Alright, dear reader. Enough with prologues and philosophy. You know the context. You know how we got here. Now, let's dive into the real story.
Like all great tragedies and triumphs, this one starts in an unexpected place. Not in the marble halls of Lyris. Not in the deep mines of Kalthar.
But in the sewers.
Yes. You heard me.
Beneath the city, in its rotting guts. Among the rats, the filth, and the stench of death. That's where destiny took its first step.
Not with the powerful. Not with the wise. Not with the noble.
With me.
Call me what you want. Back then, they called me "Rin." The name changed depending on who I had just robbed. A street thief. A nobody. No home, no family, no future. Just my hands, my speed, and a stomach that never stayed full for long.
The sewers of Lyris? They were my kingdom. A damp, stinking, forgotten kingdom. The rich never looked down. The city lived above. I lived below.
Ever thought about how someone survives in the sewers? No? Figures. People don't like thinking about what's beneath them. But for people like me, it wasn't just a place. It was home.
Not a pleasant home, mind you. Cold that seeps into your bones. A stench that clings to your skin. Darkness that never fully fades. But at least no one came looking for you. And that was enough.
I had a spot. An old collection chamber, long abandoned. Found some broken crates, built a bed. Stole some rags from a market stall. It wasn't much, but it was mine.
Every morning, before the city fully woke, I emerged. Market stalls were my hunting ground. A little stumble, a little misdirection—one hand makes a mess, the other takes the prize. If the merchant was quick, I ran. If not, I walked away like I belonged there.
Bread was best. Easy to take, easy to eat. Sometimes, bruised fruit. A scrap of meat if I was lucky. Once, I got a leftover cake from a noble's feast. Best day of my life.
I wasn't alone down there. The sewers had their own people. Sara, who claimed she was once nobility (she wasn't). Milo, a toothless old man who swore he had fought in the war against demons (he hadn't). We shared what little we had. Lied to each other to pass the time. A family, of sorts. A family of thieves and liars.
Not all of them were friendly. Desperate people are dangerous. Sometimes, someone disappeared. We didn't ask questions.
But for all the filth, the hunger, the danger—I was free.
That morning, I woke up in a good mood. No reason. Maybe the air smelled less like rot. Maybe the rats were quiet. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because it was Sara's birthday.
No cakes. No gifts. But Sara wanted a feast. A real meal. Everything we found would go into the pot. And she had something special saved for the occasion.
Crazy idea. But maybe that's why we loved it.
"I'm going to the port," I told her.
Sara looked up from her ragged blanket. "The port? Rin, don't be stupid. I don't want you getting killed for my birthday."
I laughed. "Killed? You worry too much. Port workers are big, slow. I'm small, fast. Relax."
I left before she could argue. The truth? I was scared. The market was risky. The port? Worse. Guards. Workers built like oxen. But I wanted to bring back something special.
The sewers led me close to the city's heart. From there, alleys twisted down to the docks. The smell of salt and fish filled the air. My gut told me to turn back.
I didn't.
Not today.
The port was chaos. Voices shouting. Crates thudding. Orders barked by men who had spent their lives at sea. I crouched behind a stack of barrels, watching.
Three workers unloading a ship. Two bulky men, one sharp-eyed woman. Fresh fish, still wet from the ocean. Open crates stacked near the dock's edge.
I waited. The woman barked an order. The three moved toward the hold.
Now.
I slipped forward. Slow. Careful. One step at a time. The boards creaked under my weight. My heart pounded in my ears. I reached the crates. Hid behind one. Peered over.
Silver fish, fat and glistening. One. Two. Three. Enough. No need to be greedy.
Then—
"Hey!"
Blood turned to ice.
I ran.
Shouts behind me. Heavy footsteps. The dock trembled under a furious charge. "Thief! Stop him!"
I wove between workers. Ducking, slipping. A net-seller cursed as I knocked into him. A cart toppled. "Damn brat!"
The alley was close. Almost there.
A crash. A curse. The worker had tripped over the crates I'd kicked behind me.
Good. Not good enough.
I burst into a wider street. Too many people. Too many eyes. I had to disappear.
I turned a corner—
And slammed into something solid.
Or someone.
I hit the ground. Hard. The fish spilled from my bag, rolling onto the cobblestones. My vision blurred.
Guards. Three of them. Armor gleaming. Eyes sharp.
And behind them—
A figure in black. Hooded. Silent.
"What do we have here?" One of the guards bent down, picking up a fish.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
A familiar voice cut through the air.
"It's him! That little bastard stole my fish!"
The port worker. Face red, finger shaking as he pointed at me. "I caught him red-handed! He has to pay!"
The guards' gazes pinned me in place. Judgment. I knew what they saw—a thin, dirty thief. Guilty. No trial needed.
Then—the hooded figure stepped forward.
A woman.
Her voice was calm. Cold. Absolute.
"How much are the fish worth?"
The port worker blinked. "What? It's not about the money—"
"How much?"
A pause. Then, a muttered price.
She pulled a pouch from her belt. Tossed it to the guard. "Pay him."
The guard obeyed without question. Coins clinked into the worker's hands. He stared. "But… he…"
"You are no longer robbed," the woman said. "Now go."
He hesitated. Then, grudgingly, he left.
The guards stayed. Watching me. Silent.
The woman turned away, her cloak shifting in the breeze. One of the guards gave me a look. A warning. Lucky today. Don't try again.
I sat there. Fish scattered around me. Staring after them.
Who was she?
And why had she saved me?