Raef had assumed Ralan was dead. He watched from a dark corner as the guard slammed his friend's forehead again and again into the heavy wooden table. All for something that Raef had done. He was ashamed that he didn't jump in and let them all know the truth—he had thrown the tomato. It was all his fault.

What made him feel worse was that his perception of Ralan was all wrong. He had been seething as Ralan recounted the story of his heroic toss at the knight. Somehow Ralan always got the credit when nothing went wrong and Raef got the blame when they were caught. He was on the verge of breaking off their friendship when Deputy Karch walked in.

And even as he was having his head slammed against a table, Ralan didn't once say that it was Raef who had thrown the tomato. There was an honor in Ralan that Raef had never recognized. Sure, it was easy to see his brashness and his hatred for authority and his joy in driving his brother mad, but Raef was starting to think that underneath it all was some kind of noble pursuit.

He didn't know what that pursuit was, but the moment that Raef discovered that Ralan was alive, he knew he wanted to be a part of it.

He had returned to the Four Corners that evening feeling depressed and helpless. All he wanted to do was drink some ale, remember his friend, and see if anyone had any news.

The entire atmosphere of the inn changed in the evening, with older apprentices and masters from various guilds relaxing after a day of labor replacing the younger apprentices and guildless who inhabited the inn during the day.

One thing hadn't changed, however: Ralan was the center of attention. This time, however, it wasn't his storytelling but rather the news that he had been elevated to Guildmaster Thief.

At a table near the back, Raef noticed several of the young apprentices who had been listening and laughing to Ralan earlier. He hurried over for news.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"...and my brother has a slingshot. With the cage, it will be difficult, but I swear I'm going to hit him in the eye with a piece of gravel! How great will it be to have a Guildmaster Thief with an eyepatch!" The whole table laughed as the Harvest apprentice covered his eye with his hand and squinted with his other one.

Raef stood in the background, listening to them all. Kiril, the young apprentice who cheered the loudest at Ralan's story discussed how he had saved up some rotten tomatoes to throw at Ralan. Another apprentice talked about how they should donate crowns to a pot, and whoever drew blood first would win the entire prize.

He had debated storming in and embarrassing them all—berating them for their childishness and lack of support for their friend. Even if Ralan wasn't a friend to them, he shared a story with them that caused him to get beaten severely. Certainly that counted for something?

But he couldn't. Raef cursed himself as he shuffled out of the inn. He just couldn't stand confrontation at such a personal level. He could incite chaos, and he had done so many times at Ralan's goading, but he just couldn't stand arguing with someone or a group of people.

Hit and run. Yeah, that's how I operate. While Raef considered it a somewhat demeaning strategy, it was what he knew best. Now he just needed to find a way to help Ralan by hitting and running. Of course, before he could do that he had to find him, and he had no idea where Ralan was. He asked everyone he knew, and no one had ever considered where Pietro lived. As far as they knew he just wandered the streets.

It was deep into the night before he gave up. He returned to his quarters with a simple plan: he would wait for Ralan at the end of the Founders Day Parade. He couldn't help his friend get through that ordeal, but he would be there for him at the end.

As he lay his head down on his straw mat and closed his eyes, an exciting possibility entered Raef's mind—he could join the Thieves Guild. He thought of dashing feats of robbery, where he would steal from the mansions in the Upper Triangle and give the proceeds to the poor folks in the Flats or even the Old Quarter. He pictured himself roaming the streets in his ominous black robe, the Knights hunting him down while citizens cheered him on.

He fell asleep and dreamt of countless adventures, all involving a black robe and plenty of daring. Could being a thief really be that bad?

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