The sun dipped lower on the horizon, bathing the city in hues of orange and crimson. Kael crouched on a rooftop overlooking the west wing of Lord Cedric’s mansion, his sharp eyes scanning every detail below. From his vantage point, he could see the servants scurrying to finish their tasks for the day, the guards patrolling with practiced precision, and the flicker of torches that dotted the courtyard.
This was it.
Every plan, every adjustment, every calculated risk over the past few days had led to this moment. The crew was in place, scattered across the mansion’s perimeter like ghosts waiting for the right moment to act. Kael’s role as lookout wasn’t just about observation; it was about control. The timing of every movement, every signal, would hinge on his instincts.
From his vantage point, Kael raised his hand, signaling with subtle gestures. Below, Larris and another thief were hidden near the servants’ entrance, waiting for Kael to guide them in. The young lookout’s sharp eyes caught the flicker of a torchlight moving near the south gate—too close to their entry point.
Kael reached for the small pouch at his belt, his fingers closing around a pebble. With practiced precision, he tossed it toward the far side of the courtyard, aiming for a loose stack of crates near the stable. The faint clatter was barely audible over the ambient noise of the city, but it was enough.
The torchlight paused, then shifted as the guard turned toward the sound. He approached the crates cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Kael smirked. One down.
He gave a two-finger signal to Larris, who slipped through the entrance with the other thief close behind. Their shadows disappeared into the mansion, the first stage of the plan unfolding perfectly.
Kael stayed on the rooftop, his sharp eyes darting between the courtyard and the upper windows of the mansion. The guards inside would be on their usual routes by now, but the real challenge was ensuring they stayed where they needed to be—or moved when they didn’t.
He spotted another guard patrolling near the west wing. This one lingered by a fountain, his posture lazy but alert enough to cause trouble. Kael pulled another pebble from his pouch, tossing it just past the fountain. The sound of a pebble hitting stone was insignificant enough not to raise alarm, but it drew the guard’s gaze and, more importantly, his feet.
The guard moved toward the sound, stepping further from the west wing’s main entrance.
Kael signaled again, this time to Darius, who had taken position at the rear of the mansion. The older thief gave a brief nod before vanishing into the shadows, his team moving closer to the vault.
Kael felt the familiar thrill building in his chest. The plan was working, but his role wasn’t done yet. The minor disturbances he had orchestrated so far had been enough to clear paths and adjust rotations without raising suspicion. But the real test was yet to come.
Time slipped by in measured moments, every second critical. Kael’s focus remained absolute as he tracked the progress of the team inside. The crew was nearing the vault by now, and soon they would need a clean escape.
Kael slipped down from his perch, moving like a shadow through the narrow alleys surrounding the mansion. He reached the western side, where a line of barrels and crates sat stacked against the outer wall. It was the perfect spot for what came next.
This wasn’t just about shifting a guard’s attention anymore—this was about creating enough chaos to cover their exit, and it had to look natural. No smoke, no obvious traps—just believable, well-timed misfortune.
Kael glanced around, his eyes locking onto the mansion’s kitchen window, which overlooked the courtyard. Inside, the faint glow of firelight flickered, and Kael could just make out the busy clatter of servants preparing the evening meal. A sly smile played on his lips.
Kael moved quickly, slipping toward the stables and cutting a loose strap on a nearby cart loaded with barrels of water. With a deft kick, he sent the cart rolling downhill toward the kitchen entrance. It picked up speed, the barrels jostling until one tipped and burst against the cobblestones, sending water rushing toward the doorway.
The commotion was immediate. A servant shrieked as the water spilled into the kitchen, flooding the entrance and halting their work. More servants rushed to contain the mess, their shouts echoing across the courtyard.
The noise drew the guards’ attention, as Kael had predicted. Two of them moved toward the kitchen, their expressions annoyed but not alarmed. One barked at the servants to clean up faster, while the other stood watch.
Kael grinned. Perfect.
From his rooftop perch, he caught Darius’s signal from an upper window—confirmation that they had the item and were moving to the exit. Kael nodded to himself, his mind racing through the final steps of their escape.
He wasn’t done yet.
Kael grabbed a loose board he had set aside earlier, positioning it over a narrow gap between the barrels. He gave it a slight nudge, ensuring it teetered precariously. Then he crouched in the shadows and waited.
Seconds later, the same guard from the kitchen stepped back, barking orders at the servants. His foot hit the edge of the board, sending it toppling over and striking one of the remaining barrels. The barrel tipped, spilling more water and scattering the servants in a frenzy.
The guard cursed, waving his hands as if the chaos could be controlled by sheer will.
Kael watched, his sharp eyes darting to the gate. The disruption was complete—every guard in the vicinity was focused on the chaos in the kitchen, leaving the side route clear for the team’s exit.
He climbed back to his perch, scanning the mansion’s perimeter one last time. The escape path was open, the guards distracted, and the team was slipping into the shadows with their prize in hand.
The commotion would seem like a series of unfortunate coincidences until Cedric realized what had been stolen. By then, the Black Fangs would be long gone, leaving behind nothing but confusion—and Kael’s subtle, untraceable calling card of perfectly orchestrated chaos.
The distraction in the courtyard was perfection in motion. Servants scrambled to clean the flooding water, guards shouted over one another, and a second barrel toppled with a satisfying crash, adding to the chaos. Kael crouched low on the rooftop, his sharp eyes fixed on the mansion’s side exit. This was the moment. The distraction had done its job—every guard had been drawn to the commotion, and the escape route was clear.
But the team never emerged.
Kael’s grin began to fade, replaced by a knot of unease tightening in his chest. He scanned the area again, watching the shadows near the door for any sign of Larris, Darius, or the others. There was nothing. No flicker of movement, no whispered signal.
Seconds stretched into minutes. The commotion in the courtyard began to settle. A guard barked an order, sending two servants running with buckets to clean the mess near the kitchen. The rest of the guards started drifting back to their posts, their attention returning to their patrols.
Still, no one came out.
Kael’s mind raced. What went wrong? He’d planned every step, calculated every risk. The team should have been out by now, moving through the side route and disappearing into the night. The silence was deafening, each passing moment amplifying his dread.
He swallowed hard, his instincts screaming at him to leave, to get out while the exit was still clear. But he couldn’t. Kael needed this. He needed this heist to succeed.
This wasn’t just another job—this was everything.
In a moment of pure, reckless determination, Kael made his choice. He dropped from the rooftop, landing silently in the narrow alley below. His heart hammered in his chest as he darted toward the side route, sticking to the shadows like a second skin. The entrance was still clear, the timing perfect.
Kael slipped inside, his senses on high alert as the air grew colder. The walls of the mansion’s lower corridors were damp, the faint scent of stone and dust filling his nose. Every sound echoed faintly in the stillness: the soft shuffle of his boots on the stone, the distant clatter of a guard’s armor.
The plan had been perfect. He didn’t understand how it could have failed. Well, at least he had thought that the crew was good enough to understand not fall into its failure points.
His fingers brushed the hilt of the small dagger at his side as he moved deeper into the corridor, his mind racing through every possible scenario. Were they caught? What happened between the all clear signal and now? Are they still alive?
Kael’s pulse quickened as he turned a corner, his sharp eyes scanning the hallway for any sign of the crew. He saw nothing but empty shadows. Using his memory of the blueprints of Lord Cedric’s tunnels he made his way towards the inner vault.
But Kael wasn’t alone.
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He didn’t notice the man who had been watching him from the rooftops, who had followed him silently through the alley and into the side entrance. The man’s movements were deliberate, each step careful and calculated as he trailed behind Kael.
There was something almost amused in his expression, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at his lips. His eyes glinted with a strange mix of curiosity and something darker, something predatory.
Kael pressed on, oblivious to the figure in the shadows. His focus was singular now, driven by the need to find his crew, to salvage what he could of the heist. The echo of his footsteps faded as he disappeared deeper into the mansion, the silence swallowing him whole.
And still, the man followed, his smirk growing wider.
——-
Thorne leaned against the shadowed wall of the alley, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on the boy darting through the streets like a shadow. There was something about him—something raw and electric. Thorne had seen hunters before, skilled and precise in the wilds, but never one like this.
The boy moved with a fluidity that spoke of years of survival, his every motion deliberate and efficient. He wasn’t just running errands or loitering; he was observing, studying. His gaze darted toward Lord Cedric’s mansion, following the movements of guards, servants, and the faintest disturbances in the surrounding streets. Thorne recognized that look—keen, calculating, and alive with the thrill of the hunt.
It was an expression Thorne knew well, for it was the same one he wore whenever he stalked prey in the wilderness. But this boy wasn’t chasing deer or wolves. His jungle was the city, his quarry the marks of a thieves’ guild he was clearly a part of.
Thorne had been drawn to the mansion earlier that day out of sheer curiosity. The Rangers had arrived in Althemar just before midday, their travel-weary horses clopping through the bustling streets as the city’s chaos unfolded around them. After securing rooms at a modest tavern, Thorne had instructed his men to rest, claiming he wanted to get a feel for the city.
His squad, used to his wandering habits, didn’t protest. They had followed his orders to the letter, their trust in their captain unwavering. Thorne, meanwhile, had quietly slipped away, making his way toward Cedric’s estate to get a sense of the man whose hospitality they would soon accept.
The mansion was as grand as expected—too grand, if Thorne were honest. Cedric’s wealth and ambition were etched into every stone, from the reinforced walls to the gleaming armor of his guards. Thorne could tell at a glance that these weren’t ordinary sentries. They bore the marks of training from the capital, a mixture of retired palace guards and those who hadn’t quite made the cut. They weren’t the best, but they were skilled enough to keep any common troublemaker at bay.
Still, it wasn’t the mansion or the guards that caught Thorne’s attention. It was the boy.
He had appeared as if from nowhere, perched on a rooftop with a vantage point over the estate. Thorne had watched him for a while, intrigued by the way the boy observed everything. He didn’t just look—he saw. The guards, the servants, the patrols, even the stray dog nosing at a pile of discarded food scraps. Nothing escaped his notice.
The boy moved with a predator’s instinct, weaving through the streets and alleys as if he were part of the city itself. Thorne saw how he created subtle disturbances—nothing overt, nothing suspicious, just enough to shift the guards’ patterns and open opportunities.
Thorne couldn’t help but admire the boy’s cunning. He wasn’t just working a plan; he was adapting to the moment, shifting the landscape around him like a seasoned hunter driving prey toward a snare. And then there was the look in his eyes, a spark of something fierce and undeniable: joy.
The boy was enjoying this.
It was strange, unsettling even, to see that same thrill in a street rat. Thorne had grown up in the wilderness, honing his skills against the elements and the creatures that called the forest home. This boy had grown up in the gutters of the city, surrounded by filth and desperation. And yet, the two of them shared something fundamental.
Thorne waited, watching as the boy continued to orchestrate his quiet chaos. Soon, it became clear what was happening: a heist. The thieves’ guild was about to make a move on Cedric’s mansion. Thorne could see it in the careful positioning of figures in the shadows, the subtle signals exchanged between them.
Thorne slipped away, returning to the tavern where his men waited. Over a quick meal, he laid out his plan.
“Cedric’s mansion is being targeted tonight,” he told them. “A thieves’ guild heist. We’ll let them make their move, then catch them in the act. Consider it our way of returning the favor for Cedric’s hospitality. I need you lot to get word and find a way in without alerting the thieves.”
The squad grinned knowingly. This wasn’t the first time their captain had concocted a scheme like this. They trusted him implicitly, even if his methods were unconventional.
As the sun set, Thorne positioned himself near the mansion again, carefully observing the boy’s every move. The distractions were masterful—loose barrels rolling, faint clatters that drew guards away, and subtle shifts in timing that allowed the thieves to slip inside unnoticed. The boy was the linchpin, the orchestrator of it all.
When the real distraction—a burst of water spilling into the mansion’s kitchen—set the courtyard into a frenzy, Thorne had to fight the urge to chuckle. The chaos was so perfectly timed, so believable, that even he was impressed. But he noticed something else as the boy’s gaze lingered on the side route. The thieves were late.
Thorne’s eyes narrowed as he saw the boy hesitate. Then, in a moment of reckless determination, the boy dropped from the rooftop and darted toward the side route.
Thorne followed, silent as a shadow.
The boy moved with urgency, slipping into the corridor and disappearing into the mansion’s depths. Thorne trailed behind, keeping his distance but never losing sight of him.
The boy didn’t know yet, but he was walking straight into a trap. Thorne and his squad had already warned the guards and Cedric about the heist, and the crew inside had been intercepted. The thieves were already in custody, the heist foiled. Thorne did not know what the heist was about but Cedric had a vault of wealth that he assumed was the target.
But Thorne wasn’t here for Cedric or the thieves. He was here for the boy. He wanted to know once and for all if the little thieve was in it for the money or for the glory, the conquering of a hard task.
There was something about him, something that made Thorne want to know more. The way he moved, the way he thought, the way he seemed to thrive in the chaos he created—it was rare. The boy was a natural hunter, one forged not by the wilds but by the harsh streets of the city.
Thorne followed with a strange smirk on his face, curiosity driving him forward. Thorne intended to see where it led when the boy was faced with failure.
——-
The tunnels were damp and quiet, the air heavy with the musty scent of stone and earth. Kael moved like a shadow through the corridors, his soft steps barely making a sound. He kept close to the walls, his sharp eyes darting ahead to catch the faint flicker of torchlight in the distance. So far, the guards he’d encountered had been too complacent, their confidence in being so deep beneath the mansion blinding them to the possibility of intruders.
Kael’s heart raced, not with fear, but with a strange mix of frustration and determination. He hadn’t seen any sign of the crew since he entered the tunnels. The plan was supposed to work seamlessly, but something had gone wrong. He could feel it. The absence of his crew gnawed at his mind, but he pushed the thought aside. He couldn’t afford to lose focus now.
As he crept closer to the vault, the unease in his chest grew heavier. The massive iron door was slightly ajar, torchlight spilling from the chamber within. Kael froze, pressing himself against the wall as he pulled a small dagger out, and peered inside.
The scene before him made his blood run cold.
Larris, Darius, and the rest of the crew were kneeling on the cold stone floor, their hands bound behind their backs. A squad of men stood over them, their swords drawn and pressed threateningly close to the thieves’ necks. The captors wore no uniform Kael recognized, but their stance and demeanor screamed military precision.
Kael’s mind raced. Who are they? How did they know?
Before he could think further, he felt something cold and hard press against the back of his neck. A voice, low and confident, spoke from behind him.
“It’s over, boy. You’ve been outmatched.”
Kael froze, every muscle in his body tensing. His mind raced for a way out, but he couldn’t see one.
“Drop the dagger,” the voice commanded.
Kael hesitated for a fraction of a second before the blade at his neck pressed harder. He let the small dagger slip from his fingers, the clatter echoing in the tunnel.
The man behind him chuckled. “Smart choice.”
Kael’s frustration boiled over, anger bubbling in his chest. Strangely, he didn’t feel the fear he thought he would. Instead, a simmering fury took hold, fueled by his helplessness and the weight of failure. He clenched his fists. “How?” he asked, his voice sharp. “How did you know?”
The man laughed again, a deep, almost amused sound. “We’re not Cedric’s men, if that’s what you’re thinking. If it had been just his guards, your plan might’ve worked. Hell, it probably would’ve. You’re good, kid. I’ll give you that.”
Kael twisted slightly, enough to catch the faint outline of the man’s face from the corner of his eye. The smirk on the man’s lips made Kael’s anger flare hotter.
“Then who are you?” Kael asked, his voice low.
“Rangers,” the man said casually. “It just so happens we’re passing through, and Cedric didn’t even bother to tell his own men we were here. Something about running drills and keeping them sharp.” The man chuckled. “Sloppy communication, but lucky for him—and unlucky for you.”
Kael’s stomach sank. Rangers. He’d heard the stories. Elite warriors, trackers, and enforcers who answered only to the crown. If they were involved, this wasn’t just bad luck—it was catastrophic.
The man’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “Now, tell me. What was the score? What were you after?”
Kael hesitated, his mind racing for a believable lie. “Just… a collection of jewels,” he started, his voice faltering under the weight of the blade at his neck.
The man’s smirk vanished. “Don’t lie to me, boy.”
Before Kael could react, the man’s sword swung, the flat of the blade striking the side of his head. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he stumbled, barely catching himself against the wall.
“Lying will not be tolerated,” the man growled. He gestured toward the vault. “Kill one of them.”
Kael’s breath caught. “No—”
The command was given, and one of the Rangers stepped forward, his sword plunging into Darius’s chest without hesitation. The crew leader gasped, his eyes wide with shock before his body crumpled to the floor.
Kael’s heart slammed in his chest, his vision blurring as anger and helplessness warred within him.
“Now,” the man said calmly, “answer truthfully, or the next one dies.”
Kael swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he finally spoke. “It’s a chest,” he said. “We were hired to take a chest from Cedric’s vault. It’s supposed to have something in it—evidence of treason. That’s all I know. We weren’t told more.”
The man’s smirk returned, his eyes narrowing as he studied Kael. “Treason, huh?” he muttered, as if mulling over the word.
Before he could press further, a booming voice cut through the chamber.
“Kill the conniving little thieves!”
Kael whipped his head toward the source of the voice, his heart sinking further as Lord Cedric himself stormed into the room. His face was red with fury, his ornate robes swirling around him as he pointed an accusatory finger at Kael and the crew.
“You dare try to rob me?” Cedric snarled. “You’ll pay with your lives for this insult!”
Kael’s mind spun as the heist had erupted into chaos, the Rangers snapped their attention to the furious man as Cedric’s voice filled the vault. For the first time, Kael felt the cold grip of fear settle over him. He had no plan for this, no escape route left to take.
——-
Lord Cedric’s face was nearly purple with rage, his bellowing voice filling the vault and reverberating off the stone walls. “Kill them all! These conniving little rats dare steal from me? I want their heads on spikes before sunrise!”
Kael’s heart hammered in his chest. He felt the blood pounding in his ears as Cedric’s guards stormed into the vault, their armor clanking and swords drawn. The situation had spiraled out of control, and there was no way out.
Thorne stood silently amidst the chaos, his sharp eyes flicking between Cedric, his men, and the bound thieves on the floor. Protocol dictated that the Rangers interrogate prisoners before any executions to gather intelligence, but Cedric’s outrage left little room for debate.
Thorne’s gaze landed on the boy—the defiant glint in his eyes, the clenched fists, the way he held himself despite the blade pressed against his back. There was something there, something raw and unpolished that made Thorne hesitate.
The boy’s words earlier echoed in his mind. A chest, evidence of treason. If there was even a shred of truth to that, it wasn’t something to ignore.
Thorne stepped forward, his voice loud and commanding enough to cut through Cedric’s rant. “Well then we will leave the thieves to your guards, Lord Cedric,” he said, his tone sharp. “They’ll deal with them as you see fit.”
Cedric turned, his furious gaze landing on Thorne. “You’ll take no part in their punishment?”
Thorne shook his head, his expression impassive. “Not our place. Rangers enforce the King’s law, not local vendettas. They’re yours to handle.”
Cedric grunted, waving a hand toward his guards. “Fine. Make it swift.”
Thorne stepped toward the boy, who stared back at him, wide-eyed but with a simmering defiance that refused to fade. Kael clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as though he were about to yell something he’d surely regret.
Before the boy could speak, Thorne struck him again with the flat of his blade—not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to daze him.
“Shut your mouth, boy!” Thorne barked, his voice booming. “You lazy, useless apprentice! Letting common thieves take you down? You’re an embarrassment!”
Kael blinked, stunned, both by the words and the blow. Apprentice?
Thorne grabbed Kael by the collar and hauled him upright with a practiced ease, dragging the smaller boy toward the exit. Kael stumbled, still too dazed to resist, but his mind raced, confusion swirling with anger.
“Next time you fall for a trap like this,” Thorne growled loudly, “I’ll make you sleep outside for a month. Do you hear me?”
Kael opened his mouth to retort, but Thorne’s grip tightened, and he leaned down, whispering in a tone so low only Kael could hear. “Say a word, and you’ll regret it. Keep quiet.”
Kael’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes wide as he tried to make sense of what was happening.
Thorne turned back toward Cedric, his expression unreadable. “I apologize for my apprentice’s incompetence, Lord Cedric. It seems I’ve been far too lenient. We’ll be leaving tonight to ensure he gets the punishment and training he so clearly needs.”
Cedric frowned, his anger briefly giving way to confusion. “You’re leaving now?”
Thorne nodded, his voice calm and firm. “Yes. I’ll take him into the wilds to remind him what it means to be a Ranger. It’s the only way he’ll learn.”
Cedric stared for a moment, then waved a hand dismissively. “Fine. Rangers and their strange ways. Do as you like.”
Thorne turned to his squad, his sharp gaze carrying an unspoken command. They understood immediately, falling into step behind him as he dragged Kael toward the exit.
The guards parted to let them pass, their attention quickly returning to Cedric’s tirade over the remaining thieves.
Kael stumbled along, his mind spinning. Every time he tried to speak, Thorne would give him a sharp look or a quiet but firm shush. The boy’s anger simmered, but something about the man’s cold, commanding demeanor kept him silent and a threat of death if he disobeyed.
The Rangers moved quickly, navigating the tunnels until they emerged outside the mansion. They didn’t stop, heading straight for the city gates under the cover of night.
Kael was practically fuming by the time they reached the outskirts of Althemar, his confusion and anger bubbling just beneath the surface. He opened his mouth once more, but Thorne cut him off with a curt whisper.
“Not yet,” Thorne said. “Speak when we’re clear.”
Kael gritted his teeth, biting back the words that threatened to spill over. He glanced back at the city, the lights of Cedric’s mansion growing smaller in the distance.
He didn’t know what this man wanted, but one thing was clear: everything had just taken a sharp, unexpected turn.