Magnesia, the kingdom of crimson and gold. A magnificent realm filled with sprawling cities that gleamed in the sunlight, a land where wealth, grandeur, and artistry converged in breathtaking fashion. The heart of this kingdom was its capital, a city that shared its name. It was said that the sight of Magnesia's gilded towers and crimson banners swaying in the wind could take one's breath away, leaving even the most jaded of travelers in awe. But beneath the surface, beyond the golden walls and the many mansions of nobles, the underbelly of the city was a place of shadow and hunger. Here, three young urchins fought to survive day by day, yearning for more than a life of thievery and squalor.
In a dimly lit alleyway on the edge of the bustling marketplace, a small, scrappy orphan stood hunched behind a rickety food cart. Ralph, with his messy blonde hair that never seemed to stay in place, peered out at the throngs of people filling the square. His bright blue eyes, wide and alert, darted across the crowd, searching for an opening—a moment of distraction, a gap in the sea of faces.
Beside him, Alan leaned heavily against the wall, his sturdy crutch tucked under one arm. Alan was fourteen, two years older than Ralph, and tougher in every sense of the word. His brown hair, cropped close to his scalp, framed a face hardened by hunger and pain. A deep scar ran down his cheek, a testament to a fight with a rival gang that had nearly cost him his eye. But the most distinctive feature was his missing leg. Disease had claimed it long ago, leaving him with a jagged stump below his knee. He moved with a makeshift crutch—a broken spear shaft wrapped in leather. Alan was the muscle of their small crew, fierce and protective, despite his injury.
On Ralph's other side was Ethan, the oldest and wisest of the three. At fifteen, he was tall and lanky, with unruly black hair and a pair of cracked glasses perched on his narrow nose. Ethan's green eyes gleamed with intelligence, always darting about, absorbing every detail of their surroundings. His clothes were threadbare, much like Ralph's and Alan's. Ethan's mind was his greatest weapon; he could read, and write, and was brilliant for crafting plans that kept them one step ahead of danger.
"Are you sure this is the right day?" Ralph whispered, his voice barely audible over the murmur of the crowd. "Ethan, you said today would be busy, but… look at all the guards."
Ethan squinted through the lenses of his broken glasses. "It's because of the war," he murmured. "With Arabie's forces pushing north and Fiter's fleet cutting off the southern ports, the city's on edge. King Magnus has doubled patrols to prevent unrest. But the market's still open, and that means the merchants are still selling. It's our best chance."
Magnesia, once a kingdom of unmatched wealth and beauty, was now a land ravaged by war. To the south lay Arabie, the desert kingdom. Its armies, fierce and relentless, had clashed with Magnesia's for years, their battles staining the sands red. To the north, the Fisherman's Kingdom of Fiter had taken advantage of the chaos, sending their swift ships to raid the coasts and harass Magnesia's trade routes. Caught between these two enemies, Magnesia had become a kingdom under siege, its resources strained, its people growing more desperate with each passing day.
The war had even reached the ears of street urchins like Ralph, Alan, and Ethan. King Magnus I, the warrior king, was often spoken of in hushed tones. He was said to be a just and benevolent ruler, a man of honor who fought on the front lines with his soldiers. His courage and skill in battle were the stuff of legend, but so too was his kindness. Stories circulated among the common folk of how Magnus had once shared his own bread with a starving family and paid a visit to a healer tending to wounded children. The boys clung to those stories like lifelines, dreaming of a day when they might meet the king, when they might be lifted from the streets and given a place in the realm he fought so hard to protect.
"We have to do it today," Alan muttered, breaking Ralph out of his reverie. "If we don't, we won't last another week. I—I can't keep up like this." He gestured to his crutch, his face tight with pain. His leg had been hurting more than usual, the stump red and swollen. Without proper treatment, it would only get worse.
Ralph swallowed hard. He hated seeing his friend like this—hated the thought of Alan suffering because they didn't have enough. "Then let's do it," he whispered fiercely. "We'll get in, grab what we need, and get out. Quick and clean."
"Just like always," Ethan added softly. He glanced around, then pointed toward a small stall piled high with fresh pastries and cured meats. "There. The vendor's distracted, and the guards are focusing on the big stalls. It's perfect."
Ralph took a deep breath and nodded. The merchant—a heavyset man with a bushy mustache—was busy arguing with a customer. His attention was entirely elsewhere. This was their chance.
"Ready?" Ralph asked, his gaze flitting between his friends. Alan gave a grim nod, and Ethan's face set in determination. Ralph took a deep breath, his heart thudding in his chest, and then he was off, slipping through the crowd like a shadow.
He moved quickly, his small frame weaving between the bustling shoppers, his eyes fixed on the stall. Just a few more steps… His fingers brushed the edge of the table, closed around a loaf of bread. He tucked it under his shirt and reached for a second.
"Hey, you!" a voice bellowed.
Ralph's heart froze. He spun around to see a guard bearing down on him—a giant of a man with a thick, bushy beard and the crimson and gold armor of Magnesia's city watch. Panic surged through Ralph. He turned to run, but the guard's hand shot out, closing around his arm like a vise.
"Got you, you little rat!" the guard snarled, yanking Ralph off his feet.
"Let go of me!" Ralph cried, struggling desperately. The bread tumbled from his shirt, rolling across the ground. People in the square turned to look, their expressions a mixture of shock and disgust. The merchant, his face flushed with anger, pointed an accusing finger.
"Thief!" the man shouted. "That boy's been stealing from me! Guards, seize him!"
The crowd murmured, a ripple of excitement spreading through the square. Ralph's heart pounded in his chest. He twisted and kicked, but the guard's grip was like iron, unyielding.
"Stop squirming, boy," the guard growled. "You're coming with me. We'll see how you like the dungeons."
"No! Please, I—" Ralph choked on his words, panic and fear choking him. He looked around frantically, searching for Alan and Ethan. Where were they? Had they left him? No, they wouldn't abandon him—they'd promised.
And then he heard it. A familiar voice, rough and defiant.
"Get your hands off him!"
Ralph twisted around just in time to see Alan hobbling forward, his crutch raised like a club. The guard's eyes widened in surprise, and before he could react, Alan swung the crutch with all his might, catching the man on the knee. The guard grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Ralph to wrench free.
"Run, Ralph!" Alan shouted, positioning himself between Ralph and the guard. "Go!"
Ralph hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze locked on Alan's face. He couldn't leave him—not like this. But then he saw Ethan at the edge of the crowd, his face pale with fear, his hands clenched into fists.
"Go!" Ethan mouthed, his eyes pleading.
Ralph turned and ran. He darted through the crowd, his heart racing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Shouts erupted behind him—the guard, the merchant, others—but he didn't look back. He pushed past startled shoppers, weaving between stalls, his feet pounding against the cobblestones. He had to get away. He had to—
Pain exploded in his legs as something heavy struck him from behind. He cried out, stumbling forward and hitting the ground hard. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment, he lay there, gasping, his vision blurring.
"Thought you could get away, did you?" The guard's voice was a low growl, filled with anger. Ralph looked up, dazed, to see the man standing over him, his face twisted in a snarl. In his hand, he held a heavy wooden baton.
"No," Ralph whimpered, struggling to push himself up. But the guard's boot came down on his back, pinning him to the ground.
"Stay down, you little thief," the man spat, his weight crushing the air from Ralph's lungs. He grabbed Ralph's arms, yanking them behind his back and binding his wrists with rough rope. "You're going to pay for this."
Ralph squirmed helplessly, tears stinging his eyes. "Please," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I—I just wanted—"
"Shut it!" the guard barked, pulling him roughly to his feet. Ralph's heart sank as he felt the ropes bite into his skin. He could see the crowd watching, their faces a blur of curiosity and disdain. The merchant glared at him, satisfaction evident in his eyes.
"Take him away," the guard ordered, his grip tightening as he shoved Ralph toward the entrance of the marketplace. "Let's see how long he lasts in the dungeon."