"...Or so I can recall," I spoke to no one as I lowered my quill and shut the tome's leather seals.

I pushed back my seat to stand and began dragging my aging body across the static corners of my dwelling, placing my in-progress text amongst the dozens of books in my collection—a shelf that barely managed to hold the weight of my writings and readings.

I slid my work into its place, taking a deep breath and exhaling my lingering thoughts with a heave, leaving my workplace as I got my bearings—the door opened with a blinding light that managed to sneak its way through the dark and shadowed paths of the city's lowest.

I limped toward my post, a lone chair surrounded by knick-knacks, paintings, carvings, and whatever other kind of art I had created in my time here, and yet the almost inscrutable pile of trinkets was not what caught my senses.

The sound of twisting metal and ethereal thrumming.

Each step I took was accompanied by this noise.

Ceasing only when I sat down and observed the source of this unease.

Tied to my withering ankle was a collar engraved with harsh runes of smoke-gray hues and tied with floating chains whose links were formed with an enchantment that used weaving lines of mana—my mana as a means to entrap me within this space.

If it senses I leave the nearby area, I die.

If it notices a change in the flow of magic in my body, I die.

If it so much as feels me strengthen my frail limbs, well, I won't die, but it'll give me one hell of a shock.

"Better left alive as an informant than buried beneath rubble and shit, huh?" I wondered to myself as I waited in my post, a mirror among the many random items around me, showing a grizzled and wrinkled face hunched over and covered in a ramshackle robe of loose threads and dull fabric.

You've become a ghost, eh? Living off long-finished stories and memories of the damned.

Even so, as my body wilted and the once ever-expanding path of my life narrowed, one thing remained constant, as if an unceasing reminder of our futility in spite of our conviction.

Gaksi remained as it was all those years ago.

No matter our actions or the weight we believed them to have, the unfeeling breath of the city maintained its stubborn status quo.

Inequality became a monotony, and even the magic that still coursed through the city's pillars, streets, and walls lost its vibrancy when placed against the dreary backdrop.

The town's lifeblood similarly refused to adapt—under new faces and names but continuing the exuberant wealth, unflinching depravity, and inescapable destitution that plagued the different citizens of the cityscape.

As for the once indomitable Davi of Korosu? Reduced to an elderly man kept alive as an informant for the royal guard currently taking a post as a shopkeep - hands that have drowned in blood and filth now left to carve and write.

Maybe it was a mercy they allowed me on account of good behavior or my silver tongue, but I believed in a far simpler reason for my lenient punishment.

Guess my smooth-talking rubbed off on him.

Whatever the case, the so-called Great Gaksi Heist was a bust.

Incompetence and bad luck from both sides led to no one really getting much of anything from the confrontation other than bruised egos and a city that was abuzz regarding the situation for about three days before returning to business as usual.

"Did I have an order for..? Or, wait, I know I left it around here...Somewhere..." I mumbled to myself as thoughts of the then and the now spun in my mind.

But it was then that something else rang in my head—the resonance of wind chimes as a visitor arrived in my keep.

"Welcome. Look around if 'ya want anything, and if you're just here to snatch shit, at least do it without me noticing." I greeted without much curtsy as I fumbled around in my space.

"I'm not here for your wares, old man," Heavy footprints followed the echoing voice, like grating metal and ominous brasswinds, "You've not grown any more respectful, have you?"

"Considering things, you're asking a whole hell of a lot, Paladin." I narrowed my eyes as I raised my gaze to face heaven's dog.

The Lodefist of Gaksi.

A pillar of colorless metal and interlocking plates, with a blade that threw slashes like comets powered by a magnetic will that shook the very earth.

The air became heavy with his mere presence, and my rattling bones shook with each movement he made.

"What is it you want?" I stood with what strength I had, still having to look up to meet the eyes of the knight hidden behind the faceless mask.

"...Letters." He spoke deep and solemnly, "Dozens of them, detailing a possible case of terrorism." I remained silent, my scorn doing the same as I matched my visitor's air.

"We were not able to discern to whom they were being sent, however..." Not paying mind to my venom, he continued but this time, I could feel his expression change through his steel face, "I did discover the sender." And as I noticed that, he threw a pile of envelopes onto my desk, sealed with runes and tied with spider's silk.

"These are yours, Davi." His gauntlets were placed firmly before me as he continued, "The runes themselves are an illusion, sealed using a scapegoat's mana. The writings, red herrings, however way the lines are curved and edges are drawn thicker in some parts is a code amongst your kind, isn't it?" Tracing each letter with his fingers, the angel accused me with complete conviction.

I remained silent for a moment, my breath maintaining its composure as he continued to stare down at me, "They detail a second heist on Gaksi Bank Omega, and this time you'll be hung on suspicion of terrorism, no conveniences will save your head." And with my paths drawn, I conceded my guise and lowered my scowl.

"...You're right...But color me surprised, son," I admitted, taking in the envelopes of my handwriting and inspecting them, "This is some pretty complex thieves' cant from Kosoru. I'm amazed you knew." But as the tensions grew, my breath began to lighten, and my eyes relaxed from their creased position before I looked back at the hulking figure, recalling something of note.

Indeed it was that the heist of Gaksi was one shrouded in rumor and hearsay, not a word confirmed nor denied as only those who fought in the underworld knew of the actual events that transpired.

One of the first among the vine of whispers was that the pair of outlaws were able to fell Efraim the Lodefist, spread by the very legions of troops he commanded as his absence was immediately noted after the night.

The thought that the royal guard would lose a Paladin to two spellguns was ludicrous and would, with little doubt or delay, destroy the already waning reputation of the Guard.

That was until the gravity of the knight once again filled the halls of his barracks and only then were the whispers silenced.

At least for a time.

Those of keen eye became privy to subtle oddities.

From the way he marched and called upon drills to the pace of his gait and heft of his voice, it was as if the return of the Lodefist created more questions than it did answers.

Even so, few dared to contemplate it further and even less questioned it, leaving it an insubstantial rumor that occasionally echoed within the Guard's halls.

And besides, as long as he remained the same loyal killing machine and metal fist of the nobles, little else mattered.

"Or should I be more impressed that you remember I taught you, Ascel?" And with that, a toothy grin snuck onto my wrinkled face.

Potential.

That was the singular thing I and the aristocrats of this damned city had in common.

We both saw the potential within the streetrat of Gaksi.

A glistening mana signature full of vigor and yet refined, with a wealth of experience within the depths and at the end of blades, Ascel was a prodigy—a diamond within the overwhelming rough.

I had polished him as best I could, but even I could scarcely believe his strength would allow him to attain such a position.

Indeed it was that he was the slayer of the previous Lodefist, and in the aftermath of the heist, was forced to inherit the position of his slain enemy—a risen devil, if you will.

And now, after a decade of tireless servitude, he had come to earn the title well, carrying the colorless armor to victory many a time and swinging forth his sword which could collapse entire syndicates.

Even so, it remained a punishment as I could think of nothing more revolting to my apprentice's mind than to be relegated as a leashed wolf to those who rule from the spires. Not that my treatment of him was any better—something I’ll admit as hypocrisy was not a sin I was willing to share with those I despised.

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"What has been done to my letters?" I inquired, taking the notes and organizing them with a few taps on the desk.

"There are few who know their existence, fewer of their intent, but only I know their author." Pulling a chair towards him with an indigo force, he placed himself atop it—the legs of the seat barely holding firm.

As unnerving as it was to have the royal guard's blade bearing down on my neck, I sensed that there was more to this spiel than idle chit chat and intimidation.

If I was truly suspected of treachery, there would be no leniencies spared, no amount of information would make the value of my life exceed that of my death by an amount significant enough to leave me alive—especially once doubts of my begrudging loyalty emerged.

With that in mind, the puzzled conclusion was obvious. Just what would this lapdog gain from this?

"...Seeing as they decided to send you of all people here, the plans I wrote up must've had the nobles trembling. I almost feel flattered."

"I have no plans to compliment a criminal." The voice reprimanded from its metal shell, bellowing like thunder.

We sat, gazes locked for a moment as I slid the notes back to him, my schemes now worth little more than the paper they were drafted on.

"...However," Catching me off guard, I raised an eyebrow at his remark, "The time of the attack is wrong—or at the very least, lacking." And what followed was equally curious—the criticism as blunt as it was unexpected.

"What do you mean?" I entertained his comment, leaning over the counter as I placed my chin atop my calloused fingers in thought.

"Security is increased at night but lowered during the early morning. Transactions are few and far between and not many guards opt for those hours." Explaining in detail, he took the envelopes and began to unravel them, taking keen notice of the inadequacy.

"I see. Quite observant of you, though to be expected." A compliment was already a rarity in my vocabulary, but I'd never imagined one would be directed toward an officer.

"The enchanted master key you'll be employing is also outdated." He took a small slab of wood from my trinkets, setting it down in front of him and accessing his digital scroll, "The current vault systems are encrypted with nullification spells that automatically adapt when tampered with." As the Paladin explained, he drew a set of lines and figures on the canvas with a conjured flame—a simplified representation of the lock's design.

"An algorithmic sorcery, huh? I heard they were beginning to put those into use." Recalling that such advancements had been developed, I prodded him again as I took a mental note of each word, "Let's say, on the off chance the system was to be compromised, what could've caused it?"

"The locks are powered by an external power supply. If anything manages to harm the mana battery, the system would have to reboot to access its emergency reserves." Continuing to draw his finger upon the wood, the blueprint became more and more intricate as he continued to answer my queriesv—the scent of ash and ember filling the cramped space.

"Which would take how long?"

"A few minutes at most."

"Well then, quite the flaw in their design, don't you think?" Letting time pass as I collected my findings, I continued the conversation.

The knight paid my curiosity no mind, continuing our dialogue as he stared at his handiwork, "Indeed, an issue exacerbated by the insufficient equipment of the security personnel." But upon concluding his statement, he grasped his full hand upon the wood, burning it to nothing with the scarlet flames.

"They're still out there using the Mark Five Mage Catalysts? Guess the government forgot to allocate their budget properly again." I did my best to not flinch and continue our exchange, seeing the opportunity to garner more intel turn to nothing more than powdered remains, "Not that they ever did in the first place."

Though it was not public knowledge, part of the reason for the Central Guard’s failure during the night of the Great Heist was their catalysts. Inefficient and unstable, the spell bangles they wielded caused the needless deaths of many in the bank that night and failed to break through the blockades of the miscreants.

"On that, perhaps we may find mutual belief." His voice remained resonant, hidden and amplified by the silver symbol of nobility hiding his visage, "If that is all, I will be taking my leave." He stood up, his armored footfalls inhuman, more resembling that of a steel golem.

Still, as cold as my sweat ran at the smallest movements of the sentry, I couldn't help but smile upon hearing his sudden goodbye, "Is that so? What happened to dragging my head to your owners on the account of suspected terrorism?" I looked upon my counter, the letters I had written unsullied and away from the Guard's prying eyes.

"I have elaborated enough, no?" Turning around, his massive sword now faced me—an elegant sheath of royal violets and ornate golds that barely held the blade's power within, "Your plans pose little threat. It would be a waste of time informing the nobles of the ramblings of an aged lunatic." And without sparing me a faceless glance, he began to walk away, leaving me with nothing but a scornful comment.

"Really now? And here I thought you still held some semblance of sentimentality towards me, Ascel." Such emotions would do a soldier no good in war, and yet here I still stood, alive and spared the kiss of the guillotine.

While his farewell was little more than an insult, it was nothing short of a miracle that he had not absconded with my head as a punishment for my crimes. The reality was that I no longer carried the same strength I did many moons ago. Despite my best efforts, the flow of my mana had stagnated, my mind slowed, and my body shriveled as I was sentenced to rot with only old stories to accompany my daily drudgery.

But I could not accept such a fate.

There is no shame in conforming to your station. The world displayed a crooked nature and dealt unfair hands of cards as sure and readily as clockwork. Even so, free will was a birthright that remained a constant for all men, no matter the bias of the dealer. I refused to be used and leashed like a dog, even if the attack would no longer be helmed by my voice—as long as someone else could inherit my battles, that was enough.

I had no qualms staking what was left of my life on this. I had long ago come to terms with a death beneath clashing spells and the hymn of bullets, but to die at the feet of cowards, wilting away like a discarded corpse as their beloved city cast its shadow longer and farther, was a thought no bone in my body could accept.

Perhaps it was a bold idealism that refused to die within me, one that placed the burden of my principles on my trembling shoulders. I believed this was something every person carries, but a flame quickly snuffed by the unbearable weight of Gaksi’s injustice.

And yet, here I stood. My mind was deteriorating, my voice hoarse and bones fragile as my final breaths came closer and closer with each passing day beneath the twin moons yet still carrying that burden.

I recalled it vividly, the feeling of that night.

Despite its futility and what amounted to no more than a stone promptly kicked off a warpath, the emotions of freedom—of conviction still made my blood run warm as I bathed my mind in the nostalgic haze.

I continued to seek that experience, one that went beyond simply surviving or chasing another score- no, it was as though we finally stood on the same grounds as the twisted world that relentlessly looked down upon us—and in that moment, we beckoned it with a challenge.

And it accepted it.

Perhaps it was all just brazen idealism from a broken and dying man.

Maybe it would amount to nothing, and my fate was sealed the moment we holstered our first spellcannons.

In the end, all we could do was drown within the all-encompassing shadow of the city, cursed to forever ascend to a surface we could so clearly see but never reach.

And yet…

Chances are Ascel spared me, seeing as once they knew of my plans, there was no reason for me to go through with them. It seems my ill-planning saved me.

…But then why tell me how to improve them?

Most officers carry with them communication runes enchanted with the same spells used on crystal balls. These devices would be powered by latent mana, recording sounds and sights to be collected by the Guard for whatever purposes they see fit.

If the Lodefist was carrying one such trinket, perhaps it was a ruse to force incriminating statements from me and remove any chances of evading a second death penalty.

Choosing to believe that any value my life had depended on me keeping quiet and accepting the small mercy I was given, hoping that my earlier queries were not enough to catch their ire.

And yet…

"...For this to be taken seriously, what would I need?" I asked, straining as much strength as I could into my throat to speak as clearly as possible.

Ascel stopped for a moment, his entire body turning stiff as only his faceless head turned around ever so slightly, "...Heavier firepower." And to my surprise, an answer came one that eluded to an obvious implication.

A grin forced itself onto my expression as the glee I felt was something I could not resist as I heard his reply, and it manifested upon my aged visage.

Ah, Gaksi, the city of many things, caressed by the magenta of the nighttime skies and hiding mazes of stone-brick layers that separated the denizens of the depths and the nobles who resided in homes as high as their arrogance.

Lights flickered in every corner, yet shadows still haunted each crevice as crime danced in tandem with inequality beneath the stage of the twin crimson and emerald moons.

Even so, above all of these constants, one stood as the true lifeblood of Gaksi.

Magic.

Be it royalty or beggar, in a tower that pierced the heavens or in a shack littered with filth, no matter the hour—magic flowed and sang into every corner of Gaksi.

Many cities are said to have an unchanging heartbeat that radiates the energy that connects the unmoving infrastructure with the spirits of its people.

Within this context, magic was that very phenomenon manifested with uncompromising ubiquity.

We stood as nothing more than rodents—pests whose lifeblood was shackled to the city's laws and corruption. However, one must present a question…

If the magic that powered the unflinching heart of Gaksi was the very same that ran through the veins of each person who fell under its umbra, then where is it written that we ourselves cannot change the dismonotony?

Our actions may not change the fundamental flaws of the city, but there was no need for that. What mattered was that we fought, for if we could strain even a single unfeeling breath from the metropolitan unparadise, then we have done enough.

Let not the weight of the world and its unchanging pulse slow the advance of those who wish to shrive away the old and create a world where men will not be forced to shed their lives for change.

What was stolen that fateful night was not just money nor the lives of those who died—it was the realization that Gaksi was not immortal.

No matter how minuscule, despite the unease of futility, this city could be made to bleed. This city could be changed.

Doing bad things to become better men? Or is it now for a better world?

The thought returned to me, riding on memories of nostalgia as the youthful voice rang in my mind as clear as when the words were first spoken.

"So, when do we begin?" The knight asked, his words carrying nary a drop of mana but enchanted all the same, as they left me no greater affirmation upon hearing them.

The Great Gaksi Heist.

The heist to reclaim the fate that was stolen from us.