The ascendant of

A crowded space under dim lighting, ideal for hiding.

Everyone minding their own business, too distracted to notice his presence.

It was the perfect setting for any thief.

For Kiyen, stealing was not his primary trade, but growing up on the periphery had taught him that learning to steal was more useful than learning to read and write. Letters didn't fill empty stomachs; quick hands did.

No doubt it was a risky idea, but he needed money. Besides, those people...he really disliked them.

For some reason, his new idea reminded him of something he'd rather forget.

His first teacher.

A petty thief who died when the corruption caught up with him. At first, the symptoms were the usual: fever, cough, body increasingly stiff...the same ones his mother was suffering from now. Then, black veins covered his skin like rotting roots spreading under the flesh.

Kiyen could still hear the screams. The sizzle of burning flesh.

Just then, the Plague Guardians burst into their master's house and acted relentlessly. There was no room for pleading, no negotiations. Only fire, ashes and death.

His master tried to shout at them to stop, but his voice choked in his throat. The plague was a death sentence, and pleading meant nothing to the Guardians.

The fear of seeing his mother consumed in the same way gnawed at his insides.

He needed money. Fast.

A group of smugglers had brought a medicine capable of slowing the progression of the disease, but its price was ridiculously high. To make matters worse, the plague had wiped out the crops, eliminating any chance of earning kurps.

He had no other options, if they wouldn't let him mine then he would steal.

His gaze swept over the place once more. People were still whispering, concerned only with their own problems. No one was paying attention to him. No one would notice if some kurps changed hands.

Kiyen took a deep breath and plunged his hands into his torn, torn pockets, feeling the cold touch of the daggers on his legs, as if somehow those weapons could give him confidence.

"Well, I came here to make money," he muttered to himself, "It doesn't matter how I do it.... The important thing is to get my fill of kurps."

He moved forward, still listening to his teacher hoarse voice.

Of his legacy, reduced to ashes, only vague memories remained in the boy's mind:

Step one: don't draw attention to yourself.

"Listen, brat, if you're going to steal, you must walk in a different way than usual. A unique way to become invisible to others, more invisible than you already are. That you don't inspire pity, or anything. You are nothing. Never go alone, no need to hide in the shadows. Move among others as if you were part of the environment. That way you will be invisible."

Kiyen did so.

He didn't hide. He didn't shrink. He became part of the environment.

He opened his eyes and moved forward with a slow, steady, silent pace. The blue light from the torches cast faint shadows on the polished rock walls. She did not hide among them... she became one more.

Step two: learn to read your surroundings.

"People speak without words. Watch their gestures, their reactions. See who is guarding their bag of kurps warily, who is distracted, who is nervous. A good thief doesn't just see, he understands what he sees."

The rough, muscular men spoke to each other in grave tones. Some displayed their weapons proudly, boasting of some battle against creatures of the abyss.

Kiyen scanned the crowd with his eyes, focusing on nothing in particular. He just watched.

A thick-armed miner was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and kurp pouch securely fastened to his belt. Too attentive.

Beyond, a guy with scars on his face was smiling confidently as he recounted how he had made a fortune selling minerals to a novice trader. A mistake to approach.

And then, there he was.

A middle-aged man, tired face and dusty clothes, was arguing with another beside him. His bag of kurps hung from his belt, barely held by a loose string.

Too busy arguing to notice what was going on around him.

Kiyen lowered his head slightly and kept moving forward.

Step three: silence is your best ally.

"Every step should be light, every movement calculated. Avoid wet ground, creaking wood, loose metal. If you must run, run only when no one is watching. Stealth is not just moving without being heard, it is knowing when not to move."

On the polished rock, each step could easily echo. A single mistake and anyone could notice.

Kiyen adjusted her breathing and distributed her weight with each step. Light. Precise.

The din of conversation and the hoarse laughter of the miners were his best camouflage.

He waited for the right moment and slipped between them unhurriedly.

Step four: always have an escape route.

"Never steal without knowing where you will escape. A back door, an open window, a rope hanging from a balcony. If you're cornered, don't think about fighting, think about disappearing. A dead thief doesn't spend kurps."

The main entrance was the most obvious, but functional, option. There was also the side corridor that led to other entrances to the mine. It wasn't ideal, but in an emergency, it would do.

Step five: quick hands are no good without precise fingers.

"Stealing isn't just taking, it's knowing what to take. A sharp tug ruins the opportunity, a miscalculated pressure alerts the victim. Feel the weight, the texture, the movement of the object before you steal it."

Kiyen positioned herself beside the distracted man.

His breathing slowed.

He waited.

The moment came when the miner gesticulated loudly during the discussion, shifting his hips just enough to make the bag sway.

A trickle of sweat slid down the back of his neck.

He let his fingers run along the slack rope, untying it without abruptness.

The bag of kurps fell into his hand naturally, as if it had always been his.

He did not hurry her step.

One step back. Then another.

Voices still echoed, blue lights flickered on the rock walls.

No one had noticed anything.

The weight of the coins in his pocket was the only proof that he had made it.

I did it. I did it.

Now, the real challenge was to keep the bag from rattling. He held it firmly inside his clothes, muffling any sound with his own body.

Once he got the hang of it, stealing became all too easy.

He lost count of how many pockets he checked for kurps. Men, women...he didn't see them. He only saw kurps.

His hands moved fast and precise, sliding through the bags with instinctive movements, without stopping to think. Adrenaline surged through her body, speeding up every beat of her heart.

He floated through the crowd, a shadow gliding among giants.

Every touch of a bag, every little extra weight he added to his haul, gave him a sense of power he had never known before.

Out of simple curiosity, he barely opened the bag and glanced at his loot.

Its contents made him smile.

There was much more than he had expected.

Buy medicine for his mother, eat well, get dressed in new clothes.... The thought intoxicated him.

This was worth far more than any job in planting... even in the mines.

Why hadn't he tried it before?

But he shouldn't push his luck too far.

Then he saw them.

Two men were scanning the place with distrust written on their faces, their gazes scanning the crowd.

They had noticed him.

A shiver ran down her spine.

They weren't looking for just anyone.

They were looking for him.

Kiyen understood it was time to leave.

Like a lithe shadow, he slipped between the bodies of the miners, each step calculated, each breath measured. He made his way to the exit with extreme caution, not rushing too fast so as not to give himself away.

Just a few more meters.

He held his breath. A few more steps and he would be free.

A sharp tug stopped him in his tracks.

"What do we have here? An adorable little mouse."

Before he could react, a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and lifted him into the air with insulting ease, then stripped him of the stolen coin pouches and tossed them aside.

All eyes fell on him.

Kiyen turned his head, and his surprise was capital.

Not only had he been caught by a woman, but she barely looked a couple of years older than him.

Tall, strong. Surprisingly intact skin for someone who lived in a place like that. Long, silver hair, falling in soft waves over her shoulders.

The blue light from the torches made her look almost unreal.

Amber eyes, feline. A sharp, intense gaze.

Her smile revealed unusually sharp fangs.

A worn leather jacket covered her shoulders, and underneath she wore a tight-fitting gray outfit with a plunging neckline that revealed almost half of her breasts.

But what really caught Kiyen's attention was the Crematorium emblem on her jacket.

That woman belonged to one of the patented family businesses that took care of the corpses.

What were the bodies used for?

For many things.

Their skin could be used to create creams that helped withstand corruption.

Their organs could be harvested and frozen for transplants.

Their bones were ground to make potions.

And their flesh...

Well, some said they sold it as food, though that created friction with the food business.

A shiver ran down his spine.

That woman manipulates the dead.

And now she was holding him, as easily as she could hold a corpse.

"You stole from me," she muttered, cocking her head to one side, as if she found the situation terribly amusing.

Her smile widened.

"That was wrong, very wrong..... What should I do with you?"