《A Basic Story》


 Kingslayer

    Some laws of the world seem so deeply rooted in reality itself that we forget what change truly means. This forgetfulness leads some to justify the cruelty of their circumstances with the excuse of normalcy, maybe even bad luck while they wait for a miracle. But the Kingslayer was not one of those people.


    Many of the lords and ladies present in the throne room today had initially doubted he was even human. To some extent, this absurd idea had merit. None who bore a Sealcycle of the Thirteen were entirely human anymore. Yet the motivations behind his unspeakable deeds stemmed undeniably from human origins.


    Still, even now, as he stood in chains on the accused''s platform, his once-regal robes of the royal guard now soiled with the filth and grime of the dungeon, there were those who refused to see him as a man. The sight of his long, unkempt black hair and his weary gray eyes made him look more like a beaten beast than the young man he truly was.


    And so, no one could claim normalcy today. Nothing was as it once had been.


    On the throne where the king should have sat, one of his three children now reigned. But it was not the rightful heir, nor even the eldest of his children. Instead, it was the usurper, now called queen of the realm, the youngest daughter.


    The peace of the realm was shattered, with four of the Thirteen openly rebelling against the crown. Two of the Thirteen were dead, their lives claimed in a battle whose aftermath still marked the royal capital with plumes of smoke rising from the rubble.


    Never before had there been a trial for one of the Thirteen, especially not a for a person who, depending on whom one asked, was either the Savior or the Kingslayer.


    The throne room had been noisy at times. People whispered among themselves. Those who wished to remain unheard raised their sleeves or fans to their mouths, while others, wanting the Kingslayer to hear their insults and accusations, made no effort to be discreet.


    At last, when the queen rose, an oppressive silence blanketed the hall. Her blue eyes swept over the assembly, and none dared meet her gaze until it settled on the accused. Fatigue tugged at his eyelids, yet his stare remained as intense as ever.


    Without either of them yielding in their silent duel, the queen raised her hand and spoke: "Under the watch of the gods, this trial shall now commence. Judgment will be rendered under the laws of the gods. If anyone does not understand these laws, let them speak now. After this, there will be no interruptions until the accused receives his rightful sentence."


    This invitation was purely ceremonial ¨C no one would dare raise their voice against the queen.


    "I have a question," said the Kingslayer, unsurprisingly. His voice was far too calm for someone who undoubtedly expected death. It was also unexpectedly gentle, contrasting sharply with his disheveled appearance.


    The queen raised an amused eyebrow. The Sword, the man standing beside her, twitched at the corner of his mouth. The Kingslayer continued: "The laws of the gods decree that only the Scales may judge one of the Thirteen. Neither you nor anyone else in this miserably cold hall qualifies."


    "You stand before the queen, murderer!" the Sword snapped. "You will address her with the proper title!"


    "Which one?" the Kingslayer asked mockingly. "Spider? Usurper? Or... perhaps darling?"


    "That''s enough," the queen interrupted, forcing the Sword to restrain himself visibly. "Expect no manners from this man. No one ever has."


    The Kingslayer inclined his head, a mix of gratitude and sarcasm.


    The murmurs rose again in the throne room. The queen allowed her subjects a moment to voice their thoughts before quelling any doubts about the legitimacy of the trial. She turned to her left, where the Word stood, and asked: "Lady Ilya, what happens under the laws if the current Scales is unavailable?"


    "Then the Crown judges, Your Grace," the Word replied mechanically, like a well-worn cog.


    The queen nodded, satisfied, and addressed the accused again. "The Crown, then. Tell me, Kingslayer, who is the Crown?"


    The Kingslayer''s eyes narrowed. He shot the queen a glare so dark that some feared the chains on his wrists and ankles would not hold him.


    After a tense pause, he seemed to calm himself, as if shedding an invisible mantle of tension.


    "Unfortunately, that would be you," he finally said.


    Why all this theater, then...


    Even as the Kingslayer asked himself this question, he knew the answer. In the coming days, the realm would either hear of a traitor''s execution or the birth of a martyr ¨C and the queen could not afford the latter.


    This trial was about persuasion. Would the lords and ladies, the subjects, and the remaining Thirteen endorse his death? Or would they join the rebellion?


    The words spoken today could decide the fate of all. Yet neither the queen nor the Kingslayer betrayed the gravity of the moment. They even seemed to enjoy it.


    The Crown smirked, leaning back into the throne and crossing her legs.


    "Very well. Then may the gods hear us. If you wish to confess before the entire world learns of your deeds, do so now."


    The Kingslayer also smirked, though his expression spoke more of disbelief and absurdity. It even seemed as if he rolled his eyes, earning yet another glare from the Sword.


    I have nothing to confess, nor is this rabble the entire world. At least, not my world.


    The queen continued undeterred. "The kingdom accuses you of murdering my father, the former Crown and King of the realm. Not only did you kill him, but you did so as a member of the King''s Guard and as his future son-in-law. You are a traitor, a murderer, and a disgrace to the Thirteen."If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The Kingslayer laughed suddenly, though the sound quickly turned into a cough, a visible reminder of his months in captivity. Still, he managed to sound amused.


    "Is being a disgrace also one of the charges?"


    "Yes," the queen replied with a grin. "Lord Belleret insisted on it."


    The Kingslayer tilted his head, looking at the Sword. The man returned his gaze with stubborn hatred.


    "Did he, now?"


    His question went unanswered.


    "Does the accused have anything of value to say?"


    "Not much, Your Majesty," the Kingslayer began, "only that I am innocent."


    The throne room erupted again, voices shouting over one another.


    "Liar!"


    "He couldn''t have done it!"


    "Hang him!"


    "Silence!" the queen commanded, her voice steely. Not a single sound followed ¨C not even a breath or the rustling of fabric. The Kingslayer raised his eyebrows.


    That was the Seal of Command, he thought curiously. It seemed the new Crown was breaking her Sealcycle faster than he''d expected.


    "You claim your innocence, yet we have witnesses who state otherwise."


    "May I ask who these witnesses are?"


    "You may not."


    The smirk faded from the Kingslayer''s face. After another pause, he spoke again, but not to the queen. Instead, he addressed the gathered nobles in the throne room.


    "I did not kill the king. Believe me, I would have been the last person to do so. He saved my life ¨C and lost his own in the process."


    "You vile liar," spat the Sword. "The king would never have wasted the Seal on someone like you!"


    "Am I supposed to have forced him?" the Kingslayer retorted indignantly. "The only thing forced here is your sword, still lodged up in your fucking ass!"


    A few lords chuckled. The tale was all too familiar to many in the room. The Sword trembled with rage. "I should cut out your tongue for that!"


    "And how, pray tell, would I confess without it?"


    "You¨C"


    "Lord Belleret," the queen interrupted sharply, "that is enough. We are not finished with the charges."


    The Sword exhaled sharply, his head whipping toward the queen. His fury lingered for a moment before he forced it down with great effort ¨C though not entirely successfully.


    The Kingslayer smirked. "Good boy. Here''s your treat."


    "And you, accused," the queen said in the same measured tone, "have already answered my question. You will now remain silent. During our investigation into the king''s murder, further charges came to light. Lady Ilya, if you would be so kind?"


    The Word hesitated briefly, then unfurled a scroll and began to read. Her voice was steady at first, but grew quieter as she went on.


    "The additional charges include robbery, identity theft, concealing a Sealcycle, unauthorized use of a Seal, abduction, royal abduction, assault, royal assault, defamation, arson, fraud, extortion, sexual coercion, denial of the gods, denial of the Thirteen, insubordination, and the murder of the Flame and Love..."


    At the mention of Love, a shadow of grief crossed her face. That same shadow touched the expressions of everyone in the hall, even the Sword seemed touched for a moment. Only the queen and the Kingslayer looked unaffected.


    At least outwardly. It took every ounce of the Kingslayer''s self-control not to turn the entire hall to ash. But he remained silent, letting the queen speak first. "Do you confess to these crimes?"


    For a moment, the Kingslayer said nothing. His head hung low, his face obscured by his long hair.


    "Have you nothing to say?"


    Slowly, he raised his head. A smile played on his lips, but it did not reach his eyes.


    "I must have set a new record, huh? Well, let''s see... I did steal a lot, I suppose, but only from those who stole from me first. The identity theft? That''s... complicated. I''d call it less theft and more a colossal misunderstanding. And half of those charges? Synonyms, just to make it all sound worse than it really is. But coercion? Seriously? Look, I know I''m no saint ¨C I''ve been called worse ¨C but that''s even beneath me."


    "Perhaps," the queen replied with a touch of amusement. "And to be honest, this entire trial would never have taken place for such... trifles."


    Her gaze lifted, fixing on a particular man in the crowd. "Isn''t that right?"


    Then she turned her eyes to a woman. "After all, we''d all be in chains otherwise."


    Several heads turned away from the queen''s iron stare. The Kingslayer''s was not one of them. He continued to meet her gaze as she pressed on.


    "But killing the king and two of the Thirteen ¨C now, that is too far, even for you." Her tone grew grave. "The Flame and Love were of great importance to the kingdom. And good people, besides."


    The Kingslayer''s eyes widened. "The Flame was a good person? Have you forgotten¨C ah, never mind. You''re pulling my leg, aren''t you? Right, you always wanted it the hard way..."


    "What I want, is justice. And the truth. The people want the truth."


    "Oh, did the people say that? How many did you ask? Two?"


    When the queen didn''t answer his provocation he sighed.


    "The truth, is it?" he said.


    The queen nodded. "The whole truth."


    The Kingslayer fell silent, tension filling the room like a stifling summer night.


    I''m so tired of this charade...


    He gave her them a broken smile.


    "Well, the whole truth is that I never did anything I couldn''t stand by. The truth is, I never touched the King or Love ¨C atleast, not in the way you think. The truth is, I was just a boy who wanted nothing more than to see the wonders of the world."


    The hall listened intently. When he paused, the queen glanced at the Word. Lady Ilya shook her head, ashamed. The queen rubbed her temple and leaned back in her throne.


    "You''re rambling."


    "It''s a long story," the Kingslayer replied. "The beginning is as important as the end."


    The Sword interjected suddenly. "Your Majesty, he''s stalling for time. One of the Four Traitors could be on their way here. Surely they''re in league with him!"


    The queen considered her protector''s words.


    "Keep it brief," she commanded.


    "Brief?" the Kingslayer asked incredulously. "And how, exactly, do you propose I manage that?"


    "Why not start with the relevant part? Your meetings with the Thirteen, your time in the King''s Guard... do you need a demonstration, or do you simply not understand the word?"


    A faint chuckle rippled through the room. The Kingslayer blinked.


    "Fine. Brief, then. My first encounter with one of the Thirteen was at seven years old. He poisoned my heart on a whim. At nine, I ran away from home. Four years later, I met the Flame for the first time, and shortly after, I became one of the Thirteen myself. At seventeen, I joined the royal academy ¨C where, by the way, the identity misunderstanding occurred ¨C and spent five years there. At twenty-two, I killed the Flame. At twenty-four, I was called both the Savior and the Kingslayer. Anyway, my heart''s fine now, thanks for asking."


    He raised his voice.


    "Short enough? Good. Now decide: execute me here and now and watch half the kingdom rise against you, or give me the time I deserve and hear my story. Because I''m done dancing for you."


    Suddenly, the Kingslayer seemed entirely different. The lords recoiled, and the Sword''s hand instinctively went to his hilt. The Word held her breath, and the queen leaned forward, one hand gripping the rest of the throne.


    This was the man who had changed the kingdom forever.


    Magic of the Thirteen.


    As the icy silence lingered, the queen finally spoke. "Very well. I will listen. And when you are finished, I will render my just verdict."


    Some doubted the Kingslayer would take the offer seriously. But he closed his eyes, as though searching the depths of his soul.


    [Sixth Seal: The Seal of a Final Miracle]


    He took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the chains and the aching desire for wine and a bath.


    [We write the laws that bind us, build the cages that hold us, and define the miracles we seek. But a miracle loses its wonder the moment magic becomes tangible. You seized it with an iron grip. And so, to witness one last real miracle, only one thing remains.]


    [Let go of the magic.]


    When he opened his eyes, he was ready.


    "My first friend once told me the best stories are always lies. A pity for you, because this story is no lie. It''s the story of Corin, son of a drunken bastard. For the kingdom, it might have been the day of the cataclysm. But for me, it was just another day in the mud..."

 Time of Dreams

    To understand how I ran away from home at the time of the Cataclysm and ultimately inherited Magic, you must also understand why I did it.


    I don''t remember much about the early years of my childhood. When I once discussed these memory gaps with Professor Naulis, he said children sometimes forget traumatic times as a defense mechanism. Honestly, I''m not sure I would call that period traumatic; it was more like a restless sleep. I''d wake up and remember fragments of a bad dream, wander aimlessly, fall back into a brief slumber, and forget.


    Still, there are certain days I remember clearly. On one such day, my father was so drunk that I hid, as always, in the fireplace. An unusual hiding spot, perhaps, but an effective one. When drunk, my father went to only two places: the pantry, where he devoured the food meant for the coming days, or the bedroom he shared with my mother. There, I would hear her screams while trying to inhale as little soot as possible.


    I was good at avoiding him by then. My father was drunk often, and I quickly learned how to stay out of his way. On the occasions I failed, the bruises and broken bones served as harsh but effective teachers. I had never feared fire before ¨C or so I thought, until the day my mother decided to fight back for what seemed like the first time in her life.


    She came tumbling down the stairs, sobbing and wailing, followed by my father''s thunderous footsteps. The old wooden steps always seemed louder under his weight. They argued for a while before I heard the shattering of glass and a dull thud as something hit the floor.


    Apparently, my father had thrown a bottle at her. He missed, but the flying shards had cut her face. She no longer had the strength to resist him after that. He ordered her to light a fire. Normally, my father avoided fire when drunk, and my mother would barricade herself in their bedroom and endure whatever came. But not that day.


    Without a word of protest, she filled the fireplace with wood and dry leaves. She either couldn''t or wouldn''t see me, curled up higher in the chimney flue, wedged between the stones leading to the vent. I didn''t dare make a sound; my body was trained to silence in moments like these.


    I only started screaming when the flames touched me. But I didn''t scream for long; the smoke stole my breath, and soon I couldn''t hold on anymore. I fell straight into the burning fire.


    I don''t remember the pain. I only remember the look on my father''s face as he pulled me out and said, "Ah. It''s just you."


    That was just one of countless days like it. But it wasn''t all cruelty and sorrow. Whenever I wasn''t helping my father on the farm, I spent my time staring at the sky. I was a dreamy child. I especially loved the night. I counted the stars and tried to find those so-called constellations I''d heard about.


    I even gave them my own names. Capricorn became ''The Stone,'' Scorpio ''The Hook,'' and I''m pretty sure I invented hundreds of constellations depending on my mood.


    The western sky often revealed other wonders. Meteor showers were common, and I turned star counting into a game. If I saw three shooting stars, I would make a wish in three words. Usually, they were childish wishes, like, ''I wish bread.''


    The day I counted six shooting stars was also the day I first met one of the Thirteen. As I said, I was seven years old then. I hadn''t even made my wish when I heard the clatter of hooves on the gravel path leading to our village. I leaned over the small grassy hill and peered down.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    A rider had arrived late at night. His steed was larger than any I''d ever seen, its hide gray and mottled. The rider himself was cloaked, his hood drawn so I couldn''t see his face. But in the moonlight, he looked like something out of a story. A horror story, as I would soon discover.


    Without thinking much of it, I watched the rider approach our farm. My childish mind categorized the unknown into something familiar. He was just another man visiting my mother late at night, as often happened when my father was out drinking with his friends at the tavern, only to return the next morning with a suspicious, dreamy smile.


    Then something shifted. My father wasn''t away tonight, and the men who visited my mother were always neighbors or travelers passing through the village. Never a rider on a nightmare steed, never so openly visible.


    I followed him quietly, my heart racing, unable to look away. As I crept closer, I saw the rider speaking to my father. Their words were muffled, but suddenly I heard my mother crying. She was dragged out of the house, her face red, her hair disheveled. My breath caught. The rider spoke calmly as my father angrily gestured at her.


    I stumbled over a loose stone and fell. Both my father and the rider turned toward me. My father squinted.


    "What are you doing here?" he shouted, striding toward me with fists clenched. But the rider raised a gloved hand.


    "Leave him," he said quietly. "I''ll buy him, too."


    My father froze, surprise etched on his face.


    "How much?" he asked warily.


    The rider drew a coin from his cloak and held it up. "One copper coin," he said.


    My father shook his head. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he squared his shoulders and spoke gruffly. "I need him on the farm. At least a silver one."


    The rider sighed. "I don''t have that much," he said, lifting his head so the moonlight illuminated his face.


    It was the face of an old man, yet strangely beautiful and eerily wrong. "But I''ll give you two if I can try something on him. I''ve never had the pleasure with a child before."


    My father hesitated. Then he nodded slowly.


    "Deal," he said. I wanted to run, but my father grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the massive horse''s hooves. Tears burned my eyes, but I didn''t scream. My whole body trembled with fear.


    The rider dismounted and knelt before me. His eyes were like holes leading into darkness, and I was sure he could see my racing heart. I thought he might devour me with a single look.


    He placed a hand on my chest and murmured words I didn''t understand. An icy pain shot through my body, as if something foreign were invading me. The rider watched me with an inscrutable expression before standing.


    My father shuffled nervously.


    "That''s it?" he asked.


    The rider nodded. "That''s it," he confirmed. "I''ll return in three years to observe the results of my experiment."


    He tossed the coins to my father, slung my unconscious mother onto his horse, and rode off into the night. I remained on the ground, clutching my chest, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My father, meanwhile, counted the coins with a satisfied expression, pleased with the price he had gotten for my mother ¨C and for my future.


    All for the cheap price of two copper coins.


    I didn''t know then who the man was, but something about him felt wrong, like an open wound that would never heal. Years later, as I wandered the kingdom with the Innocent Thieves, I realized he was one of the Thirteen: the Plague.


    That, however, comes later. For now, all you need to know is that I would never have done all that I did if I had simply stayed on the grassy hill that night, counting stars.


    Disappointing, isn''t it? All my battles, all the legends swirling around me, my rise and my fall, all because of an event I couldn''t control and that hardly shaped me at all.


    That my mother was gone from then on didn''t bother me much. She had been more of a fellow victim than a parent. With her absence, my father spent more time with the young barmaid from the tavern and was consequently in a better mood.


    The next two years passed in a dull haze. I avoided the hill as though it were watching me, and the stars seemed suddenly alien. The fireplace, once my safe haven, went unused. The rider faded from my mind like a bad dream ¨C until the world itself brought him back to me.


    Still, my young life settled into a new normal, one I could grow used to. I helped on the farm when I had to, ate when there was something to eat, and ultimately accepted that this was the life I''d been given. I wished for nothing and awaited no miracle.


    It was peaceful. In a very sad and twisted way.


    Then one day, a merchant arrived in our village, bringing with him news of the Cataclysm.

 News of the Cataclysm

    I was on my way to the village square when I noticed a crowd gathering around a horse-drawn cart. My father had handed me a small pouch of copper coins and told me to buy a spoonful of honey from Tarus, the village''s designated merchant. But instead of finding the familiar, lecherous old man atop the wagon, I saw a younger stranger with sharp cheekbones and a crooked nose.


    No matter, I thought to myself. The merchant didn''t matter much ¡ª they were all part of the Trade Guild and received their goods from the same source. Surely, this newcomer would have the same wares as Tarus.


    I pushed my narrow frame through the crowd, finding a spot directly in front of the horses, squeezed between the chubby butcher''s daughter and the reeking woodcutter''s son. Looking up, I noticed the new merchant wasn''t alone. Four boys, each seemingly a few years older than me, except for one that was, sat at the back of his wagon. No one else seemed to find this odd, as all eyes and ears were on the merchant.


    "...but believe me, it''s true! I got the news directly from the First Trader, who heard it from the king himself," the merchant was saying.


    "Impossible!" replied the village elder, who stood conversing with him. "You''re telling me six of the Thirteen are dead?"


    The merchant nodded solemnly, and a collective gasp rippled through the crowd.


    "Who?" asked the woodcutter''s son beside me.


    "The Blood, the Word, the Scales, the Dice, Love, and even the Sword!"


    Disbelief erupted. Villagers exchanged incredulous looks, and someone even threw a tomato at the merchant. Which would''ve been quite a waste I must say, if one of the four boys on the wagon hadn''t caught it and hid it away.


    "Why are you throwing things at me?" the merchant demanded indignantly. "I''m not the one who killed them!"


    "They were killed?" someone asked.


    The merchant hesitated for a moment. "Apparently, they killed each other. Idiots, I say. Blessed with the powers of the gods and cursed with the stupidity of us humans."


    "By the gods!"


    "How did that happen?"


    The merchant shrugged. "Nobody knows. It seems things have unraveled in the capital... The Dice and the Sword never got along, and neither did the Blood and the Scales. But for the Word and Love to be dragged into it? If you ask me, something doesn''t add up. The Crown hasn''t said much more about it, though."


    A hush fell over the crowd. While the adults likely contemplated the implications of such a disaster, my childish mind remained firmly on my mission. I still had to fetch that spoonful of honey ¡ª if I didn''t, I''d surely have a spoon hurled at my face later tonight. If unlucky, a knife.


    "I need honey," I said, breaking the silence.


    The merchant looked around, puzzled.


    "Down here," I informed him, waving a hand. Finally, he spotted me and raised an amused eyebrow.


    "You''re not interested in all this, little one?" he asked.


    I tilted my head. Of course it was interesting. But why should the goings-on in a distant capital concern me? I knew of the Thirteen, but to me, even the distant stars felt more tangible than those legends.


    The merchant still awaited an answer. My brilliant response was to ignore his question.


    "So, do you have honey or not? Tarus always had it."


    He blinked, then burst into hearty laughter, leaning back far enough that I could see straight up his crooked nostrils. Recovering himself, he gestured toward one of the four boys on the back of the wagon.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    "I''m sure the grown-ups here would like to talk a bit longer. But sure, go ahead, ask them. They know their way around my stuff."


    I nodded gratefully. My interruption had also broken the villagers out of their stunned stupor. They began chatting, speculating, and theorizing. Some, like the butcher''s daughter and the woodcutter''s son, even started dreaming.


    "If Love is dead... that means I could be the next one!" the girl fantasized.


    "But the Loves were always famously beautiful."


    "So?"


    "Well, uhm..."


    As the villagers delved into the day''s shocking events, I climbed to the back of the wagon. One of the boys, apparently the oldest and largest, looked at me and asked, "Who are you?"


    "Corin," I replied. "And you?"


    "Sebastian. What do you want, Corin?"


    "Honey. A spoonful. And do you have that green stuff that tastes like pepper?"


    "Coriander?"


    "Exactly! That too."


    That was for me. I always had a love for coriander, one passionate enough to even defy my father a bit.


    Sebastian nodded and called to another boy. "Crosseyes! Check if we''ve got honey and coriander."


    Crosseyes, as I later learned, got his nickname from his perpetually crossed eyes. While he began rummaging through the wagon''s crates, I waited patiently. Sebastian watched me curiously.


    "Do you even have money?" he asked.


    I nodded and showed him the small pouch hanging from my belt. When he still looked skeptical, I shook it, letting the coins jingle. He grinned, satisfied.


    "It''ll take a while! The old man''s got no sense of order again!" Crosseye called.


    Sebastian smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that."


    "It''s fine," I said, shaking my head. I had no desire to hurry back home. In fact, as I chatted with someone other than my father for the first time in ages, I realized how little I wanted to go back.


    "Want to play a round of Draw Thirteen to pass the time?" Sebastian asked suddenly.


    "I''ve never played it," I admitted.


    "What?" Sebastian exclaimed, incredulous. "Never?"


    "Never."


    "As in, not even once?"


    "Not once."


    "That''s... wow."


    Sebastian reached behind him and pulled out a massive deck of cards. "Well then, let me teach you. Every kid has to play Draw Thirteen at least once. How else are you supposed to dream?"


    I shrugged. Dreaming hasn''t gotten me very far in life. "How does it work?"


    Sebastian explained. The deck contained the Thirteen and their 156 Sprouts. The two players took turns drawing cards, aiming to collect as many of the Thirteen as possible. If you collected at least seven Sprouts of a particular Thirteen, you could steal its main card from your opponent. There were a few other minor rules, but that was the basic idea.


    Once I understood the rules, I asked, "What are we playing for?"


    Sebastian smiled. "Just for fun. But be careful with the cards, yeah? They''re worth a lot!"


    And so, we played. I drew my first card, which showed an image of a spear.


    "The Spear," Sebastian said, "a Sprout of the Sword. My turn."


    He took the next card, and I couldn''t help but notice how deftly he handled the deck.


    "Ha!" he exclaimed, holding up his card. "The Dice!"


    I might have been young, but even then, I realized Sebastian was clearly cheating. I couldn''t prove it, and honestly, I didn''t care. I was more interested in figuring out how he pulled it off. So, we kept playing. A few turns later, he drew the Crown, the Flame, and then Time. I still couldn''t figure out his trick, despite keeping my eyes glued to his hands.


    I drew the Wood and traded it, along with Smoke, Heat, Light, Coal, Ash, and Ember, for Sebastian''s Flame card. The game went on until only one card remained. It was my turn, and the score stood at nine to three in Sebastian''s favor ¡ª we really should have stopped long before. I didn''t even wonder why Crosseyes hadn''t found the honey or coriander yet; I was too focused on uncovering Sebastian''s trick.


    Finally, I sighed. Sebastian smirked. "Sad you lost?"


    I shook my head and took the last card. It was, as expected, Magic. But as I stared at the card, a question came to mind.


    "Each of the Thirteen has thirteen Sprouts. Except Magic. Why?"


    Sebastian seemed surprised to hear such a question from someone like me. But he was just a kid himself, only slightly older than I was.


    Looking back, I understand now that we were all just kids not knowing what to except in the world.


    "No idea."


    "Hm." I shrugged and put the cards down.


    When Sebastian grinned at me, I instinctively leaned back a little. "You said we were playing for fun."


    "And I had fun," he replied.


    "We don''t have any!" Crosseye shouted suddenly, as if he''d been waiting for this moment. "No honey and no coriander!"


    Sebastian looked at me. "I''m really sorry," he said. "The old man filled in for Tarus on short notice. Things get missed sometimes."


    I eyed the two of them skeptically. Then I nodded. "It''s fine," I said, hopping off the wagon.


    But not before I discreetly slipped something into my sleeve.


    Sebastian waved goodbye as I squeezed back through the crowd. Once I left the square, I made sure no one was watching and examined the card I''d swiped. It was a four-leaf clover with a tear down the middle. Magic.


    I smirked. If he could cheat and trick, so could I.


    That evening, I regretted not bringing home honey or coriander. But before I went back inside, I realized I wasn''t the only one who''d taken something.


    My coin pouch was gone.

 My first Friend

    Panic overwhelmed me as I frantically patted my belt, my pants, and my shirt. I kicked off my shoes and shook them, dropped to the ground, and let my hands fly through the grass. But no matter how long I searched, my father''s coin pouch refused to reappear.


    Stolen! The realization finally hit me. It has to be Sebastian or one of his friends!


    Looking back, it was so obvious. Four boys sitting on a merchant''s wagon, seemingly without any purpose. Crosseyes, who took over twenty minutes to conclude that there was neither honey nor coriander, even though the merchant claimed the boys were familiar with his stock. Sebastian, who had randomly challenged me to a game ¡ª and me, too distracted by his tricks to notice one of the others slipping my pouch away.


    At first, I was shocked. Fear gripped me as I imagined what my father might do. Cruel images flooded my mind, and for the first time in years, the Rider returned to haunt my thoughts, making my poisoned heart pound.


    Then I grew angry. Blazing, seething anger that almost made me tear the Magic card in half... the one I''d stolen, too.


    The thought came suddenly. That''s right. I had stolen from him, too. He seemed to like those cards ¡ª even called them valuable. And as quickly as my rage came, it dissipated.


    I started laughing. I laughed so hard my stomach ached and my jaw cramped. Damn, that brief encounter had been the most fun I''d had in years.


    I was still standing outside the house, my fear and fury completely swept away by the sheer absurdity of the situation, when I heard footsteps approaching the front door.


    But I didn''t freeze in fear. No, I laughed loudly as I ran from my father. Somehow, I knew I would find Sebastian at the village square again, even though the merchant was undoubtedly drunk at the tavern by now.


    And there he was. Standing alone in the moonlight, his curly blond hair tied back, his arms crossed, and an incomplete deck of cards in hand. He might have looked eerie if you forgot he was just a child, like me.


    He turned as he heard my footsteps. The grin was still plastered on my face, but Sebastian looked anything but amused by our mutual theft.


    "You have something that belongs to me," he said. From the shadows, three other boys stepped forward. His friends had surrounded me. For a moment, I hesitated. Had it been a bad idea to come here?


    But then I shook the thought away. No beating from these boys could be worse than the one-sided massacre my father would deliver. I needed that coin pouch.


    And I wanted to laugh some more.


    "So do you," I replied. "How did you do it?"


    The three boys shuffled nervously, glancing at Sebastian for direction. Crosseyes, in particular, looked ready to wet himself, despite outnumbering me and being larger than I was.


    Finally, Sebastian nodded. He pulled my coin pouch from his pocket and held it up to my face. "Ninefingers, the little one there, took it from you while we played ¡ª but on my orders."


    I tilted my head to get a better look at the thief called Ninefingers. He was the smallest of the four boys, shorter than me, but he had the most defiant expression.


    "And you?" Sebastian asked. "When did you¡ª"


    "I learned it from you," I interrupted, eager to prove myself in front of these strange boys. "You always pulled a card from your sleeve when you needed it. The deck never had all the Thirteen to begin with."


    "You thief!" Ninefingers shouted suddenly, pointing his remaining index finger at me.


    "You stole first!" I shot back.


    "Give my big brother his card back!"


    "Not until I get my pouch!"Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    I was taken aback. So far, I''d only spoken to Sebastian, and at least he was reasonable. Ninefingers, though, had the fingers of a spider but the temperament of an angry ox.


    He made a face. I made a face. He stuck out his tongue, so I grabbed the Magic card, slipped it into my underpants, and gave my family jewels a little shake.


    Then, pulling the card back out, I waved it in the air again.


    Ninefingers'' eyes widened in shock, and he turned to his older brother, clearly afraid Sebastian might explode with anger. But Sebastian just looked confused, though slightly amused.


    I grinned triumphantly. I had won our duel ¡ª the verbal one, at least.


    Ninefingers must have seen a rival in me, another younger boy than the rest, because the next moment, he let out a childish war cry and lunged at me.


    I was completely caught off guard. I hadn''t had many friends... well, actually none so far, and certainly no enemies to brawl with. When Ninefingers'' shoulder rammed into my stomach, I didn''t even know what was happening.


    Only when we were on the ground, hissing and scratching, did my anger kick the surprise out of my system. We wrestled in the hard-packed dirt of the village square.


    I was bigger than Ninefingers, but he fought like a wildcat, clawing and even biting me. I grabbed his hair and shoved his face into the dirt.


    The other three watched. It was an unspoken code of the Innocent Thieves: never interfere in a fight unless someone''s life was in danger. Otherwise, it was the responsibility of the one who started it.


    Ninefingers nearly gouged out my eye. "Argh!" I swore, slamming my forehead against his. He recoiled, visibly stunned.


    After what felt like an hour, but in truth was probably nothing more than thirty seconds, the fight had spiraled out of control. My wrist bled from where Ninefingers had bitten me, and his right eye was already swollen.


    But neither of us cared. Not until a hand grabbed my shirt collar and yanked me backward, throwing me aside. The same happened to Ninefingers.


    "Alright, that''s enough," said the merchant with the crooked nose. I looked up, startled. I hadn''t even noticed him arrive. Neither had Ninefingers, though he seemed less surprised by the man''s presence.


    "He stole from us!" Ninefingers accused immediately.


    Oh yeah. I did.


    I had completely forgotten why we were fighting in the first place. The merchant smirked and chuckled. "Is that so? Sebastian, don''t you have something to say to him?"


    Sebastian approached me. He glanced at Ninefingers, then at me with a hint of irritation. "You hurt my little brother... but he hurt you too, I guess. And since I''m the oldest of the group I... Agh, forget it, here''s your pouch."


    He tossed it at my feet.


    I grabbed it and counted the coins. Then I spat out a bit of blood, stood up, and reluctantly held out the card. "Your stupid card," I wanted to say angrily, but somehow I couldn''t help but smirk a little.


    Sebastian frowned. "You thought this was funny?" he asked, taking the card back.


    "I don''t know," I admitted honestly. "But it was more exciting than usual."


    Sebastian looked confused but said nothing. The merchant had been watching us the entire time. When it seemed we had buried the hatchet, he nodded in satisfaction.


    "Boys your age should fight once in a while," he said. "But that doesn''t make you enemies. In truth, no one really has enemies, you know? I remember once¡ª"


    "Oh, not another one of your stories, old man!" Sebastian groaned, rolling his eyes.


    A shame, I thought. I would have liked to hear the story.


    The merchant and Sebastian exchanged a brief glance before the merchant raised his hands innocently. "Alright, alright," he relented. Then he looked at me, specifically at the blood dripping down my hand. "Let me see that, boy."


    He knelt and reached for my hand. I was about to give it to him when my father''s face flashed through my mind. I pulled my hand protectively back.


    "It''s alright, young warrior," the merchant assured me with a smile. "Not everyone wants to hurt you. Look at this."


    He pulled a small container from his coat. As he opened it, he explained, "This is an all-healing salve. Very, very rare. It will heal the wound in no time."


    He took a bit of the salve on his finger and looked at me expectantly. "Interested?"


    I hesitated. An all-healing salve. That had to be outrageously expensive! But somehow, I didn''t have the strength to think about such things anymore. Consequences that didn''t involve the rage of their parents were a foreign concept to a child, or at least, to me.


    I extended my aching hand, and the merchant took it gently. He spread the salve over the bite wound. And then, the pain was gone. The blood was still there, but the wound itself was gone.


    Closed. Vanished.


    My eyes widened. "That''s magic!" I exclaimed.


    The merchant laughed. "No. That''s the salve." He stood again. "We''ll be staying in the village until the end of the week. Stop by the inn if you''re hungry. I''ll treat you to a warm bowl of soup."


    He patted me on the head, then went over to Ninefingers. He applied some salve to the boy''s swollen eye as well. I watched, mesmerized by the miracle the strange man had performed.


    "You''ve got good fingers," Sebastian said suddenly, standing next to me. He looked at the Magic card in his hand and made a face before wiping it on his shirt.


    "Fortunate kids usually don''t have good fingers."


    I didn''t understand what he meant back then. My fingers were as trained as could be ¡ª slipping some food from the pantry was a risky task, after all, considering the consequences.


    But he continued. "You''re like us, I think. Only we have each other." Then he slipped the card into his pocket.


    I tilted my head, trying to think about what he was telling me. I didn''t get it.


    Then, out of pure curiosity, I asked him, "How much is the card worth, anyway?"


    Sebastian thought for a moment.


    "I''d say three or four copper coins."

 Freedom has a Price

    And so it came to pass that for the following week, I snuck out of the house every evening and made my way to the inn. The merchant, whose name I never learned ¨C partly because I never asked, and partly because the boys only ever called him old man ¨C always welcomed me warmly.


    Without asking for a single coin, he ordered me a bowl of soup and a piece of bread every time. In exchange, he asked questions: my name, what I liked to do, how my family was. Nothing extraordinary, I thought back then. But now I know he was testing me, even then.


    I also befriended Sebastian, Crosseyes, and Quiet. I wasn''t one of them yet, but we played Draw Thirteen together, doing our best to outwit one another. Surprisingly quickly, I became the best at it, so much so that the other three often teamed up to beat me at their own game.


    But that only happened when Ninefingers wasn''t playing ¨C and the reason he wasn''t playing was me. That week, we never warmed up to each other. We avoided each other as much as we could, and when we didn''t, we bickered. There were no further physical fights, but I could feel his gaze drilling into the back of my head whenever I spent time with his friends.


    I think he was just afraid I would replace him back then.


    It was a quiet week. But what would my story be without my father? It was only a matter of time before he found me at the tavern. Yet when he showed up one evening at the same time as me, he wasn''t even there because of me. He had come for the young barmaid he''d been secretly seeing for the past two years, maybe longer.


    Since he''d sold my mother, their once-secret meetings had become less and less reserved. They weren''t officially a pair, but that didn''t stop him from seeking her out or stealing glances at her ass.


    Only tonight, there was a problem.


    "Oh, stop it," the barmaid giggled shyly, giving the merchant a playful push on the shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, and not from alcohol.


    The old man ¨C who wasn''t actually old, we just called him that ¨C smiled and gently took her hand in his. "When I heard I''d have to leave the capital to come to this village at the edge of the world, my entire week was ruined..."


    He lifted her hand and kissed it, making the barmaid giggle again, even more shyly. "...but now I thank the gods for the rest of my life for showing me paradise before my very eyes."


    He winked. At that moment in time, I hadn''t noticed my father was also in the tavern. I was sitting, as always, with the flirting old man and the boys at a table. While he tested the power of his tongue, we tested our dexterity with our fingers. Still, even I was occasionally impressed by the old man''s antics.


    "Does he always do that?" I whispered to Quiet.


    Quiet glanced at me and nodded.


    "In every village," Sebastian added. "Always says the same things."


    I tilted my head. What was so great about telling women these things? I didn''t understand.


    "Does he want to steal from her?" That was the only explanation I could think of. I had never heard of sweet words or romance ¨C only shattering glass and secret nighttime visits.


    Sebastian laughed. "No, no," he said, shaking his head. Then he tilted it thoughtfully. "Uhm, well, I think he wants to steal her night. That''s what he told me when I asked him the same thing."


    "And what does that mean?"


    "I-I think I know!" Crosseyes suddenly blurted out. Since his well played debut at the wagon, the cross-eyed boy had been entirely different: shy and uncertain.


    We all turned to him. He wilted under the attention of four clueless boys, which for him meant it looked like he was staring right at us.


    "Go on," Ninefingers prodded.


    "Yeah, what does it mean?" I asked.


    "Mh, mh," Quiet grunted.


    Crosseyes fidgeted with his fingers, then leaned forward as if sharing the secret of the universe. "I think it means¨C"


    "What do you think you''re doing, huh?"


    My blood froze in my veins. I knew that voice. But more than that, I knew that tone.


    Not now. Please, not now.


    But no miracle in the world could stop what was coming. My father stood right in front of the old man. He was drunk, and the veins on his forehead looked ready to burst. "I asked you a question, asshole."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    The old man looked around in confusion. Then he slowly released the barmaid''s hand and turned to face my father. "I doubt you''re talking to the children. Now, what exactly have I done, my friend?"


    Still clutching his bottle, my father jabbed a finger in the old man''s face. "Fuck you. Don''t call me your friend..." He belched, making the old man grimace in disgust. "You''re harassing the girl."


    The old man glanced up at the barmaid. She was staring at the ground, clearly embarrassed by the scene. Whether she was ashamed of herself or her lover, I couldn''t tell. Finally, the old man let out a booming laugh that silenced the entire tavern.


    "Harassment, you say? Maybe you do things differently out here, but the way you''re barking at me right now would count as harassment in the capital." He threw the barmaid a crooked smile. "If making a woman blush is a crime, let the gods and the Scales judge me. I''ll take any punishment... for that."


    I shrank as small as I could. Instinct kicked in automatically. My father''s hand trembled with rage. The barmaid tried to slip away, but he grabbed her wrist. "I''m not done with you," he hissed.


    I wanted to crawl under the table. If my father was causing a scene in the middle of the village, there was no doubt about his alcohol level. This was threat level Fireplace. Except there was no fireplace to hide in.


    The smile vanished from the old man''s face. His eyes fixed sharply on my father''s hand ¨C not the one in his face, but the one holding the barmaid. He stood, pushing the bottle and finger in his face away, and rising to his full height, which was a head shorter than my father.


    Now it was my father''s turn to laugh. "Pff," he spat. "The dwarf with the crooked nose thinks he wants something from me. Hear that? The little coin-juggler thinks he wants something!"


    Several men in the tavern stood and began moving toward our table. The barkeep, whose daughter was still in my father''s grip, just watched. I leaned toward Sebastian, turning my head, hoping my father would be too distracted to notice me.


    "Tell him to apologize," I whispered fearfully.


    Sebastian looked at me far too calmly and smirked. "Why?"


    Panic surged through me. But not for myself ¨C I was already afraid for myself ¨C but for the old man and my friends. They didn''t understand what was happening. They didn''t know him.


    "He''s popular in the village," I said. "The old man doesn''t stand a chance!"


    "Watch," Sebastian replied simply. "This also happens in almost every village."


    I didn''t understand. In the next moment, I did, as my father was thrown over the table.


    Sebastian jumped aside, and I tumbled out of my chair as my father rolled past me and hit the wooden floor with a crash.


    "It''s starting!" Ninefingers shouted excitedly.


    Sebastian nodded. "Alright, boys. To work!"


    The tavern transformed ¨C into what I now think of as a normal Tuesday evening in the capital, but for nine-year-old me, it was pure chaos.


    Four men lunged at the old man simultaneously. The barmaid ran off screaming ¨C or laughing, I''m still not sure.


    One of the four threw a punch at the old man, but he barely moved, stepping aside just as the man slipped on the bottle my father had dropped. The attacker''s chin smashed against the wooden floor, and the old man, as if he had known this would happen, gave him a kick in the side. He grunted in pain as the other three stared at him in astonishment.


    The old man raised a fist. "Come on, you pigfuckers!"


    Another man charged. The old man dodged the punch, lightly touching the man''s back as he passed. A second attacker came in, landing a solid blow to the old man''s jaw. He staggered back, colliding with a table, then ducked and rolled away as the second man stumbled into the first, who had just turned around. The two collapsed in a heap.


    It was a blur of chaos ¨C a touch and slap here, a dodge there, every move of the old man''s seeming both calculated and accidental.


    By the time it ended, all four attackers lay groaning on the floor.


    Meanwhile, under the tables, I saw the boys crawling toward the downed men, deftly relieving them of their coin pouches.


    I laughed. It was probably the funniest thing I''d ever seen in my life!


    Two of them managed to get up again, and the brawl continued. The other patrons cheered every time the old man bested another of his assailants. I laughed even more and watched it all unfold.


    "You!" a groan came from behind me.


    I turned, and the laughter died as I locked eyes with my father, still sprawled on the floor. His bloodshot gaze bored into me. I stumbled back, finding my escape blocked by the table.


    My father rose and grabbed me by the collar.


    I didn''t even make a sound. I knew this would happen. I already knew the pain.


    "What are you doing here, you little shit?" he spat, clutching my face with his other hand and forcing me to look at him.


    I couldn''t even answer. And then I understood. It didn''t matter how great the old man and the boys were. It didn''t matter how much fun I had with them, because it would soon end. They would move on, and I would still be here. With him.


    My personal hell that I called home.


    The slap that followed still rings in my teeth today. He hit me hard enough to make me bite my tongue, and I tasted blood in my mouth.


    "You think you''re one of them, don''t you?" he snarled. The next blow knocked a tooth loose. Tears welled up in my eyes. Not because of the pain, but because everything was back to normal.


    "I should have sold you to that monster when I had the chance, just like that whore ¨C ugh!"


    The next strike never came. Suddenly, he released me and collapsed to his knees, clutching between his legs.


    Sebastian darted past him and grabbed me. "Come on!"


    I didn''t even understand what was happening. He pulled me to my feet, and my body ran by itself.


    "Old man! We need to go!" Sebastian called.


    The others ¨C Ninefingers, Crosseye, and Quiet ¨C joined us as we ran. The old man glanced our way and nodded. He gave one of the groaning men on the floor one last kick in the ribs before following us.


    We burst through the door into the night. "See you around, my love!" the old man shouted behind us.


    I didn''t even look back. There was nothing holding me here. Except Sebastian, who pulled me toward the merchant''s wagon. The horses were already harnessed, as if they knew this would happen.


    Quiet climbed into the wagon first, followed by Sebastian, me, Ninefingers, and then Crosseyes. The old man joined a second later, grabbing the reins.


    "Hyah!" The horses whinnied and galloped away. We looked back to see the four men stumbling out of the tavern in fury. And at the forefront was my father. Our eyes met. I felt... nothing in that moment.


    Nothing at all.


    "Oh crap," said the old man as the horses picked up speed. "I didn''t pay the barkeep."


    The others laughed. I laughed too... and held up my father''s coin pouch, which I''d just taken from him. I pulled out two copper coins and tossed them onto the road behind us.


    "For the farm!" I shouted, a smile on my face, as we rode off into the night.

 The Innocent Thieves

    "That makes no sense at all," I said, truly standing behind my argument. "How can someone be a thief and innocent at the same time? Your name is stupid."


    The boys sitting with me at the back of the wagon all crossed their arms simultaneously. After we¡¯d slept through the night on the road and rode for another entire day without even stopping once, we were at least a fifty or more miles away from my hometown. I also didn¡¯t even question how the horses never seemed to get tired, everything was just¡­ magical, I guess.


    But now, new challenges awaited me, and one of them was the name they were trying to make me accept.


    "Take that back!" Ninefingers snapped.


    "Mm!" Quiet agreed.


    But I didn¡¯t want to back down. They had offered to take me in ¨C well, now that I¡¯d run off with them, I didn¡¯t really have a choice if I didn¡¯t want to starve on the streets ¨C but something inside me resisted calling myself an Innocent Thief.


    Just saying this wasn¡¯t enough. So I tried to make irrefutable arguments. I held up my father¡¯s coin pouch. "I stole this."


    "Mm-hmm."


    Then I tossed it onto the pile of coin pouches they had stolen from other people and other villages. It seemed the old man was used to confrontation wherever he went and the boys had learnt to take advantage. There were at least twenty pouches, most holding no more than five copper coins. But for us kids, it was a considerable fortune.


    "You stole those."


    My argument was rock solid.


    "Mm-hmm."


    "So... we¡¯re thieves."


    "Yes, that¡¯s in the name."


    "But thieves aren¡¯t innocent."


    "Yes, but we are!"


    "But¨C"


    I was cut off by Sebastian¡¯s laughter. He clapped me lightly on the back and said, "Alright, alright. You can be the guilty thief if that suits you better."


    Now that he put it like that, I wasn¡¯t so sure anymore. "No," I replied after a moment of thought. "I don¡¯t like that either. Think I¡¯ll just stick with thief."


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t tell others you¡¯re a thief. Kinda beats the point.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ I guess.¡±


    Ninefingers rolled his eyes. "Then go back where you came from."


    I shot him a glare, but Sebastian was quicker. "Ninefingers," he said calmly, "Corin is one of us now. He¡¯s your brother. And mine."


    There must¡¯ve been a lot of surprise on my face, because Sebastian looked quite satisfied. He always liked to impress others, especially his friends. He extended his hand toward me. I looked at it, then smiled.


    Brother. I liked that. I took his hand and shook it firmly. Quiet and Crosseyes also offered their hands, and I shook them too. Ninefingers stared at me for a long moment. Then he gave a curt nod. I returned it just as curtly.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "You probably have questions," Sebastian said with a smirk, leaning back. "This must feel like the greatest adventure of your life."


    "Not really..."


    "Well, don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll make sure it¡¯s¨C wait, what?" He looked at me, surprised.


    I smirked back. "It¡¯s definitely an adventure. But when you grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the tavern, I realized a lot of things."


    The others looked at me curiously. I smiled at them. "You said I was like you. I think you all had a reason to run away from home too, didn¡¯t you?"


    Sebastian¡¯s expression shifted from surprise to a proud grin. "Smart, too!"


    But then his grin faded into something more serious.


    He was the leader of our group. We owed him a lot. He knew our stories as well as he knew his own. He nodded toward Crosseyes. "You ran away because of your father, Corin. Same goes for Crosseyes over here."


    I looked at Crosseyes. "Was he brutal too?"


    Crosseyes stared at the ground. "Just a bit¡­" he murmured.


    "He doesn¡¯t like to talk about it," Sebastian explained, when Crosseyes didn¡¯t elaborate further, "but his father used to lock him in a cupboard at night. Sometimes he¡¯d forget to let him out during the day. Only a sliver of light through the cupboard doors kept him company in that darkness."


    Sebastian leaned closer to me and whispered, "We think that¡¯s why his eyes are crossed all the time..."


    That sounded horrible. But I didn¡¯t really feel pity for him ¨C more like camaraderie.


    "I¡¯m sorry," I still said to Crosseyes. He gave me a brief nod.


    Sebastian turned to Quiet next. "Quiet¡¯s story is... harder." He paused, glancing at the boy who sat silently, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "When he was very young, his stepmother cut out his tongue because she hated how much he cried. After that, he never cried again."


    The weight of the words hung heavy in the air. Quiet¡¯s calm demeanor made it all the more haunting.


    "That¡¯s awful," I whispered, unsure what else to say.


    Quiet nodded slowly, acknowledging my sympathy without meeting my gaze.


    Then I gestured to Ninefingers. "And him?" I asked.


    Ninefingers crossed his arms, his face hardening. "I ran away," he said gruffly. "Didn¡¯t get far. My father sent the dogs after me."


    He paused, flexing the hand missing a finger. "When they dragged me back, this," he held up his hand, "was gone."


    Sebastian added quietly, "He¡¯s the only one that¡¯s open about it. Probably because he¡¯s the only one who had the strength to try something on his own, even before we found him."


    Somehow, I found new respect for the little boy. I didn¡¯t tell him I was sorry. But I felt it, and I knew he felt it too. The fact that we both had something taken from us seemed to form an unspoken connection.


    "And you?" I asked Sebastian. "Why did you run away?"


    "He won¡¯t tell you," Ninefingers interjected suddenly. "Hasn¡¯t told anyone."


    "We¡¯ve been betting on the reason," Crosseyes added. "I say it was his father. Ninefingers thinks it was his mother. Quiet says both."


    Sebastian laughed and shook his head. "Who knows? But one thing I do know: my new family is right here, on this wagon. Isn¡¯t that right, old man?"


    He called toward the front of the wagon, where the old man held the reins, whistling a cheerful melody to himself. When Sebastian called to him, he turned briefly to glance back at us, then fixating me.


    "Sorry we kidnapped you just like that, little Corin... but I think you¡¯ll enjoy your time with them more than you would back home," the old man said with a wink.


    I nodded eagerly. "I think so too..." Then I tilted my head. "Did you run away from home too?"


    "Me? Run away?" The old man laughed heartily. "I¡¯m actually filthy rich and very, very important. Even the king begs me to return to the capital all the time! I said he¡¯d have to offer me his daughter to go back to that hell!"


    I tilted my head. That sounded unbelievable for the young me.


    "You¡¯ll have to get used to this," Sebastian said to me, grinning. "He always talks nonsense like that."


    The old man chuckled but didn¡¯t deny it. Instead, he turned his attention back to the road ahead, humming as the wagon bumped along.


    For a while, we sat in comfortable silence, the rhythmic creaking of the wagon and the old man¡¯s humming filling the cool evening air. I leaned back, gazing up at the stars. I saw the ones I¡¯d forgotten for a long time and remembered the feeling of laying on that grassy hill again, counting and drawing constellations in the night sky.


    And for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn¡¯t feel alone.


    This wasn¡¯t the life I expected. It wasn¡¯t even the life I wanted or even wished for. But as I sat there, surrounded by my new family of thieves, I couldn¡¯t help but feel... free. Maybe, even happy.


    And that was enough for now.

 The Future is bright...

    I quickly learned what it meant to live on the road: long stretches of travel interrupted by days or sometimes even weeks in a village or small town. The old man made it his business never to stay in one place too long ¨C partly because he had a knack for starting trouble wherever he went.


    We avoided the southern capital and traveled the western roads of the kingdom, one after another.


    As unbelievable as it still seems to me, the old man was in fact a verified member of the Trader¡¯s Guild. He even conducted honest business ¨C although I must say, he was a terrible merchant. Which isn¡¯t a surprise, knowing now who he truly was.


    Still, he traded goods for gold and made it his daily bread. But, of course, he had five not-so-honest little boys with him. While he sold his goods and tried to charm every women he ever met, we prowled the taverns and marketplaces.


    With the money we earned, we bought clothes, food, toys, additional cards for our Draw Thirteen deck ¨C especially when Quiet crumpled another one in anger ¨C and everything else we needed to survive and enjoy life.


    On a sidenote, we never blamed Quiet for his¡­ temperamental behavior. He couldn''t speak, after all, so he found other ways to express his feelings. Sometimes I wished I could be as feeling as that boy.


    Now, considering we were thieves that stole as much as we did, that might sound bad for the normal person ¨C after all, we could have survived on a third of what we took. But we never stole indiscriminately. We preferred hypocrites, swindlers, and drunken assholes ¨C especially the ones that treated their children the way we were treated.


    Thinking about it now, though, I wonder why the boys stole from me when we first met. Maybe they assumed I had a better life than they did and felt jealous.


    Regardless, I was one of them now. It didn¡¯t take long to realize that Ninefingers and I were the most skilled at slipping things from belts and pockets into our own. Crosseyes and Quiet almost always acted as distractions. Spending time with them, I also learned that Crosseyes could only speak confidently when he was playing a role. Otherwise, when it was just us, he remained reserved and shy.


    Sebastian was both the head of the snake and the scapegoat whenever things went wrong. Though we never forced him, he was always the one to take the blame. If we got caught, we could count on a thorough beating ¨C unless Sebastian came running, begging people to spare us and punish him instead.


    Sometimes he succeeded, even when I protested that I was the guilty one. Sometimes he didn¡¯t. Either way, it was easier to endure punishment together. That was also a part of our lifestyle.


    And we didn¡¯t have much to fear. Every bruise, every welt, and every broken bone was as good as new by the end of the day, thanks to the old man¡¯s all-healing salve. He never explained exactly what was in it or where it came from and would never let us apply it ourselves. A fact, I questioned but never acted upon.


    Those adventures, however, were the smaller part of my time with the Innocent Thieves. Most of it was spent on long roads through rolling hills, past golden meadows, eerie forests, and rivers weaving like nets across the west. Known as the kingdom¡¯s breadbasket, the region was famous for its idyllic beauty. Whether under the sun, rain, or mist, we traveled endlessly, seemingly without any real destination.


    But back then, I didn¡¯t care. I had good company, after all. During those long journeys, I talked and played with my friends. Two topics always came up ¨C important ones for boys like us: the legends of the Thirteen and¡­Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Can a girl join the Innocent Thieves?" I asked one day while repairing the old man¡¯s balance scale in the back of the wagon.


    The other boys, busy with similar tasks, looked over at me.


    "Hopefully not... Girls are scary," stammered Crosseyes.


    "Girls are too afraid to do what we do," added Ninefingers. By now, after so much time together, we got along decently. Not as well as I did with the others, but at least we were comrades, even if not yet friends.


    "Exactly. I don¡¯t know a single girl who¡¯s ever stolen anything¡­"


    I frowned, my hands never pausing in their work. After a moment¡¯s thought, I asked, "Do you even know any girls?"


    ¡°Of course!¡±


    ¡°Did you speak to them?¡±


    Crosseyes and Ninefingers both quickly turned back to their tasks, pretending they hadn¡¯t heard me. I would have laughed if I weren¡¯t just as clueless as they were.


    Instead, it was Sebastian who answered. "I don¡¯t think there¡¯s a rule against a girl joining us."


    "What?" Ninefingers said, baffled. "But big brother, look at the old man! Girls only bring trouble."


    Sebastian tilted his head. "I think that¡¯s more about him than them."


    Agreed.


    Everybody seemed to agree as well. We turned back to our tasks. Then, curiosity got the better of me. "Sebastian, have you ever met a girl you could have taken in?"


    "What do you mean by that?"


    "We help kids who have it rough at home, don¡¯t we?" That had always been my assumption.


    But Sebastian shook his head. "If we took in every kid with a hard life at home, there¡¯d be no room left on the wagon. Besides, most kids don¡¯t even want to leave."


    "If I hadn¡¯t met you," Ninefingers said without looking up from his task, "the dogs would have gotten me every time until there was nothing left. Who wants to stay in a place like that?"


    I could only nod. Before, I didn¡¯t know better. But now, after months with my new family, I understood how things could have been ¨C and how they had been.


    "True," Sebastian said. "But not everyone feels the same. Many of us are just too scared, or they think they deserve what¡¯s happening to them. You think long and hard before running off with strangers."


    He stretched, leaning back against one of the crates. "But that¡¯s how it is. If we ever meet a girl who needs our help and wants it, then you can be her savior, Corin."


    "What? Me? Why would I want that?"


    "Isn¡¯t that why you asked?"


    "No, just out of curiosity."


    "Oh, good. Then I¡¯ll be the savior."


    "Hey!"


    Sebastian and I laughed. I laughed a lot in these twelve months. A sharp clap interrupted our playful banter. Looking up, I saw Quiet standing on a crate, pointing into the distance. I set the balance scale aside and stood as well, quickly finding my footing on the rattling wagon.


    Far ahead, the horizon was broken by a sprawling city, its white walls shimmering faintly in the afternoon sun. A cluster of rooftops rose in the middle, painted in bright greens and blues, while two spires stretched skyward, catching the light like beacons. Surrounding the city were rolling fields of wildflowers and neatly tended farmland, a perfect harmony between nature and human craft.


    "That¡¯s the Green Rose," the old man suddenly said, turning his head slightly as he kept hold of the reins. "Our next stop."


    "You said we don¡¯t stop in big cities," I pointed out. The Green Rose was definitely the largest city I had ever seen.


    The old man nodded. "Did I say that? Perhaps. But the Green Rose is special. I heard that the new Love has been found there."


    "What? Really?" Ninefingers jumped up, his voice filled with disbelief.


    Even I couldn¡¯t hide my interest. "Will we meet them?" I asked.


    The old man chuckled. "Unlikely. But plenty of others will want to, including people from other parts of the kingdom. Business will be booming."


    Then he looked back at us with a sly grin. "Mine, just as much as yours."


    The other boys cheered excitedly. I smiled too, but my thoughts lingered on the other part of the news. So, the time had come for the six who died on the Day of Cataclysm to rise again.


    Love, the Dice, the Blood, the Scales, the Sword, and the Word.


    I had once hoped I might become one of the next Thirteen ¨C but if that were the case, I would have been chosen on the day they died. Besides, becoming one of the Thirteen would likely mean leaving my friends behind. The new Thirteen and their Sprouts were always sent to the royal academy in the capital.


    So, I was both relieved and a little disappointed not to have received a Sealcycle, Sprout or Thirteen.


    Later, I would come to understand what it truly meant to be one of the Thirteen ¨C and the terror that came with it.


    For the week we spent in the Green Rose was the week everything changed.


    Because if you think that this was the happy part of my story, then you are wrong. There is no happy part. Just a steep mountain, at the top of which nothing but the long fall awaits.

 But the Past will always haunt us

    Hardly had we entered the city before the work began¡­ Or so we thought, because unlike the small villages we were used to, the old man wasn¡¯t the only merchant in the Green Rose and thus certainly not the center of attention. No, the marketplace of the Green Rose was alive with activity, brimming with the daily hustle and bustle of its inhabitants.


    I saw a juggler, juggling not with balls or knives, but with flaming knives. Flaming knives! How does a knife even burn? Well, now I know, but back then I had no idea. Like the others, I was awestruck by the diversity of people and sights around us.


    For days, we wandered the stalls, too captivated by the exotic grandeur of the big city to even think about stealing anything. We were five boys from the countryside, and here someone was selling glass so fine we doubted human hands had crafted it. Spices that overwhelmed our palates, and ¨C oh, gods ¨C coriander. I loved coriander.


    There was so much more, too: fabrics dyed in impossible colors, street performers playing instruments I couldn¡¯t name, and, most intriguing of all, the fortune-teller¡¯s stand.


    We visited it on the third day. Well, Ninefingers and I did. We were the only ones eager to step into the fortune-teller¡¯s tent ¨C though neither of us would admit, it was because of the allure of something magical. The others weren¡¯t interested. I didn¡¯t particularly want to go alone with Ninefingers, and he probably felt the same way, but the draw of a possible miracle outweighed our petty grudge.


    The tent stood near the edge of the marketplace, its vibrant fabrics shimmering in shades of deep purple and gold. Strange symbols adorned the entrance, spiraling patterns that seemed to shift and dance if you stared at them for too long. Incense wafted from within, along with the scent of sandalwood and something unfamiliar yet intoxicating.


    We exchanged a brief glance before ducking inside.


    To our surprise, the tent was not empty. It held not only the fortune-teller but also someone else. I stopped abruptly and held Ninefingers back. "Sorry," I said quickly, "we didn¡¯t realize you were busy."


    The fortune-teller was concealed behind a veil of hanging beads and silken scarves, her features barely discernible in the dim light. But the man seated across from her was not hidden. As we entered unbidden, he turned to look at me.


    This was the first out of five times I met him.


    His hair was a deep, fiery red, swept back neatly, and his face was strikingly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that seemed carved from stone. His eyes, however, were what truly froze me in place. They burned with an intensity that felt all-consuming, as though they could see straight through me and beyond, yet his expression remained perfectly calm.


    It was as if he were the embodiment of a fire ¨C capable of both gentle warmth and devastating destruction.


    There are men, I thought then, who light a room with their presence. This one looked like he could set the world ablaze.


    Ninefingers shifted nervously beside me, but I couldn¡¯t tear my eyes away from the man. I felt small and insignificant under his gaze, like a moth drawn to something that would inevitably burn me.


    It reminded me of my father. With him, the fear had been cultivated over years, each cruel word and blow adding to the freezing grip he held on me. But this man ¨C this stranger ¨C needed only a glance. In five seconds, he had achieved what my father took nearly a decade to instill: the sense that defiance was futile.


    Regardless of our state, the fortune-teller spoke. "Please wait outside. I have guests."


    We nodded hastily and fled the tent. But just before the curtain fell back into place, I heard the fortune-teller¡¯s voice again. My breath hitched as my curiosity wrestled with my better judgment. My body remained outside, rooted to the spot, but I leaned closer, pressing my ear against the gap in the curtain.


    The muffled voices within seemed louder than they should have been, as though the tent itself was conspiring to let me hear. Every muscle in me tensed, torn between the instinct to flee and the desperate need to know what was being said.


    "See?" the fortune-teller said. "I¡¯m always right."


    The man¡¯s answer came a moment later, his voice slithering into my ear like a cold shiver. "Both?"Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "The smaller one. Or his older brother."


    They¡¯re talking about us. They¡¯re talking about us, aren¡¯t they?


    My mind raced, each thought tripping over the next. My breathing quickened as a wave of unease washed over me, the open space outside the tent suddenly feeling suffocating.


    Ninefingers suddenly grabbed my wrist, his touch startling me back to the present.


    "Come on, we should go," he said. He tried to pull me away, but I resisted.


    "No, wait a moment," I said, still straining to listen.


    Ninefingers looked at me as if I were insane. "Are you blind? That guy in there looks dangerous! And he probably is!" He tugged on my arm again, but I shook him off.


    "Go ahead," I told him.


    Ninefingers narrowed his eyes at me. "Tsk," he muttered before turning and walking away.


    He¡¯s actually leaving. I told him to go, but...


    My train of thought was shattered when a shadow fell over me. I looked up, and there he was. The man from the tent stood behind me, the curtain pulled aside. He looked down at me, his presence suffocating. My voice died in my throat.


    You don¡¯t scare me, I told myself. You¡¯re not worse than my father.


    After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate, each word slicing through the tense silence. "Didn¡¯t your mother teach you not to eavesdrop?"


    His tone carried a quiet authority that sent shivers down my spine, and though his expression was calm, there was a faint, knowing glint in his eyes that made it impossible to look away.


    I nodded, barely, though my mother had never taught me anything but loneliness. He smirked, studying me closely, and then walked past.


    It was then I saw an opportunity. An opportunity to prove myself to the world. My heart hammered in my chest as I hesitated, a voice in my mind screaming at me to stop. But another voice, louder and sharper, urged me forward.


    You don¡¯t live in fear anymore, it said. You¡¯re not that helpless boy hiding in the shadows.


    With trembling fingers, I reached out, pausing just long enough to feel this strange heat radiating from him. One deep breath, then another. My hand darted out, quick as a striking snake, and I snatched the small pouch hanging from his belt.


    He didn¡¯t even notice.


    And then he was gone. He simply walked away, vanishing into the bustling crowd outside the tent. Yet as his figure disappeared, a wave of doubt washed over me. What if he noticed? What if he turned around and read my thoughts as easily as an open book?


    The sudden urge to flee overwhelmed me. Without thinking, I darted back into the tent, slipping behind the veil as if it could shield me from his piercing gaze.


    The fortune-teller looked up; her hands folded onto the table in front of her. She gestured for me to sit without a word.


    But I didn¡¯t want to sit down. I wanted to know what was going on.


    The fortune-teller saw me calmly. Too calmly, for my heart was still hammering in my chest, and I couldn¡¯t understand how anyone could remain serene amidst all this noise. "Hello, Corin," she said.


    My eyes widened, and I drew the small knife from my belt. Like everyone in our group, I carried it, though I¡¯d only ever used it to carve apples or make small repairs. But the moment demanded something sharp in my hand. I was afraid, but I refused to freeze again.


    "How do you know me?" I asked, pointing the blade at her. It must have looked absurd, even laughable, a small boy holding a trembling knife. She glanced at the blade for a moment, and then her eyes changed into crescents. Through the veils, I couldn¡¯t tell if she was smiling or grinning.


    "I know everyone who enters my tent. This is my home. Do you invite strangers into your home without knowing who they are?"


    My hand steadied at last. I straightened myself as much as I could and tried to sound as intimidating and confident as possible. "I wouldn¡¯t go to someone I didn¡¯t know. So tell me, who are you?"


    Now, I could clearly hear her laughter. "Well said, little wanderer. I am Madame Eva. Some call me by other names, but I prefer Eva. And as you can see, I am a fortune-teller."


    I narrowed my eyes. "Would one of those names happen to be the Chance?"


    She seemed surprised. "You are clever indeed."


    I¡¯d played enough Draw Thirteen to know all 156 Sprouts. One of them was the Chance ¨C a Sprout of the Dice, depicted on its card as a curtain, symbolizing a passage to the unknown.


    She leaned forward. "But please, call me Madame Eva."


    My knife slowly lowered. I was standing before a Sealbearer. No knife in the world would protect me. Once more, she gestured for me to sit. Cautiously, I did.


    "Now tell me, what is troubling you, little wanderer?"


    I hesitated. But the need for answers was too much. "Who was that man? What did you tell him? What does he want from us?" The questions poured out, unstoppable.


    "Those are powerful questions. But I do not offer answers. Only chances."


    My mood turned even more sour. "What do you mean? I don¡¯t understand."


    "You cannot yet. You bear no Seal, so I cannot grant you chances."


    Then she smiled. "But I will give you a hint for your cleverness." She leaned forward, her voice dropping low.


    "Flee the city. Leave your brothers here and flee."


    That was more than just a hint, I thought.  "I¡¯m not going anywhere without my brothers!" I protested, though I didn¡¯t even know why I was arguing with her.


    She shook her head but said nothing more. I tried again to draw more from her, but she remained silent.


    Eventually, I stood. Her words had left me hollow and full all at once, my mind spinning with what felt like riddles. As I went to leave, she said one last thing, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.


    "Come back to me when you¡¯re in need of a chance, Kingslayer. Maybe I can grant it."


    I froze at the title but forced myself to keep moving, stepping out into the chaotic marketplace. Once outside, my eyes scanned the marketplace for the mysterious man. But instead, the world revealed something else.


    At the far end of the marketplace stood a figure cloaked in darkness, holding the reins of a nightmarish steed. His face was old, handsome, yet somehow wrong. He looked at me.


    And I knew. My past had come to claim me.

 My Heart is Yours

    Everything vanished before my eyes. The colorful market stalls, the green and blue rooftops of the Green Rose, the ground beneath my feet, the setting sun that bathed everything in a foreboding red, the people in the marketplace ¨C all of it disappeared, leaving only me and the Rider.


    I knew he was looking at me. His face was exactly as I remembered it. Three years had passed, and by all rights, I should have forgotten him. But he had always been there, somewhere distant yet ever-present in the back of my mind.


    In my heart.


    Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. As if the mere sight of this forgotten evil had awakened something that should have remained dormant forever. It burned. Sweat dripped from my forehead as I clawed at my chest in confusion and desperation, wanting to tear through my skin and flesh to rip the pain straight from my bones.


    Something inexplicable was happening to me. I couldn''t flee; the will to do so had been literally ripped away. All I could do was stare at the Rider with eyes of damnation.


    He smiled. And I could hear his voice again. I could feel my father beside me, holding me down. The clinking of the two copper coins he had paid for my very being.


    Then a wagon passed by, breaking our line of sight. The chains binding me dissolved, and my legs began to move on their own, as if I were a wild horse that had caught the scent of freedom after months of captivity.


    My heart, I remembered, he poisoned it!


    Though I hadn''t known it at the time, that thought was surprisingly accurate. I had indeed been poisoned by the Rider ¨C just not in the usual way.


    I ran through the crowd, which had reappeared as if by magic. I collided with a woman carrying a basket of fruit. She fell, and I ran right over her, trampling the apples and pears without a second thought.


    I was terrified I might run into the other man, the one from the tent, but fear and the pain I had just experienced drove me forward. I quickly left the marketplace and turned into a side alley. Then another, and another.


    Back then, he said three years. Has it really been three years?


    Another alley. I ran through trash and spiderwebs. I kept looking over my shoulder, each time expecting to see the Rider''s figure right behind me or to hear the hooves of his steed.


    I must have wandered aimlessly through the Green Rose for an hour. By the time I finally returned to the inn where we were staying, exhausted and half-deaf with fear, the sun had already set behind the horizon.


    I stepped inside, but not before glancing over my shoulder one last time. There was no sign of the Rider. It did little to calm me. Inside, the other boys were waiting, already seated at a table in the cornern. Quiet saw me first and waved me over.


    I trudged over to them slowly. My face must have been pale and drenched in sweat, but I finally managed to calm myself down, at least a little.


    "Where have you been all this time?" Sebastian asked. "We were supposed to meet half an hour ago."


    Without answering, I pulled out a chair and sank into it. My eyes wandered through the tavern. I didn''t recognize anyone. That was probably for the best.


    "Probably got lost," Ninefingers joked. "You weren''t actually still at the fortune-teller''s, were you?" he added skeptically.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I shook my head. "No... well, yes, but that''s not important!" The words finally tumbled out. The others tilted their heads, confused.


    "Corin, what''s going on?" Sebastian asked. I didn''t know what to tell him. How could I even begin to explain this situation? "We need to leave. We should go. Now, immediately."


    "What?" Ninefingers exclaimed. "We haven''t even started our work yet!"


    Sebastian nodded. "Ninefingers is right. Besides..." He pointed to the empty chair at the table. "We haven''t seen the old man since this morning. We can''t go without him, and I bet he''s not willing to leave just yet."


    I swallowed hard. I had to make them understand that this wasn''t like before. This wasn''t just my father. This was... something else. "Where is he? I need to talk to him."


    Ninefingers shrugged. "Where do you think he is?"


    "I..."


    Suddenly, my courage faltered. I wanted to protest further, but I was too exhausted. My thoughts were too jumbled to make sense of anything. The echo of the pain in my chest still lingered. There was just too much. Ninefingers looked at me for a moment longer before shrugging again.


    "Anyway..." he said, slowly turning to the others, still keeping one eye on me, "I think we can really get started tomorrow."


    Crosseyes and Quiet also started listening. Sebastian kept his eyes on me a little longer ¨C maybe he could tell something was wrong. But I needed a moment to gather my thoughts. I didn''t want to waste my words. When I didn''t say anything more, Sebastian slowly turned back to Ninefingers.


    "Good targets?" he asked.


    Ninefingers nodded enthusiastically. "Dozens of them. Mostly strangers to the city, like us. They all want to catch a glimpse of the new Love, just like the old man predicted."


    He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe he''s the real fortune-teller after all¨C"


    "Fortune-teller!" I blurted out, causing Ninefingers to flinch slightly. "The fortune-teller told me we should leave!"


    The others fell silent. Ninefingers even looked a little concerned. He was the only one besides me who put any stock in the prophecies of a stranger. But Quiet raised an eyebrow. "Hm?" he grunted questioningly.


    "I know, I know," I replied, "you haven''t made any loot yet, but¨C"


    "We?" Sebastian interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean, we?"


    "You''re not listening! I said, we need to leave!"


    But Sebastian''s gaze didn''t falter the slightest. He was the leader and thus needed to know about the action''s we took regarding the nature of our bond. I realized, he and the others wouldn''t listen, before I got clean, now that I''ve caught their interest.


    My gaze dropped. Then I sighed and pulled the small pouch from my pocket, the one I''d taken from the man with the fiery red hair. "I got this today."


    The others leaned forward to inspect the little leather pouch. Quiet reached for it, but Ninefingers suddenly slapped his hand away. He looked at me with wide, trembling eyes. "You didn''t... steal from him, did you?"


    I nodded slowly. "I did."


    Ninefingers let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "You''re either the bravest or the stupidest person I''ve ever met. No, wait, I know the answer. That guy looked like he could kill you with a glance. And you just... took his pouch?"


    "Wait... are we talking about the one you described earlier?" Crosseyes asked.


    Ninefingers nodded to him. Crosseyes tried to hide his nervousness, but his eyes darted around the room. Quiet, on the other hand, examined the pouch with curiosity, his fingers brushing over the intricate stitching.


    "And that''s not all," I said, my voice low. "I saw the Rider. He''s... someone from my past. He''s here to collect me."


    "Collect... you?" Now Crosseyes didn''t even try to hide his nervousness anymore.


    I gathered my courage. "He did something to me, three years ago, and paid my father for it. Now, he''s here to ''see the results''. He''s got a nightmarish steed the size of a wagon!"


    Nobody spoke for a while. Then suddenly, Ninefingers burst out laughing, slapping the table. "The Rider? Are you serious? Come on, Corin. You expect us to believe that?"


    Crosseyes shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Quiet tilted his head, his expression unreadable. Sebastian, however, grew serious. He leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. "Corin, are you in danger?"


    I nodded slowly. "We all are."


    The table fell silent. Even Ninefingers stopped laughing, his smirk fading as he glanced at the others. Sebastian exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair.


    "Alright," he said finally. "We''ll have to wait for the old man anyway. I hope he shows up tonight, even if he''s stumbling drunk. When he does, I''ll tell him we need to leave."


    I nodded gratefully, a massive weight lifting from my chest.


    For now, at least, they were listening. I couldn''t get out of this city sooner.