In the dead of night, Alia tossed and turned in bed, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her once serene expression twisted into one of anguish, her breathing rapid. In her dreams, she was back in that dim and filthy alley, the cracked cobblestones reeking of decay, with distant, low murmurs adding to the oppressive atmosphere.
Her small hand gripped a pouch of coins tightly. It was the treasure she had painstakingly stolen just days before—a small fortune that she thought could finally free her from the torment of poverty and hunger. But somehow, word had gotten out. Shadows emerged at the end of the alley, sinister and menacing.
"Hey, little girl, hand it over!" The lead thug snarled, his face broad and greasy, waving a rusty dagger in his hand. A cruel grin spread across his lips.
Alia bit her lip and backed away quickly, her eyes darting around for an escape route. She reached for a small pouch at her waist, quickly scattering its powdery contents into the air as the thugs advanced. The dust billowed around them, causing coughing fits and chaos. Taking advantage of the distraction, Alia bolted toward the opposite end of the alley.
"Don't let her get away!" furious shouts echoed behind her.
Her heart pounded like a drum as she ran. Just when she thought she had evaded her pursuers, she turned into another alley only to find more thugs lying in wait. They blocked her path, trapping her against the wall. Their circle closed in.
"You're a slippery one, aren't you?" A tall, lanky thug sneered, licking his lips as his eyes glinted with malice. "Hand over the money, or… well, you know. Not bad for a street rat—clean you up, and you might be quite the catch. Tell you what, forget the money. You can 'amuse' me instead."
His companions laughed lecherously, closing in step by step. Alia's fingers trembled slightly, but she forced herself to stay calm. Her hand inched toward a small knife hidden in her belt, prepared to fight to the bitter end.
At that moment, heavy footsteps echoed from the depths of the alley, followed by a cold, commanding voice.
"You're either bold or blind to cause trouble under my nose."
A tall man emerged from the shadows, a short sword glinting coldly in his hand. His scarred face looked both fearsome and stern. Before the thugs could react, his blade sliced through the air with terrifying precision. In mere moments, the men were on the ground, blood pooling and seeping into the cracks between the stones.
Alia froze, her small knife clattering to the ground. The man glanced at her indifferently, wiping the blood off his blade with a casual flick.
"This is the last time I saved you," he said, his tone as cold as steel. "If you don't want this to happen again, learn to protect yourself."
His words, sharp and unyielding, struck a chord deep within her. Gratitude warred with self-loathing in her heart.
"Teach me," she said through gritted teeth, her voice steady despite the tremor in her body.
The man raised an eyebrow, as though he had expected her plea. Turning, he walked a few steps before speaking over his shoulder.
"Follow me. Remember my name—Eryx."
From that day forward, Alia became Eryx's apprentice. He trained her in everything from dagger combat to the art of concealment. Under his guidance, she grew quickly, her skills honed by relentless practice.
One day, after completing an especially dangerous training mission, Alia returned to Eryx's home only to find something unsettling—his face had changed. The scars that once marked his features were fading, revealing a sharp, familiar visage beneath.
It was him. The General of the Second Army Group she had seen earlier that day.
"You… who are you?" Alia stammered, her voice trembling with disbelief.
Eryx smirked, stepping closer. With a flick of his hand, several armored soldiers emerged from the shadows, surrounding her.
"This woman is a dangerous thief," Eryx said coldly, his tone devoid of warmth. "Bind her. Execute her immediately."
"You lied to me!" Alia shouted in fury, struggling against the soldiers as they forced her to the ground.
The glint of a blade descending was the last thing she saw before jolting awake.
Alia sat upright, gasping for air. Her chest heaved as sweat dripped down her face. She scanned her surroundings, the familiar walls of her bedroom slowly bringing her back to reality. Only the occasional rustle of wind outside reminded her that it had all been a nightmare.
She hugged her knees to her chest, her hands clutching at her heart as if trying to calm its frantic rhythm.
But the lingering shadows of the dream wouldn't leave her. Frustrated, she got out of bed, threw on a robe, and turned on the bedside lamp. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she sipped its bitter warmth, feeling a semblance of calm return.
"Perhaps searching for clues in the study would help distract me." She thought.
Carrying her cup, Alia moved quietly, opening her bedroom door with care. The hallway was silent except for the faint rustle of curtains stirred by the wind. Step by step, she made her way to the study.
The heavy wooden door creaked slightly as she pushed it open. The faint glow of a desk lamp barely illuminated the room. The shelves and cabinets cast long shadows, like silent beasts lurking in the corners. She left the door ajar to avoid making any noise.
Just as she stepped inside and reached for the switch to brighten the room, her ears caught a subtle sound outside.
Footsteps.