Temple never interfered in other people’s business. He hid silently in the shadows and let the tragedies and celebrations of others pass him by.

Temple had never even been tempted to interfere in anything, but he had no personal rules against taking a moment to watch other people’s actions. Especially when… well, when ‘other people’ happened to be strangely captivating, and he found it hard to look away.

Silently, he shifted his weight and crept forward on the support beam under the eaves of the timber frame house he was perched on, high above the street, from which he could see the silent group below.

Three of Sonderport’s Watchers, wearing their green and yellow uniform tabard over leather armour, were creeping through the alley below. An older man clutching a short sword, a tall, sinewy woman with short, greying hair, and the man who had first caught Temple’s attention: he was tall, sturdy, broad-shouldered, and with short hair that shone like golden honey when the trio silently ducked under a window with a lamp on the sill.

Temple quietly crept along the beam above and jumped onto the rooftop opposite, following the group below as they sneaked into the dark, narrow courtyard between houses. They stopped by the back entrance to one of the tenement buildings, a nondescript, two-storey timber frame house. Temple stayed on the roof above, hoping to get a better look at the younger man’s face.

Honey-hair seemed to be in charge because he silently directed the older man to the shadows nearby and the sinewy woman to the darkness by the corner to the alley back to Ninnian Street; the broad, main thoroughfare, lit by braziers during the night.

Temple wrinkled his brows under his hood. As a matter of principle, he disliked the idea of Watchers lying in wait and being smart about their duties. Nonetheless, he stayed on the rooftop, still staring at the leader of the three, who now took up position by the door and tensed for something to happen.

A loud knocking came from the other street where the main entrance to the house was, and someone shouted, “This is the Watchers of Kaala palisade. Open up immediately!”

That dismayed Temple further. Watchers shouldn’t split up to lure people into ambushes. Watchers should just arrive noisily and blunder through their task, knowing their prey had escaped before the battle even began so that they had technically done their duty, but not risked themselves in the process.

A moment later, the back door flew up and two large men ran out. The battle began when honey-hair by the door tripped the first runner over.

Temple knew he could easily move away now – nobody on the ground below him would notice him – but for some reason, he kept sitting there, immovable, watching the fight.

The honey-haired Watcher was a proficient combatant; he concentrated on keeping the fleeing men busy, evading attacks from both of them when the first man through the door quickly picked himself up. The older Watcher with the short sword soon joined him, holding the two engaged.

It was mesmerising, watching honey-hair move. He was fast to dodge, surprisingly light on his feet, and decisive in his strikes when he saw an opening.

The group of Watchers who had knocked on the door at the other side of the house were also clearly in battle with people still inside, judging from the shouts and sounds of things breaking from inside through the open back door.

Suddenly, a third man came pelting through the back door with an unwieldy sack slung over his shoulder. He simply ducked and ran full-tilt out of there, barrelling through the battle at the door, knocking over the older Watcher and running into the darkness of the courtyard.

“Get the child!” honey-hair shouted, and Temple saw the tall woman, who had stayed in the background until now, throw herself forward, impacting with the fleeing man and his burden. They both fell over in the darkness, and Temple began moving back over the roof to the alleyway when he heard a child’s piercing scream of pain over the sounds of the battles.

As Temple reached the edge of the roof and could see down into the alley, he saw the man with the sack over his shoulder kick the Watcher viciously and pick himself up, clearly hurt if his sounds of discomfort were to be believed, but it seemed that fear of being apprehended trumped his pain, for he quickly turned and ran off in the direction of Ninnian Street. Moments later, with an air of grim determination even visible from the roof in the darkness, the Watcher picked herself up and darted off in pursuit.

Temple couldn’t stop himself. He ran along in the darkness, jumping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop along the street, so he could see the spectacle unfold. He had an exhaustive practical knowledge of Sonderport and knew most of the wards and quarters from the sight of the rooftops and the lightless back alleys on the ground that were accommodating to a thief hiding.

As he ran to keep up with the fleeing man and the sinewy Watcher who pursued him, Temple was acutely aware of the madness of his actions. He could have justified himself staying and staring at a handsome man brawling, but this had absolutely no justification.

Below in the street, on the corner of a connecting alleyway leading out into the broader Ninnian Street, the Watcher managed to overtake the runner, pushing the man sideways into a wall so he collapsed with a subdued cry. In a flash, the woman threw herself on him and pummelled his jaw with a determination that was downright unsettling to see, even from the safety of the roof above. The thug was immediately knocked out and the Watcher began reaching for the bulky sack the thug had dropped when he fell.

Out of pure instinct, Temple froze in his tracks and willed the darkworld to swallow him. The familiar chill enveloped him, everything around him took on the strange, dark sharpness, and the soft chorus of whispers just on the cusp of hearing assaulted his senses for a brief second before being customarily ignored. In the darkworld, he would stay unseen by any passers-by as long as he stayed still, and he could navigate more freely, manipulating the shadows to his advantage – for as long as the darkworld allowed him access… He usually had a few minutes before the otherworldly state spat him out again, so he had to make the best of it.

Swiftly and casually, Temple drew shadowy handholds out of the wall of the building he was perched on and made his way down to a narrow wooden balcony with a half-rotted railing.

Several meters down the street, clearly visible in the light from one of the braziers interspersed at regular intervals down Ninnian Street, the Watcher woman had cut open the large sack that the running man had been holding. A small boy dressed in torn trousers and a too-big shirt emerged from the confines of the burlap. From where Temple perched unseen in the shadows of the dilapidated balcony above, he couldn’t see the boy’s face, only his dark hair and narrow frame.

The child reached out a hand towards the woman kneeling in front of him.

The woman kneeling in front of him.

The hand holding a knife.

The knife that was handed to him by the man holding the woman down.

Her tears and pleading gaze.

The knife that bit her neck.

The blood that was warm on his face.

…

With a screeching gasp, Temple staggered forward, lost his balance, and suddenly found himself painfully on the ground below when the rotted railing easily gave way. Panicked at the insistent, horrific images and impressions that had just crowded all his senses out of nowhere, Temple scrambled backwards to seek the protection of the alley’s shadows. He was still in the darkworld, he realised, but his impact with the ground, which had knocked the wind painfully out of him, was noisy, horrible, and downright unprofessional, but, with luck, hardly a second had passed while… whatever it was had happened in his mind.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Down the street, the Watcher shot to her feet immediately, and quickly took a few steps towards him down the dark alley. It was clear she couldn't see him, but her clenched hands were raised, and knuckledusters protected her fists. Temple had no doubt she would pursue him if the darkworld chose this particular moment to throw him out, and his eyes flickered back and forth as he stepped backwards silently, painfully, hoping to put distance between them.

And then he saw them behind her. So did the boy apparently, because he turned to look at his Watcher saviour with fear in his bruised features.

Three men, obvious street thugs, were approaching from the alley on the other side of Ninnian Street opposite this one. The moment they saw the child, visible in the light from the Ninnian Street brazier, they ran towards the alley at speed. The boy let out a piercing shriek, the Watcher turned and saw them approach, and immediately reacted – running towards them to intercept their attack.

“Run to the palisade!” she shouted without looking at the boy, who immediately sprinted off, one of the three attackers veering off to pursue him down the street.

The Watcher took a blow with a club to her arm that must have certainly broken it, and the second attacker came at her too.

And suddenly, much to his surprise, Temple broke his only rule and got involved.

It wasn’t a conscious decision that made him sprint forward, out of the alley, to pursue the man running after the child. His body simply reacted, and he was hardly more than a spectator from inside the darkworld that thankfully still held him. He pushed himself and ran up to the thug, who didn’t know he was being followed. Temple drew a tall step of shadow out of the ground in front of him in mid-sprint, using it to jump higher and land on the pursuer’s back. The man crashed to the ground and lay still. Temple sprang up and ran back towards the Watcher, who was fighting for her life, trying to disengage to run or at least have a chance to counter the attacks.

Temple hoped the darkworld would hold him just a few moments longer, knowing he wasn’t fully invisible when he was moving inside the darkness. One of the men let himself be distracted by the dark blur that came at him when Temple dodged under his raised arm and tackled him to the ground with his momentum. At the same time, the darkworld spat him out. He rolled down the street and quickly managed to right himself.

In the next second, the man he had felled made eye contact with him, picked himself off the ground in a panic, and ran, while the Watcher managed to punch the other, now equally distracted attacker. The knuckleduster did its work with the crunching sound of a jaw breaking, and the man went limp, sagging into a quiet pile in the street.

The Watcher fell to her knee, panting and clutching her side where there was a deep stab wound, nestled in the place where her leather armour closed at her side. It spilt blood that was only partially soaked up by her clothes, but she seemed to forget her agony for a moment when she looked up and locked eyes with Temple.

They stared at each other for a second, equally spooked.

“The boy…” she finally gasped and tried to get to her feet.

Temple was poised to flee, but then he heard running feet from the direction the three thugs had just come. If whoever the Watchers were up against were well organised enough to send reinforcements once, maybe they were doing it again to make sure they got the boy? Cursing himself, Temple took hold of the woman, steadying her as well as he could without prodding her wound. He hauled her with him towards the Watcher palisade, several streets further down.

Hopefully, he could get her somewhere she would be found by her compatriots before he was spotted.

“You… you’re the …Magpie,” she said, gasping in pain as Temple pulled her along. “Magpie King.”

Temple didn’t respond but just quickened the pace. If she was well enough to call him names, she was well enough to move faster.

“Aren’t you?” she asked.

From a side alley further down Ninnian Street, a small, bruised face poked around the corner. Temple nodded in that direction, and finally, the Watcher noticed the boy.

Then he heard hasty steps from the direction of the palisade in front of them as well as the street behind them. He quickened his pace and looked over his shoulder. Behind them, honey-hair approached at a quick run.

The boy emerged fully from the side street and shouted, “Captain Armstrong!” in a happy voice, looking past them down the street.

Temple froze for a fraction of a second. The man he had seen fight was gaining on them fast. Honey-hair was Gilbert Armstrong? Cursing in his mind, Temple quickly lowered the Watcher he was supporting to the ground.

*

In the light from a nearby street brazier, Gilbert saw the slim, nimble figure that had been hauling Milla along set her down as though she’d suddenly become poisonous.

The wiry figure was clad in black matte leather that hugged his strong, slender body. Nothing he wore was loose or shiny, though Gilbert had the impression of numerous, specially made tools secured to his person, painted black so as not to catch the light. A tight hood was drawn low over his forehead and a mask was drawn up to cover his nose and mouth. Either he was dark-skinned and of elven heritage or the area of the eyes was painted black, so he stayed a shadow in the dark. The only thing that had the power to draw him out of the darkness were his eyes, so pale grey that they appeared almost silvery when they caught the light from a nearby brazier for a second.

He came to an abrupt stop, and they stood, staring transfixed at each other for a few heartbeats.

“Wait,” Gilbert said, and his voice broke the spell.

The thief suddenly turned around and bolted, reaching a nearby alleyway in seconds. Gilbert ran after him, but when he turned the corner, the alley was dark and devoid of places where a full-grown man could possibly hide. Gilbert stopped, puzzled, and listened. He heard people approaching from the direction of the palisade and quickly checked to see that they were wearing Watcher tabards, but the alley was silent as if the thief had never been there.

It didn’t make any sense.

He knew he should investigate, since the city’s most famous career criminal, the thief only known as the Magpie King, was worth far more than any other criminal the Watchers of his palisade could hope to capture. But Milla was badly injured, and the boy she had risked her life to save was now looking up at him with scared eyes as he turned to glance at the pair.

“…Thank you,” Gilbert just mumbled at the darkness, thinking the thief could perhaps hear him. He wasn’t getting his hopes up, though.

The Magpie must have used illegal magic, Gilbert mused. Though it was odd, since not a single magical trace of the thief had ever been found.

He helped Milla to her feet, telling her to stop whining so that she would get angry and hang in there, just as the reinforcements finally arrived. Far too late, but he’d had to react the second they got the information, hoping to intercept the child before the kidnappers made it out of the city. It was never easy. He constantly had to prioritise and weigh one situation against the other. In this one, he had prioritised one kidnapped child over the safety of several Watchers; Milla and Fendan, who had lain in ambush with him at the back of the house and Sheridan, Ril and Neel, who had gone to the front door, hoping to make the kidnappers flee.

Gilbert sighed and looked at the boy trudging along with himself and the Watcher reinforcements as they left.

“The Magpie King saved us,” the boy said timidly. “He turned invisible and made everyone fall over.”

“Really?” Gilbert asked. “You are very lucky to have seen that. Tell me all about it.”

*

“…Thank you,” the Watcher said softly in the darkness, not more than a meter from where Temple stood pressed up against the wall, holding his breath, willing the darkworld to embrace him until the Watcher gave up and left. He didn’t dare move, lest Captain Armstrong hear him.

Finally, the Watcher turned away, no doubt to tend to the injured woman, and Temple slowly breathed out. He hurried up the wall of the dark alley, pulling out handholds by engrained habit, so he would be in complete darkness on the roof before the Watcher should chance to come back.

He had never seen Captain Armstrong in person, but Temple knew the man had been assigned to catch him. He had a feeling Armstrong didn’t prioritise this very highly, though.

Temple got a good look at Armstrong’s face when he stared down the alleyway. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, clean-shaven, and quite imposing so close up. There was something clear-cut about him, which contrasted with a messy scar on his eyebrow. His lips– Temple stopped himself, horrified at his reaction when he felt his body begin to respond despite his mad, self-imposed predicament.

Now that he had made his escape, he also felt the pain of the embarrassing fall he suffered earlier when… when whatever it was that assaulted his mind had happened.

What the ever-living hells was it?

It wasn’t a vision, not a picture in his mind played out to his inner sight. It was as if a curtain had been torn aside violently and a memory had hidden behind it, which was now a part of who he was. But… it couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be…

No!

Temple pushed the memory away. He wouldn’t think about it. He had made a terrible error of judgement in interfering and that had resulted in being seen by Captain Armstrong. They had locked eyes, and although he hadn’t seemed hostile, Temple assumed the Watcher had just been too surprised to react as he should.

Armstrong’s eyes were green. Green eyes, surprised, not hostile, and his short dark-honey hair looked like it might want to curl if it was allowed to grow a little longer. He could almost feel it on his fingers.

No matter… It couldn’t matter. It never would.

Temple was acutely aware of the phenomenal prize on his head, and Captain Armstrong would move far, far up the career ladder if he actually succeeded in capturing him. As soon as the captain of the Kaala ward palisade realised how close he had been, he would probably redouble his efforts.

Everyone is guided by their greed… a voice whispered deep inside Temple’s mind, and he assumed that voice was his own.