entry for the Layton Big Bang project! Sorry that this first bit is so short, I've been struggling for time due to my new job. Enjoy!

"Take the boys and hide! Do not move until you're sure they are gone."

"Leon, I can't let you-"

"It's me they want, Rachel! They're looking for the Azran, and they'll go through you if they have to!"

The argument was barely audible over the hammering on our front door. The threatening shouts near drowned my mother's desperate pleas, and yet the last words I ever heard my father speak are branded to in my memory to this day. It feels so wrong, a disservice, in fact, that such a brave, confident and caring man is best remembered by his son through such a scared, shaking voice.

The hammering became kicking. The pleading became sobbing. I squeezed my mother's arm tightly with one hand, and with the other, feebly guarded my little brother. He clung to me, crying loudly with great gulps, tears rolling down his cheeks. He was young enough to be scared by the noise, to cry in complaint, hoping his tantrum would make it stop. I was just old enough to understand that there was something very wrong, old enough that my own fear manifested itself into cold dread.

My mother, bravely gritting her teeth, pulled us both upstairs. We had barely reached our parent's bedroom before the ear-splitting crack of the front breaking from its hinges ricocheted off the walls. Mother half coaxed, half pushed us under the bed. I shuffled over to make room for her too, but she was looking back, towards the muffled voices and the blunt thud of punches. She gave us a sorrowful glance; an apology, perhaps, for the lives she was about to doom us too. She scrambled to her feet and bolted to the landing. I heard the momentary hum of a phone receiver before she began to whisper down the line.

"Hello? I need police… There are men in my house. They've come for my husband-" heavy footsteps ran below us and up the stairs. Mother's voice became quicker and frantic. "They're coming! The address is Cypress House, West Street-" The intruders stormed past the bedroom. We couldn't see it, but we heard the muffled scream of our mother. Moments later we watched as she was dragged, flailing in the arms of a stone faced brute, back down stairs. Her hands reached out like claws, trying to grab anything to hold onto, the banister, the wall, but her fingernails trailed across them fruitlessly.

I suddenly became aware of how quiet Theo was being. I looked over; he was staring, non-blinking, at our mother's frail form. It seemed as if the horror was setting in, as he had a strange look about his face; the same expression he wore when he was accidently hit with a tennis ball, or when I reached the climax of one of my late-night ghost stories.

He was going to scream.

I knew that there was no helping our parents now. I was the big brother, I had to protect what I could. If he screamed, we would be found. I made a choice in that moment; either I could cover his mouth and muffle the inevitable, or I could hug him, try to comfort him until the danger had passed. I often wonder how different my life would be if I had made a different choice.

I clamped my hand over his mouth and shushed him. This seemed to awaken him from his horror-struck freeze. Perhaps it was young, stupid bravery or just the fear of being left behind, but he easily escaped my grasp and climbed out of our safe spot.

"Theo, no!" I hissed, trying to grab his ankle, but it was too late."

"MUMMY!" What happened next is gone from my memory, hidden in a haze of shear panic and misery. I watched him run away from me, and then next thing I knew I was curled up, still under the bed, as a number of car engines rattled off into the distance.

I awoke, cradling myself in the same fetal position I had stayed in for many hours on that fateful day. Sunlight crept through the cracks between the curtains, sending a line of blinding sunlight into my eyes. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my face before getting up to take a shower. That memory had plagued my dreams as well as my waking life often as a child, but as I kept myself busy learning all I could about the Azran, the guilt and fear gradually lightened its burden. However, I pondered as warm, refreshing water ran down my body, the dream had become a lot more frequent since I got the news.

"Professor Hershel Layton solves ancient puzzle." The headline was accompanied by a very flattering profile shot. I held the paper in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other, reading through the article, sat comfortably at the breakfast table with a slice of toast and jam beside me. True to form, the journalist who wrote this piece had been rather hyperbolic, referring to the Azran civilisation as 'predating human history'. I rolled my eyes; the Azran, despite being very advanced, were human, therefore cannot predate their own history. Besides, this article gave the impression that the island of Ambrosia was the first ever evidence of the civilisation to be discovered. Again, not true, Azran artefacts have been cropping up in archaeological digs all around the globe for decades, seemingly at random. Ambrosia, however, was the first location we were able to tie to the Azran for certain.

I started my research when I was very young, just after my parents had been taken away from me. I was seven, I was alone, and the only clue I had as to what had happened to my family was that the brutes who took them were "looking for the Azran". Back then the Azran were just a myth, a people only found in legends written in hieroglyphics and Celtic folklore. However, when I found the little of my father's research that had not been taken with him, I learned that strange artefacts corelating to those ancient texts had begun to appear. My father, Leon Bronev, was one of several archaeologists that were bent on the idea that the Azran were real. Within weeks of each other, all of them went missing.

I dedicated my life to the Azran, to reach their secrets before those brutes. In all my time of research, I found nothing about the men who took my family, who they were or if they were still out there. Even after I was adopted by the kind and thoughtful Laytons, my second chance at a happy family, my obsession infected my every waking moment. Roland and Lucille tried everything, but no hobbies or activities could long draw me out of my room and away from my work. Looking back, I regret not spending more time with them. They could only afford to give a home to one child, and I had not exactly been the blessing of a son they had waited so long for. I only began to ease my workload and actually enjoy life after I met her…

I awoke from my ponderings at the sound of footsteps. I looked up from my paper and marvelled at the beauty before me. Layla moved so elegantly that she appeared to glide rather than walk. Her arms reached out, strong but pliable like branches in the wind. Her hand hovered over the fruit bowl, her dusty blonde locks falling across her slightly pursed lips and furrowed brow, that adorable expression she wears when making a decision. Just watching her carry out the simple task of breakfast is enough to make one fall in love, and I every day I still cannot believe that I am lucky enough to call her my wife.

Layla picked up an apple and tossed it between her hands. "Good morning, Hershel." She smiled at me before strolling over to plant a kiss on my cheek. I returned it, holding her chin and pecking her on the lips. She sighed wistfully. "Your breath tastes like coffee." She complained, taking a seat beside me. "I'm going to miss coffee the most."

"I think you can have half a cup a day." I comforted her. I took the apple from her and, with my butter knife in my other hand, began peeling the skin off the fruit.

"That's not nearly enough!" She moaned. "Well, I guess I'll just make myself some tea instead." She got up and made her way to the kitchen counter. I watched her go, love and agony in my heart.

It had all been going so well.

After my team of likeminded Azran enthusiasts and I had discovered Ambrosia's link to the Azran, I made sure that the news was spread to every major platform. My name and face began to appear on papers, television and radio, a beacon for those with an interest in the ancient civilisation. If the people who took my parents and brother were still out there, they would come for me, but this time I was ready to confront them.

I knew that things could go wrong, so I had planned on convincing Layla to stay with her parents until the danger had passed. The thought of leaving her alone, with no idea of what had happened to me, was bad enough. But now that we're going to have a baby… There was a whole lot more at stake.

Folding up my paper, I stood up and straightened my jacket collar and glasses. "I had better head over to the university, honey." I announced, tossing the paper on to the table. I held my wife by the waist and kissed her. "I need to speak with Andrew."

"Alright." She beams at me before going back to her tea. "And while you're there, ask about getting an assistant."

I groan. "We've been over this. I don't need an assistant."

"You're a big shot archaeologist now." She argued. "You're up to your ears in paperwork and interviews. Please just consider it, dear."

"Fine." I said dismissively. I kissed her goodbye and then left the apartment. My mind was still buzzing with thoughts as I got into my automobile and set on the familiar road to Gressenheller. I had to call off this whole 'drawing them to me' plan. There was too much at risk now, not only could Layla be left abandoned with our child, but if those monsters got her too…How could I ever forgive myself? But it was too late, the news of Ambrosia was already out. Our only chance was to run and hide, to escape-

I was so lost in thought that I almost didn't see the yellow scooter overtake me. Only when it came screeching to a halt before me did I react. I slammed my foot on the breaks, stopping only a couple of feet from the vehicle. I sat there for a few moments in shock, before my senses returned and I climbed out of my seat.

"What on Earth was that?" I yelled, throwing the car door shut with a bang as I marched at the teen on the scooter. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" The rider, clad in a jacket of the same obnoxious hue as his scooter, pulled off his helmet. A large yellow cloud of hair sprang out from under it, and his blue eyes looked up at me with a hearty, unapologetic smile

"Sorry, sir." He shrugged, adjusting a salmon bowtie. "I tried waving at you, but I couldn't get your attention."

"My… Attention?" I stammered in dumb bewilderment. I spat bitterly. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The young man held out a hand for me to shake. "The name is Adi Altava. I'm your new assistant!"