“In the pirate wars, before the Concordate, the fall of Kyrta was a pivotal moment. Though the city’s defenders fought bravely against the Duke of Ustil’s forces, they were eventually overwhelmed by the emerging alliance of Feltis principalities. The once proud Kyrta was left in ruins. Its people scattered to distant shores, its wealth plundered, its very soul extinguished. The destruction of Olban’s strongest ally thus marked a turning point, with the Duke of Ustil emerging as unopposed master of the Trifelt.”

– Sarai Valtair, From Tricorn to Trifelt: A comprehensive history

Moonlight glistened on scattered puddles between cobblestones. Bored guards lazily patrolled the dark streets around the docks. Tucked away in a nearby alley, Irthal huddled next to his friends, the moon casting a pale light on their faces. They blended well into the night, the hoods over their heads making them almost indistinguishable from the dark alley, as they clutched small, sharp knives.

Earlier, Lurgon had outlined their plan for infiltrating the warehouse. “Alright, so here’s what we’re going to do. Sevastian and I will handle the guards. We’ll make sure they don’t see anything.” Sevastian had nodded at that, a determined look on his face. “Meanwhile, Mythas and Irthal will keep their eyes peeled for any trouble and signal if things go south.”

Everyone had agreed in the end as Irthal had urged them to get the pendant, albeit with a healthy mixture of resolution and nervousness. Sam was probably the only one genuinely pleased with the arrangement, tasked with remaining aboard their ship, keeping everything ready for a hasty exit, if needed. It had been several weeks now, since their purchase of the ship. Weeks spent mending and fine-tuning everything they could on their new vessel. They were ready.

So here they were now. Though it was not exactly their maiden venture into such operations. They had realized long ago that honest work could only go so far to fund their ambitions—certainly not enough to equip and launch an open-ocean expedition. Occasionally, one needed to supplement income by unconventional means.

“Tell me again why we have to risk our necks for this little stone of yours?” Lurgon, opposite Irthal, growled.

“Some of us don’t have their mothers around anymore, Lurgon,” Irthal hissed. “Maybe you’ll understand one day.” A soft snort from the big man.

“Quiet,” Mythas whispered. Hunched down next to Irthal, she kept scanning the street. “They should be here any moment.”

As if summoned by her words, two guards rounded the corner, their heavy boots thudding against the wet cobblestones. Seemingly without a care in the world, they chatted jovially and chuckled as they made their way toward the warehouse. With bated breath, Irthal waited until the guards were past their alley. He only dared to exhale once their backs came into view.

Lurgon signaled Sevastian to get moving. Yet, before either of them could so much as exit the alleyway, Mythas rose. Restless, she looked at Lurgon and whispered, “Let’s spice this up a bit.” Dumbfounded, Lurgon could only watch as Mythas sprang into action, charging toward the guards.

She darted with the grace of a dancer, movements swift and fluid. Hearing steps, the guards started to turn. But before they could so much as react, Mythas whacked one man on the temple with the butt of her knife. Hard. His body crumpled to the ground as if his bones had dissolved.

While the unfortunate first guard made his rather quick journey toward the ground, Mythas kicked the other guard in the back of his knee, sending him sprawling. Even as he raised his hand in a delayed attempt at defense, she drew a cudgel with her free hand and hammered his helmet with all her might. The profound thud was echoed by a softer one as the guard tumbled onto the glistening cobblestones.

Within moments, both guards lay unconscious on the ground. Sevastian and Lurgon emerged from the alley, staring at Mythas in surprise and no small amount of fury. “What the hell was that for?” Sevastian asked, mouth open and brows locked in a furious knot.

Mythas shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Just thought I’d speed things up,” she responded, grinning. “We’ve got places to be, after all.”

“You’re mad. Utterly unhinged,” Lurgon interjected, his face flushed with rage. “Irthal, do something. This madwoman could’ve gotten us all killed!”

“But I didn’t, did I, Lurgon?” Mythas was still cheerful, but her voice had taken on a sharper edge.

“Everyone, calm down,” Irthal hissed, “The important thing is that it worked, and next time we’ll coordinate better. Everyone happy? Now move on, before the next patrol comes along!”

Despite murmurs of discontent, the group swiftly moved toward the warehouse, hearts pounding with adrenaline.

Mere silhouettes in the night, they slipped inside, heading for Gelman’s office. They spotted another guard at a corner. “This time, you let us do the job!” Lurgon cautioned Mythas with a warning finger.

“Suit yourself,” she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Lurgon huffed indignantly but gestured for Sevastian to flank the guard from his left. Keeping to the shadowed walls of the warehouse corridor, the two men stealthily approached the drowsy guard from opposite directions.

After exchanging a flurry of hand signs, Sevastian pounced on the guard’s back, making sure to keep one cloth-covered hand firmly clamped down over the man’s mouth. Just as the man began to emit muffled protests, Lurgon joined in, driving his fist into the unsuspecting guard’s abdomen.

With a choked gasp, the man fell to his knees, further inhaling the potent fumes from the cloth on Sevastian’s hand. His eyes gradually rolled back into his head, and he toppled to the side. Lurgon smoothly caught him, guiding his body gently to the ground.

With a self-satisfied, that’s-how-it’s-done glance at Mythas, Lurgon started to sneak onward. Mythas rolled her eyes as she rose from her corner. “Sometimes, I really can’t stand that guy,” she murmured to Irthal.

“The pair of you will be the death of me.” Irthal shook his head as a wry smile formed on his lips. Mythas gave him a wild grin and playfully shoved Irthal’s shoulder. They joined the others in their covert approach. Ahead, Lurgon just finished picking the lock on Gelman’s office door with practiced ease, and they slipped inside the dark office.

As he scanned the room, Irthal felt his heart pound fiercely against his chest. There it was. His family’s pendant sat on the desk, the thin amethyst lines weaving across the silver cylinder. He extended his hand as he rushed toward it.

Suddenly, a sound from outside the door made Irthal freeze, his hand hovering just above the pendant. The others looked at him, faces filled with panic. Mythas rushed to the door, pressing her ear against it. “There are voices,” she hissed. “Someone’s coming. We need to hurry.”

Irthal’s fingers closed around the pendant. For a moment, time seemed to slow. “Got it,” he whispered, barely daring to breathe.

Even before Irthal could turn around, the door burst open and four guards stormed into the room. Slipping the cold pendant into his pocket, dread raced down Irthal’s spine as he pivoted to face the intruding men. He did not like the odds of them facing down armed guards in a confined space.

“Run!” he yelled, backing away from the desk.

But the guards surged forward, shortswords and cudgels drawn and ready as they cut off their route of escape. Irthal made sure they all had their daggers and cudgels out in turn, but they were no match for the guards. Not in a fair fight. He took a deep breath.

Sidestepping a blow aimed at his head, Irthal took a calculated step to his left, planning to position himself closer to the office door for a swift escape. He fervently hoped his comrades were doing the same.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The guard before him readied himself for his next assault when Lurgon appeared from Irthal’s side. “I’ll take this one!” he bellowed, lunging forward with his cudgel targeted at the guard’s head. The guard, however, leaned back just in time, causing Lurgon’s cudgel to land on his chest instead.

From the corners of his eyes, Irthal saw Sevastian capitalize on Lurgon’s distraction, engaging another guard with frenzied slashes of his dagger. Whatever he was doing appeared to be effective, as an angry grunt erupted from the guard. But then, his companion, having recovered from Lurgon’s assault, materialized beside Sevastian and landed a harsh blow on his side. With his focus scattered, Irthal lost track of Lurgon’s whereabouts.

Across the room, the remaining two guards, visibly furious by now, lunged forward ferociously. A spray of blood from Sevastian’s direction caught Irthal’s attention. He instinctively dodged an incoming attack, but not before feeling a sharp sting as a blade grazed his own cheek. Warm blood trickled down his face, pattering onto the wooden floor beneath him.

Feeling a sudden jolt of panic, Irthal brought his hand to his face, fingers coming away slick with his own blood. He needed to act fast if they wanted to make it out of this alive.

While he steeled himself for a desperate lunge, Mythas had already darted behind the guards, her dagger raised menacingly. Without another moment’s worth of hesitation, she plunged it into the nearest guard’s neck. The man collapsed with a gurgle. Shocked, the other guard turned to confront her but was met with a heavy blow to the head from Lurgon, rendering him unconscious.

Stepping away from the growing pool of blood from the dying guard, Lurgon and Irthal exchanged a worried glance. Then the sound of groaning redirected their attention to the guard who had been assaulted earlier by Sevastian. Whatever had happened to the man, he was now writhing on the floor in pain, leaving only one remaining guard. Who was currently occupied with kicking a prostrate Sevastian, completely oblivious to the rest of the room.

Bloody dagger in hand, Mythas began to purposefully stride toward the man. Oh no, Irthal thought, not again. He quickly bypassed her and, with Lurgon’s assistance, tipped over a cabinet filled with ledgers, trapping the guard beneath it with a muffled thud.

Irthal briefly took in the room, strewn with bodies and debris. “We’ve got to leave, now. To the door! Let’s hope the other guards haven’t heard the commotion,” he commanded, not entirely convinced by his own optimism. But the others nodded curtly.

Mythas aided a groaning Sevastian to his feet, who thanked her with a pained expression. “Anything broken?” Lurgon queried.

“Don’t think so,” Sevastian gingerly probed his ribs. “But I’ll have a few interesting colors by tomorrow.”

“Well, let’s hope that’s the case,” Mythas quipped cheerfully. “Would mean we survived this, after all.”

They cautiously navigated out of the office and through the shadowy corridors of the warehouse. Irthal could not believe their luck as the warehouse doors came into his view after a brief jog.

And that was when they heard the cries of alarm from Gelman’s office, behind them.

Their momentary respite seemed to be over. Irthal led their renewed escape toward the doors, intent on using their head start over the newly alerted guards. But no matter how hard he pushed, the doors just would not budge. Glancing downward, his heart sank as he saw the cause.

They had barred the doors. This was not good. The approaching footfalls of the guards left them with no time to remove the heavy oak bar. They needed to keep moving. A sense of panic began to grip Irthal as he frantically scanned the warehouse, searching for another way out.

“Over here, quick!” Lurgon beckoned urgently, pointing to a small window in the corner of a corridor. Not waiting for the others, he swiftly unlocked it, flung it open, and leapt out of the warehouse. Irthal hastily followed suit. A gust of cool night air greeted him as he hit the ground, rolling to soften the impact. Still, pain flared in his shoulder, numbing swiftly as he forced himself to his feet.

“Go, go, go!” Sevastian shouted next to him, slightly limping. The group burst into a sprint, their feet pounding on the cobblestones in a desperate rhythm, the clamor of their pursuers becoming a growing echo behind them. Irthal was sure that the only thing that saved them were years of operating in the shadows, the rush of adrenaline propelling them just a bit faster than their pursuers.

Pain throbbed in his cheek. He had barely noticed the cut until now. Being in the lead, he risked a glance back at his companions, to take in the situation. Mythas flashed him a grin, her teeth a stark contrast against the darkness, while Lurgon impatiently waved him onward.

He could hear the enraged shouts of the guards behind them, followed by a metallic clang right next to Irthal on the cobblestone street. His mind almost did not comprehend it. They’re shooting at us!

“Everyone, zigzag!” he shouted. At the next intersection, they veered sharply to the right, seeking to disrupt the archers’ line of sight. Their footsteps echoed on the dirty road as they—gasping for breath—sprinted around corners and through the maze of dockside alleys.

Behind him, Irthal heard piercing howls.

“They’ve unleashed the hounds!” Sevastian’s voice wavered with anxiety. Irthal could see why. Outpacing humans was one thing. But they could not outrun dogs, not under the best circumstances. Still, they pushed themselves even harder, ships and warehouses flashing past them in a rapid blur.

Irthal’s heart pounded against his ribcage as he scanned the harbor for their ship. It had to come any moment now. Either that, or this whole thing would be over before it even began.

Finally, he saw it—a compact, sturdy vessel that promised a safe voyage ahead. That was all he wanted right now. They nearly collided with the ship in their haste, scrambling aboard, panting and dripping with sweat.

“Did you get it?” Sam asked anxiously, her eyes on Irthal.

“Cast off, Sam! Now!” Irthal managed to gasp out. His sides felt as if someone had skewered them with a thousand daggers and, despite the cool breeze, he was sweating profusely.

“But it’s still dark. The sun’s just starting to rise. You know how dangerous it can be to sail out of the harbor at this hour!”

Lurgon was about to knock some sense into Sam, when she stiffened. “Guards! All hands on deck, we’re casting off!” Sam had turned a sickly pale but her voice remained firm.

Irthal watched as, amid their exhausted, wheezing forms, the crew sprang into action. Sails unfurled and mooring ropes were severed. They had been ready.

A group of silhouettes rushed out of an alley onto the dock, barking furiously. The hounds had caught up to them. Moments later, more shapes followed; guards, their shouts matching the dogs in intensity.

The waning moonlight briefly glinted silver off the guards’ arrows as they aimed them at the departing ship. Moments later, whistling filled the air. Most arrows splashed into the water, or embedded themselves as quivering decorations in their hull, but a few reached the deck. One of their hired sailors let out a yelp as an arrow punctured his calf.

“Give them a moment longer, and they’ll rain fire upon us,” Irthal stressed. “We have to get out of here. Quick!” The ship began to gain momentum as it danced over the waves, slinking its way through the dark, looming shapes in the harbor, barely visible in the shy dawn light.

“Steer clear, steer clear!” Sam cried out in a mix of frustration and desperation as they neared a merchant cog blocking their way out of port. “We’ll capsize if we hit that.”

With an ominous creaking sound, their ship slowly—agonizingly slowly—altered its course, veering away from the moored merchant ship. Until the last moment, Irthal was convinced they were going to collide and sink. That would certainly have been an effective way to cut this adventure short. He closed his eyes, expecting to hear snapping timber and screams any moment now.

Yet nothing happened. Miraculously, they glided past the hulking vessel with just a few handspans of clearance. Irthal allowed himself to exhale. Some of the sailors were attending to their injured companion, while others ensured they did not collide with any other docked ship, or the dock itself. Every passing second now seemed to nudge them further toward safety. Despite the guards dashing along the docks in pursuit, fewer and fewer arrows reached their ship.

After a heart-stopping chase that felt like an eternity to Irthal, but likely spanned mere minutes (if at all), they finally navigated the mouth of the harbor into the open sea. Casting one final triumphant glance at their thwarted pursuers, Irthal joined his companions at the bow. Around him, the constraining harbor gradually receded, replaced by the boundless expanse of pale orange water in the first touches of dawn.

“That could’ve gone better,” Sevastian commented with a faint half-smile, scrutinizing a sword-cut on his arm that had finally stopped bleeding.

“Well, it looks like we’ve made it,” Mythas remarked cheerfully. The only of them who seemed to have escaped their heist unscathed. “Off to riches and adventure, I’d say.”

“Not so fast,” Lurgon interjected forcefully, “you can bet your ass that the first thing these goons will do is rouse Gelman. And the second, right after that, will be to outfit a ship to hunt us down. Gelman simply can’t afford a reputation of someone that can be stolen from. He’s got no choice. And, let’s not forget, we’re now murderers too, on top of everything else.” His last remark was accompanied by a scathing look at Mythas, who seemed unruffled by Lurgon’s glare.

“Better them than us, I reckon,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

Leaving the two to their squabble, Irthal began to clean the cut on his cheek with a damp cloth. This will probably leave a mark, he thought. A reminder for the price we pay for the things we hold dear.

Then, fingers still trembling, Irthal Kedan returned his family’s amulet to its rightful place around his neck, its familiar silver weight nestling against his collarbone.

The wind—sailors called it the ‘Breath of Olban’—propelled them forward as they bid their home farewell, the ship slicing through the waves with ease. Irthal manned the helm, his gaze sweeping the horizon, already imagining distant lands. Sam had dispatched Sevastian and Lurgon below deck to make sure the crew was doing their job. Only Mythas remained by Irthal’s side, eyes fixated on the water.

Some of them would come to see Olban again, in time. But they would not recognize it. Little did they know, they were beginning a journey that would shape their lives and the world around them.

If only they knew.

If only.