1217-09-09
The morning sun quickly dimmed over the sandy dunes of Sha'tar, and soon, the stars shone brightly above.
I was awakened by Neith's cries—whether from hunger or pain, it was always the same, stagnant and unchanging. I looked out the sandstone-framed window toward the sea. The cold air swept gently through the opening, carrying with it the faint scent of salt. In the distance, the light of Horace still glimmered, illuminating Shatar like a second moon.
I descended the stairs to find my mother grilling meat and cooking bread on the stove. I offered to help, but she waved me off with a soft smile. I lingered, watching as she worked, adding spices and whatever leftovers she could find to the pot. The rich, savory smell of cooking meat filled the room, mingling with the faint sweetness of the bread.
Neith was cradled in her arms as she cooked, rocked back and forth with a practiced rhythm. My mother paused long enough to let her taste a spoonful of broth, which Neith eagerly accepted, her tiny face lighting up in delight. The scales now covered almost her entire body, and I...
"Mom," I said, trying to start a conversation.
"What is it, honey?" she replied, her attention still on the food she was cooking.
"I have to go back to work."
She froze mid-stir, dropping the cooking spoon. Turning toward me, her expression grew heavy. "Why so soon?" she asked softly.
"I didn't get enough for everything we need," I admitted.
"How long will you be gone?" She hugged me tightly, setting Neith on the countertop, who cooed softly in her sleep.
"Only a week or two," I replied, hugging her back.
"Stay safe," she said with a faint smile, wiping her eyes quickly before turning back to her cooking. "Protecting the queen is important."
"Yeah..." I mumbled.
"Well, we'll use the money we saved for medicine to buy more food when you return."
"Sounds like a plan." I smiled faintly, though inside, I felt far from reassured.
Shatar wasn't far from Grimsund, only about a seven- or eight-day walk if you knew the way. By dragon, that time was cut to a few hours—or even less, depending on the dragon's speed. Dragons were useful but terrifying. Each time I flew out to steal from the capital, from the queen herself, I felt my stomach twist in fear.
Would I make it back this time?
If I didn't, my family would suffer. Neith would die.
I wanted to stop. I wanted to find another way. But this was the only thing I knew how to do—truly knew how to do. I was good at it. In and out of the Depository in under an hour. And with tomorrow being Sunday, most of the guards would be at home celebrating Horace with their families. This was my best chance to gather enough resources to start over, maybe even try something new. I'd heard merchants made good money. Maybe I could be one.
But Sunday also meant the royal guards would be present, the ones said to be blessed by Horace himself. They moved with inhuman speed and strength, and the thought of facing them chilled me.
For now, I pushed the thought aside and focused on the moment. Dinner with my mom and Neith was peaceful. The spices, the aroma, the warmth of the meal—all of it felt precious. I savored every bite. Neith had calmed down but couldn't feed herself anymore. Her scales now covered most of her arms and body, leaving only her face untouched.
Blight.
A curse.
It robbed children of their future, claiming most of them before the age of three. Neith's third birthday was fast approaching, and the thought of losing her weighed on me like a stone. Medicine helped, but only for the young. Adults corrupted by Blight rarely lived long, and the treatments were far less effective.
I left the house at dawn, my mother waving me off with a sad smile. My father wasn't home—he was working at the docks. Neith slept in her arms, and that brought me a small measure of comfort. Even through the pain, she could still find rest.
At the gates of Grimsund, the familiar figure of a sand dragon awaited me. This time, it was ridden by a different handler: a younger man with light brown skin and sharp green eyes. He wore thin leather armor, with a small dagger strapped to his belt. He looked me over, his hand resting on the dragon's reins, before climbing back into the saddle.
"Where do you need to go?" the rider asked, glancing at a small map in his hand.
"To Shar," I replied.
"That'll be 2,000 var," he said without looking up.
I rummaged through my bag, searching for the card the previous rider had given me. When I found it, I handed it over. The small black card gleamed faintly in the light, with elegant lettering at the bottom bearing the name Oba Suten.
"Take a look at this," I said, offering it to him.
His brow furrowed as he inspected it, muttering under his breath, "Oba never gives these out..."
After a pause, he sighed and handed it back. "Fine. 900 var."
A small smile crept across my face. "Thank you so much," I said, grateful for the discount.
The ride to Shar was short and smooth, the dragon gliding effortlessly across the dunes. Now that I was a premium member, the trips would be even faster and cheaper. I told myself this would be the last time. After this, I'd join my father at the docks. I just needed enough for a few more months of medicine to stabilize our money supply.
I'll just tell my mom I decided to retire, I thought, clinging to the hope that this would truly be the end.
When we finally arrived at the massive sandstone gates of Shar, I handed over the var to the rider. The trip had been faster than usual—likely thanks to a younger, faster dragon.
The Depository stood tall and foreboding, a masterpiece of sandstone and iron designed to keep people like me out. The structure was weathered but well-maintained, its walls glowing faintly under the pale light of Horace. I kept my distance, crouched in the shadows of a nearby alley, scanning for anything the guards might have missed.
I had scoped this place out before, and I knew its weak points—or at least, I thought I did. My heart sank as I approached one of the cracks near the base of the wall, only to find it patched with fresh mortar. Running my fingers over the repair, I cursed silently. They were getting smarter.
Stepping back, I let my eyes wander up the building, following its contours to the roof. That's when I noticed it—a small, almost imperceptible hole near the top where two slabs of sandstone met. It was narrow, but just wide enough to slip through if I was careful.
I retreated into the shadows and waited. Time passed slowly as I observed the guard rotations. They were thorough, but predictable. Every ten minutes, a gap of about twenty seconds left the northern side unguarded. That would be my window.
Once the coast was clear, I moved quickly, staying low as I approached the Depository. The sandstone walls radiated the day's heat, but my focus was on that hole. I'd brought a thin leather rope with me, one I'd used in countless climbs before. Tossing it up, I snagged a ledge and began to pull myself up.
The climb wasn't easy. The sandstone was smooth in places, with only faint grooves to grip. By the time I reached the hole, my arms burned, but I pushed through. Up close, the opening was smaller than it had looked from the ground, but still manageable.
I pulled the leather rope free and began working to conceal the entrance. First, I laid the rope flat across the hole, using it as a base. Then, I carefully positioned small rocks and debris I had collected from the climb, wedging them into place over the leather to create the illusion of a solid wall. The goal wasn't perfection, just enough to fool a passing glance.
Satisfied with my work, I leaned back and took one last look around. The roof was clear, but I couldn't linger. Pulling my hood tighter, I climbed down the wall, retracing my route.
Once I was back on solid ground, I melted into the shadows, my heart pounding. The hole was my way in—and now it was hidden well enough that no one would notice before I returned.
Tomorrow, when the guards were distracted and the Depository was at its most vulnerable, I'd make my move.