

The Red Flux & the Wunderkind Thief **  
** _written by McConnaughay_

Vinatici.com | Mishmashers Publishing | Mishmashers.com

### Chapter One

Secrat Copé could feel the decadent blood drip down his arm and off his elbow. Things hadn't gone according to plan and the bastard wife of a merchant came at him with a knife. She managed to slash him a good one too, right after a punch to the jaw for good measure. This all, of course, happened before Copé had a chance to muffle her screams and slit her throat.

Father Toucan Veras wouldn't be happy about that. Subtracting from the world was looked down on in the Red Flux, but he'd have to understand the situation. Even still, Copé anticipated an inevitable shouting match approaching his way. That meant he'd have to savor his heist and make it all worth it.

And so, he took time admiring his handiwork and appreciating his quick reaction time. If he would have been one second slower, the broad would have squealed like a piggy and blown the whole heist. At a wince of pain, Copé looked to his bleeding arm and supposed he might not have been quick enough. His lock-picking wasn't nearly as stealthy as it could have been either, but he handled his mistake well, and it was only his first time pillaging on his own.

These mistakes were to be expected.

Grabbed one leg and the other before he began dragging the broad's dead body into the corner of the house that the moon's glistening didn't bring to light. Copé looked around but could only see what the glassless windows let the moon in the sky expose, and that wasn't much. That didn't bother him though, as he put one foot in-front of the other, he already knew there wasn't anything that would surprise him too much. A keen-eye was mandatory for the task at-hand, and he was proud to say that he didn't have to wait for that to develop over time. He was already skilled. Very much so.

He felt around the pouch in his leggings for a match. A match was such an amusing contraption, far ahead of its time, white phosphorous on a pine stick that caused flame with friction. They were very rare in most of Maharris, except in the Thieves' Network out in the Whispey Deserts, as well as some other black markets.

Some also used white phosphorous to poison or cause severe liver damage but that was neither here nor there.

The light brought a lot more to view, for example, Secrat thought the floor

had felt like something other than dirt but hadn't known that his feet were below an Italinian rug. If I wanted to rob pompous jackasses, I'd have gone to Italina, not Acera, thought Secrat to himself, but knew better than to say anything aloud. The rugs were expensive, anywhere between one-hundred coins to a thousand, depending on potency, purity, or vibrancy of fabric, as well as the artistic value in the design. He bid it adieu and paid it little mind as there was no possible way for him to steal it. Much too heavy to move by himself. A wooden desk was to his left, a quill and inkwell atop it along with a piece of parchment, scrawled upon it were various names, presumably individuals the merchant had done deals with over the years.

Secrat's eyes skimmed through the names, a couple, here and there he might have recognized, but nothing noteworthy, it was hard for him to tell the Happick's from the Carlit's when it came to families he robbed. The sound of ruffling leaves almost caused for Secrat to scamper about; a strong wind was picking up outside. A dead body here and there, Secrat could NOT afford to be caught, Acera's civilians wouldn't sentence him to death, but their prisons were a dump.

Copé continued walking through the house, noticing some of the abnormalities while doing so, such as the little trinkets of useless junk lining the walls. Bizarre looking masks, crude illustrations, and other useless items that merchants tended to deem as absolute delicacies. Maybe they knew something Secrat didn't, but Copé had no interest in such items. He was only looking for one thing and only had the faintest idea of where to find it.

All he knew was that individuals found themselves to be cleverer than they truly were. In-general, that is. They tried to go with eccentric and sporadic hiding places for their wealth and fortune, but oftentimes ended up choosing the same places as several other citizens of the town would have. They had the same culture, similar life-styles and influence, so it was understandable. For larger cities, like Italina, Hardan and Jalint, it was easy to judge simply by using the popular consensus as a rule of thumb, but Acera was smaller, and therefore more individualized in-terms of trivial things like where wealth was hidden. Secrat noticed one of the houses in Acera had an especially magnificent garden, which made him guess if he kept ripping at flowers, he'd eventually discover a small fortune.

Before long, he hid his hand over the match, shielding the light from potential onlookers, and carried on his way through a small walkway, leaving the Italinian rug and welcoming cold, hard dirt-floor. The walls were dull and abstract of color, made excellently out of sand, water, and clay, but there were several pieces of décor. Secrat didn't see anything worth taking, rather, it was all artsy and glorified junk. He eventually went onto find a more robust piece; at last, an illustration that looked to depict the Aeonian's on top of Jalint's mountain. Veras would be pleased, Secrat joked in his mind, knowing full-well there was nothing Father hated more than the theorizing folk did about those magical beings. Father Toucan Veras found it to all be a little too hokey for his taste, whereas Secrat approached it with apathy more than much else.

He didn't deny the existence of The Aeonians, but he really didn't care either which way.

The Thief clutched one of his wrists with his hand, keeping himself from the temptation of stealing the painting, knowing its quality wasn't worth his debauchery. No, Secrat was looking to rob this bastard merchant blind, and that meant tackling his whole wealth. Pockets and pockets full, big pockets too, a big characteristic in most clothes worn by The Red Flux, and even both hands for good measure, whatever coins Copé would have chance to leave with, he would. There was a doorway to his right, he moved his hand away from his match and shined it over the door.

This wasn't your standard every-day wooden door with hollow insides. Something was very strange about it; elegant and kempt for an abode that was otherwise neither those things. The door looked to be made out of copper and appeared durable and resistant. Where would this room lead? Would it lead to the master bedroom, or was it his riches being hidden in plain sight? He looked to the door-handle, for durability and strength meant nothing if the lock mechanism could be rendered useless, but what was this?

This was like nothing he had ever seen before. There was no door-handle for him to behold, and no hole on the door to try at picking the lock. Instead, there was a small, circular device where the handle belonged, and it was every bit as small and feeble as a keyhole. Secrat brought his eyes closer to the contraption, inspecting it in disbelief and curiosity. There were three rows of numbers, each counting in-order from one to ten, and capable of being easily rotated.

It didn't take very long for Secrat Copé to figure out what he was dealing with, he needed a three-digit code that would provide him with the means to divulge the room's contents. The hand not toting the flame descended his side and felt the hilt of one of his knifes, resting sheathed in one of the many leather scabbards that made up his attire. There was one strapped to the side of his left leg, and two on each side of his waist. His training made him very accustom to knives. No doubt, he'd be able to get the merchant to blurt out the code, given the right "persuasion," but afterward, he'd have to kill him.

Toucan might understand the lady as self-defense. If he would have let her live, there's a chance she could have identified him and put himself and Red

Flux in-danger, the members lived in the unprotected wilderness outside Acera and other major cities, but a lot of them still wandered within them for reasons. They read the local papers, kept up with the current gossip, and screwed the occasional lady or gent that tickled their fancy, among other things.

With that knowledge, there was only one foreseeable alternative to help him unravel the means of entry and that was finding the numbers written down somewhere through the house.

He didn't even know for certain the merchant wrote down the grouping of numbers, but it was probable; a confessed insecurity against ones' ability to remember things, but Copé didn't have the haziest idea where to look. His own intuition told him that the combination was probably written somewhere on a piece of parchment in the merchant's master bedroom, but that was something he didn't want to accept.

If this were the case, then, there was no-chance whatsoever he could finish the heist without killing a second special someone.

And so, with a strong stubbornness, he backtracked to the Italinian rug and lifted it up. Beneath it, he found nothing, at the underside of the rug, shining his match down to see if he might have written it down there, he found nothing.

There was the writing desk! Secrat went to it and began riffling through the pages and pages of scroll. Names and lots of information, but nothing that seemed relevant to Copé at the time.

Worse off, Secrat found his finger cut by one of the papers, a stinging sensation more aggravating than having a sword thrust into ones' chest!He brought himself back into the hallway of the merchant's house and began plucking one precious item after another from his wall, quietly tossing them onto the rug. Could have been one mask or item with sentimental value to the merchant where he'd stash the numbers.

It was a slow and quiet investigation, only one hand free, with the other carrying the aflame pine stick, but it didn't lead to any better results.

Secrat brought his knife out again and drove the blade into the Aeonian illustration, hoping to find something hidden within its confines. There was nothing...

Nothing. Nothing? NOTHING!? except the sound of a door closing at the other end of the hallway.

Secrat blew out the flame of his match, bringing them both into the darkness.

The merchant didn't notice Secrat Copé in his dreamy stupor, or at least, he didn't do anything to suggest it. The man might have seen a light, but that was it, and as far as he knew, Copé was his wife. This was not one of the loveliest images, but it was a logical one. His dame either never came to bed or left and never came back. The merchant, curious about the whereabouts of his companion at such an ungodly hour, went looking for her.

This was only natural, but his reaction after finding her could be very bad for Copé. The footsteps of the merchant as his feet stamped the ground were loud. They hit with such oomph that they flattened whatever came in his path.

The idea of tripping wasn't even brought into fruition.

Before long that skill would be handy, thought Secrat, thinking about all of the items that he threw on his living room rug. The thief moved haplessly in the blackened night, making good care not to step in-front of windows, or anywhere that could bring him in the view of the merchant.

He past the desk but kept close to it as he walked on the rug, knowing for sure where he threw nothing for him to trip on. At the end of the desk, he lowered himself to a crouched position and waited for the man to leave the hallway, and he did. "Jen, Jen," he whispered a couple of times almost quiet enough to be under his breath. Secrat wondered why he was whispering, considering that it was his home, nobody was asleep, and it was Secrat that had to worry about being discovery. The girl didn't reply. Odd, Secrat thought to himself sarcastically, remembering the smell of flowers on her nightgown. I wonder where she ran off to, Secrat jokingly said in his head, but then felt a certain reality enter the sanctity of his mind.

Where had she gotten off to? Or more accurately, where was it in the room Copé left her? His eyes followed the sound of the man's breathing, if he continued in the direction he was heading, he would eventually come to his scullery, and thankfully, there were no dead bodies there. (to Copé's knowledge.) "Lady, where did you run off to? Left us all hot and bothered like that, it's not good manners."

There was a snort that followed soon after from the man. He didn't make it to the scullery. Not right away, of course, because there remained the pesky fact that almost all the merchant's decorations had been scattered about his house. The man stumbled over something or another, and Copé could hear him falling and crushing whatever it was he fell on. It sounded like a mask, but it could have been the shiny diamond encrusted skull or the glass Copé remembered pushing that way. Whatever, it mattered not, unless it somehow sent the man out of consciousness, but Copé doubted that fate would be so kind to him. "Dammit, ah, Jen, what is this?" He yelled out, but there was only silence given to him as response.

Secrat worked to silence his breathing as he began to navigate past the desk, his sights set back toward the hallway. "Where the hell, what did I just fall on, so, help me, if it's what I think it is, then, but, why would you even in the first place, dammit, light up a torch or something." The merchant yammered on-and-on, a few mumbled words while he tried to return to his feet, and in that time, Secrat scurried quietly off through the hallway, hoping the merchant's confusion would be enough to buy him some time.

Once passing the door with the number lock on it, Secrat lit another pine stick and hurried more toward the master bedroom. The combination would most certainly be in there, under his bed, perhaps, or his pillow, maybe in a noticeable item of sentiment, it mattered not where, just if Copé would be able to find it in the merchant's absence.

He grabbed the handle of the door and twisted, trying to be as quiet as he could. The door squeaked a bit, so he opened it slower. It was densely lit in this room. That was the first thing Copé noticed. A lot of candles spread sporadic around the area.

Once his eyes were allotted the means to adjust, they beheld a more appealing series of ornaments. Not one, not even two, but three broads resting, unclothed and naked atop the merchant's fine, violet-colored blanket. They were marvelous and seemed to be endless with creases and crevices that couldn't be described by words alone. The cover looked nice as well.

"Uh," is the only thing that Secrat could muster the strength to speak.

They were asleep. That was good, but it didn't change the fact they shouldn't have been there in the first place. The merchant,... the merchant,

Azlak Temps, that was his name, was married and (while Secrat didn't share their idea of the word) happily so, but happily married men didn't usually fuck random whores. There was a hole in the plot, but Copé couldn't find a way to fill it. All that he cared about was finding the numbers, getting some gold, and getting out of sight. That was The Red Flux's mantra, or at least, it would be if

the Red Flux was conspicuous enough to have one.

He crept quietly into the bedroom, waking the whores would bring nothing good. He admired their bodies from afar but tried his best not to get mesmerized in their lustrous figures.

The bed was large. Big enough for all three sluts, one more slut, and of course, the merchant, but the ladies were being spacious with their limbs. This made it difficult to see whether there was anything hiding beneath a pillow. And so, with a heavy heart, Secrat began to wander more feverishly about the room; a decent size, the room, that is, enough that a bed made for a king would only take about one-third the room. Otherwise though, there wasn't a whole lot else to see.

Merchants oftentimes migrated from city to city. It all depended on where would pay more for whatever product they had in abundance. It made sense why his abode would be empty. Except Temps took the time to take out all his stupid souvenirs and set them all-over his hallway and even rolled out his

Italinian rug. Why was this room so empty?

Secrat turned where he had shut the door behind him, and the loophole filled itself for him. On this side, the door had no handle. All it had was a large keyhole. The thief pushed at the door. He poked into the keyhole as if his index finger was part key. It was not. No windows in this room. Secrat couldn't help but smile. He was screwed beyond restitution. It would have been easy to knock down the door; one or two kicks and it would be off its hinges. This couldn't be seen as an option though. The merchant would be alerted, and he'd absolutely wake up all five of the ladies. As skilled as he was, Copé doubted he could fend off and fight naked ladies coming at him. He didn't know if he wanted to fend them off either.

A small jolt of fear struck his chest. He washed it away shortly. Certain necessities had their way with being a thief, and one of them was the ability to act even when it seemed all was lost. He started around the room. If there was anything that could help him in the situation, he wanted to find it. He blew out the pine stick in his hand and threw it down on the ground. It wasn't like he would need it. The only thing in the room was the bed, the sluts, and the candles.

Copé went closer to the bed, looking over the feminine tabbies. He expected for one of them to wake up and make a jump at him at any moment.

His left hand touched the hilt of a knife strapped to his waist. He dropped to his knees and looked beneath the bed. A wooden box sat about midway underneath the mattress. The box was barely close enough for him to grasp with his arms stretched as far as they could reach. No combinations and no keyholes, Copé took refuge in that one singular fact. The numbers to the vault would most definitely be here.

The thief readied himself to open it. Everything felt slower. The moment was being preserved as if it was some special occasion.

Secrat Copé heard the door handle turning behind him. He didn't have to think about it. All he had to do was react. He shoved the box back down under the bed and joined it. Hiding like a small child from the boogeyman. Azlak Temps opened the door, his feet being the only thing Copé could see. They were bare, without shoes, and dirty. His ankles were thick as well. Temps was a heavier fellow. He walked in slow.

"You'll have to excuse me, ladies. Our dearest Jen has taken it upon herself to stray out of my ever-so humble abode. I have to fetch her." He followed his words with a laugh. A nasally laugh that sounded more obnoxious than joyous. Copé wondered how much the man had to pay these ladies for their company. He thought about how that wealth would soon belong to the Red Flux.

Azlak walked deeper into the room. And then, something happened.

The sound resembled a small twig breaking beneath the paws of a grizzly bear. Copé watched from the under the bed while Temps moved his foot. The pine-stick he had thrown down had shattered away into something like soot.

He could hear the loud groan from the large man.

"THIEF!"

Every bit of the fear Copé had ever felt paled in-comparison to this moment.

It was the shock of it all that really scared him, but once more, he knew he had to react swiftly. He rolled out from beneath the bed and leapt to his feet.

Otherwise, he'd be dragged out by Temps, giving him the advantage. "Look what the cat dragged in," the mammoth-sized man yelled out. Copé assumed that was what he said, but he wasn't for certain. There was so much blubber on him that his words sounded muffled even when he enunciated.

Under the bed, Secrat couldn't even have begun to appreciate the weight that Azlak Temps brought with him. The excess of flesh stood naked in-front him; except for a small pair of tan-colored clothe acting as shorts. His size was insurmountable by even all the broads and Copé combined. Copé wondered how Temps managed not to kill them during sex. He didn't have long to think though as Temps let out a grunt upon making a lunge in his direction.

Copé moved out of the way. His speed would prove an advantage. He

readied a blade in his hands before making a stab to Temps' ribcage. The knife pierced his belly like butter, and Copé felt his arm sinking into his stomach. The blood shot out fast, but Temps paid it little mind. The large man simply threw a clubbed fist at Copé, sending the thief spiraling in a daze. Copé struggled, haplessly trying to regain his composure. If he couldn't, the monstrous man would certainly make ends to his life. He was turned around, but behind him, Copé could hear the loud footsteps of Temps. He desperately threw a boot behind him. It connected, but whether it did much damage, Copé knew not.

The distinctive groan from Temps told him that it did. Secrat Copé turned around as fast as he could, only to run into a wall of fat, strung out like a clothesline. Copé fell off of his feet. He felt the back of his head hit the hard, dirty ground. The view around him seemed to be fading. It was flickering like a candle at wit's end. He fought back to a seated position. If he fell out of consciousness, everything would be over. He looked up at Temps. The knife was still stuck in his gut like a splinter.

Copé let out a breath of air and watched the man run toward him. He rolled out of the way and shot back up to his feet. He thought Temps might have lost balance, but that was thinking too much like an optimist.

He waited for Azlak to turn around while he took another knife from his ensemble. This one had been strapped to his left-leg. Once Temps obliged, Secrat threw the knife at him. It pierced his skin and went into his stomach the same way the other had.

It didn't seem to bother him. It was nothing more than an inconvenience. Copé let out a sigh. He wanted to curse but didn't. He wanted to flee. Beyond all else and more than anything, he wanted to escape. His eyes went over to the door.

It was closed.

The key was most definitely on Temps' person, but that meant nothing.

"Stop your running, bug!" Azlak Temps yelled. "I'll crush your skull like nothing!"

The pain felt unbearable beyond all else. The ache from his head felt piercing, he was surely bleeding. Copé readied another knife in his hands. This one had been strapped on his right-leg. However, before he could do anything with it, Azlak threw a fist to his stomach. Copé leaned forward at his whim only to be taken down to his knees with an elbow to his back. The knife flung itself out of his hands as Azlak towered over him.

Copé looked in his eyes. They were eyes of ignorance and impractical strength. The look of somebody that knew he'd always be on the offensive.

Azlak looked at him for a moment. There was a sadistic grin on his fat face. A grimace came to his eyes momentarily as he plucked one knife out of his stomach and threw it to the ground. He grabbed the other and pulled it out as well. He didn't throw this one. Instead, Azlak held it by the handle and made a fist. His hand nearly swallowed the knife whole.

Copé felt a spark of fear jolt in him. It didn't look well for him. It didn't look well for his legacy. Raised by Toucan Veras, and in his first solo heist, he was offed by some merchant?

He was better than that.

And like somebody that was better than that, like somebody with the utmost of class, he drove his head into the giant's crotch like.

This seemed to get his attention, Temps dropped to one-knee holding his groin. "You fuck!"

The fuck mustered the strength to once more find his footing. His head felt like the Amisoic Seas, swishing and swashing in waves. He walked toward the door where Temps threw one of the knives. He picked that one up, the one he dropped earlier, and the one Temps had kept. He threw two of them at Temps' stomach. They punctured two more holes for blood to let out. The last one, he kept. This one belonged in the side of Temps' neck. Copé moved to him. As the blood left his sides, Temps seemed to understand it as his end. Copé didn't have the energy left to smile. All that was left in him was used to watch over near him, the knife in hand. Except, before he could add the final nail, Azlak Temps fell flat... he was dead.  
Secrat Copé looked away from him. The whores were there, lying unresponsive and lifeless to everything that had happened. Beads of sweat fell down Copé's neck. Sweat and blood. He dropped down. Under the bed, there was the box. That was where the combination numbers were. In the box was the key to all of the wealth. He slid it out weakly.  
The box opened easily.  
Inside, Copé's eyes wandered about the contents. Vials of all different shapes and sizes, all of them contained a brown powder Copé had definitely seen before. He flipped the box over, emptied it all out and looked around. No combination code to be seen.  
He didn't have the energy in him to be upset. He didn't have the energy to do much of anything. The feeling of light-headedness overwhelmed all else. His fingers caressed the thigh of one of the ladies before he used her leg to pull himself up onto the bed. He crawled inside, beneath the covers, pushing and shoving between the drugged whores. That is where Secrat Copé lost consciousness.

### Chapter Two

Copé opened his eyes to blackness. He couldn't see anything, were his eyelids parted? It mattered not; the end was the same. He could see nothing. A large part of him desperately wanted to panic. Another part of him wanted to do nothing at all. That one seemed to be the deciding factor. On his back, he topped his fingers over the ground and squirmed a little. His body pivoted around like it would for a man trying to get comfortable. This definitely isn't the bed I left myself on, thought the thief. Fingers caressing beneath at the floor for a time, he felt something damn-near splinter into his skin.

That was enough to know it was wood. Copé arched his back up, like a dead man resurrected, and sat. An aching feeling became heavily apparent. His hand cradled the back of his head. He felt a large egg-shaped bruise but knew that was only the least of it. This was the aftereffects of a far worse head injury he was feeling. A lot of him wanted to drop back and slumber like he had never even awoken. He'd deal with the problems when his mind sobered.

All it took was a bump to render this thought too foolish to consider. Copé felt himself lift into the air for a second before falling back down. His head ached even more, but beside the pain was the feeling of fear. Not only was he moved out of the home of Azlak Temps, but he was still in the process of being moved. The winnie of a horse made everything else follow. He could hear every stamp it made. The sound of the man at the front slapping at it with the reigns to make it gallop faster, Copé heard that as well.

He felt it when the wheels hit rock. He, himself, was in the bed of the carriage. Copé felt more assured after this. If there was one thing, he knew better than most, it was how to paint the scenery. Copé felt around in the dead of night. A tarp is what shielded him from the night and gave him darkness. Secrat could've easily thrown it off, but that would have caught the attention of whoever it was that snatched him up from the merchant's house. Or could it have been the merchant? Copé knew damn-well he threw enough knives in the bastard to kill three men, but could Azlak Temps amount to four?

It didn't matter. If the merchant was still alive, Secrat would kill the last of him. Or better yet, put a knife to his throat with the combination code as the demand. Toucan Veras would never condone torture, but Toucan wasn't there. Copé felt around his environment, the walls of the carriage were wooden planks. Large gaps were between each of them, and Copé could feel a draft of cold air from the outside. He knew what he had to do. The thief crawled slowly to the far-end of the carriage. Feeling around his waist, one of his many daggers remained strapped at his right side. Between his teeth, it went as he lifted the left corner of the tarp. This act was done with care, so as not to attract the driver. Another big bump happened and once more, Copé's head felt like it was on fire. He lowered his head down for a second, but only a second. It was time for action, and at that thought, Copé climbed over to the outside of the carriage, hanging on with his feet between the wooden planks.

The wind slapped against him. It did very little to alleviate the pain he was feeling. The chilliness of the outside air caused by the carriage's rapid pace felt refreshing. There was no time to cringe or take enjoyment in anything, however. Instead, Copé poked his head to see if he could have a look at the driver. It was almost as dark as it was beneath the tarp, but the stars and the moon lent just enough to distinguish the figures. There was nothing else he could see, only two heads and two average-framed bodies. This meant that neither were the merchant.

Copé had one theory about who they could have been. The Red Flux wasn't the only troupe in the unprotected wilderness. The tamest, they might have been, however. If what he thought was true, he was in-trouble, but he also had a chance at redemption. Maybe he would not leave his first outing with wealth, but he might leave with their heads on a pike. Toucan may not have liked murder, but even he would make an exception for the swine that riddled about the forests. Their deaths would mean more than coin.

Copé shimmied more and more toward the front of the carriage. The horses galloped at such a very fast pace that he struggled to keep his footing. In-fact, at one instance, he lost it and had to rely on his arms to keep himself from falling off from the carriage. Before long, Secrat Copé was in arm's reach of the man holding the reigns. In earshot as well, but neither of them spoke a word. Copé took a look at the scenery around him. It was too dark for him to see, but something seemed familiar about the place. At the very least, he was certain they had long-since left Acera.

The blade sat, tightly clenched between the thief's teeth. His eyes could vividly see the outline of the man's neck. Everything felt clearer than ever. The adrenaline flowing through his veins. All the pain and anguish this night had given, in all ceased to matter. He plucked the knife out of his mouth and looked at it. A certain fascination with the knife, like he had never seen it before, but that left soon. In his hands, he drove the small dagger to the side of the man's neck. It went into his skin like it was meant to be there. Two star-crossed lovers long-since separated, but now brought together; blade and flesh.

"Ah, fuck," were the only words that the man could utter.

They would be his last words.

He flinched though, and that was enough to make all the difference. His forearm rudely struck Copé in the side of the skull. Never so weak and fragile was the skull. Copé fell off of the carriage and onto the hard ground. Down and down, and down and down, Copé landed into some bushes. The scrapes and bruises stung, but they weren't fatal. His head had just about had it though.

After all of this, Copé wanted to be home at the Flux.

It wasn't over though, not yet. There was more to this night. Another man was in that carriage. And the element of surprise was gone.

Secrat fought back to a vertical stance. It was something that was becoming much too hard for him to do. He felt around for a blade.

There was none left on his person.

Hand-to-hand wasn't his specialty, but if he could fend off the man long enough, he would be able to pluck the knife out from the other guy's neck and end this.

The horse's gallops silenced.

Copé readied himself.

His stance was firm, and his fingers tightly clenched into a fist. With everything he had overcome in this night alone, there was no way that he'd let it end now.

"Secrat!?" the voice of the man in the carriage cried out. "Secrat!? What in the hell were you thinking? Do you realize what you have done?"

Those all sounded more like statements than they did questions.Secrat Copé started to realize why this area seemed so familiar. The voice of the man belonged to Lukas Lewis, a fellow Red Flux. But, why was he in that carriage with that bad man he killed?

Lukas and Copé came face to face. Lewis seemed terrified and anguished with fear, but Secrat struggled even to keep his head up.

"Secrat!?" Lewis yelled for a second time.

All Copé did was smile at him.

After all,... he was home.

2

Secrat Copé sat handcuffed to a chair.

His head still hurt, but it was better. He hadn't the faintest clue how he had gotten himself into this predicament. Lukas Lewis tried to explain it all to him earlier, but his head ached too much to listen. Since then, he had sobered up from his stupor and was ready to hear rhyme and reason. Reason appeared to be giving him the silent treatment.

There was no one-home for The Red Flux. They traveled as a troupe, and when they were together, that was home enough. That wasn't where Lukas had taken Copé, however.

This wasn't The Red Flux, wide-open and free.

This was a small, desolate, and dreary cabin. It smelled damp with the odor of mold and cedar, and there was fungus sealing the jamb of the door on the other side of the room. The chair Copé was shackled to rested on the wall opposite the door. The thief tilted his head, resting it some on his shoulder.A small window engulfed by moss was to his left, small crack in the top-right corner of the glass. Copé forgot about it and laid his head back against the wall. It brought a stinging sensation, but he didn't care. It was worth being able to rest his head.

The door to the cabin started to be cracked opened. The force it took to push it open meant there was no way it could have been done discreetly. Secrat flinched fast, rattling the handcuffs as he did so.

He wasn't afraid.

It was more to say that he was caught off-guard. The man entered the room, taking note of how grimy and smudged the walls looked. He walked with a purpose. His dark black boots damn-near worn to the sole.

It was Father Toucan Veras.

Toucan walked the way Copé wanted to walk. The thief had far too much ego to come to grips with that fact, but it was true. The leader of the Red Flux had presence about him like nobody he had ever seen before. When he entered the room, eyes lent themselves to him. They belonged to him, like a showman thief, stealing the attention off whoever else was in the room and putting it on himself. A bald head and a thick black beard, a large sword sat at his side in a scabbard. Olea is what he called the blade, named after the murderer of his deceased wife. The sword was enormous, shaped and structured like a scimitar with a deep curve at the end. Gifted with an enormous blade, Toucan made the sword look like one of Copé's knives.

A hyperbole, but the statement stood. Father Veras was a hefty size.

He was the type that was wise about concealing it as well. The rest of The Flux wore armors pillaged from either one of the five major cities; Toucan wore baggy robes. Nobody had too much of an idea how muscular he was.

Concealment made him easy to underestimate.

Toucan closed the door behind him before turning his attention over to the restrained thief. Copé wanted to rub the nape of his neck or clasp his hands over his head out of distress and discomfort, but he could do neither. Toucan's eyes were cold and serious. The white of his eyes blood-shot and the rest looked black as night. "You've really outdone yourself on this one, Copé."No inflection in his voice.

Toucan's temper and intimidation were well-noted. He rarely showed it, but when he did, it was bad enough for nobody to soon forget. Copé felt no fear, not particularly. He felt discomfort and vulnerability. Which was almost the same.

Everything was starting to piece itself together for him. His recent traumas blocked some of it out, but he had no doubt the reason he was keyed to a chair was for the murder of a fellow Flux. Lukas Lewis brought him here after and confessed Father the sins of his adopted son, and now, Toucan was here to pass his judgment.

"Why, Father, its fancy meeting you here, very, in-fact. I wish you would have mailed in a letter about your arrival, for, I haven't cleaned the place in ages! Over there, you'll notice the lovely décor, most vivaciously inscribed walls, marked and scrawled with sharp precision by fungi!" Secrat offered up a cocky smirk. His heart wasn't in the sarcasm, but he tried his best not to let that show. For his Father's sake, of course. Even beyond all the other responsibilities Toucan had to contend with, like keeping the troupe together or being a strong leader, Copé was his son.

The young thief was born and readied before them, poised for greatness, and Father would fight above all else to protect him. But Toucan looked at Secrat Copé with a strange look on his face, a look that signified confusion or bewilderment. Copé maintained his smile.

There was simply no way his father could stay mad at him.

Then, in one loving swoop, Toucan proved otherwise, swinging his fist like a club to Copé's face. This wasn't the smack a father gave his son when he stepped out of line. The punch felt more like something Copé might have expected from a sworn enemy. The chair flipped over to its side off the impact, and with Copé handcuffed to the front left-leg of the chair, everything came down, crushing his hand. Copé let out a cry of anguish.

"Elson Mans, does that name sound familiar to you!?"

Some inflection was in his voice now; it was anger and brewing frustration. Copé continued to whimper at the pain in his left hand. He had confronted a lot of pain in a day. He hadn't enjoyed any of it.

But on the bright side, thanks to a newly discovered "bendability" to his hand, he was able to free himself from one of the handcuffs. The bottom of the chair leg was thicker than at the top, had that not been the case, he could have freed himself from the other. Toucan mumbled something under his breath. He didn't seem at all amused by his son's master escape.

"Put out your hand," Toucan whispered softly.

Secrat refused. He hid his hand like an animal hiding meat from a rival pack.

"Put out your hand," he repeated. The statement carried more weight than it should have. If Toucan wanted to hurt Copé, he would have. This was his way of letting Copé have the choice. Copé put his hand in the air in-front of Toucan.

"Uh-ah, on the floor," Toucan said, almost sounding nurturing and loving.

"Flat."

Copé did as he was told. He put his hand down on the floor, flat. It looked like his thumb and index finger were already badly swollen.

Toucan raised his large boot up. Copé braced himself but didn't pull away. His father drove it down on Copé's mangled hand. The yell from Copé was loud. He whimpered loudly soon after like a baby, hyperventilating and tearful. His head lying manically twitching against the floor and the chair carried on his back. There was no reason to Toucan's statement. He wasn't looking for signs Copé wanted to be forgiven or felt remorse. He merely wanted to hurt him some more.

"I don't want to hear your comments!" Toucan yelled. It was a wet-yell, unrestrained and crackly. He talked plainly after: "I don't want to see that smirk on your face. I don't want to see any of it. Last night was the most disgraceful night for The Red Flux. Do you know?" Veras stopped. He couldn't seem to find the words in his blind rage. "I sent Lukas to finish stealing one of the biggest hauls we've ever had. Do you know how many mouths that would have fed? Of course not, in-fact, that doesn't ever even cross your mind. None of that benefits you, and thus, it doesn't faze you."

If Toucan would have made eye-contact to Copé, he would have seen

Copé was too busy whimpering over his gestating anguish to give a damn.

"Lukas, little Luke,... we've known him since he was a small child, since you were a small child," Toucan stopped once more and looked over at Copé for the first time since beginning his little speech. Apparently looking to obtain some sort-of emotional effect, his eyes looked even more haggard and bloodshot up closely. "He woke me up to tell that my son, who I picked up off the streets when he had nothing, was responsible for the death of a fellow member."

Copé stopped trying to squirm free from the chair for a moment and looked up at Father. "If they were supposed to be doing this 'big haul'," Copé tried to stress the part with hand-gestures but failed terribly, "then why did they become involved in mine? I was there for Azlak Temps."

Toucan continued to look at Copé as he spoke: "They found you in the house of Gruff Helms. His bloody remains lay not far away." He turned his back from the young thief and walked over toward the window, transfixed on the moss. "You never bothered with names or specifics, you just acted, always have," he said, and then, with finality added: "But this time, you went too far.""I made a mistake." Copé admitted. He didn't like that; admitting fault. "You know how many mistakes others in The Red Flux have made? Tell me how many times someone went looking for coin and came back with nothing more than the horse they left on? In-fact, you should be thanking me, I killed that son of a bitch! A feat that I shall stress was no easy-task, and only made it easier for them to steal the riches off the bastard. They ransacked the place, sooner or later, they found the combination... they found the treasures. You're welcome."

"They weren't able to find it. They were sent to extort the riches from him.

We had something on him. As it turns out, his money wasn't exactly the cleanliest, and if the rest of Acera had wind of that, he would have been ripped apart and had his head put on a pike. Lukas said that they were really concerned about you. All you had was a concussion, but you looked worse than that. Like you were about to kill-over and weren't in your right mind. But that doesn't excuse what you did, Copé."

"He won't be missed."

"That isn't the fucking point!" Toucan yelled. His eyes grew wider, redder with rage than disappointment. Copé could even see the veins in his neck beginning to pop out. "We don't kill in The Red Flux. This isn't something to keep us from finding misfortune. It's a matter of morals, something that I am starting to feel like I failed to stress while raising you."  
"What does that mean?"

"It means that in one-night, you killed a brother. And you killed two people beforehand. You don't belong with us."

Copé's ears pricked once he heard those words. An influx of fear started inside of him. There was nothing else for him. A thief was all that he knew how to be. It was his home. The Red Flux was his home. Toucan Veras turned his back and started away from Secrat, but the thief wouldn't accept that. Copé crawled with the chair still attached to him. He grabbed Toucan's ankle with his uninjured hand and pleaded with him. "Please, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," it was lies, and Copé knew it, bet Toucan knew it as well, but he didn't care, all he cared about was having his way. He couldn't deal without the troupe. His father looked to have little sympathy for him. His eyes seemed apathetic and uncaring, but Copé knew there had to be something beneath all of that. He had to be hiding his feelings. Copé was his son, dammit.

Secrat looked in his eyes. Tears streamed down Copé's cheeks, dripping down his chin and dampening the wood floor. Almost entirely because the pain that he felt in his left hand. Toucan didn't know that. To him, Copé felt deep remorse for his actions.

Toucan dropped to one knee and looked at Copé. "Find a way to right your wrongs," he said somberly. "I don't know how you'll do it, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. This is your mistake, and now it is up for you to find your way."

### Chapter Three

Copé drank ale from his flask. Formed from a strain of brewers' yeast and an oh-so decadent amount of malted barley, the stuff was amazing. It didn't sound so nice when explained in-depth, but the taste and aftereffects were heavenly. Life could and certainly would always be a cruel mistress, but alcohol was an easy-going whore.

He brought the bottle away from his lips, nonchalantly looking to see if anybody was watching. After that, he started to fidget around with the bottle, wrapped in brown-leather, until he pushed the little cork in there at the neck. He hid the flask away, between his knees, readjusting himself in his chair.In the Whispey Deserts, trading was common. In-fact, minus the hot-air and dreary décor, it was the only thing the Deserts offered. The thief liked it well enough. He only stole in small increments. One or two things here and there, The Trade Network was much too populated for traditional heists. Not only that, but a few miles deeper into the Deserts was the Thief's Network, where troupes like the Red Flux as well as petty thieves came to associate and trade.  
It was impossible for Copé to know for sure who was a master thief in the

Deserts and who wasn't.

He was able to get on just fine without stealing everyone blind. The Deserts had hundreds of homes, and not one of them was exactly distinguishable. By design, Copé assumed. Little box-shaped homes, each only with one room, and that one room could barely fit a twin-sized bed. Visitors only stayed for a couple of days and then went on their way, pockets lined with coin.

The thief leaned back against his chair. Behind him, he overheard the whispering of some merchants haggling not too far off. Copé found himself a proficient salesman, "Bullshit with a smile" is what he called it. A profound art that was unappreciated. Likely because everyone was too busy being duped to notice. He listened in at what the merchants were saying, hearing only every third word. It took his mind off everything for a while. Made him forget why he was drinking so early in the morning. It wouldn't last though.

"Find your way," Toucan told Copé before heading back to the Red Flux. Father always hung onto sentiments like a blanket at night. And while he hated the Aeonians, he considered himself a man for a higher power.

A month removed from 'what happened', Copé couldn't help but still wince at the thought from time to time. After thirteen heists, one little mistake was all it took to unwind everything Copé had done for them. The thief squirmed a little in his chair, having trouble trying to relax.

"Do you want me to sit here quietly while you drink with that nifty flask you think nobody sees, or would you like some food to go with it?"

"The first one where you are quiet sounds like as good a choice as any." Copé didn't even make eye-contact before answering. He knew the voice belonged to a female though. Secrat brought his flask to the table and looked at, already almost empty. He didn't consider himself an alcoholic by any definition of the phrase. His pride didn't allow him to think so badly about himself. He felt ashamed about drinking from the flask, but this was one of his

'bad' days.

It was a bad day where all of his frustrations and grievances spilled out and made a big collage of self-pity.

"Let me rephrase that, order something or the future reads I'll be kicking your ass!" Her words were playful, not angry or of cruel intent. Copé smiled for a second and looked up at her. His hair unkempt and his haggard face paled in-comparison to her looks. "I didn't know I was talking to a fortune-teller."

Her hair was dark-red and her skin was tan. That's usually about how it went in Maharris.One-side had Acera, Urgway, and Jalint, while the other had Hardan and Italina. Like the first three, the Whispey Deserts experienced the heat. The Whispey Deserts felt like Hell upraised, if Copé wanted to be nice about it.

"Now you know, and I'm predicting that if you don't order something, I will have my friends over there throw you out." She smiled at him. Copé looked down at his flask and felt bad. He felt ashamed, almost wanting to kill all of her friends with his knives to impress her. He chuckled quietly at the thought. "Ham and wheat will do handsomely."

"Want it plain?"

"Course not."

She nodded knowingly and turned away. Copé took his flask back off of the counter and threw it down in the sand beneath his seat. Not for good, as the diamonds encrusted on the sides of it were about the most expensive things he owned. Copé leaned his body forward against the counter. The back of her looked almost as pleasant as her front. "Where do you come from?" Copé spoke out, trying to strike up a conversation. Never much of a conversationalist, a man of action, but maybe his gentler side was on the outskirts pushing up and waiting to poke through? Or maybe there was something else pushing up against the front of his pants.

Secrat looked down at his flask.

The damsel broke his concentration swift, dropping a glass-plate on the counter before him. He flinched but shrugged it off and looked up at her. She offered up a sly and sinister grin.

"Well, aren't you lovely?" Copé acknowledged.

"I try my best."

"You know, usually restaurants try not to give their customers a heartattack, I could tell your boss, you know," Copé mimed writing something down on parchment.

"Give him a well written complaint and such."

"I'll fetch you the ink, but I must warn you, he won't be surprised, nor will he care."

"It sounds to me like he knows a thing or two about business."

"He gets by, pays like shit, but I don't really care too well about money."

"Have a small fortune already?" Copé felt interest in her answer.

"Something like that," the woman replied. "I'm from Satin."

"Oh?"

"You asked where I was from a little bit ago. It's a small village off the reservations of Hardan."

"I'm familiar, so, in other-words, you're a no-good wanderer. I'll see to it that they have your head on a pike for not being under the thumb of one of the Aeonians." Copé tried his best to sound ferocious while playful. Not very skilled socially, she likely thought he was serious.

"You don't exactly sound like a townsperson either. Where are you from?""Acera," he lied. If there was one place he'd never be caught living in, it was Acera. "I was born and raised in that God forsaken hellhole."

"Oh, really, what was so bad about it?"

"Everybody in Acera is inner-woven. They breathe the same air as each other. And that's fine, I mean, we all do, but they're the kinds that acknowledge it over-and-over again." Copé moved his hands in a circle for emphasis. "We're this BIG family, but they're not really that close. No, no, no, no," Copé reiterated the last part more times than intended. "If you make one mistake, it isn't a family. Families forgive each other. They care about one another. Acera doesn't care about each other. Acera is buried in its old ways, and you know, they seem intent to stay that way forever."

"Lovely." The woman pulled out a bar-stool from beneath the counter and sat down. "And so, that's it then, you left, and came here?"

"I tried other directions, they took me left, they took me right, but this one seemed like the only one that actually went forward."

He looked down at his food, black forest ham slapped onto a slice of bread, mixed with some type of dressing. It tasted plain, with a small and indistinct bean-flavor from the dressing. Still, the food was one of the few things edible in the Whispey Deserts. Available at a shop for a reasonable price, that is. Delicious food was brought in from all across Maharris, and in ways, The Trade Network was the melting-pot for all different types of food. Such comes with a price, however, and that price exceeded what Copé was willing to spend. Alsabenya was one of many small shacks throughout the

Deserts that offered "filler" for a still expensive but more reasonable price.He took his knife and cut into the slabs of meat, raked at it with a fork until pulling it free, and brought it to his mouth. Good enough, he thought."So, you left Acera to pursue getting drunk in the mornings and eating cheap food from a dumb shack?"

"Something like that," Copé replied. "And what about you, you seem to like throwing down judgment, what made you decide to leave Satin?""Me? I don't judge." She pushed her hair back behind her ears, exposing a dimple Copé hadn't noticed before on her left cheek. Her eyes were a powerful blue. The kind so visually striking that somebody kinder might have pointed out.

"Hardly true, but by all means, indulge me, no matter."

"I left because I tired of their mangled ways, cold and uncompassionate, selfish and vindictive. Once you realize something is wrong and that there is no way for you to change it. It makes leaving seem much easier."  
"Indeed, it does," Copé said. "And so what does the future hold, you left

Satin to serve cheap food from a dumb shack?" He stared into her eyes, mesmerized but interested in her response.

"I don't think it's that bad here. I try to enjoy myself." She speaks plainly and without inflection. "At the very least, it's better than the life I left, so I'm just optimistic."

"Biding your time until the wakes of something more?" Copé spoke understandingly. In the back of his mind, he was toying around with a different idea.

"No," she responded calmly, warmly even. "No, I don't really think about it like that. Life isn't meant to be lived anticipating or looking for something better. If I feel so certain that its bad now, where will I be tomorrow?Still thinking it's bad, but then does it not worsen?What if I feel so certain that its good, then does it become better? I don't want to live my life searching for more. I want simply to live my life." She had cooled off a lot from earlier. She spoke so rapid-fire that Secrat had trouble keeping up with her.

She went from being a smart-mouthed vixen to a cuddly little kitten. Copé couldn't say for certain whether he liked that about her. Her warmth bothered him. "I suppose I bide my time. I wait for my next chance, my opportunity. And my time for something else, something better."

"When it's all said and done, where do you end up?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, does it not feel like it's insatiable? Like, no matter what you get, you always want more?"

"I think it's too early to tell." Copé stopped. He needed some time to think of the right words to say. "Insatiable, implies I've been fed. I've only had one goal, and it's not been reached."

"Wealth," she asked, "control or power?"

"Something like that. Who knows, maybe I'll become rich, become bored and start over." Copé joked with a smile then added, "It's all yet to be seen."

2

The Trade Network always had some sort-of commotion going on about it during the day. There weren't enough words in any language to stress enough the importance of the network to Maharris and the five major cities; Hardan, Jalint, Urgway, Acera, and Italina.

A large ocean, the Amisoic Sea, surrounded the whole of Maharris. A boat would arrive from Olzaric and other major cities across the Seas on occasion, but it was rare to have available outsiders help scavenge items or vital resources. The Trade Network was the means to economic and social stability throughout Maharris.

Secrat couldn't help but smile at the audacity of it all, all of Maharris united as one without discrimination or prejudice swaying them. Conflict wasn't common in Maharris, at least it hadn't been for a long time.The last war was hundreds of years ago. It didn't mean everybody liked each other though, and in-fact, it was far from it. Italina's town came with a sense of entitlement and self-importance, looking down its nose at the rest of the lot, and Acera's tan-skinned residents would always play the fool in the eyes of its neighboring cities.

Urgway and Jalint got along, after all, they were so close to each other. In both ways, metaphorically and physically. The only way to get from Jalint was through the Whispey Deserts or through the Hickly Swamps. The Swamps weren't a viable option because Urgway hid the passageway from civilians, and the Whispey Deserts spanned a great distance.

It is believed that Jalint's merchants came in through the Swamps to make it through to the Trade Network. They found it best not to travel through the Whispey Deserts with their goods, especially since, to make it to the trade post, they'd likely intersect with a mess of thieves. The only shared consensus that Italina, Urgway, Jalint, and Acera had with each other is their dislike for Hardan.  
Hardan had made a legacy for their brutality and is credited for having some of the finest warriors throughout the land. They are also widely blamed for starting the only war that Maharris had in a three-hundred-year period.Copé arose from his chair. The banter between him and the miss who introduced herself as Christique had been lovely, but she had since begun tending more to other customers eating about the shack. Besides, he needed to leave, as he found himself absolutely infatuated with her chest.Make no mistake about it, Copé couldn't stop staring at the necklace dangling between her bosom.  
An emerald as the centerpiece, the necklace shined with a dulled beauty. That is, Copé suspected, because an intentional lack of polish. This was Maharris' trade network, but not far from here, was the network known exclusively for thieves and criminals. The fact wasn't the best kept secret, but besides for higher-ups that knew for sure, it had been perceived by civilians as nothing more than rumor or gossip. But, at such a populated location, the woman had to at least consider the thought that someone might make a grab at it once or twice. She didn't keep it clean, but why would she wear it in the first place? Unless there was some reason for her not to be afraid.  
Copé hadn't lied when he said had been familiar with Satin.

The village was small and never made any ripples of any kind. As a whole,

Satin was against the shackles imposed by Aeonians but did nothing about it.

They lived a humble existence and did little stealing or crimes to survive. Instead, they focused their attention more toward hunting and agriculture. The holes in Christique's story were obvious. Satin might, in-fact, be closest to

Hardan, of all the five major cities, it was hardly 'just off the reservations' of it.

And the 'cold and uncompassionate' description didn't really fit into what Secrat had gotten from his contact with the village. Looks can be deceiving though, but it seems more likely to Secrat that Christique was leaving something out of her story. Some of him wanted to know what it was, but more of him didn't care.

If there's anything that he knew with absolute clarity, it's that he intended on having that necklace of hers.

Copé dragged his feet while he walked away from the shack. His feet scraping into the desert sand some with every step. Sometimes he'd stagger or stumble, showing the alcohol in his flask was doing its job. It wasn't too much though. He wasn't COMPLETELY intoxicated but sobering up was imperative if he ever wanted to act on any of his desires.

"You! Stop!" A man yelled out from behind Copé.

Secrat felt a small chill travel up his spine. He knew the chance of there being another "you" was unlikely.

Copé didn't even have the chance to turn around before the sound of clamoring feet feet befell his ears, and with it, he could infer there was more than one of them. All he could think to do was overcome his drunken stupor and run. The sand might have caved in on his feet with every step before, but now, his feet were moving so fast he might as well have been flying.

Before him, Copé could see his free space becoming more and more scarce. The Trading Network always had some sort-of commotion going on about it during the day, and in-front of him, a crowd of men and women merchants stood, indistinguishable in their clothing, as well as tables filled with a wide assortment of items. Secrat gnashed his teeth, grinding them from side to side as he searched intuitively for his next move. With vivacity, vigor, and a silent prayer for good fortune, Copé made a leap of faith into the crowd of people, thinking not about the perhaps inevitability of being trampled.

One person fell down first, a gentleman, Copé only caught a glimpse of him, but watched the pot he was holding fall out of his hands. The pot, clay and of heavy size, was more than enough to take the woman in-front of him off of her feet as it struck her from behind. As she fell, so did the man she brought down with her, and someone else, and then another. It was a ripple effect that happened too fast for Secrat to truly appreciate.

Besides, the time was needed to secure safety, in the havoc of it all, Copé began crawling on his hands and knees, being careful not to be crushed by the large cast. As Copé searched for a means to make his escape, he looked over to the guards behind him that worked at trying to settle a dispute between some of the crowd.

The woman's husband didn't take too kindly to a man throwing a pot at her and a fight ensued as a result. Secrat made certain to take advantage of the diversion, hiding beneath one of the tables, letting the tablecloth conceal him.The ruckus soon started to quiet down, and when he peeked out from under the clothe, the thief could see the guards weren't focused anywhere near his location. His tactful retreat becoming a real opportunity, Copé now had his chance to flee. Secrat turned his back the opposite way of the guards. This side of the table was about as crowded as the other, but he'd more than likely be able to blend into it.

He waited for an opportune time to make his move, but before that could happen, his feet were dragged out from underneath him.

It was a guard, one that he must have missed or not seen. The fellow wasn't a knight or a warrior, or anything like that, not a skilled-looking fighter, but he held a sword in his hands, which was more than Copé had to work with.

The thief snatched up a small pile of sand and tossed it in the guard's face.

The guard sold it like an arrow to the chest, falling backward, then plopping himself down on his bottom as he tried to remove some of the sand from his eyes. Secrat, flat on his back, rolled under the table and to the other-side. He climbed to his feet and started once more toward fleeing from sight.

There were beads of sweat traveling down his neck and chest as he ran forward. Once leaving the crowds, he was allowed an openness of mobility. Some of him felt fatigue, but a lot of him was being driven on the adrenaline soaking inside of him. The same adrenaline that made him a master thief and the same adrenaline that made him the best member that The Red Flux ever had. He felt empowered and as if nothing thrown in his path could deter him.

That is, until a guard tackled off from his feet. Copé gulped and sighed heavily as the air vacated his lungs. A dazed and haphazard stare followed for the thief as he tried to formulate a coherent thought for himself. He failed at it several times. But once the sensation of the ordeal started to spread thin, he was once more ready to think cognitively, or with as much logic and reason as he could otherwise.

The guard wasn't a guard after all.

It was Christique, smiling with a sprinkle of sadism in her disposition.She didn't smile for long, however, and instead, Christique dragged Copé up to his feet, making him wonder why she took him off his feet in the first place. The guards weren't in sight, but that didn't make escape any less important. She led him back to the Alsabenya Shack, and it was there where he hid, crouched behind the counter where he once ate. Christique looked at him, like she was trying to decipher the puzzle in-front of her. Copé smiled at her some. He wanted to tell her she had her work cut out for her but didn't end up saying anything. Some part of the thief was feeling the same way as she, that is, he was unsure about the person before him.

Her eyes left him. A customer stood at the opposite side of the counter.Copé couldn't hear everything that was said between the two, but he did hear some of Christique's more complimentary lines, such as "Thank you" and "Have a nice day". Before that, he watched Christique scavenge up the same slop she had fed him, the "filler food," as it was called. And after that, he heard a man walking away.

"Acera's finest is a petty thief, is that what I am to understand?" Her voice didn't sound offended, disturbed, or anything else with some sort of negative connotation, but it didn't sound thrilled or optimistic either. Melancholy, that was an excellent way to describe how Christique sounded. She gave a small smirk that Secrat fancied, however.

"You're not exactly a regular everyday member of the Satin village, are you?" Secrat said, rubbing his shoulder in the spot where she struck him. A small ache, but Copé dealt with it long enough to return the smirk back at her. On the inside, he was kicking himself about sharing his suspicions. But something about her heightened his intrigue and made him want to play along with her. The woman tried her best to look offended, offering a merciless stare that for some reason only added to Secrat's infatuation with her.

Copé looked for the guards, watched for them, until finally, at once, he felt confident enough in his own safety. He stood to his feet at the inside of the shack behind the counter and winced momentarily at the striking amount of pain he felt in his side. Christique's feminine beauty was matched by her strength. It offered a small and bearable feeling that still didn't sit too well with him. He rubbed the back of his neck some more before regaining his wits about him. Christique looked at him with a sympathetic look that he knew wasn't sincere. "If you are about to break down and start crying then I might just have to alert the guards after all." Her not-so sympathetic look soon dissolved into a sarcastic smirk.

"I feel like there are nicer ways of getting people's attention." Secrat spoke earnestly. He took a look at some of the men and women conversing in the crowds. The merchants, the men, the women, all of them conjoined with making this encumbered blur. A man that looked something like an apothecary stood out to Copé. That made sense, after the dog pile the thief caused, some could most certainly use a bit of aid. Still no sign of any of guards. That was good. Better safe than sorry though, Copé thought upon falling to a seated position, his back leaned against the counter.

"There might be nicer ways of getting your attention, but none of the other ways had it where I could attack you." Christique replied.

"Why did you want to attack me in the first place?" Copé asked.

It seemed like a fair question for him to ask.Christique didn't seem to share the sentiment with him, and in-fact, she looked at him like he was an absolute idiot.

"I wanted to attack you because you lied to me about who you were!"

"You lied to me!" Secrat fired back, and for an honest second, he actually felt like a snot-nosed brat. It was something about the whiny way he said it. In a moment, he was feeling self-conscious, and felt the need to assert himself, "You think I don't know about Satin? I've been there before, and you know what, you're not a part of it!"

Secrat knew he didn't come off as fierce, sometimes he wondered if being intimidating was something even in his repertoire of abilities.

It was. But only with a knife in his hands.

Nevertheless, the thief would be no one's fool.

"At least I can say that I'm not a petty thief. What did you steal from them anyways?" Christique inquired that with a voice sounding riddled with judgment. Copé felt down at the hilt of the knife strapped to his leg, for no other reason than because he couldn't think of anything else to fidget with. "I didn't steal anything for what I needed. Some food that would have been considered as table scraps for them, and some coin that was no more than pocket change." Copé felt a jolt of insecurity surge through his veins again, and he didn't much care for it. An everyday scrapper not absorbed by power but concerned infinitely with survival. That was the perception she would have of him, and maybe that was for the best. More than anything, he wanted to stress his significance, his importance, and his worth, but he said nothing.

"They must really love their bread then." Christique said. Her attention threw itself back over to one of her customers.

His attention was now on her necklace and all its beauty.

### Chapter Four

Copé and Christique spoke long after the Alsabenya shut down for the night. Everything quieted a lot into the blackness of the sky and the heated and humid weather discarded for something much chillier. None of the old guards in all their glory were roaming about, and the new guards, starting their shift, didn't recognize the thief. "Why did you decide to come to The Trading Network of all places?" Copé asked, he played around with his fingers while he walked. That was always a problem with him, having something to do with his hands. Christique walked with him. She knew what to do with her hands. They dangled at her side fine and well, much more comfortable and at peace with herself than he was.

"I can't say it was my first choice. There was a time when I wasn't exactly thinking about what would be best for me. I wanted to escape from doing something I knew was wrong." Christique had much more inflection in her voice than Copé did. She enunciated her words and carried herself the way a soldier did; proud and like she could take anything on. Satin must have been very strong people, or wherever Christique was from.

They continued to travel the land, the sand beneath their hands felt nice and cool. The Whispey Deserts were unfortunate and disparate in that regard. Hot and humid during the day and very cold in the night. There was no pleasing them. There was a certain harmony to seeing the desert deserted at night, or perhaps simply a lot quieter. Footprints were almost everywhere to be seen but that's almost all there was. Tables weren't simply empty. Tables were taken apart and stored into the tents and shacks of the sellers.

The paranoia of items being stolen at night was a real one. There were guards posted around various areas, even at night, but most of the thefts went unnoticed until it was much too late. That was the nature of the beast and it came with the territory. It was only to be expected that such a populated area, crowded, and filled with items would occasionally be robbed. How crowded it was meant it was basically the duty of a thief to at least try and steal something.

Copé couldn't help but kick himself for the fact he had been caught in the act. He had been slipping as a thief, and that was difficult to swallow. Copé turned his attention over to the wonderful Christique. All things aside, the woman had an astounding beauty. A beauty too elegant for the brothels that Copé frequented, albeit never actually paid for. Her beauty was the sort one would expect to see in a castle, it was a beauty one would expect from royalty.

Christique threw her eyes over to Copé while they walked. "What are you thinking?" Secrat asked, a sinister smirk started up on his face. Christique retorted a similar smile as they neared her small abode.

Their night began.

2

The warmth of his body was astounding, the idea that somebody could be so hot inside and not combust. Her scent was on him, that exquisite scent, an intoxicating perfume that he couldn't help but find himself obsessing over. Her arms fall over his chest, bare and naked, and that gave him a feeling of strength and masculinity he had not recently felt. She was different in some way, some sort or another. She felt more in control. Superior. And what Copé found strange is how much he enjoyed that about her.

In bed, they slumbered. Half of them did. Secrat put his hand over the top of Christique's head. As if alluding to a softer side of himself, more loving and less shallow. Alas, as his fingers strolled down the brim of her neck, that was revealed as false. He felt and observed her body to be warm as well, like there was a fire in her that awaited the chance to set everything else in a blaze.

He felt down her neck some more until finding the string of her necklace. Although, it wasn't just a string at all, not for a gem as extraordinary as the one resting between her naked bosoms. She opted not to take it off. And Secrat, wanting not to draw any attention to it, was certain not to object.  
The blackness obscured his vision some, but the light from the moon out the window illuminated just enough of the room for him to see her face. Her eyes were what concerned him the most. They needed to remain shut. He fiddled with the back of the necklace between his fingers. He hooked it with his index finger, carrying the back of it up her neck.  
His heart was beating fast while his eyes intently stuck themselves to Christique's lids. If she awoke, no doubt, he could handle it, but he didn't especially want to. Her hair posed an issue, as did the way she rested her head on the side of the string. The only way to retrieve it would be by lifting her head up or swiping at it swiftly. Both meant he would have to cross his fingers and hope for the best. Copé creaked his teeth some as he began to lift her head. He did it cautiously, knowing it was more of a game of luck than it was doing anything right or wrong. Heavy sleeper or not heavy, those were the components that spelled out what Copé's night had the potential to be.If she was, Copé would leave with a priceless jewel and sex he didn't pay for. That was a fortunate night by all definition of the phrase. Either way, that's what Secrat imagined happening tonight, even if he had to kill her, but it'd be really perfect if he could avoid the conflict.

As he pulled the necklace more up, all his aspirations were thwarted at once. Christique yawned and then rolled to the other side, her back now facing the thief. That could have meant rolling out of the necklaces' clutches, but that was not to be. Instead, as positioning would have it, the necklace kept with her, but Copé held the gem in his hands, marveling at it.

The jolt of fear he felt in himself from Christique's movement was enough to keep him from attempting to take it off again. At least with that method. Instead, Copé moved his hand down the bedside in search of his leggings. He found them at once, and then struggled free one of his knives. The handle felt cold in his hands, unlike how his body felt. Still, the knife felt nice to hold; empowering. He knew that with the knife, he wouldn't have to endure any screams or cries or conflict.

Tightly in his hands, Secrat slid the knife near Christique's throat.

The look of it was nice.

At last, he acted. Cutting the necklace off from her neck. He pulled the gem free, taking the piece of string as well. He had it. At last.

Copé rolled out of the bed as carefully as he could. Naked, the thief wandered for his clothes, trying to let the light of the moon guide him. He found them easy, and before long, is fully clothed. There isn't much that he remembered about the inside of the shack. He didn't really pay much attention to it when he had the chance. Luckily, it was small enough to where he didn't really have to. He approached the doorway leading to the outside and turned the knob.

In seconds, Copé was out the house and making way toward his own. The cold night air and the moon loomed over him, but the warm feeling inside hadn't escaped him. His way back wasn't eventful at all, of course, but he did take the time to behold the gem in all its glory.

There was a lot of dirt and grime over it, as well as a certain dullness, but there was more to it than that. The gem was deliberately allowed to ruin itself, and there was no telling how much it was worth. He held it in the palm of his hand. The jewel was much heavier than it looked. Certain inscriptions appeared to be on it, but he couldn't make them out very well.

By the time Copé made it back to his small sector of Maharris, his small and insignificant shack that cost him the littlest number of coin.

He'd have to leave the Whispey Deserts once selling the necklace. That much was for certain. He doubted there was any chance of Christique finding him. He was intuitive when it came to those types of things. Like the soldiers and knights roaming the desert, she would be easy enough to evade. She didn't know where he lived after all, and when the crowd was out, it wasn't like he would stand out. Wasn't like she could do anything to him in the first place.

It was more about having a new lease on life, a rediscovery of old passion.

This wasn't a petty thievery for bread or a few coin. This was of value, and for the first time in a long time, the thief succeeded without any form of conflict.

Secrat smiled at that as he stopped at his bed.

It wasn't until the next morning Copé realized he had lost his flask.

3

The flask might not have been worth a whole lot, but there was a sentimental value to it. After all, the flask often contributed to Copé's intoxication.

That much was special, but it was still worth at least a considerable amount on its own. Copé hadn't ever had a chance to get it appraised at the thieves' network, but he expected the flask to be worth at least enough coin for it to be missed. Secrat had nicked it not long ago from a merchant during one of his overtly elaborate sale's pitches.

Copé sat, cooped up in his home, perched on his bed. He looked at the gem. He had scrubbed at it earlier with some warm water and the results had been pleasant. No doubt, the item was worth more than Christique was willing to let on. The thief admired its intricacies.

On it, there were scribblings the thief hadn't understood at first. But upon closer inspection, he could see they depicted a dragon. Such an outlandish and ridiculous concept. The dragon didn't have an array of colors or much depicting it. Sapphire eyes. Had Secrat not been intently studying it, he likely would have missed it. Otherwise, there was a gold plating around the emerald Secrat had earlier been oblivious to. It was what hooked it onto the necklace and kept it from being a plain, flat chunk of emerald. That, and of course, the dragon engraving.

Copé was taken by it, he liked the feel of it. Like a rock, but so much smoother. But, a part, nay, a lot of him was thinking about his flask. Far more than a fair trade off, the necklace probably could have bought him ten flasks and more, but Copé couldn't help but think about it. The perfect night unraveled by a foolish mistake. He was above such amateur mistakes. Another Azlak Temps fiasco. That was his ego talking, and he knew it, but that wasn't enough to simply dispel it out of him.

Copé took one of his pine sticks out and lit it. He liked the look of the flame in his hands. Felt special and unique. Once lighting a cigarette, he took a huff out of it. The feeling of tobacco in his lungs never filled him with the same satisfaction it did others.

Toucan Veras loved his cigarettes almost as much as he loved the Flux or hated the Aeonians. He'd constantly be taking in one of them. Copé never saw the appeal of it. Secrat hoped it would do some to calm his nerves, and although that failed, he, at the absolute least, had something to twirl around in his hands. To distract him.  
Secrat bit the bottom of the cigarette. It was a habit. The taste was awful. He arose to his feet from his bed, and put out the cigarette, the stuff simply didn't do it for him. Near the window in his small shack, the fresh air felt more inviting.  
There was a small but rambunctious crowd of merchants gathered around. Merchants usually started themselves in the early hours of the morning which made it difficult to sleep. The thief was accustomed to late hours, but the merchants didn't seem to care about that. How inconsiderate. The heat being so immense meant they wore something or another on their head. From turbans to straw hats, anything that kept their heads from blistering would suffice. Copé watched them inattentively for a time, not able to hear what they were saying, but honestly not being all that curious. His eyes went down over to some children running around. It wasn't uncommon for children to be brought out to the Trading Network.  
It wasn't uncommon for children to steal either. Petite and innocent, the opportunity was too 'there' to pass up.  
Secrat stepped out from his shack home, standing out at the doorway just a foot or two. The flask was unfortunate. He wished it could have been salvaged somehow, but he knew it was not a priority.

No. Secrat Copé would travel to the thieves and do away with the necklace for as much as he could. After that, whatever happened would happen. Copé walked forward toward the merchants and made his way.

### Chapter Five

Copé felt more at home amongst the thieves and felt more comfortable there. Even if every one of them would rob him blind given the opportunity. But luckily, there was an unwritten code of honor amongst thieves not to steal in sanctioned locations such as this.

Of course, this isn't something that was written in stone, and it wasn't something that was followed by a lot of the pettier thieves.

Copé didn't mind it, didn't feel worried or bothered by it. The idea of danger put his teeth on edge.

While The Trading Network had a certain professionalism, there were shops and/or tables set out with a shop-like vibe. There were shacks encumbering folk as they slept, restaurants and a lot of other stuff at the Trade Network, but the thieves post lacked the polish. Tents off to one side and more tents off to the other. This usually worked to illustrate the different tropes that frequented it. For example, had The Red Flux been there, they'd be assembled somewhere isolated from everyone else. That's not how the actual Trade

Network functioned, with the major cities away from each other. With the real one, because the massive number of people, it was more difficult to diversify based on grouping alone.

The desert sun beamed down on Secrat. The desert sun, although synonymous with any other sun, as the only sun, certainly felt a lot closer than normal. He detoured from his chosen path and walked beneath a large tent, an onyx color, black as night, and certainly spacious, the tent went higher than necessary and looked a lot stranger than the others. Slicker, maybe Italinian roots. Copé treaded lightly, in-fact even stopping dead in his tracks. Not venturing into the actual tent, which confines were obscured in full by the black tarp acting as doors, but instead simply staying beneath the pitched roof before it.

Copé felt down at the pouch of his leggings. He could feel the hilt of one of his knives but was more concerned with the necklace beside it. Finding a pair of eyes for appraisal wouldn't be that hard. Jewelry was an item about every thief had ready to sell. This hurt chance of a sale, but Copé at least wanted an idea of how much he should be asking for. He wouldn't take the appraisal as law either, and in-fact, he'd likely ask three or four different folks to look at it before averaging it out. After all, everyone had the idea of coin in mind.

Secrat took a breath and let it go. The heat was abundant. His more recent smoking likely hadn't assisted his lungs much either.

The sound of some scuffling from behind the thief made a man come from behind the curtain. His eyes looked so completely white Copé might have mistaken him as a blind man had he not faintly found pupils in the middle of each. His skin was pale, which made for a clashing image in-front of the black tent.

He was from Hardan, Copé inferred by the pigment of his skin. His eyes went over to Secret, they looked malicious and unfriendly, while his disposition fit the look well. "Is there something you want?" the man asked plainly, his eyes briefly traveling up Copé. Secrat offered nothing in terms of facial expression, he felt very uncomfortable, but he wasn't about to let him know of that fact, and so, he replied with a similar plainness: "Just passing through."

The man acted a skeptic, his body stood up tense and tight, while his hand was on the handle of his sword, resting in its scabbard, attached at his waist. He wore black gloves, and fancy clothes with elaborate buttons. At last, the man cooled his glare and took his eyes off from Copé, he turned his body around and walked back to the tent. Secrat didn't move for a few seconds, his body felt paralyzed almost, and he hadn't the faintest clue as to why. Finally, the tension alleviated itself off from his body and he felt normal again, or at least as close to normal as he could be.

From there, old matters took back priority, like the fiery sun forcing sweat out of him, and without a roof giving shade, all he could do was succumb to it. Now, the matter was back to finding someone to look at the necklace in his pocket. He could barely even feel the weight of it on his leg anymore.Lowering his hand down, back at his side, Copé realized that was because the necklace was gone.

A surge of anxiety and uncertainty came in the thief after the fact. Stopped in his movements. The thief reached his hand deeper into his pocket, like he expected it to have somehow become deeper.

It had not.

Also, there were no holes for it to fall out from either. Nevertheless, Secrat turned around, expecting to see the necklace had fallen out somewhere. His eyes looked down through the desert sand, but nothing popped out to him. It shouldn't have been difficult to see. An emerald in the sand. There was nothing to see in the sand, but then again, there were footprints. Small footprints. Secrat's eyes followed them until coming to the perpetrator, a small girl with brown hair running off and away. In her hand, it looked a lot like a string. The girl soon disappeared from view as she cornered the black tent.

Copé eased a little. He didn't like to brag about it, but he could probably beat a little girl in a fight. He only eased a little bit though before he realized that while he could most certainly defeat a small girl in a battle of physical force, he wasn't completely confident he could catch one.

And with that, the surge of fear was back in him. He took in a breath and let it out, sprinting after the small child. His legs still ached from running from the guards earlier. Being away from The Red Flux definitely showed in his health at times as well. But that wouldn't stop him from trying, wheezing afterward or not.

He cornered the black tent as well, halfway expecting to be driven over the head with something as he did. His eyes wandered the sand before once again finding the girl, she had slowed down to a walk, likely just wanting to get out of Copé's sight once suspicion was raised.

Copé slowed down his running also, not looking to alert the girl. He slowed his breathing down as well. The back of the girl's head gave way to a little bit about her, but not a whole lot. Copé made note of the rope that tied her hair into a ponytail. Her body was small and thin, and she was barefoot, her feet walking in the sand.

Secrat sneaked closer to her. He reached for the blade in his leggings. No reason to kill her. Or hurt her at all for that matter. Scare her. That's all he wanted to do. He wouldn't kill a child. Not less he absolutely had to. With every heightened step, he got closer. Inches closer. Feet closer.

His breathing had almost completely stopped by this point. There was nobody else there to see. All he had to do was come a little closer. In her pocket. That's where it had to be. Her hands dangled freely at her side. It wasn't around her neck either. It was in her pocket. One of them anyway. That's where the necklace was.

When he finally made it close enough to make his move, he did. He made a lunge at her, catching her off-guard and taking her off her feet. "If you give me the necklace back, I won't hurt you." The child squirmed trying to get free and Copé tried to restrain her, pinning one of her arms down with one hand while the other showed the blade of his knife. His intimidation tactics didn't work well, however, as the girl used her free hand to take the emerald out from her pocket and toss it in his face. Copé stopped holding her and began holding his face protectively.

The girl freed her legs out from underneath Copé, who was on his knees, then drove her feet to his groin.

Copé's worry over his face immediately focused itself on his crotch, falling of the girl to a fetal position as he winced in pain. The child climbed to her feet and picked up the necklace, running away before Copé could do anything to stop her.

2

As Copé returned to his shack, he noticed something peculiar about it. There was nothing in it. Not that there was much in there anyway, and so, perhaps, more fittingly it'd be to say he could at least tell someone had paid him a visit. A feeling started its way into the thief. It wasn't a feeling of fright that overwhelmed him. It wasn't a bad feeling that had him. But it wasn't a good feeling either.

He walked further into the shack. His eyes looked around. The bed cover fell off into the dirt. Wrinkled and unkempt, and not how he left it. His bed itself turned and pulled off the frame. The small table at the corner of his one room abode was flipped on its side. Somebody was looking for something.

That much was obvious, and a lot else was obvious as well.

The only one with a motive was Christique. Christique was here earlier. And Christique was looking for her necklace. How she found him wasn't important. There was more wit about her than she might have wanted to let on, Secrat knew that much. There was a message here as well, a message meant to scare him. A message wanting him to know that he was being pursued.

3

Christique wouldn't have to look very hard to find the thief. There was only one way for him. Without the necklace in his clutches, he was back to where he started. Nay, that wasn't completely true though, and in-fact, he was even worse off than when he started. Before, he at least had his flask, and now, he didn't even have that. He needed it back. If he couldn't have the necklace than that much was imperative. Where she kept it. That was a question. No doubt she found it the night after their meeting, but what she did with it is what mattered most. Maybe she sold it. That was possible. Secrat didn't like that much though.

Maybe he'd sell her and see how she liked it, thought Secrat. The Hills would pay an arm and a leg for someone like Christique.

That wasn't a serious possibility.

Although, Secrat was desperate enough. Desperate enough to try and sell her as a sex slave in the wilderness. But it'd likely prove too large of an undertaking. Besides, it probably wouldn't even be worth the trip.

Secrat held one of his knives in his hands. He looked at the blade. Sharp.

If the flask wasn't there, he'd have to do something to make up for his losses.

4

Alsabenya was a small restaurant not unlike very many in The Trading Network. It strived to supply halfway decent food for a marginally reasonable price. There were other shacks just like it, so it's not like it had a niche appeal or anything. It was a matter of which was closest to the customer. Which was more convenient. The hours it was opened told of a big window where Christique would be away from her home. Although, just to be completely sure of that, Secrat kept just far enough away from Alsabenya not to be detected and waited. Once he took sight of Christique's happy and smiling face, he knew he was given the clear to pay her house a visit.

She wasn't smiling though.

Her face looked frightening enough to scare a child. But the little that

Secrat Copé had in this world had been taken away from him by Christique. This included a flask, a couple of knives, and the minimalist equipment he used during heists. The equipment wasn't anything especially immaculate or intricate, hence the term 'minimalist,' and only included the bare essentials that he needed to carry on. Both the knives he had and the equipment he used were easily replaceable. In-fact, Secrat always carried more than ten knives on his person, a trick he picked up in The Red Flux.

His fighting was all about stealth, thereby eliminating the necessity of heavier and slower weapons.

He'd have to make a stop at the Thieves' Network before it was all said and done, to retrieve some more particular items, but all he really needed to infiltrate Christique's abode were the means for lockpicking. These items included nothing more than an ordinary needle swiped from one of the merchant tables. A table with woven goods that was stolen with simple misdirection.

Picking the lock would prove a more treacherous feat, especially in broad daylight. The thief realized that and did his best to be as swift as he could. On his way over to her home, his eyes wandered, like somebody who was paranoid. And that's exactly how he was. Paranoid. There were a lot of folk around, and it would be difficult to break in without it being suspicious. Some of the men and women, and merchants and tradesman stared at him. He smiled in return; his hand felt down at the handle of his knife nervously. Fidgeting.

His eyes looked around at each building, and soon it was realized how little he knew about Christique's house. The night he left with her, it was dark and there were 'distractions' that kept his attentiveness diverted elsewhere. There wasn't a whole lot that really stood out about any of the buildings on this section. A casual and default form about all of them. They were sand homes. Most of them. Except for a select few that actually opted out enough to use wood or planks. Those ones looked the shabbiest and like they were damn-near ready to fall apart.

Copé scratched his head. He knew that Christique lived in one of the wooden homes but didn't know too many specifics other than that. It narrowed it down some. He also knew the general location of her house, that is, and that made things a little easier as well.

Sooner or later, Copé found himself at her doorstep, or what he was almost certain to be her doorstep. This wasn't the first time he robbed the wrong person, however. And the last time damn-near cost him everything.He was out of options though, and worst-case scenario meant only that he'd have broken into a stranger's home. There were certainly worse things he could have done. The lock was simple, without extravagance and without sophistication, that's how most locks were. The key to lockpicking (no pun intended) was patience. A lack of patience was the only thing that could really keep a door from being picked.

The mistake in that, and the mistake in Copé's decisions is that he didn't have time for mistakes. A man fidgeting around a door would draw suspicion. If he did it fast enough, it'd look like nothing more than a man unlocking his door and going inside.

Copé walked nearer to the door. It didn't particularly feel familiar, but it was much darker before.

The main center of the Trading Network with the tables, and the merchants, is what was most crowded, whereas the spots for living tended to thin the herd, but there were still more than a handful of people. Some of them sitting down and resting, blankets put out, and people socializing. There wasn't really a whole lot to see with the desert sands, so it wasn't much a place for tourists, not like Italina, which had a lot more scenery and romanticism.

The desert was strictly about the relationship between consumer and producer.

Secrat looked at the keyhole and readied his hand. He messed with his pin, fidgeted and tweaked, moving the tumblers up. A small mistake happened soon into his efforts, the hairpin became caught as he tried to pull it out, he succeeded.

His hand shaking more than necessary. No eyes were staring at him, and he knew that, but only under the surface, and above the surface, there was a layer of frightened dismay. A subconscious feeling that was unaware. He readied his hand again, trying to keep himself calm and focused, he moved one tumbler up and then the other. Breathing as steadily as he could.

The voices talking from behind him didn't fall on deaf ears, but he couldn't make out their words. Like buzzing coming from an annoying fly is how they sounded. Were they noticing him, or just having a discussion? The thief didn't have the answer to that, but he didn't have time to look. The time finally came as he heard the click of the door unlatch itself. He went inside.

He didn't come into the house like a man unlocking the door to his shack and coming inside, but like a man being chased like The Carvers were after him.

His back pressed against the door on the inside. His eyes wandered around the confines of the room. The wood felt warm beneath his feet. Bare. He walked further into the room and almost immediately recognized the bed.

Neatly made. Smiled at the sight. Some good memories happened there. Looked down at the ground. He was hoping the flask would be there and he'd be able to leave in a matter of seconds. That was not what happened though.

There was nothing there.

Pity.

Secrat walked further into Christique's little den, admiring it with wonder. A shelf at one section filled with books. He couldn't read them, however, as they were written in a language unknown to him. It looked familiar for some reason though. It was on the tip of his tongue but none of him could say it for certain. He walked toward the books. Gathered with dust. They hadn't been touched in ages. His fingers skimmed around the spine of a few of them. His fingerprints cleaning some of the dust off. At last, his eyes left them. His interest lost.

To the side, a table, and on top of it, a pair of black gloves. He walked toward them, and in that instant, he heard a creak beneath his feet. A loose plank of wood. Copé came down to one knee and felt at it. He thumbed at it, trying to pry it free. It obliged. The gap was small and dark. His eyes could barely make out what was there. Her house must have been slightly elevated, at least by a few feet, because it led to the outside beneath. Copé eyed at the sand, and at once took sight of the flask. His flask. It stood out faintly, but he could see it. Hidden. Christique no doubt anticipated his arrival.

Secrat dropped to one knee and reached his hand down into the black until he felt sand. He reached around for it until he touched the flask. He brought it out, having the metallic feel of it in his hands gave him a feeling of nostalgia.

It was good to have it back. Even if it he was most likely going to sell it for coin.

The shine of its silver dulled by the sand, and the encrusted jewels were faint as well. The thief looked around Christique's home. Nothing else that he really needed. There wasn't anything that was worth more than one or two coin, and that just wasn't worth the trouble of finding someone to sell it to.

With that, the option of taking his leave presented itself. The wood plank fell back into its place on the floor and everything looked as it once had.

Unlike Christique, Copé didn't care about leaving a message for his opposing, all he cared about was getting his flask back, and after that, starting his life over as a thief. The flask went into his pocket, and his eyes threw themselves back over to the ebony gloves that rested on the table. He looked at them. Held them in his hands. They looked out of the ordinary for some reason, and he didn't really know why. On the top of the glove was a letter scribed in white, a big 'K' that seemed to hold some type of semblance lost on him.

The material was leather, and hard. Not exactly popular fashion in the Whispey Deserts. Back on the table, they went. The gloves had no worth to him.

The sound of the door shutting behind the thief befell his ears, causing him to stifle over himself at least momentarily. His composure regained, he turned around and saw Christique looking back at him. Not unlike how she looked when he saw her in Alsabenya, she was not smiling. Copé didn't look her in the eyes, because he knew they'd be fiery and filled with venom. Instead, all he did was stare down at his feet nervously for a second until mustering up the courage to speak:

"Hello," Copé's words didn't feel right for the moment, but they were all that he could think to say.

"Hello, yourself," Christique's voice disguised her temperament, but Secrat had a sixth-sense when it came to people being infuriated with him. She contained herself though. She walked nearer to him. Copé felt down his pocket for one of his knives. "You stole something of mine."

Secrat smiled. "Thief," he said, announcing his title, adding in a little bow for good measure.

"Is that right?" Christique asked. The way her voice sounded the words made it feel rhetorical. Copé held his tongue. Her feet stepped gingerly on the hardwood floor, an elegance, a certain primal aura with her movement that he hadn't noticed before. This took him aback some. He felt the handle of his knife in his hands, but before he could welcome it out of his pocket, Christique moved forward toward him fast. Her hand clutching his wrist and keeping his weapon sheathed in his leggings.

Secrat flinched but then looked Christique in the eyes at last. He could smell the scent on her. An intoxicating aroma. And he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. "Can I have it back?" Christique said, leaning her face forward, the side of her face touching his.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. I do not have it." Secrat said clearly.Christique pulled her head back from him. Slow, but distinctive enough to be noticeable. Her face distorted a moment until she went back to the restrained and somehow seductive plainness, she had been carrying herself with. She lifted Secrat's hand out from his pocket. His fingers still holding the knife in their clutches. For some reason, a reason unbeknownst to Secrat, he put up no fight against her and surrendered the knife. It was in her clutches now. She turned her back on him. This would've been as opportune of a moment as any to ready another of his knives and slit her throat from behind.

But he didn't do that. He didn't do anything.

Christique started to walk forward. Twirling around the knife in her hands. There was a sound in the stillness of it all. The sound of her brown woven boots knocking into the floor. In one hand, she held the knife. In the otherhand, she held gloves. Secrat looked down at the table. She had taken the 'K' scribed gloves while he had been distracted.

"Is there any idea of where it is?" Christique asked. Her back still turned away from him. The blade pointed upward. The gloves put away. Secrat didn't see where. Likely a pocket. Her other hand was on the door.

"I don't know," Secrat replied.

Christique let out an audible sigh as a retort. She didn't feel much like how she did at Alsabenya. Felt colder. Manipulative. In-control. As if something dormant inside of her had decided it now time to awaken.

"You followed me?" Copé asked. He already knew the answer to it. Didn't really have much reason to ask. But he wanted to keep it from being silent too long.

"It wasn't that difficult. I saw you from a mile away," she reaffirmed. "But that's all over now. Goodbye, Secrat."

Christique opened the door and began stepping out. She stepped out without any sort of haste. The door closed behind her. Copé could hear the distinctive clicking sound that the latch made.

"Goodbye," Secrat replied. Albeit, by this time, Christique was out of earshot. He didn't know where she was going, considering this was her own home, but he didn't much care either way. He let out a breath. A loud one.

It felt almost as if he hadn't breathed for the entire altercation between them. He didn't know why. But it bothered him. She bothered him. Almost intimidated him. Seduced him. He looked down at the wooden table again. He looked at the door where she left. A small tarp tapestry hung loosely over the window beside it. That struck him as odd for some reason. If only because he seemed to remember looking out at the moon the night they had spent together and there not being a curtain in-front of it. Biding his time. It was long enough now that he could leave the shack without any sight of Christique. That was good. He wanted to be as far away from her as possible.

He reached for a cigarette. Once more, it was not a taste or a feeling he enjoyed but it was a distraction. He reached for his pine sticks next. He had very few but at least some left. But when he dug deeper in his pocket, there were none to see.

Perhaps he lost them earlier in the Thieves' Network in his altercation with that girl. A sigh came after, but that was that, and he would have to come to grips. The cigarette went back in his pocket, and he went toward the door.

All at once, however, the curtains over the window became inflamed. Spreading slowly over to the door. That's what she meant by goodbye, Secrat thought to himself. Did she hang up curtains so I couldn't jump out the window? What a bitch...

5

The fire was bright. It ate into the wood, slowly like a termite. Secrat backed away from it. No other way out of the house. No back doors. No other windows. What was engulfed by the flame is what was there. The warmth of it was adamant. It reminded Secrat of her breath on his.

He backed away from it, the back of him bumping into the wooden table.This is how it would end for Secrat Copé, so it seemed. That was that, and at least he would leave in a blaze of glory. That was something he couldn't accept, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of how to remedy the situation.

But he was Secrat Copé, master thief, and one of the brightest The Red

Flux ever had to offer! That didn't really matter though. Not in this situation. Accolades wouldn't extinguish the flame. Neither would anything else. Copé kept himself backed away from the flame for a time. The wheels in his head weren't turning fast, but some ideas reared their head. By now, the fire had completely engulfed the front-side of the small one-room shack.

He walked himself toward the bed. The blankets not yet scathed by the harsh, cogitating flame. Yanking them off, the thief readied his next move. Wrapping himself around the covers like a caterpillar might wrap itself in a cocoon, Secrat pulled the blankets up enough over his body to give his legs reasonable mobility. Once assured, he backed away further from the flame. Enough space for momentum. The door was hard-wood and Secrat was not large. He'd need all of the momentum and vivacity he could have. The table was in the way. He used his foot to kick at it, shoving it off to the side and offering a clear path to the door.

Until he was at the other side. He looked back the flame. It had spread some. He knew that the time for action was upon him. Hopefully the fire had dug enough at the door to assist his escape, and thereby, his survival.

The heat of the flame drew sweat from his brow, that and his heart-racing faster than a horse. By the time he touched the opposite wall, he allotted himself no time to think or contemplate. The thief ran to the other-side with all of his might and charged against the door. A loud banging noise came out of it. But the door didn't knock off of its hinges or break. Instead, Secrat felt the severity of flame attempt to swallow him whole. Like a cat in water, a thief in fire, he jumped away from the blaze as fast as he could. Shedding the blankets off of him. They fell to the floor. Only spreading the fire more and more.Secrat dropped to his knees. For a second. Just a second. He didn't even really have a second for anguish. But he took it.

The fire had burned some of the hair off his arms and the smoke was starting to encumber the room. Copé looked to the wooden table. Another idea. A shot in the dark. Grasping at straws. The only thing he had.

He jumped up to his feet and tried to lift the table. It was heavy. He was not strong. Not physically at least. He kicked at the legs. Until prying one free at once. The table dropped at an angle. His intentions were neither brilliant nor profound. Desperate. That was more fitting a word. Throwing legs at the door until it would break. The window wasn't really big enough of an opening to make a quick escape, and with fire all over that side of the room, a quick escape is what he needed.

A step forward with one of the legs in hand, a creaking sound is what Copé heard next.

He looked down. The loose wooden plank where he found his flask. That was enough dangling of hope to make at least some type of cogitation happen. The table leg fell out of his hands and to the floor, making a knocking sound as it hit the ground. Down to his knees slowly, the thief dislodged the wooden plank from the flooring and took sight of the sand. He smiled a little bit, then let out a cough as the smoke penetrated his lips and entered his lungs.

The other planks of wood weren't like that. They weren't loose. He pulled at them, but they wouldn't come free. That made him nervous, but he let out a breath, albeit polluted with smoke and reached for one of his knives. The handle in his hands, he drove the sharp blade into one of the creases between each wooden plank and scraped at it. He wiggled the blade in between it, trying to loosen it. But none of it seemed to be working.

The knife went down on the floor beside him, and in its place, Copé picked up the wooden leg. The leg was heavy. Not too heavy. But heavy. He stamped it down as hard as he could over one of the wooden planks. One of planks adjacent to the one already dislodged. The noise was loud. The sound of wood cracking. It wasn't broken yet. A second stomp did get it a little closer to that. The wood was dented in. A third hit broke it in half.

The way it broke caused a small shard of timber to scrape into his arm. Something which Secrat didn't notice. The adrenaline was setting in and making him feel almost invincible. He wasn't. In-fact, far from it. The fire raged on, yearning to express him that fact. With two planks removed from the floor, he was almost able to fit himself into the hole. Both legs. The waist was a problem though. He didn't try to force it. In fear he might become stuck.

Copé took the leg once more in his hands. The fire was nearing. Much nearer now than before. Close. The smoke damn-near intoxicating. He could feel it becoming more and more difficult to breathe. Gagging. Choking on the air around him. It was a matter of time before he would lose consciousness. A matter of time before he'd be burned to ashes. He took the leg and looked at another wooden plank. Not even trying to unhinge it with his knife, he stomped the leg repeatedly over it, as fast he could, and then, much faster than the other one, it gave way. Snapping like a stick beneath the foot of a giant. Secrat didn't waste any time after that.

The hole in the floor offered enough room for him to make his escape. He dropped off into the sand. His back slapping against it. For him, at that time, at that moment, it might as well have been a nice fluffy cloud or bed. It was comfort. It was life. He lifted the sand up into his fingers and let it fall out. His eyes lent themselves up above him. The smoky blackness obscured everything there was to see of the house.

He turned his head, and there was light in sight. Feet as well. He could see them. A gathering of people, all gathered up and watching on as he damn-near burned to his death. There was no sign of Christique. Not that he could recognize her by her feet, but he liked to assume. He rolled in the sand. The front-side of the building was where all the commotion was. Where everyone was all crowded about. He rolled out from under the house from the back-end.

He climbed to his feet. Part of him felt like gasping for air, but the other part of him managed to contain himself.

After dusting some of the sand off from his arms, he noticed how black they were from the soot. He tried to dust it off with his hands as well, but it was to no avail. While touching at his arm, however, he did notice the large gash of blood spurting out of him. That was the cut made from when he smashed the first plank, he realized. The pain was starting to show itself, but it wasn't throbbing or unbearable. Copé thumbed at it for a second, but it made the pain worse, so he relented. There was a large splinter of wood still into his arm. That was something he knew he'd feel later, but it wasn't something his body would let him feel now.

He walked about and cornered the house, exposing himself to the crowd of people. His eyes didn't catch anyone looking at him. They might have been but that didn't bother him. His body looked blacker than that of a man from Jalint, but he didn't care. Not like he had anything to hide.

Over by the front of the house, the crowd all beheld the building being scorched and burned to a crisp. Copé shared in their amusement. In the end, he walked in-front of the crowd. Not pushing or shoving but venturing closer than any of them were willing to go.

He brought a cigarette out from his pocket, feeling it between his fingers.

He walked up the steps leading to her front-door and looked down at one of the pine sticks on the deck. One that had been stolen from him by Christique. One of them was used and useless, but another beside it was completely unscathed. He picked it up and looked at the flame. He reached his hand slightly out the window. Putting the stick into the fire. It lit itself after some time. Thankfully not burning itself or Secrat's hand to a crisp.

With the pine stick in-hand, he lit his cigarette and threw the stick into the house through the window.

He put the cigarette between his lips.

He never liked the taste. But it distracted him.
Chapter Six

The wound wasn't that easy to pluck out from his skin. It was a gash that would leave a noticeable scar after it. Wiggling the shard of wound around in his flesh. The pain was some of the worst he had ever experienced in his life. Pouring alcohol out of his flask for disinfectant. Once the wood was jarred free from out of him, a great relief overcame him. But, like water from newly opened floodgates, blood began to gush out.

He walked around in his room. His fingers shook feverishly, and his mouth was watery from the sight of blood. His blood. That is really what did it for him. Blood otherwise didn't make for much of an issue.

The shack was not the safest place to be, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. His eyes sometimes looked at the door expecting for Christique to walk into the room like she did before. He wouldn't be there for very long. If there was anything at all that he learned from the whole ordeal, it's that no woman that attractive could be trusted without having paid for her first. That, and he had no further interest in the sand. No interest at all. In-fact, he wanted to leave the Whispey Deserts as fast as he could.

In his shack, he took some cloth and managed it. Wrapping the peasant shirt around his arm and tying it in a knot. He worked around with his arm.

Throwing fake punches at nothing to measure his pain and test his mobility.

Wasn't too bad. It was at least something he could deal with while he healed.

The return to Acera was a fine one. Secrat was well acquainted with the Unprotected Wilderness, so, it was smooth sailing once leaving the desert. Part of him felt inclined to visit The Hills. A brothel that he had come to love.

Father Toucan Veras never really approved of it, but that hadn't stopped Secrat Copé over the years. He'd visit it next time, surely. He didn't really want any conflict. His arm ached and fatigue plagued him. No time for sleep and it wasn't like he'd be able to sleep in the first place. After escaping the fire, his arm was throbbing, and once after bandaging the wound, he knew he had to flee as soon as possible. The journey would be a long one, and there would be time for sleep once he was far enough.

Nevertheless, Copé knew the forest. Knew the trees. Knew the animals and the groups that wandered it. Some of them were friendly. Like the Satin people Christique mentioned. They would offer him no blockade or hassle. They were nearer to Hardan, which was a long way away from Acera. The troupes along Acera, Jalint, and Urgway were mostly friendly. Satin was a red herring perspective on the likes who encumbered the outskirts of Italina and Hardan. Satin's friendliness in those parts was an anomaly that would undoubtedly lead to its downfall.

The Red Flux was one of the several groups that didn't stay dormant or stationery for very long but was usually somewhere between Acera and Italina.

If Satin was considered the friendliest, and the worst was the worst, then The Red Flux was somewhere in the middle.

Copé didn't see too many people on his way. That was by design. And as night reeled itself in, he took shelter beside a large tree, slumbering between two roots. The tree was old and wilting and had nothing but deteriorating bark to show for itself. His body ached before and after. He slept wrong on it, his neck angled badly. But he was rested. That was something very valuable to him. The altercation with Christique and the journey through the forest left him feeling irascible to say the least. It was nice to clear his head, if only by a little bit.

He woke up to the sound of singing birds, inconsistent with their melodies, and his eyes opened to see some of them as well. He stood up to his feet. The tree behind him was dead, but when he looked at the rest, he saw nothing but greenness from the trees. The way the sun beamed down at him, and the array of wild life made a pleasant picture of the wilderness. For all it's worth, The Unprotected Wilderness was a beautiful place. Looked like paradise. Wasn't. But it looked like it. Copé didn't take in the scenery. Didn't carry any admiration for it. In his world, beautiful had become mundane in time, and the ugly was dearly exploited. He did enjoy the shade from some of the trees and the freshness in the air.

The desert didn't have any of that.

He didn't eat anything on the way to Acera. Didn't need to. Wasn't hungry. Options were plentiful though. Apples, oranges, and berries were abundant, some of which were poisonous, but not many, and Secrat knew the distinctions. One of the many skills picked up with the Flux. If there was time and he needed nourishment, then he'd eat something at Acera.

Acera had Azlak Temps.

The first step in solving all of the problems he had been having. There was nothing else to it. Toucan Veras offered him pardon for his sins under certain conditions. He knew not exactly the extent of what he would have to do but fixing his mistake would likely be a step in the right direction. Didn't know if Temps was even still in Acera, but he hoped for it at the very least.

Once Secrat Copé arrived in Acera. He went scouting out and looking for him. Temps wasn't a hard man to find.

Acera didn't have much to say for itself in a lot of ways. The smallest of the five major cities, it was a humble territory that didn't cause too many ripples or waves. The wealthiest weren't really all that wealthy, and merchants weren't popular there either. There wasn't much of a purpose for any of them and there really wasn't a lot of a market for most goods. The merchants that were there made for modest earnings. But the earnings were consistent. Nobody trekked into their little territories, and they almost always had a decent flow of money to show for their efforts.

Azlak Temps was one of them. A wheel on the barrel that neither really shined nor excelled in his efforts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages. Are you ready for your whelm to be over? For your ex to be cited?"

Azlak spoke with a vigor and excitement, unlike any sort of enthusiasm that Copé had seen before. He admired it, or at least, he appreciated it. Secrat watched him on the side of the town's square. His back leaned against a wall of the Sidian Inn. There was a man, a heavy-set fellow, with a barrel filled with fruit. He'd sell one or two on occasion. An apple. An orange. But wanderers otherwise walked passed him.

The barrel looked rusty and unsanitary but Copé was more taken by the way the heavy-set man made no attempt to make a sale. Copé almost missed the charisma that the merchants of the Trade Network brought with them. Only almost though. Secrat smiled some.

The square belonged to Azlak Temps, even if he wasn't going to have much to show for it at the end of the day. There wasn't a table for him. There wasn't a whole lot of anything. Unlike the merchants that Secrat saw in the deserts. Azlak didn't sell in bulk. That wasn't his game, at least not this go around.

He stood. His hair parted on both sides, and his smile from ear to ear, entirely oblivious to the disinterest of the crowd surrounding him. Their aloofness only made him even more enthused. He wore clothing that looked neither intricate and elegant nor inexplicable and like that of a peasant. Rather, he wore a dark green tunic with buttons at the neck; unbuttoned and exposing a white shirt beneath it. At the waist was a black belt with a large buckle. His belly was round but not necessarily large. Unlike the other man Secrat had mistook Azlak Temps for before. Gray trousers were beneath that, with leather shoes woven together in an unfashionable way. Attached at his belt was a scabbard, but there was no sword sheathed within it.

He was selling that sword. And having it in at his side wouldn't add for the scenic appeal.

"I know the children of Acera have learned this under the watchful eyes of

Misses Sairyn Althea, but for those unaware, you might be wondering what I have that is so out of the ordinary and so special that it will have you jumping up and down like crazed baboons! All of you are likely aware of the story of the Aeonians, when Verdicine, one of the five, dispatched himself to the heavens, casting a much-needed veil over each of the major cities, he appointed Mathew Lapool to be the sole individual to harness his power." Behind Azlak Temps was a sword with a sapphire on the handle, other-wise though, it was a regular and everyday sword. "Mathew Lapool accepted the offer with grace, and once claiming the title as king of Acera, he named various men to stand below him. He hadn't been married, and desired that one of these men would be the heir to his thrown."

A small crowd of individuals gathered around him. It wasn't a lot. A mere handful. But it was a testament to his storytelling ability. He moved his hands with a certain charisma. A certain oomph that made it easy to rally behind him and kept everyone hanging on his every word. As a matter of fact, even Secrat Copé found him curious about the origin of the sword, albeit not because he was interest in having it for purchase.

"Each one of these men accomplished hefty tasks to the benefit of the king, his intentions at the time unbeknownst to them. He, looking to find a man or woman that would offer him unconditional loyalty, neglected to inform them they were contesting themselves as potential candidates for the throne and the power of one of the Aeonians!" The man's excitement was unrelenting. "Years afterward, the king began growing sickly, yes, quite, very sickly, and he named Charles Tertius as the heir to the throne. Charles, of course, became married, and his family has held leadership over the city ever since." Azlak Temps' large smile still hadn't gone away and as a matter of fact, it might even have expanded by one or two inches. "Behind me, stands that sword."

The crowd held down their excitement, but there was some rumbling from many of them. Mumbled words and shouted whispers, none of which could be made out by Secrat, however. Copé looked at the sword. He couldn't see anything about it out of the ordinary, but a lot of the most expensive items were entirely ordinary. What made them expensive was the individuals' perception of them. When they perceived themselves as in the presence of some immaculate item, they might as well have been. Copé watched carefully. The sword was in a glass case, beneath the sword was velvet cloth, entirely meant to offer up the image of being a piece of royalty. The case was closed. No locks were on it that Copé could see.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I don't think I need to tell any of you how much of a precious heirloom this is. Can you imagine yourself having it above your fireplace, or better yet, could you imagine fighting as an Acerian knight with the actual sword once used by a former king? I know you're all excited, as I knew you would be, and I don't want to yammer on for any longer." Secrat Copé felt like the opposite was true. "Without further ado, I think we can start the bidding at five hundred coin!" Azlak shouted those last words loud enough for everybody to hear them. Nobody jumped at the offer, but that's likely because nobody in Acera really had that sort-of money to spend on something such as a sword. Five-hundred coin was a decent sum of money, but it wasn't a whole lot.

For example, Copé assumed the flask in his leggings to be worth more

than that.

Azlak Temps either expected the bidding to reach greater heights or was a complete and total idiot, but who's to say it had to be one or the other. A sword from a king was worth thousands of coins, deep into the thousands even. A sword like that would be enough for Father Toucan Veras to forgive Copé of everything he had done and more.

Secrat leaned off from the Sidian Inn and walked closer to Azlak Temps. He remained discreet and inconspicuous while doing so. Nobody jumped out at the offer put in-front of them by Temps, which was at least somewhat surprising. None of them likely had the money, but such a deal was an absolute bargain.

Copé looked around.

Azlak Temps' eyes wandered the crowd with a pleading stare that made. Copé wonder if he had ever even heard of the Trading Network in the Whispey

Deserts. "I understand that might be a large cost for some of you. I realize that, I do, and because of that, I am willing to take a small cut into the cost. Let's start off the bidding at four-hundred coin, but I must warn you that I will not go any lower than that. That's a terrific deal and understand that what you're paying for is not just any old sword, but a piece of history that can't be replicated. You'll own the only one. This sword owned by a former king could be yours!"

Copé's eyes wandered around the crowd of individuals. Some of them were laughably feeling into their pockets or checking their bags for money, as if they possibly carried that much money around with them.

Copé waltzed around into the crowd. He didn't really know what he was doing. Didn't really know what to do. All he knew is he had to have his hands on the sword before Azlak Temps rid himself of it. Temps seemed liked he wanted to do it fast as well. Secrat had an idea of why this was. The item must have been stolen. That was the logical explanation Secrat came to. The item was stolen, and Temps wanted to rid himself of it as soon as possible. Copé wanted to rob him blind, but it would seem the best item he had to offer was about to be taken and gotten rid of.

The thief looked around for a diversion. Something. Anything at all that would've been able to take everyone's eyes off of the sword. He reached down at one of his knives. Felt his hand wrap tightly around the handle. He released.

This wasn't what would create the diversion. The knife could've. Easily, in-fact. He could've stabbed someone in the crowd and the screams would've distracted them. That would've gotten him the sword, but killing was what had gotten him kicked out of The Red Flux, and it wasn't what would help him get back in. He needed something else. In that thought, he took sight of something else. Not far from there.

A knight. A soldier of Acera.

Knights of the days before the Aeonians might very well have commanded respect from everyone around them, but that couldn't have been further from the truth now. There hadn't been a war involving the five major cities in more than a couple centuries. Knight wasn't really the best word to describe what Secrat saw. Knights didn't serve a lot of purpose in the major cities. Most knew better than to commit crimes within a veil of the Aeonian. Many thought of Aeonians as a wise tale, and something not to be taken seriously, but it was efficacious in keeping things like thievery scarce. Some slipped through the cracks, some like Azlak Temps it would seem.

Secrat neared the knight, who was standing more toward the Sidian Inn,

facing away from Azlak Temps. He rested a hand at his waist and removed the knight's sword from out of his scabbard. Copé assumed himself more needing of it. After that, Secrat rested the sword toward the side of his leg, not drawing any attention to it. He rested his hand over the shoulder of the unsuspecting knight, whose body jolted at his touch. The knight turned around, regaining his composure and easing his disposition. He wore light chain-mail armor and dark-green leggings. Dark-brown boots and had a strong physique. The knight didn't look very intimidating though.

In a boulder throwing contest, he could've walked circles around the thief, but other-wise, the man didn't appear too coordinated with himself. That was something Copé mostly had. If not a little at times, but mostly, he was very comfortable in his own skin. He liked himself very much.

"What can I do for you, sir?" The knight's voice supported Secrat's theory. He detected a small amount of raspiness, but also something else. A lack of confidence. A lack of certainty. Knights weren't all brave warriors ready to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the king, they were glorified messengers in most circumstances, their jobs mostly having them have to navigate back in fourth in the Unprotected Wilderness.

Copé smiled at him. The smile was as genuine as he could force it to be.

"There's a man over there, I don't know his name, but I think he's killed somebody!" Secrat's voice sounded worried and rattled, albeit fictitious, but the knight didn't seem to be aware of that. The knight's face looked flushed by the end of the sentence, and nervous, like he hadn't been trained to deal with such situations. And likely, he hadn't been. Copé smiled at him some more. It was real this time. He appreciated being able to manipulate someone with complete ease. The knight seemed to notice Copé's amusement and feel embarrassment, as he straightened his posture and deepened his voice some more: "I don't suppose you can take me to this gentleman."

Copé walked further back toward the town square, motioning with his hands for the knight to follow. He stepped onto the cobblestone path but didn't return to exactly where he once was. Instead, all he did was point in the direction of the alleged perpetrator, this being the obese gentleman handing out fruit from a barrel. He looked back at the soldier, whose face had returned to its fearful state, but once he realized Copé's eyes were on him again, he tightened his expressions. "I won't head any closer to him. I don't know whether he's dangerous, all I know is that I saw him talking to a couple of his buddies about how he had killed a female companion earlier in the day. I'm too frightened to come any closer." Copé tried his best to sound intimidated and fearful, although he wasn't for certain on how authentic it sounded.

The knight nodded at him and didn't offer anything else for comment.

Instead, he threw his focus over to the man at the town's square. A burly fellow as described with short black hair and a thin beard and mustache to match. Copé didn't take too much time to wait around. Copé walked out of sight from both the knight and the large salesman. Off the cobblestone path, he walked behind the Sidian Inn. It took some time. A few seconds. The Sidian Inn was one of the biggest buildings in Acera, which didn't mean very much, but it took him a good minute to come out the other side. He peeked his head out.

The knight spoke to the large man with a calm and balanced demeanor. Copé was thankful that he wasn't too nervous about the confrontation. He might very well have reached for his sword in search of comfort. That didn't happen though. The words exchanged between the two of them couldn't be made out by the thief, but he made assumptions about some of it. The knight was explaining the situation to the man, and at moment even motioned over to where Secrat was once standing before realizing he was pointing at nothing at

all.

The large man didn't become angry or yell in a fit of rage, and that was disappointing. Copé didn't exactly know what he wanted to happen, but something like a crazed obese man throwing punches and yelling out profanities would certainly be enough to create a small diversion. That's what he was counting on, in-fact, but that isn't what happened. Instead, Copé watched the knight lead the man out and away from Azlak Temps. Secrat sighed for a moment.

Before long, the man and the knight were away from view and it was safe for him to step out of his hiding spot. He walked nearer to where the large man was once standing. Everybody else was mostly focused off to the side at Azlak Temps, who continued to spout off a bunch of colorful words to describe the sword. As far as Copé had seen, there still hadn't been any bids for it, but he might have missed one.

Secrat looked at the cart of tomatoes and oranges, and all kinds of different fruit. Tomatoes were a fruit in Acera, though the debate raged on in neighboring cities. He picked up one of the pears and held it in his hand. He didn't know whether he wanted to take a bite into it or chuck it at somebody, but the answer was likely somewhere in the middle.

He resisted both urges and decidedly rested the pear back into the barrel. There wasn't a whole lot of options he could think of, but if there was anything he had learned from The Red Flux, it's that the simplest answer often proved to be the best one. The same one that was looking him in the eye whether he realized it or not, like the loose planks in Christique's shack.In that instant, he decided he didn't really have anything much to lose and while he wanted to avoid certain habits, there was a lot of other things he could do. His hands wrapped themselves around the handles of the barrel. The rustic feel of the metal in his hands felt weak and flimsy like they were hoist together with wet sand or a slightly stronger remedy. Nevertheless, he took the barrel and pulled it back. Not caring about whether one or more of fruits spilled out onto the ground. The wheels on the bottom of it didn't turn very well. The wheels shook as he stepped back more and more. Not a lot of room for mobility with it. The large man likely relied on brute force to push the damn thing.

His eyes went over to Azlak Temps. A clear view of him and a clear view of the sword resting in its case. Azlak was unsuspecting of him, and only continued to talk, his hand-gestures remaining as energized as ever before.It looked as if he was discussing the sword one-on-one with a potential buyer. Secrat paid him a final look and didn't even bother giving his decision a final thought, he shoved the barrel forward and ran with it. The wheels didn't offer him very much assistance and by the time the barrel connected with the glass case it had also flipped along with it. Copé was sent tumbling over the barrel. It wasn't as if he flew into the air or anything, but more fitting to say he slid over the barrel and rolled one or two times for good measure. The sound of the glass breaking on the sword's case was loud, but couldn't be distinguished from all the other noise, like a grunting Azlak Temps that was sent spiraling off of his feet in a way that wasn't graceful.

Secrat's body didn't ache at all from the whole ordeal, which was surprising, the drop onto the cobblestone felt like it should have knocked the wind out of him, but it didn't. All of the fruit spilled out of the barrel and fell out onto the ground, tumbling and rolling around. Secrat climbed up to his hands and knees and worked toward his objective. He unsheathed the knight's sword out from his scabbard, the noise of bickering civilians disguised the small, quiet sound.

He felt around for the case as fast as he possibly could, checking back and forth over to make for certain Azlak hadn't glanced over to him yet. Before long, he found the Sword of Tertius, and sheathed it into his scabbard. He held the knight's sword in his hands and swapped it into the other sword's case.After that, he came up to his feet in a slow fashion, feigning a hysteria he didn't have. Soon, Azlak Temps returned to his feet as well and had an angered look on his face.

"You! Idiot! Do you realize what you've done!?" Azlak shoved Secrat away from the sword's location and lifted the case in his hands. "You're lucky this thing wasn't scratched or damaged, or you better believe some serious coin would be coming out of your pocket right now. I shouldn't have to tell you this, but this isn't just some useless fruit," Azlak said before throwing a kick at one of the oranges and sending it spiraling into the crowd of civilians. "This is the

Sword of Tertius, and it's worth more than your life, friend!"

Copé faked embarrassment for a moment and gasped for air for an added depth, "You, ... I am terribly sorry about that, I mean, the barrel just completely went out of control. It was heading downhill, and I couldn't make it stop."There were no hills anywhere nearby, but for some reason, Azlak Temps didn't know that. Instead, he rubbed his temples with an irritated expression and finally spoke, "I want you to leave. Just leave! Take your stupid no-good fruit and take that stupid barrel and let me get back to doing my job!"Copé nodded back at him. A sad, somber, and completely fictional look on his face. He lifted his barrel, or ... somebody else's barrel, and started to walk away with it. Most of the fruits having already spilled out from it. He took one final glance at Azlak with puppy-dog eyes, but Azlak wasn't having any of it with a no-good glare directed at him. "I have to apologize to everybody. It was my mistake, and so, all of the fruit you see resting on the floor is yours for the keeping." Copé announced aloud.

Nobody yelled or cheered about that, and more than likely a lot of them had already assumed that to be the case. But he felt like he had to say something, didn't want any of them to feel like they were doing something wrong.

2

Copé ventured off and out from Acera with a feeling of certain refreshment. The act and way for which he stole the sword was comical, but at the same time, he had the Sword of Tertius to show for it. Azlak Temps would likely continue trying to auction off the sword, likely needing a decent chunk of time to do so, and once that finally happened, he'd open the sword case for closer inspection, and find out the truth. That was all well and good, and Copé had time to make certain he was far away from the city before that time came.

Not that there was anything that Azlak could really have done against him.

Secrat Copé was a master thief that was heavily trained in combat, whereas Azlak was some no-good merchant trying to sell some stolen goods.

It had to take him at least some skill to steal the sword in the first place though. But Copé wasn't very worried about it.

After this, Copé would be welcomed back to the warm sanctity of The Red Flux. Nobody from Acera would help Azlak either. None of the knights and most certainly not the Aeonian. The Aeonian could technically venture off the reservations of Acera. But seldom has that ever happened. The veil would be removed, and it would leave all of the town susceptible to attack. King Harries wouldn't risk such a thing for some merchant in the first place, but he wouldn't send any knights after Copé either.

The fact is, both were in the wrong from the moral standpoint, and the knights would simply laugh in his face and tell him he got what he deserved. Trying to sell a stolen sword in the dead center of town and not face at least some repercussions. Even if they aren't particularly the ones one might expect.Secrat walked off into the Unprotected Wilderness. No gate separating the two. A large gate surrounded Hardan from the Wilderness. Looked like one that would be expected to be seen holding criminals in. Italina had a fancier one.

They were always very scenic and embroidered when it came to things in

Italina. Neither of them was locked or even closed for most hours of the day. They were a precaution more than anything else. If there were ever a reason, they wanted to keep others out from their city, they had it. They locked them at night to keep wildlife from finding their way in.

This meant if you were a thief and wished to steal things at night, you could expect also having to stay there for the rest of the night. This was one of the main reasons that The Red Flux mostly stole from Acera and Urgway, even though Italina had much more expensive items. Because, while Hardan and Italina had stronger ties on security and had certain things that further discouraged stealing, Acera didn't have a gate. Acera had a sign though. A sign that couldn't even be read well from far away.

A sign that read: "Unprotected Wilderness – Children Beware!" in bright red lettering. From there, the dark-green cobblestone path, riddled with dirt and grime, ended, and the path leading to the wilderness began.The Unprotected Wilderness induced a lot of fear over the years, decades and centuries when the term was first coined. Most of the civilians inside Acera hadn't ever even stepped far into it, let alone travel far enough to make it to Italina or Urgway. There were a lot of stories and a lot of folk about it all.

Some of it wasn't too far off, but most of it was blown completely overboard. Fact is, there was a lot to be afraid of in the wilderness.

The Carvers were a bunch of murderers that would slice your teeth from yours gums while you were still alive, and make a necklace, if only for the satisfaction they'd get from the look on your face. This was an honest reality, and something that worried Copé at times. He had never met one of them, and very much wished to keep it that way. However, that was basically the worst of it, and everything else wasn't nearly as bad. The Red Flux stole, but most of them weren't murderers. Satin was as friendly as they come. And while there were other thieves, and other murderous troupes, none of it was worth living in fear over.

Wildlife was a terrifying subject as well for them. A lot of tales about enormous creatures, elephants with brown fur and sharp tusks. Mermaids with sharp teeth swimming around in the ponds. Copé didn't really know how all of those stories happened, but none of them were true. He assumed most of it was simply a way to scare the children. To make them too afraid to venture out into the unknown. But the fact that everyone was too afraid to travel more than a few feet into the wilderness was telling of the amount of paranoia and obliviousness a lot of them had.

Knights were well respected in Acera. Everybody loved them and thought they were modern-day heroes. The actual knights didn't have the heart to tell them the truth. either that, or they simply appreciated the attention. Copé assumed the latter was true. The knights only had a couple of jobs to deal with. They were the front-man for the king. They represented a certain "image," and were required to fit that image. This was to make everybody feel safe and to make everyone think it took a hero to travel to Italina, or something. It didn't, of course. But their other job was to live a normal and everyday life among the civilians.

They'd help them with their troubles and would even at times stop thieves and certain crimes from taking place, but as said, a lot of crime either went unnoticed or was scarce. Their biggest activity was that of a donkey or a pigeon. They would head back in fourth and navigate the five major cities. This was usually because they carried some certain message, like from the king of one city for the king of the other, or because they had to deliver certain goods.

This was often. For each city's survival, they had to work together with each other in certain ways.

Knights also did a lot of hunting and scavenging up supplies like fruit and berries. Some of that could be done in the city-grounds. The agriculture in Acera wasn't bad. It wasn't nearly as efficient or as bodacious as Urgway's but it wasn't bad. The Amisoic Sea was also nearby enough to allow them to fish from within the comforts of the Aeonian.

Copé didn't really have it in him to migrate where he needed to be. The Red Flux troupe was most likely somewhere in-between Acera and Italina. That wasn't too bad, and it could've been as little as a few hour's journey or something longer than that. But he still felt fatigue and didn't really want to set out on another trip so soon after the last one. (The Trade Network was fairly deep into the Whispey Deserts and was closer to Urgway and Jalint than it was

Acera. A long trip.)

The Sidian Inn was out of the question. The chance of Azlak Temps stumbling in for any reason at all didn't feel worth the hassle. In a lot of ways, that was a laziness about Secrat Copé. He didn't like dealing with certain dilemmas unless he had to. Instead of that, he decided to take refuge outside of Acera. There were clouds in the sky, and it looked like it could very well end up raining before too late into the day. That made sleeping beneath a tree seem discouraging, but he didn't know much else. He decided for the time being to keep walking and try to find shelter along the way before things got damp.Acera had some down-to-earth folk in it. Italina could be the complete opposite. There wasn't a lot of difference in appearance from the wilderness and Acera's city. Less trees, and a cobblestone road. That, and there were a lot more running around in it, but they mostly kept the decor the same. But, even still, there was a difference that Copé felt. He walked along a dirt-trail for some time until coming to a small creek. The creek was shallow (about five-footdeep) and only about three-quarters of the way filled with water, but it expanded for miles and miles. Copé knew that by most chances, the creek connected to the enormous Amisoic Sea.

The wound in Copé's arm had since started throbbing, throwing a wheel barrel and himself at Azlak Temps must have aggravated it. Copé dropped to one knee beside the creek. A small ache came to his knee beneath the rocks, and so he instead fell onto his bottom. The water in his hands felt cold. It wasn't very clean. He could see the dirt and muck from the creek's underbellies reflected in its contaminates. The water felt soothing though, and that was enough to make him lower his own discretion. Unbandaging his wound, Copé took a look at the gash he received from Christique. It hadn't started to heal any, and it still looked fresh, but it felt nice to let it breathe.

Copé held a stone in his hands. Chilly to the touch and looked at it before tossing it into the creek, a small splash came afterward that brought water to the thief's face. The water on his face felt nice. He could hear a frog croak somewhere but couldn't pinpoint its whereabouts when he looked around. As if to say the sound was there for no other reason than to set the mood. He discarded of his clothing, throwing it off and onto the grassy ground beside the creek.

His sheath taken off and the sword resting down beside his leggings. Copé dipped into the water.Gradually. Without a splash. The water was filthy, but it didn't smell bad. It didn't smell much of anything, aside from the smell of mud and a swampy smell that was only faint and not abundant. The squishy mud beneath his feet and between his toes didn't bother him either. All of it felt like something he could deal with. He had dealt with worse unpleasantries. Some rocks were at the bottom too, but none of them sharp or scathing.

He turned his body around and rested his back against one side of the creek, the side opposite of where his clothes were. The water was only up to about a foot beneath his neck. A sigh escaped him.

3

A little deeper into the Unprotected Wilderness, Secrat noticed something he hadn't ever seen before. It was because Copé was unobservant, and not because it was obscured or hidden. It was a little bit obscure though.

Something that could easily be missed at a first glance if one didn't know what they were looking for. Maybe it was because he only just now needed it that he noticed it at all.

A wooden cabin, nothing else very extravagant about it. The wood looked decrepit and old, like it had been sitting there for centuries and centuries. It hadn't. Copé assumed. The look of the build itself was enough to make it blend in with the wilderness, but the way that vines and trees seemed to wrap themselves around it really added to the camouflage. That, and the dark-green moss that almost engulfed it to its entirety.

Secrat looked at everything with a certain skepticism. Like it wasn't there and that he was just imagining it. However, he had left the desert, the only place hot enough to give-way to such hallucinations.

He walked toward it. A knife was in his hands. As it almost always was. He expected it to be abandoned and long-since ignored. It certainly wasn't maintained any, although looks could be deceiving. The wooden cabin looked like a terrific area to shack up in until after the rain and until morning came around once again. The grass beneath his feet thickened and raised in height. In wasn't too high, about to his knees. As he walked through, he heard the snapping of several twigs. The sound was enough to startle him some. It caught him off-guard. That was all.

But then the ground beneath him fell in.

An awful thud came as he sank deep into the hole and down to the floor below.The snapping twigs broke his fall at least a little bit, but the ground was hard and unforgiving. He laid there for some time. Didn't move. Didn't make any strides or offer reaction. Didn't try to get up. The hole was deep, and his body ached upon impact. The wind was knocked out of him. That was enough to make it feel like he had at last killed over and died. All he did was look out at the sky beyond the hole. Spacious and deep. Copé wouldn't be able to reach the top of the hole without doing some climbing. The hole was at least eight feet, which might explain why he was so leery to return to his feet. He didn't feel injured. Pain, of course. But not like he hadn't the ability to walk.

The sun was almost completely covered by clouds and the sky was beginning to darken. A sprinkling of rain came down shortly after, or long after, Copé wasn't completely certain how much time had transpired while he was lying dormant.

### Chapter Seven

The rain felt invigorating for Secrat and was what finally helped him muster the strength to return to his feet. His left ankle showed mild bruising at the side and was swollen, but it was nothing that really slowed him down or limited his mobility. For the life of him, Copé couldn't figure out what had happened to his ankle as he was for certain that he dropped onto his back. He must have hit it on something on the way down.

The water dampened his clothing, and his hair, but it was also starting to make the ground around him slippery and like mush. He knew he had to escape from the hole sooner rather later or risk illness or even death. The rain hadn't started up very much yet, and so Copé took advantage of the hard dirt to make his escape.

Equipped with his knives, he drove one into a wall of the hole and one knife near it. They were dug deep enough to support his weight. He pulled himself up and dislodged one of them from the dirt before stabbing it higher up. Using this method, it wasn't very long before he made it out. His hair wet and his body was covered with filth, he was out.

No time to enjoy his freedom, however. The feeling of steel at the side of his neck is what he felt next.

Copé turned his head. The blade of a sword rested on his shoulders. He kept his eyes down at the ground. As if halfway expecting himself to be beheaded right then and there. But it never came.

His eyes went up off of the ground and up at the man with the sword. A dark-skinned man. Muscular. Likely of Jalint origins. He looked cold and as if he could do the deed of beheading and feel absolutely nothing at all.

The look in his eyes told a story of brutality, but Copé didn't necessarily care to hear it. His skin neither suggested youth nor wisdom, but Secrat could see that he was somewhere in the middle of his life. The man's face didn't offer too much explanation. It didn't offer insight on anything other than the fact he was angry, but it didn't tell Copé if he was about to die. But if he was about die, chances are he'd already be dead.

Secrat offered a grin at the man. The man said nothing.

Secrat started to make his leave, leaning away from the man's sword. Part of him was thinking about just jumping back into the hole and calling it a day.

The man had something else in-mind, and when Copé backed away, the man moved with him, keeping the sword on his shoulders.

The man's head was bald, the rain made a certain shine off of it. A faint one. He wore black leggings and didn't wear a shirt. Copé, on his knees, was vulnerable, his knives could've sliced the man into pieces, but the man's sword kept that from being a viable option. Secrat struggled to find the words to speak. He liked to consider himself sharp-tongued and well-versed, but there was nothing he could think of to find a way out of this situation.

Luckily, he didn't have to speak, the man spoke for him: "Why are you here?" His voice matched his demeanor well. He sounded deep and mirthless. There was no room for enthusiasm, and no room for much else of anything other than a general void of nothingness. That's what his voice reminded Copé of \- nothingness.

Copé struggled some more in finding words. If he would've had it his way, he would've remained silent, but the man's voice demanded a rebuttal. "I'm was here in search of shelter from the rain." Copé responded. The man's body jerked for a moment as if he was about to make a strike, Copé flinched at it and looked down, but then nothing came. Secrat moved his head up for a second and saw as the man sheathed his sword back into its place. Copé climbed up to his feet. The mud dampening his knees. The man turned around and started to walk away, "There's nothing here for you. Leave."

Copé smirked. He felt at the handle of the Sword of Tertius, feeling a lot more at ease and confident now that there wasn't a sword anywhere near his neck. He watched while the man walked away and noticed something peculiar about it. The way he was walking was not simply back to the cabin. It was, but it was also more than that. He was not walking a straight-line but moving in a specific, deliberate pattern. He was navigating past all the traps he had set.

"A fan of holes," Copé noticed. "Must have something worth hiding." Copé smiled as he spoke. It was a sudden feeling of confidence that was likely ill-advised.

The black man stopped. Dead in his tracks. He didn't say anything for a while. He merely stood there. His back turned from Secrat. It was at that moment that Copé could truly appreciate the size and demeanor of the man before him. The thief didn't feel afraid. Didn't feel intimidating. But a lot of that might very well been for the fact there was a distance between them. Had he been close and had he still had his sword out. It might have been a different story.

The man finally turned his head. Although, not his body. All he offered Copé was but a glance: "It is in your best interest that you leave. You don't want none of what I have. That's all there is to it," he said.

Secrat took that as a challenge. He didn't know why.

Perhaps it was sheer curiosity of the spectacle. Maybe he had felt his masculinity threatened in recent days. Maybe it was about nothing more than wanting to try out his fancy, new sword before being forced to surrender it over to Father Toucan Veras.

But whatever the reason, he took out one of the knives in his hand and chucked it at the man. The knife spiraled and twirled throughout the air, making a whistling sound before it met its mark. The knife punctured into the back of the man. Sticking into his back and drawing blood. The man dropped off of his feet to one knee. Felt around his back in agony and looked for the handle. The wound drew blood, but it wasn't enough to leave a lasting impression and wasn't enough to be fatal. Copé knew he had to strike fast.Secrat welcomed the Sword of Tertius out from his scabbard and felt it in his hands. It felt no different than any other sword, but the novelty of it was not lost on him. Even if he didn't respect any of the men that had sat on the throne and ruled Acera.

He walked forward. The man beside him might have been physically stronger than him, but a slash with a blade across bare skin was enough to put down the strongest. Before he'd have a chance to, however, he stepped upon another hole disguised beneath leaves and twigs. The fall would've been unpleasant and surely wouldn't have been much of a picnic to get out of, but luckily, Copé managed to catch himself with his sword. He drove it into the dirt as hard as he could on his way down and dangled down from inside the hole as a result. His fingers scurried and his arms worked to have him return to his feet.

His life depended on it. The man wouldn't be down and out for very long and that Secrat was more than vulnerable now.

Secrat fought his way up. The task wasn't difficult, but the raining that came down below made it a challenge to climb his way up, and because of this, he had to use all his allotted upper-body strength to pull himself up by the sword. He succeeded. Dragging the sword out from the dirt and mud, he readied it in his hands. Holding it tightly. Braced to be on the defensive, but as he looked around. He saw no signs of the man.

At the front of the cabin, the bloodied knife rested on the ground, barely visible within the grass, and a trail of blood led from over to the porch. Copé started to walk toward the cabin. His eyes looked down and around, making for certain not to step into any more holes. It was difficult to distinguish some of them. Some of them blended very well, and some areas could be seen to be covering something.

The muscular man kicked the door of his house open, startling the thief. The noise was loud and enough to cause Secrat to flinch. The black man walked out, one of his hands holding his sword, and the other hand clutching his back, near his shoulder blade. A look of anguish on his face but there was also a look that simply shared his anger. Copé tried to look him in the eyes but the man didn't abide. Instead, he turned his head over back to the door to his home.

A large dog came running through.

Secrat could only assume it was a dog, it looked almost like a wolf, with silver fur and a prodigious frame. The rain made it difficult to make everything out. The sky becoming blacker and blacker and the rain hitting the ground even faster than before. Copé heard the roar of thunder as lightning struck somewhere far off.

The thief readied himself. His eyes transitioning over from the man to the dog. His sword was in his hands. The rain having washed the mud off from the blade. It shined some. Copé's clothing was drenched. Mud covered his leggings, and water dampened the top of his head and his torso. The man finally threw his eyes over to Secrat and spoke: "Get him!"

That was all it took, and in that moment, and moment's thereafter, the silver canine was after him. The dog barked as it ran fourth. One thing Copé noticed was the way it ran, navigating the little traps and spots with ease. Its nose started to point to the gravel for some of the time. Copé held his sword in his hands. A swipe is all it would take to kill the mutt, and he could offer a presumptive strike much faster than it could sink its teeth into his skin.He overheard the sound of scurrying nails on hardwood floor and it broke his concentration. Three more dogs of the same breed came pouring out of the cabin. The confidence he once felt had now left him.

Copé sheathed his sword back into his scabbard and started to flee. He heard the dogs start to run the minute he did, but he didn't stop at all. He cornered around one of the holes and made a massive leap over the last one, the one that he had fallen into in the beginning. The jump was a large one, and it almost didn't pay off, but he managed to make it to the other side without falling or having to catch himself.

He started running deeper into the wilderness, away from the cabin, and hopefully away from the dogs. He could hear them barking behind him, and he knew it was unlikely he'd be able to outrun them for long.

Four of them. Each more ferocious than the last.

He felt one of them make a lash at his leggings, nearly grabbing a bite of his Achilles in doing so. Copé was able to swipe away in time but the fear of it was in him. The realization that he was in a lot of danger. He turned abruptly to the right, it didn't create any distance away from him and the dogs, and in-fact, it might have lost him an inch or two, but he was starting to develop a method for survival in his mind. A tree, plain and ordinary, but a sanctum for him, nonetheless.

He ran faster, the fatigue was starting to set in, and the heaving would come after. Hadn't kept in the best of shape since leaving the Red Flux. And a leeriness in running too fast. Afraid that the mud might engulf one of his feet and trip him. He jumped off into the air toward the tree, reaching for a low hanging branch.

He succeeded.

Grabbing it with both hands. His feet still dangled freely, but he lifted them up to keep out from the dogs' grasps. They didn't let off on him either, all they did was bark and bark and bark some more. The tree did the same. Copé smirked at the thought. But then started to climb up onto the branch, worried that it wouldn't be able to support his weight. The limb had some thickness, but it also was bending beneath him. He slowly climbed to his feet on it and reached out for another of the branches.

This arm of the tree had more girth and strength to it. He almost lost his balance in the process while doing so, trying to reach near the larger branch, but forgetting to tell his feet they couldn't accompany him for the ride.

The dog's stopped barking when they thought he was about to fall. Anticipating their food coming down to them.The wetness of the tree branches made it difficult, but he was eventually able to find his footing again.

Once that happened, the dogs went back to barking, but Copé didn't care. He let out a breath of air. A sigh of relief. A release that told him he had long-since forgotten to breathe.

The rain hadn't stopped and hadn't died down any either, if anything, it had started up a little more. Copé admired his situation. How did I ever get into this predicament? It's like I go looking for danger! His back rested itself against the body of the tree. There were a lot of leaves. Green ones. Beautiful. The kind that showed that one might forget how beautiful the wilderness really is. And he mostly shielded from the rain as a result. The pitter-patter of rain slapping down the leaves would've sounded pleasant in a different situation.

A scary thought entered his mind though that kept him from enjoying his livelihood and survival for very much longer. The thought the owner of these dogs might go looking for them, and that the barking might lead him right to Secrat Copé. With that thought, Copé knew he had to do something about the dogs. Something to keep himself as far away from the man as possible.He took one of his knives out from his pocket. Dropping a knife down would certainly be enough to pick them all off one by one.

Copé took out one of his knives and looked at it. He had so many of the goddamn things, but their use had proven themselves to him. They had earned their keep.

He leaned himself on the branch of the tree, looking neither skillful nor tactful in his intentions. Certainly not stealthy or disguised, but they were dogs, and so, of course, that didn't matter. He leaned himself as much as he could without coming in danger of falling off and looked down at the dogs below. Damp with rainwater, but still barking away and showing off their teeth in snarls. Their wet fur made them appear smaller and less intimidating, but Secrat still had no intention in fighting them head-on. Though, his intentions were to maim them.

He sent his knife spinning out of his hands downward. It didn't build up the type of momentum that would cause for it to swish through the air, he was only about eight feet off the ground. It didn't take very long for it to hit its mark either. But it didn't puncture into one of the canines like he thought it would. It stabbed into the mud with a small sound and the dogs sniffed at it like they thought it was a slab of meat.

That didn't last long and soon after, they once again went back to barking at the thief with the same hatred and vivacity as before.

Secrat sighed. But didn't stop there and took another knife out, one strapped to his leg by a cheaply made piece of leather.

He held the knife in his hands. Completely indistinguishable from the last one. The members of The Red Flux usually had like fifty or sixty of them each, it was a bizarre and strange little tradition they had for themselves. Like his leather strap, it was also cheaply made. The knives usually had handles made from random, stolen supplies, but occasionally, they would just go all-out and steal knives. Copés' knives weren't like that though.

They had a certain niceness to them. A sentiment. Father Toucan Veras had been a blacksmith before dispatching off from wherever he was before the Flux, Secrat didn't ever ask about that. Toucan never really seemed eager to share his past with him, but at the very least, Secrat knew he had once been a blacksmith. Because of this, and because of how close Toucan had been with him, all of his knives were hand-made. They had the steel of a blade, and were ordinary knives, but a chunk of silver was encrusted into each of them. It wasn't a lot of silver. A very teensy amount, but it was visible enough on the black handles to show off the letters 'SC' on them.

Taking aim at one of the dogs, Copé chucked the knife at it, using enough force as he could without jeopardizing his aim. The knife sank into the side of the dog's ribcage and sent it spiraling down on its side. A whelping sound came after and it didn't stop until a short while. The other dogs flinched some at the sight of the knife, but other-wise remained trying to scrape and crawl up the tree.

The animal wasn't dead but was starting to lose some blood. Copé was fine with that as a result. He saw no reason to kill any of the dogs, and while he felt nothing bad about killing them, it wasn't his objective. All he had to do was maim them bad enough so they couldn't offer him any trouble.

Alas, 'twas not to be, the thief soon came to discover as he felt around his body and discovered no more knives at his disposal. The fact surprised him some. But only a little. He couldn't remember a time when he was without a knife, but looking back, he couldn't remember a time when more chaos happened in such a small window of time. It was no wonder all his knives became misplaced.

That thought didn't stick with him for very long.

Or at least, his mind found priority elsewhere when he remembered the man was likely nearing by now. And with three dogs, and the advantage of not being caught up in a tree, chances are he would be able to win in a fight.

Copé looked around the tree. Looking around for some means of survival. His mind toyed with the thought of breaking off the smaller branch and reaching down and beating them over the head with it until they each lost consciousness. But that would take too long, and chances are that something like that wouldn't even work. The answer to his dilemma would be the simplest one. He knew that much, but that didn't really get him any closer to finding it.

He looked up the tree. The rain coming down, he was leery about climbing any further up it, but he didn't have much of a choice.

He stood to his feet on the branch, being careful not to slip or fall off. Hugging the tree like a child did their father's leg. Couldn't get his arms all of the way around it though. His fingers latched against the tree with all of their might, but there was no way for him to ascend up. The bark was wet and difficult for him to grab onto, and his knives were now down with the dogs.The surroundings didn't offer up too much assistance. If ascending the tree had been more of a possibility, he would have, then made way to one of its nearby brethren to hide until the man and his dogs left him. But that didn't seem like a viable option. The next tree-branch was a far distance. He'd have to leap a distance of at least four feet, not forgetting a vertical of about a yard. He dug his fingers into the wood of the tree.

This wasn't something he'd be able to climb his way out of. If he wouldn't have thrown his knives earlier, maybe it'd be a different story, however.

No clean-cut way of escape, no lingering detail he was forgetting, there really was no other options for him to work with. His eyes followed droplets of rain on its way down and saw the dogs. The wounded one no longer moving. Dead. But that still left the other dogs to contend with, and Secrat knew it would be a matter of minutes before the man joined them. There was only one option for him.

And that was that, beggars for survival couldn't be chosen for survival, that's how Copé saw it. No part of him at all wanted to die. He liked himself too much.

And so, the thief stood at the top of the branch, his legs shaking awkwardly for a times as he tried to discover stability. As he found his comfort, he looked out at the far away branch, and a feeling of apprehension filled him. Butterflies in his stomach, but those butterflies wouldn't help him fly, and neither would apprehension.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and leaped out off of the branch and toward the one much higher.

And he missed.

It didn't matter how much momentum or oomph he could have had; it wasn't in his abilities to make that jump.

The fall was fast. The impact happened before Secrat even had the opportunity to realize he was falling. The fall was only about ten feet and wasn't fatal, and not only that, but nothing seemed to be broken. A shrub broke his fall and kept him from cracking any important bones.

Thorns plucked into his arms, however, and that was certainly from a pleasant feeling. Secrat didn't make any striking moves to free himself from the bush. The thorns drew blood on both of his arms, including the arm that had been splintered by a plank of wood not long ago, but he didn't move. He gritted through the pain and listened.

No rustling through the grass or fast movement. The dogs didn't acknowledge his absence. They thought he was still up in the tree! Copé almost wanted to laugh, but didn't, knowing even the faintest sound would likely have them on his tail.

He rested his head against the leafy pillow the bush provided and felt the rain dampen him. Moistened face. Wet hair. His eyes went out and saw green leaves, beyond that, he saw how much the sky had darkened. The water droplets coming down on his face became more and more abundant, and soon, he wasn't able to keep his eyes opened. He brought his hand to his face and wiped the rain away.

The barking stopped. Copé's ears pricked as he listened. Beyond the rain and the brewing sound of thunder, he could hear the black man's deep voice calling them off. By the time the voice traveled out from earshot, Secrat couldn't help but feel some disappointment and sadness feel inside of him.

A disappointment in man's cruelty.

All he had wanted was shelter from the rain.

2

Copé had some trouble making it back to his feet. Concussions, having your arm ripped up, and falling out of a tree made it so. He waited until enough time went by before trying. Didn't want to risk the chance of the dark-skinned fellow and his dogs coming after him. That didn't stop him from being leery though. While he walked through a series of bushes, plucking out the small thorns out from his arm, every small sound was enough to startle him. If by some chance it would have been the man, he would've died then and there, and that would've been it. That didn't happen though. And instead, Secret limped on and on.

Rivers and rivers of rainwater, blemished and polluted by nature's dirt, the appearance looked as though the Amisoic Sea had overflowed. Almost everything damp and soggy, aside from small hills of high land the rain drooled down. Copé fell to his knees. Blood on his arms from the thorns, but that was about the least of his worries.

His clothing dripping, the clothes, no longer even looked worthy of being called that of a peasant. Groveling through the soaked nothingness that encumbered the Unprotected Wilderness. His knees sinking down into the mud.

The rain had died down, but it's aftermath would be felt for the day to come. If nothing else, it cleansed him of his blood. His hair went over his eyes, but his present shock and feeling of decay made him immune to such nuisance.

He'd have to find shelter. His survival dependent on the fact's solution.The water droplets descending off leaves and the rusting trees above of animals seeking the same gave a sense of urgency. A light from between branches of two adjacent trees showed the worst had concluded. The clouds dispersing, and the storm dying down at last.

He ascended back to his feet, and stumbled back down, falling first face into the sludge. Spat the grime out his mouth, gagging some, he at last fought back to a standing position, slowly looking for stability.

Onward, he trudged, his body ached, lessened only by his mind's sense of swimming cessation, telling him he was about to lose consciousness. He forced himself to keep on but stopped as he met a large creek.

The creek barred him, not overflowing, but a large-hollowed log had fallen over it, like a bridge. Unfortunately, Secrat felt himself wearing away, shriveling down, and knew he'd be unable to cross it.

A sound behind him. Copé turned at once, unsheathing the Sword of Tertius from his scabbard. He fully expected The Man and his Wolves to have found him. Instead, he saw a spotted hyena. Or, at least, he assumed it was spotted. It was completely soaked, looking small and harmless without its fur fluffing it out. Looked even uglier than usual though.

Secrat threatened the hyena with his sword, hoping it'd simply flee away from him. Instead, the bastard bared its teeth and snarled. Secrat held the sword, his own teeth grinding against themselves, far from in the mood to exert himself. He brought the sword back with vile intent.

But, in moments, some between trees and some through bushes, three hyenas, then four hyenas, came into vision. Traveling together, all of them in search of refuge, but once they took sight of Secrat, their attentions were on him.

"Fucking, God, motherfuck," Copé said, turning his back to them and running toward the log over the large creek.

He could feel himself fading, and, knowing he'd be unable to balance himself in the predicament, he opted against running atop the hollowed log. The Thief crawled within the log's hollowed inners and faced himself back to the hyenas. Seated, he held the Sword of Tertius at the hyenas, ready to jab them should one attempt to come after him.

One did, and Copé killed it with the sword, driving the blade through the bottom of its jaw. The death was quick, neither a cry nor whimper of reaction. The only sound The Thief did seem to hear was of the hollow log beginning to sink into the mud.

It started out minimal, like sinking in quick sand, but in mere seconds, the log fell through and Copé could no longer see the pack of hyenas. The hyena he had killed, however, was broken in half by the log's descend.

As one end of the log fell into the creek and the stream started to sway it, Copé crawled up fast. He could see the other send begin to lose itself. Quickening his pace, he leaped out the other end of the log and was planted down into the mud.

He pushed himself up, his eyes lent to the other-side of the creek. The hyenas stared at him. And, in that moment, he hated the Unprotected Wilderness, The Whispey Deserts, and Maharris as a whole.

And thought how much easier it'd be to be back alongside his own pack of hyenas: The Red Flux.

The Thief needed to make right with them. It'd be the only chance at light beyond the branches. They wouldn't be far now.

### Chapter Eight

"I care enough about you to never say I love you; I'd have to kill you if I loved you." That was one of the earliest memories Secrat had for Veras. All of it was a lie though. An act. An act Toucan performed with a keenness few were able to see beyond. Copé was one of those few.

Veras wasn't cuddly and soft beneath his rough exterior, but there was a more compassionate side to him. He showed it on occasion, whether he meant to do it or not. The night he banished Secrat from The Red Flux, for example. Father Toucan Veras might have crushed all Copé's fingers, but he did it with such love and affection.

Older and more experienced thieves were also allowed to see a different side to him, but it was never intentional. Father never meant to show that side to himself.

He wasn't a preacher, or anything like that, that's not why Secrat called him Father. Secrat called him it because he was the man who raised him at a very young age. Everyone else called him it because he was the leader of The Red Flux. There was no doubt that he was a man of God, however. In-fact, he practiced the stuff almost religiously, and took it on as one of his unhealthy obsessions. He parented over everybody, and it wasn't about being a leader, his eccentricities spread over that normality and everything had to be set in a certain path.

Toucan boldly stood against the Aeonians. Soldiers of Evil, to him. The chaos that happened all of those centuries ago was supposed to end, but not because of them.

Like a preacher, Father Toucan gave sermon-like speeches and dressed in decorative clothing. Nobody ever really said anything about it, and that's because he had the fear. Some often thought the reason for his hardened shell and behavior was because it's what was needed to be a strong leader. That it's what was necessary to keep something so broken in one piece, but Copé always assumed that Toucan simply liked the way it made him feel.

The Red Flux traveled often. It was with the territory of being thieves.

They migrated about the Unprotected Wilderness and infiltrated major cities.

They did this at night. That's when they did it mostly at least.

Some occasions called for their noctivagate rule to be broken, like if they were stealing from Hardan or in the deserts. The Flux wasn't run with an ironfist, but Father Toucan Veras made certain to establish a couple of key principles about it.

About forty thieves, thirty-five male and five females, a few children roaming about, and some women to watch them. Aside from certain circumstances when the situation called for more, the usual heist called for about ten. They didn't all work together. They traveled together until making it to the selected city, and then, they split up into groups of two and made their heists.

The Flux members all made certain not to shit where they eat, and if they thought they were being followed, that only left a couple of options for them. They could either lose their tail or risk having The Red Flux's main camp be discovered. If they did that, they were better off dead. This has only happened once in The Red Flux's brief history, and it was before Secrat was a member. Even to this day, he isn't aware of the complete story, but it was something along the lines of Toucan crushing a man's head in with a large stick. Whether or not there's any truth to it though is neither here nor there, and chances are it was a wise tale meant to induce fear.

After that, they relocated to an area between Acera and Italina, and in the times when travelers were passing through, they were certain to hide any connection to thievery. Everything ran smoothly, and they hadn't been completely wiped out yet, so it'd be fair to say they were successful.

Secrat carried his wearied bones and battered limbs forward, walking onto the muddied grass from yesterday's rain, since stopped. His clothes almost as black as charcoal. One of his arms bandaged heavily and both of his arms had dried blood and dirt on them. His hair had always been a dirtied blond, but even such a definition looked like an understatement at this state. Everything of his body ached, but there was no part of him that wanted to stop to rest once more, all of him wanted to end the heartache and shift his fate.

He walked and walked until came to sight, a garden of tall grass, nay, not a garden, but a collection, harvested by nature, he shoved through them. Nearly stumbling over the roots of large trees and having to brush off the ticks that tried their way up the forest of his leg hairs, his leggings since ripped, exposed his knees. The very second the tall grass came to end, he could flourish in his own arrival.

The Red Flux was exactly how he left it.

His eyes covered the land like the sun's rays, fluttering throughout the scenery. A dirt trail led up to the Flux's village, and at the center of it all was a flag hanging up from a large stick, carved smoothly. The flag wasn't anything, neither decorative nor telling of the people.

Secrat looked at his hand. His fingers remained stiff from Toucan's boot and still couldn't make a perfect fist, but at the palm of his hand was the most telling thing about him. The symbol of The Red Flux.

What looked like the letter 'C' with a stick puncturing it at the side was meant to be a crescent moon with a knife stabbed into it.

Whether anybody else could decipher the crude carvings made into each of their flesh was not very important. It wasn't for them. It was to let the members of the troupe know that there was somewhere they belonged. And that there was somewhere they could call home.

Home.

Surrounding the flag, a series of rocks, put around it for decoration. Over from that was an area of sticks. A burnt pile. For gatherings where Toucan often rallied his troops. Secrat started following down the path, eyeballing it all like he was seeing it for the first time. There were horses too, kept inside of a fence made from shoving sticks into the ground. About five foot high. Most wouldn't even know they were there at a glance. It was deliberate not to draw too much attention to them. After all, didn't want them stolen. That was one of the ideas instilled by Toucan. You can steal. That's what you're supposed to do. But you can never steal from family, and that's what you are when you're with the Red Flux, you're family.

Secrat's eyes went over to one of the dwellings. The Red Flux wasn't like a lot of others. They didn't have tents or tarps or anything else, they kept it simple.

They dug holes, as big as their hearts' desired.

They threw wood over the hole and slathered it with grass to shelter it from the rain. Some had flowers on theirs for decoration. None of them were the same, and all of them had specific traits about them. Little mementos and items that showed off their individualism

The Red Flux had a Trophy Room as well. It was about the only dwelling with any style and is where the Elite Thieves bunked.

The Thief among thieves, Secrat Copé, started his eyes for its location, but before he had a chance to look at it, he felt a spear pushed up against his stomach. Copé sighed. First a sword, now this. "Lukas," he said, ever-so warmly.

Lukas Lewis wasn't nearly as receptive, however, and his eyes showed both anguish and passion. It didn't look like hatred. That's what Copé had expected to see. Instead, it looked like fear and uncertainty, an uncertainty in ones' self or what should be felt. That's what Secrat got out of the look on his brow.

"What are you doing here, Copé?" The words sounded unlike Lewis. The words reminded Secrat of when he talked to the knight back in Acera. How the knight tried to come off fierce and respectable, and Lukas, like him, came off phony and fake. Lewis wasn't exactly respectable and most certainly wasn't fierce, but Secrat could tell he still felt emotional turmoil caused by their last meeting.

The two of them had once been friends, or at least, the closest thing Copé ever really had to friends. Casual acquaintances that tended to get along and meet for drinks. None of that seemed to add up to very much though. After Copé took the life of Elson Mans, all of that seemed completely forgotten.Copé deemed this a proper moment for one of his smirks, realizing how often they benefited him in the past. Lukas Lewis brought his spear back and readied it, feigning a preemptive strike. "Uh-aha...," Copé said, backing away, his hands up in a pleading gesture. "I know I am likely not your favorite person, but if you could keep yourself from whacking me, I promise I'll seldom ask you for anything else ever again, honest."

Secrat put his smirk away, realizing how little it had benefited him in the past

Lewis lowered the spear down. Holding it with one-hand at his side. Secrat looked down at the stick and noticed the sharp rock on the end of it. At least Lewis only intended to bonk him with it and now tear into his flesh.

Lukas Lewis' expression didn't change.

"Thank you." Secrat said. "And, now, I must ask you for something else.

Which I promise I will repay once I've had a couple nights' sleep." Secrat resisted the urge to smirk, realizing his smart alleck ways weren't helping him."I won't be seeing you after a couple nights. I'll ask again, why are you here?"

Secrat heard Lewis slapping the spear against his side. A nervous fellow, Lewis always had trouble keeping his emotions in-check. Similar to a fire always lit, nothing was hidden or obscured when it came to Lewis. "I need to speak to Father," Secrat said, his eyes neither pleading nor apologetic in their gaze.

Lukas Lewis' stare back said a lot more than his words ever could. The man still hadn't forgiven him!

"Toucan is away," Lewis replied. His voice was unsteady, like a lit wick, it sounded like he could explode at any moment.

He was lying, however.

Secrat could easily see that much. Lewis had always been a terrible liar, a terrible liar and terrible at withholding his emotions when he was hurt or angry.

Secrat smiled at him and offered his retort: "Where is he then?"

"He won't be back for a couple of days, I'm afraid," Lewis beckoned back. His composure regained itself some, no longer cracking or trembling.

Secrat's smile regained itself. Lewis' expression remained. "I don't believe you, Lukas."

"Leave, or I swear I'll have YOUR SEVERED HEAD on this stick!"

Lukas Lewis' face was blood-red, and for all it's worth, at that moment, Secrat really believed Lewis meant what he said.

Secrat wasn't afraid though. He'd never be afraid of Lukas Lewis. The man and him had thrown back beers in earlier years. They fought around as kids, and as kids, Secrat always won. Secrat couldn't be afraid of him. He did flinch, however. Lewis was overly sensitive, but was never one for loud words or tantrums, even as a kid, and it caught Secrat off-guard. The spear was pointed up, right beneath Secrat's chin and Lewis looked like he was contemplating his kill. But something soon after made him cease and withdraw. Lewis lowered his spear down again and backed away.

Secrat turned his head and saw what it was, a woman named Mirai and a small child whose name escaped him. Mirai was Lewis' mother. Not old, but not youthful, late forties at best, and in-front of her black hair, strewn up in a ponytail, she wore a look of fear. The small child looked frightened as well.

"Lewis, what's going on?" Mirai's voice called out after him. Not shaken. Not afraid. Meant to be soothing. To calm her son. Lewis stopped and looked at her for a second, but only a second before his neck jerked back and he faced Secrat once again. Copé's eyes were on Mirai, who hadn't looked over at him. "Go back inside," Lewis replied calmly.

"Mother Lewis, it's wonderful to see you again," Secrat said, sounding enthused. "And look at you," pointing at the small child, "You've gotten so big since I left." Even if I can't remember your name. That didn't seem to make Lewis very happy and it wasn't supposed to. All Copé wanted was to stall long enough until one of the elite thieves came outside. They had a much lighter head about things such as murder and would be more helpful than Lewis."What is he doing here?" Mirai said. But before Copé had a chance to answer Lewis' question for him, Lukas fired back at her: "Take Ansh and go back inside." Ah, yes, Ansh, of course!

To Secrat's surprise, Mirai held her tongue and did as she was advised, walking back down the dirt-steps, beneath the stick-made roof and into her humble abode. Mirai was a good woman. Or at least that's the impression Secrat always got of her. She didn't help with the heists, so he didn't see her much, she was one of the women that stayed at home and looked after the children. Copé had been raised to respect that, and truth be told, could never imagine a world as dull and dreary as having to look after a bunch of ankle biting monkeys.

Secrat waited until both Mirai and Ansh were both out of sight before he spoke again. "I understand you're a little miffed and one day both of us will have to sit down, have a cup of tea and hatch this out, but I am not in the mood for you right now, what I am in the mood for is to atone for myself with Father. I don't need to atone with anyone else," Lukas beamed at The Thief, who added: "At least not now."

That didn't sit well with Lukas, once more, Secrat expected as much. What he did not expect was Lukas' reaction to be so violent.

Lewis dropped the spear to the dirt. Copé looked down at it with something reminiscent of relief, ... before Lewis grabbed him by the throat.Secrat knew he wasn't in any condition to defend himself; he was ready to take a couple of fists and be done with it. Lewis shoved him forward, leaning his back against one of the walls concealing the horses. Copé could hear a ruckus from the inside of the pen.

Lukas' hand was wrapped tight around Secrat's throat, and for an instant, Secrat even felt like he was about to start gasping for air. But before his suffering had a chance to begin, a voice called off the dog, Lukas, that is, and freed Copé from his grasp.

"You'll be joining your mother and brother in your home as well," the voice called out. Secrat didn't even have to look to know who it was. The deep and raspy voice easily distinguishable, and the way Lewis freed Secrat a second later left no doubt.

Father Toucan Veras stood.

Secrat looked at Veras' large scimitar lying sheathed at his side. He always carried it around with him. It was a large blade that only stressed the sheer size of its owner.

Lukas Lewis looked over at Toucan for a moment with eyes that seemed pleading and afraid, and his voice ushered out words Secrat couldn't understand, like he was about to speak but decided to muffle his words. Lukas turned his head from Secrat, with hesitation, and started way toward his hole in the ground.

But, before that, before fully making his leave, he stepped in-front of Toucan. His back to Secrat. He heard what Lukas said in a voice that tried not to tremble, "Don't forget what he did. One of our own is dead because of him."Toucan looked neither frustrated nor annoyed, nor did he look sympathetic to Lewis, his stone face expression watched Lewis leave and join his family."Father," Secrat Copé started, but Toucan raised his hand and silenced him.

"We'll talk about this in the trophy room. Too many eyes and ears," Toucan

said.

Secrat Copé nodded back at him and followed while the leader of The Red

Flux led. As Secrat walked, he expected to see stares and confused looks on his way. That there would be members of The Red Flux standing outside of their homes wondering about the conflict that had arose. But there weren't any. Or at least, none Secrat noticed.

It was still early in the day and was to chance that many hadn't awaken from their beds yet. Even the Elites were unlikely to be awake.

Only reason Lukas was awake is because he wanted to be an Elite.A thief in-training often accompanied Elite members and taught the trade by them. Once they were deemed fit to work alone, they were allotted certain privileges and opportunities.

Secrat was allotted the chance to work alone in a heist, one where he was expected to rob Azlak Temps, and the one where he ended up killing Elson Mans instead.

Before that though, a lot of manual labor went into it all, those wanting to be considered as Elite had the responsibility of tending to the horses and making for certain everything was in-order for the next heist.

Elson Mans was an Elite and was taking Lukas Lewis out for a steal.Secrat followed. No eyes staring at him kept him calm. Lukas Lewis' reaction wasn't expected and made the thief feel a little uneasy. He was unlikely to be considered as in the good graces of the Red Flux after what happened, but he hadn't expected the emotion and boiling tension that he was feeling.

Toucan led him down the dirt-made steps of the Trophy Room. A lot of steps. Footprints layered every one of them. Wanderers weren't allowed to be in here, but at a glance, it was no different than one of the other dugouts.Once they went down enough and the roof went over head, it looked something like the Sidian Inn in Acera. Doors on the left and on the right, each made of bamboo that had been bound together with rope. Each of them with a sign on the front and a name scribed onto it. These rooms belonged to members of the Elite. All the rooms were without vacancy, and so, for new recruits, a new room would be dug for them.

The hallway went on for long enough to assure they'd never run out of room for a new hole. The living conditions seemed strange to foreigners, but to The Flux and its thieves, digging their home was a rite of passage for self-betterment.

There had been many times Secrat had walked through these halls to talk to Toucan, but he couldn't remember whether he'd ever seen inside of one of the rooms.

Down some more steps, Toucan's quarters went several more feet underground. A lot of work had been done before Copé had ever been born, and it likely took every man, woman, and child to help dig it. Candles lit every several feet and between each room of the Elite, as well as on the left and right side of the stairs.

The end of the stairs led to three rooms, the one walking in had Toucan's desk. He didn't spend that much time sitting around, so the area was often vacant and didn't have a whole lot when it came to decor. Toucan's large desk stood in-front of several wooden chairs, and the only time it was ever used was on occasion for when he had meetings with the Elite.

Secrat recalled having once snuck under Toucan's desk and eavesdropped on one of the meetings when he was a child.

The desk was wooden and riddled with dust. Toucan was hardly a slob but there was nobody in their right mind that would refer to him as cleanly or wellkept. His attention was always on different matters rather than filth and grime.

Regardless of his extravagant wardrobe.

The desk also had several scrolls, Secret knew not what they had on them. To the left of this room was another that also belonged to Veras, it was his bedroom. A bed rested in the middle as well as a small candle lying on a large drawer. Secrat didn't know whether Veras kept clothes in there or something else, but Toucan never struck him as the type to have hobbies. His life was the Red Flux.

To Copé's knowledge, he never took much to lovers or alcohol, and lived a dull and boring life absorbed by selflessness and the will to keep everyone else happy.

Which isn't really living at all, so Secrat assumed Toucan kept his whores a secret.

The third and final room was the Trophy Room, and its name told of what it contained. Behind Toucan's desk, and behind a large, dark-red cloth was everything that The Red Flux had. Not everything they had ever stolen, of course, that isn't how it worked at all in the troupe.

Father Toucan Veras wasn't a King, and there wasn't mountains and mountains of treasure behind him.

When a successful steal happens and a member or members of the Flux make out with loot, the items are taken to the Trophy Room, where they stay until a trip is made to the Whispey Deserts or another reputable area for merchantman. The Elites and Veras make sure everyone is clothed and fed, and in-return, they only ask for loyalty.

Secrat looked around the room with a certain feeling, like goosebumps, except his arms felt smooth, it all felt very strange to be back inside this room. The coolness of it and the way it smelled so strongly of dirt. The smell was suffocating and only gave-way to the feeling that everything was about to cave in on him.

The last time he had been here the smell didn't bother him. It must have been a long enough time that the smell was no longer engraved in his nostrils.Father Toucan Veras walked forward. Unstrapping the scabbard and the scimitar off from his waist, he dropped it slowly to the side of his desk. It always looked so small when it was near Veras that Secrat forgot how easy it would've been to slice him in half with it.

Toucan motioned forward, informing Secrat of the chairs in-front of his desk for sit. Secrat, while already aware, answered his pleasantries and seated himself. Toucan sat in the chair in-front of him, behind the desk. His eyes ventured off from the ground and over to Secrat. The stare made The Thief feel less than welcome, but Toucan didn't mind that.

Father might as well have been staring a hole into him by the way is glare refused to sway or waiver.

Secrat smiled awkwardly. About all he could think to do in a time like this, and even though he was certain it'd lead to his hand being stomped on again, he went ahead and did it anyway. "Why have you returned?" Toucan's voice sounded about as angry as it always did, yet it was enough to unsettle the Thief on inflection alone.

Secrat gulped, his eyes venturing away from Father's. "Before I left, you may recall saying I'd be able to repent my sins and amend the wrong I'd done. You told me of a way to make all of this heart-ache lessen and to welcome myself back into The Red Flux." Copé chose his words like they were straight out of scripture, that was by design. It was meant to create the illusion of being this 'whole new person,' because he knew Father wanted that from him. And yet, Toucan didn't seem taken by his Son's words. He maintained his stoic expression of collected indifference.

"I remember," Toucan Veras responded.

He rested his hands at the top of his desk. Flat. Both of them large, just as the rest of him, and they looked as if they could wrap themselves around

Copé's skull like a small rock. Secrat hoped this would never be tested.His hands were also filthy. Copé could see the black under the nails and it looked as though they hadn't been washed in some time.

Secrat nodded nervously at Toucan, "I believe I had done that, or at least taken a very necessary and meaningful step in achieving such," Copé answered, his words carrying as much confidence as they could under the circumstance.

Toucan's ears didn't exactly prick, but his eyes seemed to carry at least a flicker of curiosity by the statement. "Oh?" is all he said.

Secrat stood from his chair upon kneeling to one knee before his father's desk, like how a loyal knight would've done a King. He unsheathed the sword and presented it in his hands, lying flat. "I offer you the Sword of Tertius," he said at once.

Small speckles of mud were visible on the blade. Faint enough that Copé hoped Toucan wouldn't notice.

"I see," Father responded, standing up from his chair as well. His eyes went over the blade. Father was never known much for sharing his emotions, aside from anger, frustration, or a simple lack there-of. This moment was not an exception.

The thief tried his best to remedy the situation, to remember how Azlak Temps had spoken of the sword with such passion: "It would seem to me that someone here hasn't been reading their history books. When the Aeonians first ascended," Secrat began, but before he could really get into digging his grave, Toucan lifted his hand up, silencing him once more.

"I am aware of who Charles Tertius is." Toucan brought a breath of air into his lungs and let it dissipate out. "That sword will make amends with The Red

Flux. That sword will welcome you back into our troupe and into our family."Secrat smiled. His head looking down at the sword, he stood back to his feet and eased himself. "Thank you," Secrat said beneath his breath before flashing his smile over to Father Toucan Veras.

However, Veras didn't appear to be finished: "The Red Flux is a forgiving entity because it has to be. Thieves in the night, we've all killed somebody once before in our lives. I've killed more than my fair share and those are scars I wear for which I am not proud." Toucan's voice was calm but underneath that, Copé heard something else in his voice as well. Deep and hidden away, but it was there. "I look at you as one of my biggest accomplishments. I've never said that before but it's the truth. But I also look at you as one of my biggest failures, and do you know why?"

Secrat knew what he was hearing in Toucan's voice now. It was shame and pity and it was frustration. All three of those things, each more abundant than the last. It was the words coming out that bothered Copé. They offended him, and it bothered him more to know whatever Father would say, would more than likely be true. But Secrat cared not about morality, and only cared about it his lack there-of being addressed. Holding his tongue, however, as there was nothing to earn from having a fit.

"Why, Father?" Secrat merely asked. Humoring Father. Bracing himself."You never change, and you never learn." Toucan answered. "You are the same selfish and egocentric fool you've always been!" His voice was loud for the final sentence but that all went away as a quieter tone commenced, "Or at least that's what I am thinking. I am thinking you're the same as you always have been. Maybe you're a little humbled by your time away, knowing it's a lot more difficult to make it out-there on your own. But that's not what I am looking for. That's not change and that's not how one seeks to be forgiven. I don't want you welcoming yourself back because it's convenient to you. I look back at all the wrong things I've done with feelings of disappointment and feelings of disgust, but you look at them like humanity itself is nothing more than an obstacle standing between you, riches and treasure."

Toucan counted on his fingers with each addition to the list. "And women. And alcohol. And you don't think of others as people." Secrat made an offended face, but fixed himself, trying not to lose his composure. "I won't keep you out of The Red Flux. I can't keep you out of The Red Flux. Not for killing another member. You're worth more than banishment. But you said something before I brought you in here, and do you know what that was?"

Copé shook his head.

"You told Lukas Lewis you didn't need his forgiveness. That's where your issue lies. You don't need it, but you're supposed to want it." Toucan Veras said, and for some unexplained reason, Copé made eye-contact with Father. His eyes made The Thief feel weak. And how a stare could be so condescending, Copé knew not.

"Lukas isn't like you. Murder isn't something he has been in-contact with. He's weaker than you are. But he IS loyal, and he IS a good person. These are traits I'd like more than anything for you. Lukas will have a room dug for him in the Trophy Room in due time. But you, you'll be starting at the very bottom. And the only way you'll ever go anywhere at all, be trusted on your own heist, or move up the ranks ... is if Lewis approves."

Secrat felt goosebumps on the back of his neck by those words. Toucan smirked with satisfaction. "Welcome back to The Red Flux, Secrat. Your former home has since been filled; you'll have to dig yourself a new one. I'll sort it out with the rest of the members once they've awoke. Goodbye now,"

Toucan concluded.

### Chapter Nine

Secrat Copé didn't fire back at Father Toucan Veras, as much as he wanted to, and in-fact, he said nothing in-response, offering a nod as substitute. Toucan wasn't the type for negotiating, and Secrat's body felt too battered and wearied from the day's travels to try and make him see reason. The dirt was cool and hard. It was uncomfortable. But he didn't care. With nothing to his name except the muddied clothing on his person and the empty flash in his pocket.

The Sword of Tertius wasn't even in his possession anymore as Veras had taken it to the Trophy Room.

The thief slept on the ground for what felt like an eternity, ignoring the commotion from everybody else around him. To his good fortune, nobody stomped on him or caused him heartache. When he awoke, while his clothing was, of course, still filthy, his body felt rejuvenated and reinvigorated.

* * *

The next couple of months expired fast. The thief managed to keep himself without issue or complication. It was different than how he left it. He no longer associated with friends and mostly kept to himself. The rest of the Flux didn't hate him, or at least, he didn't believe they did. Lukas Lewis hated him, that much was clear, but not the rest. The vision of Secrat taking the life of Elson Mans had evidently engraved itself in Lukas' mind. Everyone else hadn't forgotten, but forgiveness came easier to them.

Secrat felt no need to seek forgiveness to any of the Flux. The relationships could be re-established once he had their respect and was considered of high worth. He simply didn't want to risk it. As loveable a personality as Secrat had, it had makes him more enemies than friends.

Lewis didn't talk to him any in that time, but that didn't bother Copé much. He wanted to give him more time to cool off and to allow everything to slowly fall back into place. It didn't happen very fast, but like Father had said, the time away in the Whispey Deserts humbled the thief. That, and the wounds obtained made him feel too weak and fragile to defend himself. He needed the time to heal.

The two months weren't pleasant. Cleaning the shit out from the horse's den was always one of his least favorite chores and having to do it a second time around wasn't any better. He gritted through it, however, and to his surprise, it wasn't the worst activity for him. Oh no, that title belonged to helping the older women watch over the children. They filled silence with witless banter Secrat took no interest in.

* * *

By the beginning of the third month, Secrat Copé finally took the time to add a little more to his abode. He dug out several more feet and before long, the thing started to resemble somewhere livable. Not a house, but more like a cold and uncomfortable cave, but it felt familiar. And it was his.

The hole remained small. His hope of joining the Elite's still hung around, and the idea of digging a whole new home felt too much to bear. His need for necessity soon swayed his judgment and the hole was dug for about five feet around and six feet deep. The hole took him days to dig, with only a few hours dedicated each day.

A bed of leaves and a blanket he'd sewn together while watching after the children. Sewing came surprisingly easy to him. Otherwise, beyond something with resemblance to a bed, his hole was mostly empty. No furniture. Nothing like that. The essentials.

Secrat Copé staggered out of his hole. A night's worth of sleep behind him.

It was early in the morning, but some folk were up and about.

Secrat recognized a woman named Alisuh first of all, an elderly woman, twenty something years Secrat's senior. She smiled at him. It was a polite smile.One that lasted only about a second or two. Darker skin, black hair and a haggard looking face. The woman most likely came from Acera or somewhere near there. Somewhere hotter. She led herself out and away from him. Her job consisted of babysitting after the children, as well as babysitting the younger folk who were supposed to help her.

Copé rubbed his eyes. The taste of dried blood unpleasantly layered his mouth. He had been woken by a nameless man he did not recognize. Presence ordered by Father Toucan. The Thief knew it was about a heist. No details were offered, but Secrat felt it. Or, perhaps, he desired it to be.

Boredom plagued Secrat, a ho-hum lifestyle since returning to the Flux, he craved something more to sink his teeth into.

Secrat stepped by the trees, feeling the dirt between his toes. The trees shaded him from the sun. In the Whispey Deserts, the heat beamed down on him and he couldn't take in a breath without scarfing down sand. Here, he took in the breath and let it leave him. He saw familiar faces as he neared the Trophy Room. Walking side-by-side in conversation, some of them, but Secrat had no interest in that. Instead, all he did was keep his eyes forward and put one foot in-front of the other. As he made it down to the Trophy Room, he saw Father Toucan Veras, who sat, stone-faced, at the desk.

Secrat walked on. Some of the Elite members had already been seated in the chairs before the desk. Three of them. All of them older than Secrat.

Copé walked over to the remaining chair but Lukas Lewis came in-front of him fast. So fast Copé could barely keep from a collision. He managed, however. Secrat looked at Lewis. His go-lucky expressions all a thing of yesterday, he looked cold and cruel, but Copé knew his disposition was a ruse.

A 'tough guy' act meant to accomplish something Secrat couldn't figure out.

Emotions were strange like that sometimes. Copé had no interest in heightening the flame, however. He relented, backing away from the chair and allowing Lewis to take the seat.

Secrat walked over to the corner of the room, off to the side, and leaned himself against the wall. Toucan's eyes went over to him a moment, though, he said nothing. Still, Secrat could have sworn he saw the flicker of a smirk on the face of Father.

Veras sat in his chair. His elbows at his desk, the palms of his hands touching, and his fingers clasped over one another. More thieves poured into the room.

An Elite thief walked over to Lukas Lewis. Long-black hair with whiskers jutting out over the neckline of his dirtied shirt. Overweight, though, not incredibly so, stomach caused by alcohol indulgence above all else."Move," the Elite said. The slur in his voice made it difficult to understand.

Lukas Lewis looked up at him, and at that moment, his tough-guy act disappeared. For that moment, he was about to be a scared boy that only wanted to avoid conflict. Lewis leaped out from the chair and up to his feet, moving back and motioning for the man to take a seat. The man obliged, but not before letting out a self-congratulating chuckle on his behalf.

Lukas turned from him, locking eyes with Secrat Copé. Copé offered him a warm and inviting grin, patting the side of the wall and welcoming him to join. Lewis did not. Opting to stand on the other-side of the Trophy Room instead.

Secrat recognized the Elite thief. By his voice more than his physique or facial features. His voice sounded raspy and like it was filled with tar. The fellow thief's name was Brutus Ess and he had once been a primary member of

The Red Flux. In-fact, only years back, Brutus was the right-hand man for Toucan. An heir to the throne until his thirst for alcohol washed down his ambitions. Now, he was out-of-shape and no longer had anything worth a damn to say for himself. But, besides belching random slurs and making an ass of himself, Brutus was a terrific and well-respected thief.

Toucan didn't keep them waiting much longer. Copé could see him spreading out one of those scrolls he had on his desk but was in no position to see its contents. Father spoke plainly: "Italina is the wealthiest of the five major cities."

"And the weakest," Brutus mumbled beneath his breath. Secrat heard it, and evidently, so did Toucan, who stopped momentarily.

"Italina is also the most difficult for a thief. Entering Italina, the gates are open, but at night, they close. The guards remember faces as well. Trained to have suspicions. That's why The Flux opts against it." Father Toucan leaned himself back in his chair, taking his hands off from the table. When he sat up straight, it only emphasizes his height. "We've set ourselves a formidable foundation with frameworks, not based on wealth, but on survival. We don't take what's not needed. That's something I believe in, and I believe the Elite believe as well, and it's something important to be bestowed on young thieves." Toucan looked over to Lukas Lewis with the last line, though, not Secrat.

"Italina itself has some of the biggest gluttons of all Maharris. Materialism subtracts senses and strengthens brutality for superficial gains. And yes, far be it from us to play the righteous hand, I think they deserve to be reminded of something." A small smile formed on Toucan's face. Secrat had forgotten how good he was speeches. "With fear comes humility, and with humility comes betterment. Our job isn't to better outsiders but if our survival leads to enlightenment, so be it. It's time we rob Italina's finest and rob them blind."

Secrat smiled at that last line. He found Father Toucan Veras to be about as self-righteous and arrogant as they came, but he was smart. The way he did things was a more practical reason for admiration. With such confidence and believability. The man spoke a sermon about the unimportance of wealth and ended it by reminded them all of their thirst for exactly that.

They fell for it.

Brutus Ess said some of his raspy and incomprehensible strings of dialogue, and other thieves came out of their lulled demeanors as well. Secrat kept in check, not the type to lose composure less alcohol was involved.

Toucan waited. Like he expected somebody to ask him the 'what' and 'how' of it all and nobody did. That didn't stop him from answering, however.

"The Aer Festival offers more than swine sipping sparkling water from a decorative glass. It offers opportunity." Viciousness plagued Toucan's voice in a way that would stifle the average man. It almost intimidated Secrat.The Aer Festival was a semi-annual festival held in Italina. The festival includes parades and the whole town swarmed with quietly abrasive music. Violins and harps strummed in the most pretentious way possible. The restaurants all serving up their finest. Everyone had something to do, nobody was home, and it was all very messy and crowded.

"How does it offer us opportunity?" one of the thieves calmly inquired.

Secrat recognized him as well. Samuel Syi was one of the neater and more articulate in the Flux. Secrat couldn't remember a time when Samuel lost his temper or showed fear or emotion other than being at ease. One of the few levelheaded ones, and where Brutus once was, Samuel found himself now as Father's right-hand.

"The reason we don't rob Italina isn't lack of interest, but lack of means. If three or more thieves entered beyond the gate into Italina, it'd raise suspicions... an understatement, they'd have every one of the thieves locked up before nightfall," Toucan said.

"You're suggesting the Aer Festival will be opportune?" Samuel asked.

"We'd be indistinguishable," Secrat Copé added.

Father Toucan Veras' eyes went off from Samuel Syi and over to Secrat. "Precisely," he commended. "A group of thieves, all of them scattered out. If you hide into the crowd, it'll be easy to blend in. Pickpocketing. Raiding. All of it, anything you can think of. Have your pockets filled."

"Have the wagon brought out on the outskirts of Italina, somewhere away from the guards and suspicion, but close enough it can be reached fast. Come back to it on and off through the night until it's full. Make a killing," Secrat suggested.

Toucan smirked. "We can do that."

"The guards only welcome guests during the day but at night, they are sealed up tight." Lukas Lewis pointed out.

Secrat couldn't help but think had it been anyone else, he would've kept his own mouth shut. "Yes, but this isn't any ordinary day," Secrat replied matter-of-factly.

"He's right," Samuel reciprocated. "There's an exception to that for the Aer

Festival. It still closes, but does so, hours into the night."

Lukas Lewis' head went down in defeat, saying nothing in response. Secrat couldn't help but smirk, however, Toucan soon took the conversation back for himself.

"I have sat on this heist for very long, amongst others, and only now do I believe The Red Flux has assembled a wardrobe of thieves capable enough. In defeat, loyalty should be at the reins, as should it in jeopardy." Toucan stopped for a moment. He rolled the scroll up in his hands. For theatrics, Secrat presumed. "Gather supplies but travel light. Each of you will be leaving before sundown. You should make it to the gates of Italina with time to spare, but you aren't to enter Italina until the festival begins. I don't need to stress you the importance of not being caught, and I shouldn't need to stress that murder in any form and for any reason won't be tolerated." Toucan shot a look over to

Secrat at that moment.

Copé heard a small noise from Lewis. Not a chuckle. A sigh of remembrance.

### Chapter Ten

Traveling light wasn't an issue for Secrat Copé. All he had to his name was his flask and a few knives. Not even the special-knives Father Toucan Veras had made him. Instead, they were sharpened stones with vine around the bottom to make a hilt. Everybody else was also able to make do with little. Everything they had could be carried on their person. Some food was loaded up in the wagon, but it'd only last a day or two for normal stomachs. The essentials, and if they needed more, it'd be hunted for or bought at the festival.

The trip wouldn't a long one. The Red Flux was in the middle of Acera and Italina, who often considered themselves as neighbors. They weren't that nearby, but it'd only take a day or two to arrive at Italina with horses.Riding in the wagon as the horses pulled each of them, Secrat couldn't help but feel an unaddressed awkwardness. This was the same wagon carrying him before he killed Elson Mans.

His back was propped up against one of the walls, and opposite him was Brutus Ess; grouchily sighing after each rickety bump the wagon endured.

Samuel Syi was at the front, in the carriage, watching over and navigating the horses with the reins. Lukas Lewis was sitting to Secrat's right, some ways away, beside another of the Elite thieves. To the left of Brutus, side closest to the horses, was another of the young trainees.

Secrat sat without saying a word, nobody said a word for a while. It was early and without much breakfast in their bellies, nobody felt especially talkative. All they could do was listen in on the ruckus of the wagon wheels atop the dirt, tumbling over tree roots and rocks and whatever else. That, and enjoy the sights of the scenery around them as it changed ever-so fast.

But nobody said anything. At least not until they came to a stop.

Secrat dug his fingers down into the wood, the memories of it weren't lost on him. Memories he knew weren't lost on Lukas Lewis either. As the wagon began to slow, each of the thieves went up to their feet. They had spent the last few hours in silence but Secrat could tell it was starting to lighten up a little bit.

Samuel Syi stepped out from the carriage and walked over to the wagon. It was customary for the head-Elite to be held to a high standard. However, as Samuel stepped onto the wagon, he discovered Brutus Ess' teeth gnawing on some bread. The bread had been kept in small crates dressed with a tarp over each.

Syi smiled. "I don't suppose you could've waited," he said.

Brutus stopped his eating, holding a chunk of bread in his mouth. It broke in half and part of it fell to the floor. "I waited several, ... several seconds," Ess fired back.

"The Red Flux has an image to uphold." Samuel replied.

"Who fed you those lies? Our image is the scummiest of scum."

"True, but that doesn't mean we have to be rude scum," Syi replied, letting out a soft chuckle as Brutus handed him a loaf of bread.

They each became seated again once the bread was handed out. The taste wasn't the best, but it'd be filling enough. Secrat watched Ess delve his teeth into his loaf of bread. Soon, Ess would adjust to his normal self with food in his belly. Although, his regular demeanor was a little less ill-tempered.

Lukas Lewis leaped out from the wagon, without saying anything to anyone. Secrat watched him step out and walk further out into the forest. His eyes traveled back over inside the wagon. Brutus Ess stared over at him.

This might have been the first time Secrat could recall Brutus acknowledging his existence since being withdrawn from The Flux. "That boy really hates you; you know?" Brutus remarked. The way he said it felt more like a blunt statement than a judgment.

"I made a terrible mistake and all I am looking to do is repent," Secrat

Copé replied. He had rehearsed his lines many times. Killing Elson Man felt no different than killing Azlak Temps, or more accurately, the man he thought to be Temps. Such an act was always the same. Still, he felt guilt at his mistake.

But opted not to dwell.

"Lukas Lewis isn't really made to be a Thief. Thick-skin. That's what you've got to have, and Lewis' skin could be sliced by the blade of a leaf."

Brutus Ess said matter-of-factly, chomping down on a second loaf of bread.Secrat smirked but regained himself. He had not expected that. Even from Brutus.

"People die," Brutus remarked, stopping a moment to let the declarative statement sink in. "Fact is, Lukas didn't even know Elson, not like I did. If I can get over what you did, he should be better by now. It's not that he's bothered by Elson's death, but that he's bothered by death itself. He best get comfortable with it."

"You weren't exactly the best of friends with Elson, however," Samuel Syi countered, sitting down in the middle of the wagon with his back leaned against the crates. "The act made Veras angrier than I had ever seen him. Secrat took one of our own. And yet, it's Lukas Lewis that feels excluded and distant from the Flux."

"Toucan's been angrier than that, I'll tell you that much for absolute certain. If he were really angry than this fella wouldn't be standing here with us," Brutus said, motioning to Secrat.

"Perhaps," Samuel added. It seemed as though he wanted to say something else or offer a rebuttal, but his passiveness restrained him.

"A loss of innocence and a loss of a friend, I can only hope time will heal his wounds. Time will bring forgiveness faster than anything I could ever do," Secrat said with a somber inflection.

Samuel Syi nodded at Secrat Copé. His dark-skinned face never looked angry or annoyed or frustrated but did look sad.

Samuel climbed out of the carriage and started way toward where Lewis was headed, leaving Copé and Ess with the other thieves.

The Elite's name was Marc Sero and he was a keep-to-himself fellow that didn't talk very much or step out of line. A lot like Lewis in that sense, except

Lewis could be friendly or likable. Lukas could be sociable at times too, but Sero only spoke a word when he had to.

Marc Sero was a capable fighter, however, and was known for often boasting during combat. That was where he felt most comfortable.

The other thief was somebody Secrat had seen around before but never figured out the name of. A round-faced boy with a small, but protruding stomach. Brutus Ess' gut was from alcohol, but this boy looked like he simply let gluttony get the better of him. A boy. That was the best way to describe him. Brown hair was even and tidy at the front. A small stubble of facial hair at the bottom of his chin.

Secrat Copé climbed out of the wagon and dropped off to the ground. The green grass under his feet. The sky was without denigration from the clouds, yet the smell of damp-grass washed ashore Secrat's nostrils. Morning dew had a magical existent more curious than all the Aeonians combined.

The Thief stretched his legs; they ached. He hadn't been on his feet very long, but the hurt would leave him soon.

He was uncertain of their location. Somewhere between Acera and Italina obviously, but with the time they had to kill, he wondered if Samuel might have taken a detour at the reins.

The soil beneath some of the grass was as dark as charcoal. That implied they were nearer to Acera and perhaps even Urgway than they were Italina. Agriculture was a necessity to Acera and was all that Urgway had to offer except for a faster route to Jalint. Once they neared Italina, they'd see the soil become brighter and fainter at the blink of an eye. In Italina, there was essentially no means for fertilization.

Copé could see Lukas Lewis leaned against one of the trees not too far off, speaking to Samuel Syi.

Besides the wet-grass, The Thief could also smell something very distinctive in the air. Beyond the smell of the leaves and the dirt, the freshness of it all, he could also smell the saltiness of the Amisoic Seas. The Seas wrapped around all Maharris, and in some areas, the Seas extended to small creeks and lakes throughout the Unprotected Wilderness. Secrat followed the smell. His legs marched through bushes and twigs, crackling some of them and sweeping through others. He could hear the loud hissing noises from beetles somewhere on a nearby tree. That, and the crickets roaming around.Copé stopped as he met a creek. The water was a slight greenish tint and rocks led a path as the creek became deeper and deeper. Enough to submerge his body to his waist, the creek went on for as far as his eyes could see and the width from his side to the next exceeded ten feet. Secrat dropped down to his knees near the rocks and held one of the stones in his hands. The weight of it.

He chucked it into the creek and watched it skip and make a splash.

The sound of thick footsteps came behind him, but he didn't turn around to see who it was. Brutus Ess walked with such oomph that it was easy to distinguish him from everybody else. Unless, it was a bear. Secrat hoped it wasn't a bear.

"It wasn't exactly true what I said back there," Brutus said. His voice sounded more serious than usual.

"About what part?" Secrat asked, throwing his eyes over to Ess.

Copé fidgeted with a stone in his hands. Rested it in his palms. Wrapped his fingers around it.

"I have never seen Veras angrier than the night he found out what you'd done."

Brutus walked nearer to Secrat. His haggard body moved damn-near like a snail, but Copé didn't pay it much mind in this moment. Soon, Ess dropped down on his bottom beside Secrat, without grace, he landed, sending several rocks tumbling down off from the creek's edge and into the water.

"It was a mistake."

"Nobody's doubting that, not even Veras. But the whole thing burrowed into his skin, like a worm festering through the dirt. You see, that's a man with thick skin. Thick as it comes. But the simple thought you could betray him or this troupe, even by mistake, was enough to send him over the edge."

Secrat said nothing. He looked down at the stone in his hands like a nervous child being lectured by an adult.

"Veras sees something special in you. He has a long time, but to see you fail like that, that's something I didn't think he'd be able to move past."

"I never asked to be held to a higher stan..."

"But it's that high standard that saved your ass, boy!" Brutus quipped.

"That higher standard does nothing but good. Tell me, what would happen if, in some made up world, Lukas Lewis would've done been in your situation? If he'd killed Elson instead of you? If you'd been traumatized by it? Think Old Daddy Toucan would've let him come back?" Brutus Ess' voice didn't change throughout. His voice was unsteadily loud but not because anger but because inebriation.

"Toucan Veras," Secrat began, but then stopped, "Father would have made certain to have Lukas' severed head on a pike."

"That's right," Brutus agreed.

Secrat looked down at the stone in his hands. The weight of it. A lot to bear. And like last time, he would chuck it out and into the creek.

"I can be everything Toucan wants me to be," Secrat said, a smirk forming on his face at the thought of it. Humility didn't last him very long, and frankly, he figured everybody else knew it to be true. His eyes went off the creek and over to Brutus, who smiled at him with amusement.

After a snort, Brutus exclaimed: "You and Veras might not be blood, but you're his son, that's for certain."

Secrat's eyes went back to the creek, but he flinched when he heard the sound of Brutus rising up to his feet.Copé watched him a moment, as Brutus stripped out of his leggings. It wasn't a very attractive sight, because, as described, Brutus was far from physically fit. His legs like tree-trunks and his stomach round like a barrel. Brutus' body was covered in hair. It was a bear behind him after all, Secrat thought to himself.

"What exactly are you doing?" Secrat asked. He looked away from Brutus with discomfort. Even more than his grotesque physique, it was Brutus' body hair that was most jarring and despicable. With no patches of skin visible on his stomach and legs.

Brutus was kind enough to leave on his black undergarments. Brutus flashed a smirk that struck The Thief as more terrifying than suave or good humored. "Going swimming," Brutus replied.

"Uh-huh, I wish you the best of luck with that," Secrat said.

Brutus didn't seem to fathom the sarcasm in Secrat's voice, which was likely for the best. Instead, he backed away from the creek a short moment before running forward to make a leap.

Splash! Brutus' body flopped down into the water like how a large boulder would. A ca-plunk sound followed, and a wave of water rushed out from the creek. Secrat hadn't even thought to back away, and his attire was soaked because of it.

The water was cold. Shaded by the leaves and the trees but was easy for Secrat to attune himself to. Copé still shivered at first, however.

Brutus stayed underwater for a couple of seconds. The top of his head poking up out of the water. His long grayish hair revealed a large bald spot now that it was wet.

Copé crawled back from the creek while Brutus splashed around like a crazed baboon.

Secrat heard footsteps behind him; Samuel Syi's, and behind him was

Lukas Lewis. Samuel laughed, taking in the sight.

Lewis looked at the whole spectacle with nothing short of apathy. In-fact, Lukas didn't even pay attention to it. As if it was too close in vicinity of Secrat to take the risk.

Secrat, on the other hand, looked down at the creek, feeling like a child watching his father embarrass him. His Father, however, would never stoop to such a level.

"Do I even want to ask what he is doing?" Samuel asked. Unable to hide his chuckling amusement.

Brutus paddled himself near the edge of the creek, bringing his head out from under the water and resting his forearms on land. His drenched hair looked almost comical and his smirk only added to that. "I figure we have time to kill," he said.

Samuel nodded back at him, "And I suppose this is one way to do it." Syi walked forward and sat down a little further out than Secrat, his feet dangled off the edge of the creek and into the water.

Lukas Lewis, on the other hand, remained standing, uncomfortably crossing one of his arms while the other rested at his waist.

Samuel seemed to notice Lukas' discomfort as he turned and faced him for an instant, "I don't suppose a swim would cool off the hot-bloodedness you've got going, am I wrong?" Samuel asked.

Lewis' face reddened, but as much as he might have wanted to bite

Samuel's head off and spit it somewhere, he didn't.

Samuel watched over in quiet amusement until Ess brought the attention all back on him. The unsettled splashing and rustling of his body beneath the water, but as the large man leaped his torso out into the open, he let something out of his hands and onto Samuel's lap.

Syi reacted about as any of them would. He flinched, but once he realized what it was, he couldn't help but be impressed.

The buffoon Brutus had gone ahead and caught himself a fish. The fish was large and flopped across Samuel's lap, trying to make it back to the creek, but Samuel kept it from happening.

2

The sound of crackling sticks roared in the raging fire. It almost had a rhythm to it. Or at least, Secrat took a liking to it. His legs out-stretched as he sat down on the grass, feeling the warmth of the fire in-front of him. Dark outside now. The night-air vanquished by the blaze, the blackness and smoke traveling up with the stars. All of it was very necessary to him. A sanctum for his wearied bones.

He gnashed his teeth into the side of the cooked fish.

Brutus Ess was a skilled fisherman.

A crunching sound happened with every bite he made. Perhaps it had been in the fire for too long. But Secrat didn't mind. It was a different kind of taste to what he had become accustom to. Fish wasn't something he had eaten many times before.

"I don't see why none of you joined me in the creek, would've been able to catch your own fish. Been a nice bonding moment for all of us!" Brutus spoke with such unsteady enthusiasm that Secrat hardly recognized him.

Brutus took a swig out of his flask. Not as nice as the one Secrat had. Ess' flask had a brown and fuzzy-looking fabric wrapped around it. The flask was likely hand-made by Brutus.

"The leeches you'll discover on your more sensitive areas might help you figure out why no one wanted to bond with you," Samuel commented dryly.

Samuel wasn't wrong about the leeches either, when Brutus arose out of the water, his legs were covered in them, and because his leg hair, he was still finding more as the night progressed.

Brutus scratched at his leggings, now dressed, the fire long-since dried his body. "Toucan's sense of time and distance don't seem to be what they used to be." Brutus let out. "We wasted a whole day doing absolute nonsense and will still arrive at Italina with time to spare."

"I don't have a problem with it," the round-faced thief exclaimed. "I am only happy it has gotten me a day off from cleaning the horses." A obnoxious laugh followed that sealed the chubby fellow as a new target for insult.

"He wanted us to establish a rapport before we actually made it Italina. He wanted for this added day to make everybody a little bit more comfortable with each other and help us all function together coherently." Samuel answered back fast.

"But, we're all comfortable with each," the chubby thief stopped. He threw a glance over to Secrat and then to Lukas, figuring it out for himself.

A laugh from Brutus Ess followed. His body was leaned back against a hollowed tree trunk covered in dirt and moss. This left nothing about his heavy protruding stomach to the imagination. Some might have been insecure about such a figure. Maybe have felt the need to hide it. Brutus wasn't like that. He wasn't ashamed of anything about himself, and he let his gut hang out to show it. "That's right, Father Toucan doesn't want Lukey Luke or Secrat over there," motioned at both as he spoke, "Ripping into each other. He 'specially doesn't want it happened in somewhere as crowded as the Aer Festival. But I don't think we got nothing to worry about, you ain't going to kill each other, are you boys?" Brutus asked, looking forward over at Secrat, who was now feeling uncomfortable.

Copé gave a polite smile as distraction. Distraction so he had time to find a team-building response that would benefit him more than work to his detriment. "There are no ill feelings for me to Lukas Lewis. He did nothing wrong and I can only hope his anger for me subsides in time." Secrat replied.

The words felt awkward as they came out of his lips. No inflection in them, and no emotion. Like he was reading a bit of dialogue out from a storybook, but nobody seemed to catch onto his phoniness.

Brutus chuckled aloud some more, laughing at a joke that nobody but him seemed to be let in on. "That's right," Brutus said, both his hands resting on his belly.

Secrat found himself with an odd mental-visual of Brutus playing the drums with his stomach. Brutus looked through the fire at Lewis, "And what about you?"

Secrat threw his eyes over to Lukas also. The fire was in-front of him, making a slight discoloration on Lukas as well as brought him into the light.

Lewis looked like a demon, but Secrat knew Lukas wasn't a demon, and knew that Lukas looked through the flames at Secrat and saw the same thing. Secrat wasn't completely sure that he, himself, wasn't one of the devil's men.

Lukas Lewis looked at them with cold-eyes and replied, "I'm not the one that kills people."

Nobody said anything for a moment. Leave it to Lukas to end a wonderful night on such a somber note, Secrat thought, but didn't say aloud. After all, that wouldn't have been very team-building.

Brutus Ess was the one to break the silence, as Secrat was certain everybody expected. "I don't 'spose any of you has any smokes," blurted out, coming off a little sadder sounding than usual, perhaps out of empty. "I think I dropped all mine somewhere near the creek."

It was empathy that made Brutus sad, but inconvenience. He dug his finger-nails into his teeth, scraping the pieces of fish out the gaps between them. Brutus had already finished two of the fish he had caught, whereas Secrat was still chomping at the bits with one of them and thought it unlikely for him to be able to finish it.

"Do you think it'll be difficult stealing at the Aer Festival," the round-faced thief asked. Like Brutus, he had already dug into two fish by himself, while everyone else was finishing their first.

Secrat reached into his leggings. Cigarettes were almost always on him. He used them so little. Copé threw one of them onto Ess' lap, for which Brutus responded with a grateful nod. Leaping up to his feet, Brutus leaned forward toward the brewing flame, lit it, and then flopped back down against the tree trunk. "I mean, there will be a lot of people around and that makes it easier to blend in, but that also means more eyes on us."

"If we don't do anything foolish then it'll be fine," Samuel answered. "Most of us know exactly what we're doing, and the ones that don't will be watched over. This heist isn't about just plucking everything we see. We're after what's worth most, not the quantity or bulk of items stolen."

"Who will I be watched over by?" The round-faced boy inquired.

Brutus chuckled at the thief's lack of self-confidence.

"You have the least experience. Lewis might very well be on the brink to becoming an Elite, and Secrat was almost one before his dismissal." Samuel explained. "And I hope this keeps my next statement from sounding too much like an insult, but I won't be having you assist any of us in the heist. Your contribution will be to watch over the wagon as the others scavenge amongst the Aer Festival. That's an important job," Samuel's face got serious, but Secrat heard another chuckle from Brutus.

Samuel's expression broke a subtle moment, but he regained himself at once, "All the items stolen from the Aer Festival will be in that wagon, which means if anybody finds the wagon or anything else, our entire expedition will accomplish nothing. I would even venture to say you have the most important job of us all."

Secrat saw Brutus bite his lip in an attempt not to laugh, and Secrat couldn't help but smirk as well. The wagon would be far enough away to keep any of the guests of Italina from stumbling upon it, and even if they did, it'd be covered with a tarp and would look like an ordinary wagon.

"Can you handle this responsibility, Taison?" Samuel asked. Secrat made a mental note of his name.

The round-face thief's expression looked confused and stupid. Secrat couldn't tell whether or not he was bothered and frustration, or if he didn't understand the words said. The chubby boy smiled with a big grin. "I will, if nobody else wants to take on the responsibility," he said.

Bastard, Secrat thought. Nobody was that stupid.

Once Secrat finished his fish, he felt filthy and disgusting, like he wanted to jump into the creek like Brutus had done earlier. But, of course, the leaches kept him from actually acting on his intentions. Instead, after scraping the gunk out of his teeth with his finger nail, he walked down to the creek and dipped his clothes into the water. All except for his under-leggings.

After that, he rung them out, making for certain there were no bugs or insects embedded on them. It made him feel better. He hung them up over a tree branch, well near where the fire still brewed. It would have to be put out sooner or later, but hopefully it'd still help his clothes dry in the night.Secrat left his clothes and begun his search for somewhere to sleep. Brutus had already fallen out of consciousness against the hollow tree trunk. He snored and carried all the grace of a dying elephant as he slept.

Looking at the fire, Secrat flinched at the sound of rustling leaves behind him and turned to see Lukas Lewis staring back at him.

Lukas' face didn't demonstrate anger or frustration, but it wasn't forgiveness or anything painstakingly obvious. Secrat didn't know what it was.

"I have been talking to Samuel," Lukas said, speaking soft. Secrat feigned a face of interest. "He tells me I have to accept the situation as is. That pouting won't change things, and in the grand scheme, I know it isn't a big deal,

Secrat."

He glared at Secrat with a tough-guy disposition, but relented, feeling, for once, at ease: "People die, and The Red Flux has been the cause of many. Toucan Veras makes himself out to be a man of peace, all while lugging his giant sword around with him. We call ourselves thieves, but we're also killers, and at times, I feel I might as well be a Carver."

Secrat's expression changed, sudden surprise, he responded, "We aren't Carvers, Lukas. Toucan doesn't go around chopping people in twos and threes, and we don't torture for the thrill of it all. Don't EVER compare us to them. Don't ever compare ME to them. I made a mistake, but that doesn't make me like them."

Lukas smiled. "I don't think you're like the Carvers, Secrat," he said plainly. "But I don't think you're good either, and I will never be able to trust you again. Because, when you killed Elson, I saw a side to you I had never seen before. A side that was mirthless and didn't care. It's for those reasons, above all else, I don't want you to be in The Red Flux."

Lukas' comment irked Secrat some, and he knew it was visually apparent, but he didn't want Lewis to have the small victory, "I am sorry to inform you of this, but I won't be leaving anytime soon."

"But I'll see to it that you're always a nobody here," Lukas Lewis fired back fast. "Veras told me the only way you'll ever be made an Elite is if I offer forgiveness. And unless he goes back on that, that means you'll never be an Elite."

Lukas Lewis' words sounded less and less like that of anger or bitterness, and more and more like somebody who realized he had full control of the situation. Secrat didn't like that.

But Secrat only smiled. "I am sorry you see it that way. I hope I'll one day be able to have your forgiveness."

### Chapter Eleven

The horses galloped fast. Everything was back in motion as it needed to be, and The Flux thieves would be arriving at Italina in due time. From there, it'd be about finding passage beyond the gates and doing what else needed to be done.

Secrat didn't know exactly what needed to be done though. And that brought an uneasiness in him, a feeling of angst he had to smash down to the bottom of his stomach with the help of sips from his flask.

He leaned his back against the side of the wooden wagon as it rocked back in-fourth. The Thief had doubts any of them knew what to expect. It seemed as if nobody could offer insight about the Aer Festival as nobody had been to one.

Even the meaning behind its name was cryptic and obscure, Copé hadn't even the faintest of guesses. The Festival was meant to celebrate Maharris' triumphs and successes. Italina deemed itself the capital of the entire region and had an entire museum dedicated to Maharris. They invited men and women from the four other cities to join them. That's all Copé knew about the event. Didn't even know if Italina's invitations were ever accepted.

Samuel Syi was once more at the reins, and everybody found sanctum in their designated seats, the same as last time. Lukas Lewis did, however, seem more rested. In-fact, Lukas looked at ease and like the weight of the world was off his shoulders. That's how he looked at first glance, but Secrat didn't take any more than that, and for all he knew, it could have been his own suspicions creating a mirage.

The sun's rays became fainter, a full day's worth of travel. Beads of sweat no longer accumulated as fast on Secrat's brow.

That's what happened when they neared Italina. It became cold, even in the summertime, whereas Acera was hot, even during most of winter. But the countless bodies roaming throughout the festival would likely offer restitution in the form of body heat.

"I remember the first time I met Toucan," Brutus said, looking over at

Secrat, "This was before The Red Flux even existed."

Copé looked over to Brutus, giving him his attention, but found his eyes taken again by the scenery around him.

The trees as they closed in on Italina were all dead or dying, some of them only a little thicker than the average stick.

In some instances, branches hung down from the trees from high-up only to limply dig into the dirt. In the times when the branches seemed thick, Samuel would navigate the horses around them, but in other times, he'd simply let the horses snap through them.

"What you must know about Toucan is, he was always THAT intimidating of a figure. Nobody ever picked a fight with him. Ever. Plain and simple, you didn't do it. And, it was easy enough, Toucan kept to himself, was quiet and distant. Like Sero over-there," Brutus said, looking over to Marc at the end of the wagon, who was not listening to Brutus' banter. "I once picked a fight with him though, back in Urgway." Secrat's eyes wandered over to Brutus', curious.

Brutus smiled, "He and I were botanists. That's what you did if you were from

Urgway, you went underground, you dug, or you worked on the plants."

Copé chuckled, "Underground?"

"That's right," Brutus answered back. "Urgway grew plants underground. Strange ones, kinds that didn't need sunlight. Special black fruits that tasted like ash. Those were our food, the ones we ate. How we were paid."

"I never knew that," Copé answered back. "Toucan never told me about

that."

"Wasn't exactly something one wants to remember. Like everywhere else you go, you have the richest ones and the poorest ones. We ate ashes for breakfast and dinner, and the rich ones ate their heart's desire. Some of us were sick more than not," Brutus explained. "We grew other things too, down there, and moth cocoons let us make silk."

"I remember though, one night though, I was angry and drunk, and what you need to know about me is I do stupid things when I am angry and drunk. One of the things was trying to fight him. One of those stupid things was trying to fight Toucan. Now, we weren't friends back then or nothing, nothing except casuals bumping into each other from time to time. Didn't take it easy on me." Brutus laughed. "I don't even remember what I thought he did, but I remember what he did when I confronted him though." Ess smiled larger, and this time, however, Copé noticed all the gaps in his mouth where teeth were missing. He smirked some at the thought of Brutus being pummeled by Father.

"A few months went by and I stayed clear of him. Didn't make eye contact, didn't say nothing. He had that fear in me that he gives. But we had these men, Urgway leaders and high-ranking officials, they'd come down and observe our performances. An older woman, ... she couldn't move fast anymore. Her bones were brittle and her body terribly malnourished. One of the Urgway leaders kept yelling after her, over and over again. Telling her to work faster, telling her to do this or do that. And, finally, he struck her. In the back. She fell." An uncharacteristically sad look went on Brutus' face, the fedup look Copé always saw on his Father's face. "It took one hit to cripple that woman. Toucan didn't like that none too well. He threw him at the wall so hard I thought the whole thing would cave in. More knights came out next, wailing on Toucan. And, I don't know why, maybe I was drunk and angry again, but I made the decision to try and help fight the knights off. They overpowered us, and the consequence was three straight days in the hole."

Brutus let out a loud sigh and looked at Copé with watery eyes. "Long story short, we escaped Urgway a little after that, and we've been best friends ever since!" Brutus exclaimed, letting out a forced laugh.

Secrat laughed awkwardly as well and laid his head down. Their arrival was readily approaching, and he welcomed it with anxious anticipation.

2

Brutus Ess was first to notice Italina's gates as they came to view. Or, at least, the first to say something about it. Samuel Syi undoubtedly would've noticed. "That took forever and then some," Ess ushered out with a fierce, loud inflection that broke into the long-lasting silence like a broadsword into a loaf of bread. It was always him to break the silence.

Samuel Syi said nothing, focused; he threw a thumb in the air to let him know he was aware. The horse's direction started to sway off from the gates and did so early enough to appear inconspicuous from the guards.

As they neared Italina, the forward encumbered itself with horses and men. Carriages and wagons. Some men on foot. Soldiers from all Maharris visible, each distinguishable by their emblems and sigils, skin-pigment and demeanor. They accumulated so fast, and for an instant, it seemed as if horses outnumbered the men and women.

Once they made it to where they were headed, they would have their wagons searched. The thought of how difficult it'd be to smuggle items felt more readily apparent.

Samuel swayed away from the ongoing herds; the horses starting to slow themselves off, either by command or by the fatigue setting into their legs.

As the troupe closed in on the walls of the coveted city, Secrat arose to one knee, inspecting it with a keenness he never offered it before.

The granite walls a bleak grayish color with speckles of white. All the other times Secrat had visited, he assumed the walls were smooth and without blemish, but as he looked now, he could see the jagged edges and indentions.

Not by design, but because the time endured.

Copé felt his balance disrupted as the wagon's flooring became rickety. He kept from falling, and once they were far out enough, stopping was at last feasible.

At the end of their journey, the sound of the horses galloping was quieted. It felt strange not to hear it. But with a neighing sound, the horses were allotted the means to rest.

Secrat climbed from his knees and up to his feet. His legs wobbled for a moment. His knees began coming in together, but after a small and less than graceful stumble, he steadied his stance.

A small chuckle came from Brutus, "This ain't no time to be dancing, Secrat!" That might have brought laughter from at least one of the other members of the Flux, but the rest of them were startled by his abruptness, including Secrat, who flinched. Brutus was too absorbed with his own self-indulgence to notice, however.

Secrat left the wagon and the others soon followed, all except for Taison.

Taison sat with a relieved look on his face that made Secrat wish he

COULD'VE been like The Carvers, if only for a second.

Secrat met Samuel on the side of the wagon. "Are you alright?" Secrat inquired with a look of honest concern on his face.

Samuel Syi's eyes looked bloodshot and like hadn't slept for days. And while Secrat knew that wasn't true, he knew Samuel was a lot less rested than the others. "The thickness in the air ... every time I am around here .... it always bothers me." Samuel's voice had more annoyance than what Secrat had come to expect from his laid-back demeanor.

That's what exhaustion and dirty air did to the best of them. Italina wasn't that bad though. A small, but sudden change that wouldn't be noticed for more than an evening's time. It was a lot worse when they neared Hardan.

Maybe it was the minimal agriculture; the grass, a sickly yellow, or either none at all, and the trees absent. Maybe that was it, but beside some slight sensitivity to the eyes, none of it was too much of a burden. Secrat had become accustom to sand in his eyes after all the time in the Whispey Deserts, Italina was a breeze in-comparison.

"Do you think guards will be an issue?" Secrat asked, his ears awaiting the sound of Samuel's voice more than anyone.

Samuel didn't answer him at first, he rubbed the outside of his eyelids, but that only seemed to worsen his discomfort. "You afraid they'll search us on our way out?" Samuel inquired knowingly, for which Secrat answered with a nod.

Samuel began walking his legs, needing them stretched out and awoke. "If we don't do anything foolish to draw attention to ourselves, that shouldn't be an issue. They don't usually stop to search the common-folk walking on foot. It'd take ages, and that's why we aren't bringing the wagon." Samuel leaned himself forehead, reaching his hands down to his toes. He arose back to a straight form. "They might stop us on our way in. They might even search us. But when the Aer Festival has started, there will be a lot of back in fourth, and so long as we don't make ourselves out as special, I see no reason the guards would think other-wise."

Secrat followed Samuel Syi to the back of the wagon. It felt chilly outside, but Secrat felt the moistened sweat of the day's travels. Samuel Syi's dark skin shined as well, and his hair was slicked back. Secrat watched as Syi's eyes went over to Taison, who sat with that fat, unassuming face Secrat already found himself hating.

"If you have any reason to believe you are in-danger of being found by a guard, or if you feel like you are being stalked by someone in the wilderness, relocate to the other-side of the wall. We will find you afterward and another of us will be set aside with you."

Taison's eyes became larger than before, as if he only now realized the small amount of danger for him. He nodded fast and asked, "What do you mean by stalked? I am just somebody in a wagon, nothing else about it?" His words; unsteady and worried, like they should have been statements, but his fear crippled them by force and made them questions.

"I don't think anything will happen, Taison," Samuel Syi assured. He sounded soothing and levelheaded with his words. An easy-feat for Samuel. "I don't think anything will happen, but the Aer Festival is Italina's one major event, and I can't exactly say how much it will fill out. But, there's always a chance some might see you. The Red Flux isn't the only troupe, but we might very well be one of the nicest. Remember that, and react," Samuel advised.

A small dose of fear set into Taison's mind; a small shivering up his spine to stress severity. Samuel had a small manipulative side to him, one he likely inherited from his time with Father Toucan.

Secrat smiled at the thought. Taison didn't.

Brutus Ess tied the horses down to a tree-stump beside the walls. Trees were cut down anywhere near Italina. They might have used the lumber, but Secrat figured it was because the King thought they were eyesores.

Samuel Syi led the Flux. Secrat Copé, Lukas Lewis, Brutus Ess, and Marc Sero followed. The smell in the air was stuffy, like a deeply encumbered room of dust, a strange smell for a large-open area. They made it to the front of Italina's gate, and there was even more folk roaming about than earlier. Various fellows, different fellows, of all different age-groups and ethnicities. Tan of skin depicting Acerian residents; conversely, older ladies with pale skin and curmudgeon grimaces were most certainly from Hardan.

Samuel Syi and Lukas Lewis paired off with one another, walking forward toward the guards. Secrat and Brutus aligned as well. An effort to seem inconspicuous. Marc Sero, on the other-hand, was by himself. The way he

liked it.

The guard before Samuel and Lukas was a serious man. A face that looked sour and depraved by unpleasantries. A black mustache and grey helm over his head that hid his hair. His armor; brightly colored, looked almost like puresilver. And, it might have been, knowing how wasteful Italina had a habit of being.

"What is your business here at Italina, the finest among Maharris, known profoundly for having the finest eating establishments and definitely not to forget, the impeccable Sanchi Tower which overlooks much of the Amisoic Seas and even sees all the way out to Olzaric?" The man said the words fast and without enunciation. Having clearly rehearsed his lines, the man still managed to give off a righteous and self-congratulating front. Standing proudly as he spoke, the man even twirled the long ends of his mustache while the words escaped his lips.

Lukas Lewis brushed off some dirt from his clothes; the clothing adorned by the Flux consisted of worn and tired fabric, with leggings that looked none too better. Women and Father Toucan Veras are the only ones who dressed in fine clothing.

The guard scoffed at Lukas, but it was Samuel who spoke. "And what a humble honor and privilege it is for my colleague and I to be welcomed into this beautiful city for the Aer Festival. Perhaps I'll even take a gander at the majestic Sanchi Tower with my own eyes." His voice had slight playful sarcasm in his voice Secrat doubted the Italinian Guard capable of finding.

The guard shot him a look of skepticism. His head tilted up in a way literally letting him look down his nose at Samuel. "You can see the Sanchi Tower all the way from the Wilderness from which you came. It's the tallest building in all Maharris. If what you're inferring is you'd like to get near, and/or perhaps touch our fine monument, you might as well go back from whence you came."

Secrat Copé couldn't see the facial expressions from Lewis, but they must have been unfavorable; the guard threw his eyes over at him with a look of disgust and offense. Samuel managed, however, to bring the guard's attention elsewhere, "We wouldn't even dream of touching the Sanchi Tower. Being in the same town is more than enough."

"Hmm, yes," the guard said; "both of you may enter beyond Italina's doors, but I must remind every guest they are to be on their best behavior. This isn't just some soiree for common-folk. The event is a celebration of Italina's history and the fine men and women that layer it. King Harries will even be leaving his throne to offer a celebratory speech, that of which, you must show the deepest of respects toward."

Lukas Lewis said nothing. Neither did Samuel Syi. The guard threw his right hand up into the air, his index finger erect, motioning toward the men at the parapets. They walked atop the walls behind him and called out to some others on the inside, soon came the sound of rattling chains as the large wooden doors at the center of the granite walls began to come open.

"Welcome to Italina," the guard said, enthused as if beyond him was the opened gates to heaven.

Samuel and Lukas walked beyond the gates and into the city. Several men and women walked out with them. They had already been accepted in by some of the other guards.

There were three guards; counting the one with the black mustache and pompous voice.

Secrat could see crowds and crowds of men and women walking about. That's all The Thief could see though; no buildings or items on display. It was even more crowded than anticipated. He felt the back of his shoulder shoved fourth by the commotion behind him. He fell to the side of Brutus Ess, using him as a crutch to keep stability.

"Careful there," Brutus said, and for a moment, Secrat felt the sudden déjà vu of his time in the Whispey Deserts. Secrat relented and brought himself back to a vertical stance, though, he still felt individuals shove and brush against him during his efforts to move forward.

The crowd's made him feel uneasy, but also churned out adrenaline in his veins. He no longer had eyes on Marc Sero but kept a close watch on Brutus Ess.

The Gates Closed.

Secrat noticed Brutus veering off to the far-left, away from the Italinian Guard that ushered in Samuel Syi and Lukas Lewis. The other guards preoccupied with other civilians; Brutus appeared to deem waiting a fair compromise for not dealing with the noted man.

Secrat followed him, gently brushing against anyone in his wake. A change in his demeanor, Secrat felt the perplexity vanquish all his former grace and found his movements to resemble that of a man panicking as the walls of a cave closed in on him.

In earshot, Copé could hear the intermingling between one of the Guards and a Civilian. "The Aer Festival's loaded this year. Looks like a fine one for certain...yes ... If you'll simply step aside, we'll have the Gates opened after the threshold's reached. Thank you," the Guard instructed. The Civilian traipsed closer to the gate and stood.

Secrat let out a sigh of relief. The exchange looked fast and easy, with no useless banter or nonsense. Brutus seemed happy to see it too. And then, like the scary stories meant to keep kids out from the Unprotected Wilderness,

Secrat felt a hand creep on the back of his shoulder.

The Thief saw Brutus' eyes turn to horror at whatever was behind him, and a moment later, he heard: "What is your business here at Italina, the finest among Maharris, known profoundly for having the finest eating establishments, and definitely not to forget, the impeccable Sanchi Tower which overlooks much of the Amisoic Sea and even sees all the way out to Olzaric?"

Behind him, the Italinian Guard most likely twirled his mustache, and most certainly had the same loud and annoying voice as earlier.

Secrat cringed, and heard Brutus slur the word, "Goddammit" beneath his breath. As expected, the Guard looked at them with the same holier than thou stance as they'd seen earlier.

"My friend and I are in-search of passage beyond the walls of Italina to attend the Aer Festival." Secrat said, before adding: "Uh, the majestic Sanchi

Tower and, uh, food."

The Guard's face had displeasure, unsatisfied with Secrat's answer.

Brutus added, "And we won't touch the tower!"

"Heavens not! None of your grubby hands would ever be welcome to feel the warm embrace of Italina's finest monument." The Guard's voice raised with disgust to match the tonally imbalanced slurs and hollers of Ess.

"And that's what I am saying, being in this digestive town's more than enough." Brutus commanded.

"Digestive?" The Guard couldn't stomach the comment. "In what world do you certify that a compliment?"

"Hell, if I know with words like 'majestic,' 'immaculate,' and 'soirée'. I figured digestive might mean something to you."

The Guard glared at him, but relented: "Ah, yes, you must be referring to our fine eating establishments, such as Ollie's Abil, though, none of this will be welcome to you. This is not a soirée for common folk, and Italina's finest are far too fine to dine with the likes of you. Only those with a reservation will be allotted entry into such restaurants."

"Fair enough," Secrat interjected.

The Guard sighed, "Peasants," he mumbled, but loud enough for it to clearly be heard. He waved his arm back in fourth, begrudgingly instructing them to come forward.

Secrat and Brutus Ess obliged, standing beside two women another guard had advised to do the same.

### Chapter Twelve

The Aer Festival's aesthetic enlightened Secrat Copé on his own in-the dark obliviousness. It looked like no festival he'd ever been to, and that made him realized he'd never been to a festival prior to the day's event.

The crowd was sickeningly robust. Even the time in the very populated Whispey Deserts was not proper inspiration. Th the left of him, a few feet, was a person, same as to his right. And, if, for any reason, he decided to halt his movements, he'd be run over. Behind him, the force of impatient men and women was a constant. But in-front of him, his bear-shaped acquaintance fought through the civilians. And was winning.

The visuals were scarce and restricted. In-front of the people was more people, and in-front of them was likely more of the same. As Secrat felt himself shoved into Brutus for the third or fourth time, he wondered how anyone in their right mind would subject themselves to this.

The crowd offered no wiggle room, and for that, Secrat couldn't decide if pickpocketing would be easier or more difficult, or something in-between. It was all about the big steals now though. Whatever that meant. Perhaps Secrat was expected to rob the richest of nobleman? But, more likely, Father Toucan had something more in mind.

Worse than all of that though, than the crowdedness and obscured vision, was the sound. Overlapping whispers in unison, an ever-constant, but not one of them could be clearly understood or distinguished by Copé.

Luckily, the deeper and deeper into Italina they became, the more the crowd began to thin, like water from opened floodgates beginning to settle. It remained hectic, but in time, Secrat at least found himself able to look down at his feet without being thrown into Brutus.

Where Acera had a badly worn cobblestone pathway, the floor beneath Italina was well-maintained marble, tiled in squares. Squares made unique through different shades of gray, each of them with a black border around them. An ambitious décor, all things considered. How it wasn't completely scoffed up to hell was an answer alluding Secrat.

The restaurants were the first distinguishable attraction, albeit, very occupied. Ollie's Abil was the name of the restaurant the Guard mentioned, and with white columns holding it up and glass-walls peering into the candle-lit establishment, it looked like a restaurant held to a high standard. A delicacy. And, as such, all the Italina civilians with reservations boarded themselves inside, safe from the common folk. It didn't seem hectic inside, through the glass-walls, they all appeared to calmly enjoy their meals.

Copé saw a second restaurant appearing more frequented by visitors from the Aer Festival, but cornered the restaurant before he could place a sign with the name. Brutus directed him into an alleyway between two adjacent buildings where it was less populated. A gap of about eight feet. Secrat rested his back against one of the buildings, his hands flat against the walls.

"Daaaaaaaamn, boy!" Brutus Ess exclaimed, looking out at the mob beyond the alleyway. And Brutus was accurate, in-fact, Secrat noticed his body was shaking because the torment of it all. Bringing in a breath through his nose and letting it out from his mouth, his initial shock began to fade and welcomed some rational cognitive coherence, "Where do, ...," he started, almost coherently, "Where do we start?"

Brutus shrugged, looking out at the crowd and shaking his head by the bulk of it. "Maybe we can rob a local supermarket of all its apples or something," jested Brutus with a smirk.

Secrat let out a polite chuckle, hardly humored by the comment. His worrisome angst mustn't have fully dissipated and all The Thief wanted was for Brutus to lead. But Brutus had other intentions.

Copé walked to the edge of the alleyway and looked into the crowd. But for only seconds, as the sounds behind him kept The Thief from venturing further. At first, anticipating Brutus' mischief, Secrat found a line of little markets on the sides of the alleyway Copé hadn't even noticed prior. Distinguished by their various sales items, this particular strip of bazaars seemed devoted mostly to carpet selling. If I wanted to rob pompous jackasses, Secrat thought to himself.

He and Brutus ventured fourth. "Even the alleys are shops," Brutus commented.

"But nothing looks like what Toucan Veras had in-mind," Secrat whispered back.

"Never know though, and we can let the crowd bleed out in the meantime," Brutus said, then stopped.

A smaller fellow with a black top hat bowed in-front of them. His head lifted and a huge smile was spread. A smile of ungodly stretch, with the smile, all his teeth were visible and the top of his gums. "Well, well, well," He said fast, standing straight, "Hello, wanderers!" The man's ensemble was a black suit, riddled by dust and dirt, old, but like it was once very expensive. His smile emptied and his voice descended into monotone, "Oh, I thought you were women, never mind." The Man in the Top Hat straightened his tie calmly, brushed himself off, and walked away.

Secrat heard a chuckle from Brutus as they watched The Man leaned back against the wall. Beside him was a large coffin-shaped box, standing up, open.

The box was black, but the inside was a dark-red leather. A story to that box Copé hadn't the interest to hear.

The market with the smallest crowd is where Copé and Ess looked first. A wooden stand with small rug squares strewn about the top as samples. Carpets rolled and stood up behind the merchant. One rug in-particular stood behind him, rolled out and fixed to where it rested against the wall. The grand attraction, it'd seem.

"Oh, definitely," the merchant answered, a light-skinned, scrappy-looking fellow with long, brown, unkempt hair. "All of the items here are screamingly authentic. Absolutely," his voice, laid back and sleepy.

"It looks lovely, I must say," the older woman in-front of Secrat commented.

They haggled, and the merchant's willingness to reduce the costs of his item in-half stood out to The Thief. His items might have been authentic, but they were likely useless as well. As the older woman left him, Secrat walked on, Brutus had evidently pursued other pastures. "What's the significance of the rug behind you?"

"I'll tell you, but brace yourselves, it's a story, I'll tell you," The Merchant started.

"Please do."

"This is the very same rug that," he stopped again for a second, "When I was a kid, I'd walk around at night in Italina. And one night, I saw a falling star," The Merchant's eyes grew larger, "I'm tell you it was this rug, mate!" he said in a shouting whisper.

Secrat walked away.

His eyes looked the room for Brutus, who looked to be having the same successes. They walked back to one another, "Nothing?" Copé asked."I offer discounts!" The Merchant yelled behind him, but Copé ignored it, looking at Brutus.

"A man tried to sell me narcotics," Brutus answered grimly.

"Did you nick them?" Copé asked.

"He said they'd make me smaller."

"Oh."

"And yes." Brutus said, showing Secrat the vial of green liquid upon shoving it down the pouch in his leggings.

Copé shook his head, "Place is filled with crazies," he said, walking back over to the outside of the alleyway. Beforehand though, he once more saw The

Man in the Top Hat. "Step inside!" He announced, flailing his hands for emphasis, however, as he did, Secrat caught intrigue at the back of his hand. A hangman drawing scarred his hand. A member of The Hallows.

The lady stepped inside as suggested, a playful smile on her face. The Man in the Top Hat shut the coffin-door and locked it closed. "And wallah!" The Man yelled, knocking on the front of the box.

Copé smirked, walking over to The Man as Brutus followed. The Man took sight of them and answered dryly, "She's in the future now. Out of my hands."

"Funny," Secrat replied, a small chuckle, if only at the stupidity of the woman. The Man laughed back to him. "Now open it." Copé said.The Man with the Top Hat looked at him with disgust, that is, until he noticed The Thief held a knife in his hand, "Now," Copé added.

The Hallows were a prostitution ring in The Unprotected Wilderness out toward Urgway and Jalint, an area often frequented by Secrat. Their sex slaves were kidnapped all throughout the five major cities. Ones plucked for each customer's desires, whether they wanted to bag someone from Italina or from Jalint, they could nail either for a small price. The women were treated god awfully, and the men they kidnapped, since they were in less demand, were often killed once they served their purpose. The Woman in the coffin was almost a victim, somehow, someway.

The Man with the Top Hat obliged, though, with a frustrated look on his face, opening the box once more and letting the woman walk out of it. She walked out with a smile, looking around, "Doesn't look different," she said, laughing, clearly thinking she was 'in' on the joke.

"Very sorry, the Time Travel Box isn't working correctly," Top Hat said, handing the woman back her coin.

Copé nodded at her and walked away. Behind him, Brutus patted Copé on the back as they met the end of the alleyway. "Big softy," Ess said, "She was a good-get for him. Could've stopped by and said hello to her on your next visit."

Beyond the crowd, on the other-side of the streets, Copé noticed an antique shop in the distance, dubbed "Marlou" on a sign above the entrance.

The letters were scribed with 'stylish' pzazz; it was only by luck Copé found them legible. "Over there," Secrat said to Brutus, nodding his head forward,

"Looks like the type of shop with something superfluously extravagant inside."

"Majestically digestive," Brutus mumbled, then added: "Do you think maybe we can go somewhere we don't have to travel through a sea of hostile bastards?"

"It looks like things are simmering down now," Secrat lied. An overhead view of Italina would've looked like an anthill with the residents all evacuating, but he saw no alternatives. "If we sneak in there, we might be able to snag something without anyone noticing."

Brutus Ess walked forward into the crowd. An ongoing person ran into him, but Ess seemed unmoved by it; however, the man fell down onto the marble on impact. Oh, the benefits of being large.

Secrat took the flask out from his leggings and swallowed its remainder of alcohol, which wasn't much. He followed Brutus as they twisted and turned in their attempt at navigating through the crowd. A step down off the marble walkways, the roads began; pure white dirt.

The carriages led by horses could only inch forward. That's all the crowd would allow them; a little bit at a time. Most had crates and boxes, and shops set-up in the back. Peculiar ones. Ones Secrat had never laid eyes on beforehand. Ones with second floors, for lack of a better way to describe them. Regular style carriages with doors on the side as usual, but with stairs that circled around in a spiral to the roof of the carriage for more seating and cargo space.

Copé found himself fascinated by it. All the different anomalies contrived in Italina he had never seen, growing up outside all the major cities.

Secrat and Brutus did their best to shove forward, and made many strides, halfway across the crowd before it noticeably started to disperse or relocate.Around them, they searched for an explanation for said happening and found it: several masked men on a carriage began to speak. Their voices were loud, but they didn't yell. "Ladies and gentlemen, I do hope all of you are enjoying yourselves with your festival festival festivities and many whatnots." The speaker's mask was dark-green and without eye holds, while his attire was nondescript, everyday pedestrian clothing. "All of you here, so many of you, it's ... intimidating, almost. But I knew this was the only place I could be heard." The man's voice sounded shaky and innocent; like a small boy unsure of himself.

Copé and Brutus both found themselves taken by it. "Something very bad is happening, unbeknownst to all of you!" His voice cracked and confirmed to Secrat they were hearing a young child. The boy hesitated for a second; unsure of himself. "Murderers in the wilderness!" He exclaimed, clearly expecting to induce shock. But he shocked no one. The Carvers were all too known in Maharris. Ignored, or turned a blind eye to, but known. "Members of my village were raped and murdered. Tents where a doctor would slice off a finger, if only to see what would happen. They killed my father, my mother. The Doctor, Dr. Rindan, tortured my brother!"

The boy's voice soon went silent; though, his lips continued to move when, another of the masked men, this one with a white mask, put his hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy brushed him off.

The white masked man's presence emphasized the smaller stature of the boy standing by him. "You'll have to excuse him," the White Mask said. "We call ourselves Magnets and we are storytellers. False stories and all fiction, the best kinds of stories."

Green Mask was pulled back by the other men in the carriage, for which he complied and did not offer up a fight.

"Something else we are is magicians, and today, we'd like to show you what the Magnets can do."

The White Mask awaited cheers but received none; Secrat and Brutus lost interest and made way to Marlou.

"The crazies ALL attend the Aer Festival," Brutus Ess said, stifling a laugh, and leading the way to the small antique shop.

The entrance-door was wedged open using a plank of wood, and many civilians frolicked about its confines.

"You don't believe what that one was saying?" Secrat inquired.

"What makes him crazy is thinking anyone in Italina gives a damn!" Brutus hollered, unable to suppress his laughter this time around.

Many wandering eyes amongst the store found themselves on Ess.

Meanwhile, Secrat tried to pretend they were strangers.

The store's contents were tacky in the same way as "not Azlak Temps" abode in Acera.

A statue depicting Livius Reid stood front-and-center as a main focal of the store, the 'big sell'. Reid wore slick silver armor, not unlike the knight they had seen upon entering Italina. Reid, however, had noticeable differences. His gauntlets and greaves, a dark-green, and his silver helm had a dark-green comb. The eyes were a very noticeable characteristic, bright orange diamonds that swirled and whirled like a flame. The statues' body was depicted as muscular and with broad shoulders.

The statue's creator took many artistic liberties when it came to depicting the physique of Italina's Aeonian.

Secrat eyeballed it intently until he heard the sound of a man's voice from behind him.

"It's a real beauty, isn't it? The guy who sold it to me said it's one of a set." A woman said from behind him.

Secrat turned and made contact, young in age, the woman wore a long dress with woven intricacies. The design told The Thief she came from wealth. As compliment, she also wore large earrings with gaps in the middle and a magenta-colored scarf, same as her dress.

"It's definitely something," Secrat said. "And you bought it?"

A smile came next. The woman had straight teeth and when she smiled, she could lit up the room. Her hair reminded Secrat of Christique, but it might have been his imagination that did it and not actual similarities.

The woman shook her head 'yes,' and continued: "The guy says those bright orange diamonds are very rare. Said the diamonds were found from a cave in the Hickly Swamps. You know how difficult it must have been to get them!?"

"Can't imagine," Secrat replied. The woman made him uncomfortable for some reason, though, he didn't know why.

She continued to speak, but his mind found itself fluttering off and away, focused more on her person than all else. A necklace was dangled down her neck and over her bosom.

Secrat reached down in his pocket for his flask. A necklace with an emblem depicting a dragon.

"Ah," Copé blurted out, as his flask slipped out from his hands and onto the rug beneath their feet. He stammered down awkwardly to retrieve it.

"Someone's jumping into the Aer Festival celebrations a little early, I see," the woman said with a soft chuckle.

Once retrieving his flask, which he'd forgotten was empty, Secrat was fast back to his feet. Upon closer inspection, the necklace didn't look so much like a dragon after all, nothing like it, in-fact. Smiling nervously, "Old habits, always have to have something in my hands," he feigned a chuckle of his own.The woman's interest in him seemed to wane and she redirected her eyes back to the statue. Copé appreciated the fact and used it as an excuse to browse elsewhere.

He joined Brutus, who had gone off exploring the rest of the store. Ess was standing by a collection of vases, each one anchored down with bags of dirt. "Find anything exciting?" Copé inquired.

"Store's a bust," Ess said. "All the big items are steal-proof."

Copé tugged the neckline of shirt, certain Ess' voice would one day be the death of them both. Brutus caught wind of his discomfort and laughed.

"I have an idea, if you're willing to listen." Secrat spoke, staring at the back of the woman's head, like she would somehow be able to overhear him.

Brutus' attention went to him. "Well then, let's hear it, boy."

"See the woman over there?"

"The woman that turned your limbs into strings of spaghetti?"

"The very same." Secrat said, enduring the insult without response, "She has legal possession of that statue. It'll be a day's work and more, right off the bat."

"What are you suggesting?"

2

"You nobleman are both too kind to help me move my Statue!" The woman cried out as Brutus and Secrat tried their hand at the task. The statue wasn't quite as substantial as it looked, but still took a lot of effort from both of them to lift. Six foot tall, it being hollow was imperative.

"Not a problem," Copé said, before his jaw went back to its clenched state.

Brutus was lugging a lot more of the weight than his fair-share.

"And if you guys are lucky, there might be a little coin in it for you!" She hollered out, rubbing her fingers together.

"Oh, boy, oh, boy," Brutus said in a high-pitch voice as soon as she walked out of earshot. Between that and seeing him splash half-naked into a creek on the outskirts of Italina, Secrat was fairly certain Brutus should never be around children.

"Be civilized," Copé instructed. "And everything will work out."

"Oh, yeah," Brutus said. "What's your big idea for how to do this?"

"Well,... she won't be calling us nobleman afterward."

Secrat could hear Brutus wheezing some and did his best to carry a heftier amount of the weight. Soon after, they arrived out the doors of Marlou and met the outside of her carriage; a small two-person chariot with two wooden slats and a single horse at the front. The slats acted as separators, at the front, two individuals could stand at the reins, and behind that, a small section that acted as a trunk of sorts.

"Didn't expect coming here I'd be sharing my buggy with Livius Reid!" The woman said, offering a laugh and a snort as restitution for her obnoxious sense of humor. "They say even in the time of war, Livius' elegance never waned and his clothing was always without blemish!"

Copé and Brutus said nothing in-response. Secrat did offer a polite smile to her but was certain Ess wasn't as courteous. Lifting the statue into the carriage did little to increase Copé's self-esteem. Brutus, gassed and all, was able to lift it higher up without issue, but Copé damn-near fell and dropped it.

Luckily, The Thief loved himself and didn't need an ego boost.

They finished loading up the statue into the back of the chariot, situating it at an angle to keep it from hopping out from the wagon. The Woman looked more than thrilled, standing to the side of Copé. "Will you need help getting the statue into your house?"

It was a pointless question to ask, and Secrat realized it after it was said, but as Brutus poked the woman with a knife from behind, it ceased to matter.

"I am afraid we have a small favor to ask." Brutus began.

The Woman jerked back, startled, but not yet aware of her predicament. She turned her torso and caught sight of the blade. As she jumped again, the coins in her hand fell from her clutches and slapped against the marble floor of the city. Copé anticipated her scream and cupped her mouth with his hand. "Be quiet and live, scream and die," Brutus said, the tone of his voice sounded more focused and with vile intent.

Secrat's hand left her mouth. She didn't scream, but in a shouting whisper asked: "What do you want?"

"The statue, obviously," Brutus said.

"If you kill me, you'll never make it out of the city with it." She said.

"Yes, but we're taking a large gamble you don't want to die." Brutus said.The Woman's face looked flushed. Pale. The sight was almost heartbreaking. A joyous woman now petrified. Secrat would live, however. And as Ess led her into the chariot, the knife remained pressed up against her back. She stood in the middle, to the left of Brutus, the knife uncomfortably thrusting her spine forward to make room for itself.

Secrat joined them in the chariot, a cramped space, the carriage was really only two-person. Copé took the reins. Standing to the right of the woman, Secrat shielded the knife from outside vision. This steal would be a day's work by itself. It seemed almost too easy, although knew the hard part was coming.

The woman could call their bluff in an instant and raise the alarm on them. Neither Copé and Brutus could actually kill her as that went against Father

Toucan Veras' instructions. Navigating through Italina's overtly flooded city would be a bitch as well. But, it also let for a better view of the Aer Festival.

The commotion died down a lot. It wasn't as much everyone leaving as it was everyone arriving where they wanted to be.

Musicians and street-performers littered Italina almost as much as regular townspeople. All of the strummed instruments and vocals in unison made a conglomerated collage of incomprehensible nothingness.

The smell of the city had the thick scent of fresh bread and smoke. Copé looked to the sky, and sure enough, a black cloud of smog floated overhead.

"So, you guys are in cahoots or something, what are you, assassins?" The woman's voice stammered with an ignorant tone making Copé feel in-control.

"How dare you!" Brutus said, trying his best to fake being offended. "We are thieves, ma'am."

"And I assume you have intent to kill me once this is all done?"

"If you do as you are told, you will live." Secrat answered.

The woman let out an aggravated moan that expressed she was none too convinced with the thief's assurances, but Secrat opted not to give a rebuttal. Copé continued navigating through the crowd; inching ever-so slowly to where they began. The activity proved tasking, the townspeople showed no fear of being run over by the horse and buggy.

"You're a bunch of wanderers, aren't you? Bunch of no-goods from the Wilderness? How do you sleep at night scalping children's heads and burning knights alive!?"

"True," Copé began. "The children murderin' is a little queasy on the stomach but setting knights and women like you on fire makes it all worthwhile."

Brutus chuckled, but The Woman said nothing, and that's how Copé wanted it.

The carriage in-front of Secrat's stopped. He wondered why, but soon found the answer; he watched on while a group of Italinian Knights crossed the road. A gasp from The Woman told him Brutus was making silent threats.

"What's your intention for the Statue? To sell it?" She asked, her voice sounded erratic, like she could hardly fathom such a concept.

"Yes," Secrat answered.

A loud banging noise happened next; it startled The Thief. However, the noise came not from below, but in the sky, a flash of light appeared. Faintly visible in the broad daylight. Several louder banging noises came, one after another, and an array of colors filled the sky until descending down like fallen stars. A shade of dark-purple, a shade of pink, and even one tint of blue.

"What the fuck is that!?" Secrat said aloud, unable to suppress is surprise.

The Thief tugged the reins and brought the horse to a standstill. He looked to Brutus, who gawked at the sky-destruction with the same dumbfounded expression.

"Buffoons," The Woman stated. "Don't you dare tell me this is your firsttime seeing fireworks? They happen every year! It was one thing to be kidnapped, but to be kidnapped by uncultured swine is the icing on the cake!"

Copé and Brutus offered no retort, their eyes transfixed at the sky in disarray. The sky was clear now, but the lasting afterimage was engraved in their head.

"Look," The Woman began again, snapping her fingers in-front of Secrat to make sure she had his attention. "If you want to have to have the Statue, you can, but those fireworks entail the jamboree near the Sanchi Tower is beginning, and it culminates at night's end with a speech from King Harries I'd very much like to hear!"

"You'll be set free the very second our asses are on the other-side of the

Italina gates, but not a second sooner." Brutus said.

"And I'm supposed to take your word for that?"

"You're supposed to sit-down, shut up, and understand your predicament, or do I have to sever off those eyelids before you start seeing the big picture?" The tone Brutus Ess carried was not his own at all. Secrat didn't recognize it, but damn-near believed it, and had he not seen reason to believe otherwise, he would have.

The Woman did as she was told. Copé appreciated it. The less confrontation in such a circumstance would be for the better. Though, less and less people traveled the roads, only horses with carriages carrying men and supplies, or the occasional wanderer on the marble streets. It'd seem the lot of them traveled toward Sanchi Tower for the dances and drinks and the King's eventual speech; likely a generic one, commemorating another year celebrated with the Aer Festival.

As they neared the gates leaving Italina, Copé had not an inkling of what to expect. The crowd was bare, with less and less entering the city, but guards remained at their designated areas. Secrat could see knights pacing back and forth on the castle-walls and cannons overlooking the outside wilderness. A lot of trouble must have occurred often during the Aer Festival. The Thief felt no fear about it, not after his last discussion with an Italinian Knight. They were nothing to be afraid of.

The once blemish-free marble streets were riddled with dirty footprints and other grime. They had been very clean towards the beginning of the Aer Festival, did King Harries employ individuals to mop the streets at night? How were they clean before?

Secrat Copé worried not about that, the only thing he worried about was making it outside Italina with the Statue, himself and it unscathed. He halted the horse a little way from the wooden gate and anticipated his leave out from the city.

Several knights from atop the castle-walls took notice of their arrival but made no quick action to open the gate.

The Thief rested his hands on the front-side of the chariot; he looked over to The Woman. "We'll let you leave us a little way off, make certain we'll be all the way back to Hardan by the time you can inform the Guards." Secrat knew not how effective his lies were to the woman. Boasting about killing children might have instilled fear and lying about their intent to stay at the Aer Festival might have helped keep the guards from looking for them, maybe.The noise of crinkling chains preluded the opening gates leading back out of Italina, and as they did, a small crowd of people entered into the city. Secrat Copé waited for them to vacate the entrance prior to yanking at the reins and advising the horse venture forward. Three knights were beyond the doors, between the walls. The Knights were the very same ones who allowed them in

earlier.

Secrat let out an audible gulp and glared at the woman. Her face looked facetious, though, it once more might have been his imagination.

One of the knights approached them as they were making their leave. Copé gave a weak half-smile. A small neigh came from the horse as Copé halted him again. "Leaving so soon?" The Knight asked.

"Nay, we're only providing transportation to our friend here, she bought this fine statue over at Marlou's, you been there?" Secrat asked, but didn't wait for an answer, "We'll be right back afterward."

"Coachmans," The Knight said, nodding his head, "We've seen a lot of them today already." The Knight walked by them. Even at Secrat's elevated position, the man was tall enough to see eye-to-eye with him. "Although, it's uncommon for their conveyance to be done in such a small carriage." Secrat and him made eye-contact, and in that moment, Secrat could sense the Knight's suspicions.

"We're," Secrat started, then stopped, "Not really coachmans, the woman was willing to pay us handsomely and needed some men-folk as escort."

"Right," The Knight looked over to the woman. "Are you a collector?"

"What?" She responded, at first, then, readjusted herself, "Yes, of sorts, I think the statues really add something to my home. I mean, if Livius Reid was able to do something so courageous in a time of all-out destruction, whatever situation I am in can't be too bad, can it?"

"That's a very unique way of looking at things," The Knight commended. "And, you're from...?"

"Acera," She said at once.

The Woman looked down at her hands, nervously shaking and tapping

against the front of the carriage.

"You're skin's very pale for Acera."

"I've been away a long time," her voice cracked midway, but the Knight didn't react to it. She added: "Be nice to see my family again."

Behind his silver-helm, the Knight's face scrunched and squinted in a way of skepticism, but it soon swayed and transitioned into a friendly smile. "I wish the three of you safe passage through the Wilderness."

Secrat felt relief, but voiced nothing, simply grinned and bowed his head. He fumbled loosely with the reins in his hands, but tensed up once another knight hollered out: "You're the same men that I spoke to earlier, aren't you?

Tell me, commoners, how is it you expect to be right back from Acera here to

Italina? An impossibility entirely," the Knight said. The Knight was familiar, the very same one they had spoken to earlier.

"We'll only be taking her some of the ways to Acera, she has friends that will be meeting us," Copé said. The lie was weak, and he knew it. The whole of it was riddled with flaws, but it wouldn't matter once they had some distance. They'd have to wait until these knights were off-duty before trying to enter the city again, however.

The knight with a smiling smirk maintained himself, however, the Knight with the long, thick mustache seemed unconvinced. Nevertheless, Secrat Copé, alongside his Red Flux brethren, and their hostage, were allowed passage out from Italina. Copé was unable to keep the relief from showing on himself.

"You have your Statue and you're out of the City, can I be on my way?" The woman stammered. "I swear I will make no mention of your actions and you will have safe leave to Hardan."

The horse galloped briskly into the Unprotected Wilderness, and in that moment, Secrat could do nothing except take in the open-range. No crowds or carriages, or Knights, or anything else, and it was the way Copé preferred it.

"You'll be on your way," Brutus said. "But, not until we're deeper out."

Copé looked over at Brutus, whose face looked stone cold and plain, even his voice didn't sound as high-pitched or as reckless. Secrat saw a meticulous being that savored control in the situation. And it made him uncomfortable.A switch between guards would surely happen by evening. The same knights had been there since they arrived, and likely many hours earlier than that. When they were replaced is when Copé and Brutus would be able to reenter back into Italina.

"This will be about right," Brutus Ess advised, and as advised, Secrat

Copé slowed down the horse, its hooves almost inaudible in their steps over the yellowed grass.

Secrat released the reins from his hands. "Let's stick to the basics from now on," he said, not even caring about The Woman standing with them. He only felt relief to have had nothing at all go wrong with the ordeal.Copé brought himself out from the wagon, if for no other reason than to stretch his legs, and because he doubted Brutus would be the one to move so the Italinian lady could leave the carriage. But, in unison with the sound of Copé's boots slapping down against the hard ground, he heard a yelp from the woman behind him and the rustling and rocking sound of the carriage.

The Thief flinched, turning fast, his hand at his leggings in search for his knife, he didn't search long enough to find it. He looked back in time to see The Woman thrown off the chariot to the outside by Ess. She fell hard and a yelp followed. Copé looked in the eyes of Ess and saw the unflinching coldness he'd seen since they'd taken the woman hostage. He eased his hands and watched as Brutus left the chariot. "We have all we need from her," Secrat

Copé said, hoping to remind Ess about the rules established by Father Toucan

Veras before they left.

Brutus said nothing in-response, and only walked closer toward The

Woman. Like a man sleepwalking, or in a trance, Brutus crept ever-so slowly toward her. The Woman sat up, irritated at first by Brutus' rudeness, but as she realized the situation, her face became petrified with fear. She crawled away backward; her eyes stuck on Ess. Brutus returned the look, though, his look wasn't that of fear.

The knife was held tight in his hands. Everything looked different about him, even his physique looked more composed and formidable. His back straightened.

"You can't kill her, Brutus," Secrat started, walking beside Brutus and grabbing the wrist holding the knife.

"Don't tell me you've gone soft," Brutus replied, looking over to Copé with a smirk, jerking his wrist free and walking forward.

"Dammit, I don't want kicked out again!" Secrat said, walking in-front of Brutus. Copé reached a second time for his knife. This time he knew for certain it was gone.

Brutus shoved Copé out of the way, which turned out to be a much easier feat than Secrat would've hoped. However, as he did, The Woman sprung to her feet, plunging Secrat's knife to the stomach of Ess, who reacted with a large release of air and a wordless grunt.

Copé climbed to his feet and grabbed for Brutus, catching him before he could fall back. Gently, The Thief lowered his Red Flux mate to the grass, worried as he lifted Ess' shirt to expose the wound. Behind him, The Thief could hear The Woman running off deeper into the Unprotected Wilderness, running the opposite way of Italina. A small relief. He didn't pursue her, he was more focused on stopping the blood-flow from Brutus, all while mumbling things like "You can't die" and "What will everyone think!?"

The blood dressed Secrat's hand with its thickness. He adjusted himself to keep it off from his clothing, if worse came to worse, he'd leave Brutus Ess' body and claim to have lost him in the crowds.

"Fucking idiot," Brutus yelled out, returning now to his crackly and raspy, yet high-pitched state of being.

"I didn't know you intended to kill her," Secrat said, not making eyecontact with Brutus as he tried to keep any more blood from flowing out of him.

Ess finally slapped his hands away, "It isn't bad." Brutus fought to his feet, removing his shirt and using it to plug the wound on his stomach. "Better hope our ass isn't compromised by that BITCH!" Ess had emphasis on the final word, screaming it at the sky like he expected The Woman to still be in earshot.

"The wound still bleeding?" Secrat inquired, while watching Brutus Ess' walk about aimlessly. "If you get back into the carriage, we can go find Taison.

Samuel Syi had supplies for these kinds of things. Medical supplies and," Brutus waved his hands, silencing him.

"Enough talking," Brutus said as he forced himself up into the chariot, leaning against the back of it as support. "I want to unload our get, and then, I want to drink myself into a coma at a pub." He smiled largely but winced during, his teeth black with plague and yellowed with age. The ones Toucan

left intact, that is.

Copé grinned back. And he meant it. A sincere smirk. Throughout the whole heist, nothing bad happened. Or, at the very least, The Thief was no worse for wear.

3

Secrat Copé and Brutus Ess found Taison and the Wagon. Brutus didn't say very much on the travel to find him. Mostly grunts of agony and grumbles of discomfort. Taison even looked enthused to see them. A day's worth of solitude likely made for a very ho-hum morning for the Red Flux novice. His eyes went from excitement to worry upon sight of Ess' battered predicament. The blood no longer flooded out of his stomach like civilians out Italina would when the Aer Festival ended. Brutus would live but would most likely be sitting out the rest of the Festival.

"What happened!?" Taison asked, like a nervous child, looking around worried as if he anticipated a fleet of Italinian Knights were on their way to kill him.

Samuel Syi kept the basics in medical supplies. Copé thumbed through the crates, rifling through the contents. Meanwhile, Taison awkwardly assisted Brutus Ess into the wagon, where he leaned against the walls, no longer letting out groans, but instead, quietly suffering, "This fucking idiot got me stabbed by some woman!" Or, something like quietly suffering, thought Secrat.Secrat snatched up a bottle of alcohol to disinfect Brutus Ess' wound (and fill his flask), however, once retrieving it, Ess made a grab for it. It would've been too far out of reach had Copé not offered an assist. It did no good having Brutus exert himself and make it worse.

Brutus held it in his hands with a smile like he was holding his newborn son or something, and took a swig out of the bottle, drinking a quarter of it in a single gulp. "Disgusting," Ess said afterward, with a sour expression, but, nevertheless, he went for a second mouthful.

"Don't drink all of that, you'll need it," Copé said. But Brutus didn't listen.Secrat took his knife and ripped up the articles of clothing on-hand for the occasion, Brutus' shirt. "Is that the knife she stabbed me with?" Ess inquired."No," Copé lied. "This is my knife, the knife she had was her own and was dropped somewhere in the Wilderness."

"The bitch," Brutus barked. "Shouldn't have got in the way." That last sentence was directed at Secrat, who he stared at with a piercing glare.

"You shoulder made me aware of your intentions beforehand," Copé fired back. "Here," Secrat dropped to one knee, "Lean forward." Brutus obliged, letting Secrat wrap the shredded shirt around his stomach and tying it in a knot.Secrat would have to buy Brutus a new shirt at the Aer Festival, but, otherwise, everything would be alright. The wound was superficial, although, from Taison's face, Ess might as well already have been dead.

"Is... is.... are we safe?" Taison stammered. His face looked bright-red and his hands nervously shook like tree branches attacked by the wind.

Copé stared at him, serious faced: "They're coming for us, Taison."

Taison's expression went from dark red to something even more mortified."And, it's said that Italina Knights feed on stupid, chubby children. Wait, can you hear that?" Copé stopped for a moment. "....Taison,...

Taaaaaaison...," trying his best to sound like a ghost or spirit. "Oh no, Brutus, I think they know we're harboring a stupid, chubby child," Secrat spoke, feigning fear.

"Sorry, Taison, I think we might have to let them take you," Brutus said, laughing, although, still with a wincing pain, "You know what they do to pretty boys like me in a prison cell?" Ess smiled largely, rubbing the makeshift bandage on his large stomach.

From mortified, Taison went a different shade of red, a brighter, more embarrassed, red. "You guys are assholes," he said.

"You're right," Secrat said, "That's what we are, but we're successful assholes," The Thief bowed his head over to the chariot.

A priceless statue of Livius Reid was now in The Red Flux's possession.

### Chapter Thirteen

The Bells Brother's Pub was the cheapest bar Secrat and Brutus could find under the circumstances. Every other reasonable establishment was buried in visiting civilians, and even Bells was crowded.

With wooden tables scattered about and a sign behind the counter with the menu written in chicken scratch, The Pub resembled something more out of the neighboring cities of Maharris than it did Italina. Neither fancy nor well-kept. The counter was wooden as well and felt like a door that had been smoothed out and propped up beneath something. Copé couldn't say for certain that's what it was though, as it had a gray tablecloth draped over it, riddled with beer stains and rings left by the mugs.

That didn't concern Secrat very much though, and it certainly didn't bother Brutus Ess, who threw back alcohol like a regular beer glutton. The stuff was cheap, however, as Copé brought a glass of the liquid courage to his lips, he soon discovered the reason why. "Italina's finest, I see," Secrat said aloud to

Brutus.

They sat on two makeshift barstools that, like everything else, felt thrown together and home-made.

"I've had worse," Brutus called back, having already finished two cups' worth.

"As have I," Copé said, his memory thrown back to his time in the Whispey Deserts, and how everything was grotesquely expensive and delectably deplorable. "I figure we're ahead of everyone else in the Flux with the Statue," Secrat said, looking around at the different men and women at the bar, most of them sitting at tables or roaming about away from the counter. The sound of laughter was abundant, the kind that sounded perverted by intoxication rather than by a joke that was very funny.

"I'd sure as hell say so!" Brutus exclaimed. "All Marc Sero has thrown in the wagon is a bunch of gimcracks and a full-set of Italina Knights armor."

"Still have no idea how he left with that," Secrat said, impressed.

"Sero's a crafty one, could kill a man before he even realizes he's dead."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"That's what I'm saying – Marc Sero's a crafty one!" Brutus quipped, finishing another glass of alcohol and slamming the glass onto the table.The Bartender walked over to Brutus; a large man, exceeding Copé's height by a few good feet, his face scarred up, the man wore a stoic state of readiness. But the Bartender smiled, his teeth were large and jagged, like an exaggerated painting, and it made for a peculiar visual.

Brutus didn't have to ask the bartender. With the fifth glass done, there was no need. The Bartender brought out the large bottle out from under the table and filled his glass.

"My kind of man, this guy," Ess said, striking against the wooden table with a loud and very drunken holler.

The large man flinched at the sound, and soon after, Ess was holding his chest, remembering the ache from where he'd been stabbed.

"Glad you're enjoying yourselves," The Bartender's voice sounded nothing like Copé had envisioned it in his head. The colossal man's tone seemed friendly and more feminine than imagined, not high-pitched, but something else to it that Copé couldn't find the word to describe.

Brutus smiled and chuckled at the sound of his voice but made no comment. The Bartender tensed up with a reddened face and added, "My brother and I are new to this business."

"Well, if my vote means somethin', I'd say you're about made for this business."

"Thank you so much for saying that! It really means a lot!" He offered back with more of that friendly, 'not high-pitched but something like it' tone.

The Bartender flashed a final smile and went over to some of the other customers, carrying the big bottle of alcohol with him. The bottle, dark green with the words 'Brother's Beer' sketched on it in black ink, in the Bartender's hand reminded Secrat of how Father Toucan made his large-sword look between his fingers.

"Lukey-boy and Syi haven't done a whole lot of nothing either," Ess said, a look of admiration in himself over his success, "Samuel's one of the finest thieves I've ever seen, but Lukey-boy's holding him down."

"Maybe," Copé stated, "It's all a little different than what I thought it'd be though, and maybe they really just haven't found the right angle to take."

"Taison made it seem like the boy almost got them in-trouble. Said Samuel was pickpocketing some of the wealthier civilians and that Lukas damn-near blew everything for 'em. I'd be surprised if he doesn't bring a world's worth of hurt on us for his mistakes one of these days." Secrat couldn't think of a time when Brutus Ess' loud voice didn't make him feel insecure.

The sound of two glass bottles clinking together could be heard by neighboring drinkers, a smaller, older man, with wrinkled, worn skin, (not an Italina-native) and a pale-fellow with long, wet black-hair (likely one). Copé found himself drawn to their presence out of paranoia, but his interest waned soon after.

"And you preaching to the heavens about it will surely bring us a world's worth of whores and coin," Copé said in a shouting whisper.

"Everybody has their reason for being here, me shouting is like shouting in a room filled with others shouting, not a whole lot of give a damn out there. But you better be careful with those whispers, my friend. People will think you have secrets to hide." Ess answered with a smile, twirling around his empty glass-bottle with his fingers, Secrat hadn't even noticed him finish it.

"But, maybe this time, when I ask for a glass of what you call Italina's finest wine, you give me a glass of that, and not shit!" A man sitting at one of the bar stools fired out directed at the large bartender.

The fellow was hefty and thick-set, but far from the type to be barking orders at The Bartender, whose muscular-frame would easily outmatch his heavy-set one.

"I am very sorry, sir!" The Bartender cried out and once more, Copé found it a struggle to describe his voice, not high-pitch, but... vibrantly flamboyant?

"I am very new to this business, my brother and I only recently arrived from Olzaric, and, we don't have a lot of," before the Bartender could finish, however, the hefty man slammed his fist against the counter. The loud sound of cracking wood could be heard beneath his large arm.

"Spare me your life story," The man quipped fast, "And what is this shantytown made of, plywood?"

The Bartender fidgeted with his fingers like a child did when he was introuble, or like Secrat did when Father Toucan lectured him. At once, the pale skinned man with black hair left his chair and ran over toward the counter.The whole act happened fast, as the man leaped onto one of the barstools, as if it was a steppingstone, before jumping to the other-side of the counter beside the Bartender.

"Excuse me," the pale-skinned man said, flashing a confident smirk, his face was handsome and without blemish, "But, for our table, I will have to ask you reimburse us in full, and I'll have you know, it's a very expensive table."

His voice sounded arrogant and sarcastic but was unafraid of the angry man.

"You can't expect me to believe anything in this damn hellhole's even worth the wood it's built with." The man yelled back, his voice sounding aggravating as he let out a loud laugh.

"I can expect you to believe that, and you will, either that, or you will leave." The pale skinned man informed, his small-demeanor and spineless tact was an antithesis to The Giant's tepidness.

"I could rip you in two," the heavy man said.

"Many could, but I bet my bottom-dollar you're not going to try to fight my brother and I both." The pale skinned man countered with a proud-ofhimself grin.

The Heavy Man looked at him with aggravation, almost certainly feeling disrespected. Copé thought the liquid courage might rile him enough to take The Little Brother up on his offer, but he didn't. The Heavy Man let out a sigh and rose from his barstool. Secrat heard a crackling sound on the chair, which had likely seen less exertive days. The burly fellow groaned at it before kicking it with all his might. So much might, in-fact, that it looked like he was about to lose balance and fall on his ass, but he managed to save himself after some stumbles. The chair flew forward and drove into the counter, the legs breaking off in the process.

The Bigger Brother jumped and grunted worriedly, although, it might have been closer to a squeal. The Smaller Brother's face held firm, watching the Heavy Man as he left. A small crowd of drinkers cowered in one corner of the bar, with eyes distraught and befuddled. The other side was Secrat Copé's indifference and Brutus' chuckling excitement.

The Pale Man, one of the Bells Brothers, it seemed, walked The Giant away from Secrat and Brutus, over to a very large portrait of a ship, withstanding the hurls and waves the Amisoic Sea pitted it against. "You need to stick up for yourself, little brother. This is a new time for us, a new life, a new opportunity, and you may not feel it, but against any man you're at a distinct advantage. They'll back off." His voice was quiet, but Copé could hear it well, and found himself very taken by his reference to The Giant as "little" brother.

The "little" brother nodded, his face upset and reddened, the sibling patted him on the back with a half-smile. The Pale Man's glance went off at his brother over to the counter, rubbing his hands together from a situation handled, he approached Secrat and Brutus. "I must apologize to each of you, and to the whole bar," he said, raising his voice once realizing he had the attention of everyone in the pub. "The Aer Festival should be a time of celebration, or something, I am really not certain, being from Olzaric, the only thing I ever knew was angry men like that, not really sure about what this whole 'celebration' word means."

A light laugh came next, his eyes staring off to the ground. Some chuckles came from those outside the counter and he offered his best fake smile.The crowd dispersed and lost interest soon after and returned to their affairs. A piece of plywood hung from the ceiling on one side of the bar, pierced already with several knives, several of the drinkers throwing knives for sport.

The Pale Man walked over to Secrat with a small smirk. "Life of a bartender, I guess," he said, shrugging it off. "Ezik Bell," he said, putting his hand out over the counter in-front of Copé.

Secrat smirked, shaking the man's hand, "Secrat Copé," he said. "Your brother said both of you were new to this? Why'd you decide to set-up shop in

Italina?"

"Wasn't aware of the other towns to choose from." Ezik said, pretending to be embarrassed, tugging at the neck-collar on his gray tunic.

"You're from Olzaric?"

Ezik shook his head. "And it's every bit as grim and miserable as they say.

'Least for anyone without a stick up their ass, right, Ricar?"

The Giant, who had his back leaned against the fall, still visibly bothered by the man, looked up at Ezik, making eye-contact. He flashed a smile, "The men in Olzaric make the guy that left look like an absolute saint."

Ezik laughed. "And what brings you fine folk to Italina? Visiting for the

Aer Festival, I presume?"

"You caught us, we're suckers for the useless knickknacks," Copé said, putting his hands up like he was being arrested.

"Are you,... ahem,... together?" The Pale Man, Ezik Bell asked.

"No, absolutely not," Brutus fired back fast, seeming downright offended.Ezik smiled. "I don't judge, can't say the same for most of Italina though."

"I could do much better than Brutus, anyways," Secrat returned.

"No, absolutely not," Brutus said, seeming even more offended than

before. "If I ever did that, I'd be the absolute king of that."

Copé smirked some more. This was the same man that earlier in the day approached a woman with clenched fists and cold-blooded murder on his mind. Secrat knew himself no different than that but found it off putting to see the same man so indignant. "Do you enjoy Italina?" Secrat inquired.

"It's absolutely terrific!" Ezik exclaimed. "The folks are rude and pompous, the cost of living's damn-near impossible, it's almost always crowded, and I can't hardly hear myself think, let alone sleep."

"Sounds terrific," Secrat said, finishing off his first full glass of alcohol.

"You've dealt with much worse, brother." The Giant, Ricar Bell reminded.His voice frightened The Thief, more-so for his location, he was scooping up the remnants of their bar stool, but Secrat didn't recall seeing him move from the counter. Very quiet for a man of such stature.

The sound of the entrance-door being kicked came soon after, and once more, Copé jumped, as did everyone else. The Heavy Man walked forward, back into The Pub, his footwork sluggish, expressing his inebriation. His hands clenched tightly, and beside him, several more men entered the fold.

Every bit as hefty, and all every bit as drunk.

Secrat left his bar-stool and went off to the side, he saw a knowing look

from Ezic that told him it was the right decision. Copé knew it wasn't wise to draw attention to himself. Ess, however, stayed planted into his seat, watching like it was a stage-play, a show for his enjoyment.

"You seem lost," Ezic said, a worry on his face that was hardly masked by a tough-guy demeanor.

"Far from it," the Heavy Man argued, reaching over the counter and grabbing Ezic by his tunic, yanking him over the counter to him like a rag doll.

"Let's hear some more of that pretty-boy mouth of yours."

"I," Ezic stopped, "... I don't want any trouble."

"Course not," the Heavy Man said, shoving The Pale Man forward with all his might. Ezic's back slammed hard against the counter, and Copé could clearly hear a yelp come from him upon impact.

"Damn you!" Ricar said,... like a child unused to swearing, and he drove a boot into the large man. The large man, caught off-guard, let a loud noise escape him that said it all. The sound of ribs cracking sounded plainly as well.Like lions on a gazelle, the Heavy Man's friends went on the attack against The Giant, Ricar.

Three of them. One midsized and short, older-looking, about mid-to-late forties, average-build, with graying brown hair. The other fit and muscular, was about ten years younger, but also, several beers drunker. The second's hair was long and straight but looked polluted by a night of debauchery. And, finally, the third, every bit as prodigious as The Heavy Man, his face was not as much old or young as it was hair. That is, his face was engulfed by a long beard and mid-length brown-hair.

Ricar fought back, at first, shoving them all away and demonstrating the sheer height advantage he had on all of them, standing at around seven foot, five inches.

Copé watched on, knowing the numbers would soon be too much for him,

and he even felt a little bit of guilt over the fact. That is, until he watched Brutus Ess bash one of them over the side of the head with his glass.

The man fell instantly as the glass connected to the side of his skull. It caught him off-guard more than anything, as, it did not draw blood from him or cut his flesh. The glass grazed him and only broke upon impact with the ground. Seconds after, the rest of the guys' mates piled onto him, and after a single fist to Ess' injured mid-region, he dropped like a rock.

Copé looked on only for a moment. The death of his colleague wouldn't be very convenient. He ran forward, taking a page from Ezik, leaping onto one of the bar stools, alas, however, it was simultaneous with the smaller brothers' unexpected return to a standing position.

The Thief made a valiant try to sway himself mid-flight, but changed

nothing, he collided into Ezik Bell, clonking heads first and falling down against the dirt-floor.

Ezik reacted fast, twisting and turning his body until he squirmed out from underneath Copé and pinned down his arms. "Whose side are you on!?" Ezik asked with a confused look on his face, dirt riddling his face from the fall.

"Yours," Copé answered, though, he answered with some uncertainty in

his voice.

Ezic laughed sarcastically then frowned,

"Well, let me just say you've been a big help."

In that moment, The Heavy Man drove a fist to the side of Ezic's face. Copé heard it connect, in-fact, he saw the blood spurt out of the Pale Man's mouth upon impact. The spit left his mouth and he dropped off to the dirt-floor.

Copé fought back to his feet. Ess was lying lifeless now on the ground, and meanwhile, it was The Giant battling against the three men. Secrat found it most curious, the simple fact he wasn't losing.

The Heavy Man attempted a club-like fist down on Secrat, who moved out of the way, causing the Heavy Man to drive his fist onto the counter again. This time, breaking through it. The Man seemed unaffected, a considerablysized piece of wood splintering into the bottom of his fist. Blood dripped down his fingers.

Secrat kicked him between the legs. Nobler attacks were for older men.The Heavy Man held his crotch as Copé reached down to grab a piece of wood broken off from the counter. However, right as he reached his hand down, he felt the Heavy Man's boot stamp down over his fingers.

A cry of agony and dismay came from Copé as the Heavy Man's shoe lifted off his hand. He yanked it out of reach of him and suffered. When Toucan did that, months prior, it took away The Thief's ability to make a fist.

Now, he'd be lucky if he would ever be able to move any of his fingers again.

The Fat Hand Smasher did a quick movement, dragging The Thief to his

feet by the back of his shirt.

Copé felt the heavy hyperventilating of the man, already drenched with sweat. The warm and odorous breath of the man on his face and The Thief headbutted him. He had no doubts it'd hurt him more than the Fat Man, but he needed to buy some time for himself.

In the end, that's what it did, as the Fat Man held his head angrily. Secrat had heard the man's jaw slam shut like a door kicked in and thought it likely he bit is waggling tongue with his reflex. Cupping a spot on his face, once he freed his hands, Copé could see the blood gushing out from his mouth, confirming his suspicions.

Behind him, Secrat could see Brutus and Ezic had both made it back to

their feet. However, they were preoccupied with helping The Giant against the other three men.

The Heavy Man glared angrily at The Thief. Blood covering the bottom half of his face a crimson mask. The sight was almost more frightening than Not Azlak Temps in Acera. Not Azlak Temps was near-naked, however, which gave him the edge.

The Heavy Man charged at Secrat, lugging the body he was not in full control of. Secrat did the only thing he could thing to do... run. The opposite direction, of course, he noticed the bar seemed to have cleared out of the other customers. He snatched an unfinished glass of alcohol from a vacant table and tossed it in the man's direction. He was not surprised to discover it doing no real damage. The Heavy Man kept running at him like a large rolling boulder, it left Secrat having to use all his skills to defend himself.

He thought of nothing before it was too late.

The feeling of the man running into him felt like being run over by a carriage. Nay, it felt like if a chariot reeled itself off the Sanchi Tower onto him. And not a small carriage either, but one of those three stories ones Copé saw when leaving the Aer Festival the first time around.

The wind was knocked out of him and ricocheting off him and into the wall only knocked it out some more.

As Copé fell to his knees in anguish, he watched as Ezic was flipped onto one of the wooden tables by the muscular man. The table broke under him after a short delay.

At least someone's having a worse time than him, he thought.

"You should have stayed out of it, would've made it a lot easier on yourself." His voice broke off occasionally between breaths, blood and sweat drooling off him like a big dog in the Deserts.

"But...." Secrat began, and stopped, "I've never been one for making things easier on myself." Secrat said, a dizzy feeling in him like the whole room was spinning around him, but in its spinning, he noticed something special off to the side of the bar he'd forgotten about.

The rusty and metallic taste of iron in his mouth. The taste of blood.The Heavy Man paid him a little half-smile, fairly content with his revenge. He turned his back to him and began to make his leave to assist the others. Copé climbed to his feet soon after, a malfunctioning equilibrium made his body stumbled some. But then, like a man with a death wish, he threw a half-full glass to the back of the man's head.

Mid-throw, Secrat had second thoughts for his decision. But once the shattered sound came as it smacked against the back of his head, The Thief realized there was no going back.

The Heavy Man turned around fast and immediately charged after Secrat.

Blind rage had taken the reins for him now.

Copé, same as before, ran away, this time in a different direction. The hanging piece of plywood punctured with knives, he ducked beneath it and assumed the Heavy Man would go around. As he met the wall, Copé put one foot in-front of the other. He ran up the side of the wall without fear, his goal to flip over the charging man.

Alas, an acrobatic godsend, Copé was not, and he found himself landing with his stomach over the shoulder of the man; trapped. The Heavy Man ran him into the wall. Imminent pain, but The Thief swallowed it to premeditate a revised attack. The Heavy Man walked around with Secrat in his arms, squeezing tightly.

Copé reached around aimless, the life and consciousness in him fading.

In a desperate attempt, Secrat raked the man's eyes with his finger nail, causing The Heavy Man to free him from his clutches. Secrat did not change positions, and instead, climbed further up the man, reaching his hands out until he could finally make a grab for the plank of wood that dangled from the ceiling by a rope.

It happened fast, so fast Secrat didn't stop to think of what he'd done in desperation. Secrat Copé took the plan of wood, punctured with knives and slammed the blade-end side of it into the Heavy Man's back.

Copé freed himself from proximity and watched as the man reacted. At first with bulging eyes of sheer shock and a grunt, then, he dropped to the floor, bringing the blank of wood down with him. It was now "attached" to his back.

Secrat let out a big sigh, fully depleted. Though, it wasn't for certain the man was dead, it was safe to assume.

The Thief looked on over to the others. Brutus Ess was back on the ground, no surprise there, and Ezic and Ricar were both handling their own well against the two conscious men.

A man was dead by Secrat's hands, and whether it was just or not, Father Toucan would be displeased. But it freed Copé's hands. With nothing to lose. The Thief walked over to the inside of the counter, walking through the newly made doorway.

Lifting the heavy bottle of beer, scribed with the words "Brother's Beer," it was more than half full and was even heavier than it looked, exceeding forty pounds.

The cavalryman would arrive soon, once they had wind of the fighting, Copé knew he needed to finish the altercation off. But before Copé could do anything, he found himself attacked by the muscular attacker. The bottle fell out of his hand and rolled somewhere else, and from the fist to his back, Copé dropped to one knee. The ache of everything on his body was evident. His hair felt a yank, and his relenting body followed, falling and slamming to the ground. Secrat looked to the ceiling in a daze, feeling a deep and full hatred for

Brutus Ess.

It was because Brutus Ess he'd die today. Not on his accord, or an ambitious heist, but fighting in a bar in the defense of strangers.

Secrat saw the pale and petite fist of Ezic fly forward, over him. His body damp with blood as well. The fist returned from the muscular man was stronger and sent Ezic back down to the floor.

In a final wind, Copé muscled himself to his knee again, though, he had half a mind to lay and accept his death. Instead, he took a chance and launched himself at the man, shoulder tackling his leg. The muscular man reacted. Falling back, he almost fell from his feet, but managed to keep his balance.That was all Copé could bring himself to do. But, seconds after, The Giant, who had gotten his hands on the large glass bottle, brought it down over the man's head like an ax. The bottle shattered, and from the force involved, it looked as though the man's skull did as well.

Copé let out a sigh. This man was dead.

Beneath him, Copé felt a waterfall of alcohol spill onto him, along with a small shattering of glass amongst probable left-over fragments of the man's skull.

The man fell, and after, Secrat heard the entrance door swinging open, and turned his head in time to see the remainder of their opposition fleeing from the Pub.

Turning back, The Giant was without a doubt the second scariest thing The Thief had ever seen.

His hand dripped with blood, and he still head the neck-end of the bottle in his hands. Having known him a prestigious several minutes, Secrat saw his face for what it was. A man scared and upset. But someone who didn't know him that long would've seen someone completely manic.

Ricar released the glass from his hands. Secrat could see tears streaming down his face.

The Thief doubled checked to make for certain Ezic was accidentally killed in the scrimmage somehow. He wasn't. No, Vicar's older "bigger" brother would live to be pale another day. Why did The Giant cry?

Secrat fought back to his feet. His backached. Everything ached. But he'd endured worse. The worst pain was in his hand. He was doing better than either of the dead people though. So, there was that.

"You can blame both the murders on me. Tell them it was self-defense and give them an improper description of us. No reason for you two to face fault on this." Copé stopped, looking over at Brutus in all his beaten glory. His shirt had dark red bloodstains and his face looked bruised and swollen. He was alive though, and that's all that was important.

Secrat noticed The Giant still crying and felt confused. "Did you hear me?

We'll take the blame for all this; you and your brother won't face penalty."

But The Giant's streaming tears and bloodshot eyes continued. "I killed this man." The Giant said with an upset stutter.

The Thief looked on in amazement of the spectacle. The Giant felt guilt over the murder. A bad feeling. A bothersome feeling. And he wept out of remorse. Something Secrat had never done before.

As Ezic Bell returned to his feet, his arm favoring his back, Copé felt it as a great an opportunity as any to pursue elsewhere endeavors.

The Fat Man with the knives jutting into him like some kind of inverted porcupine took his eternal slumber with a pool of blood surrounding his lifeless corpse. In his pockets, the man had a bag of coin. Not a huge amount, but some, Copé shoved it down into his leggings. At least it was something to show for the whole altercation.

He heard Ezic Bell comforting his brother with words and phrases like, "It was an accident," "You didn't mean to," and things of the sort. But the words fell on deaf-ears, and justly so. Nobody smashes another man's head by accident.

Brutus showed the first signs of life with laughter, a hearty chuckle that took everyone's attention. "This could've gone better," he admitted, and then laughed some more.

Ezic smiled, stepping away from his brother. He threw his hand out to Brutus and assisted him back to a vertical base. Ess accepted and once standing, patted him softly on the back, still laughing quietly to himself. "Thanks for the assist," Ezic said graciously as he looked around at his wrecked bar and the two dead bodies inside of it. "Though, in-retrospect, maybe it'd been better just for my brother and I to have taken some lumps. Reduced the bloodshed." Ezic looked over to Secrat for a moment and stepped past him, looking at the Heavy Man, blood ridden and all. Ezic sighed, "Why couldn't you have just left?"

In his eyes was another look, every bit as foreign to Copé as Ricar's. The look wasn't guilt. Ezic wasn't guilty, so what was it? Was it still remorse? But remorse for what? Ezic looked over to his brother with a comforting smile, but his brother chose not to return the favor. Perhaps because he couldn't.Secrat thought about giving him some of The Fat Man's coin to cover the damages. Like maybe that would make him feel better. He only thought about it though.

The wind brushed the door open some, startling The Thief. The latch must have been broken earlier when it was kicked. The door drifted shut once more, but before that, Copé could see the darkness outside. It was later than he thought. "Brutus, we need to leave now."

The Gates would only be open a few hours longer, and even with the bag of coin, they wouldn't have enough for a night's stay at any of the inns.

"Not interested in a second round with the Italinian Knights?" Brutus jested back.

"No, and neither are you," Copé said, looking down toward the gash on Ess' stomach.

"Where will you go?" Ezic asked. His voice was firm and curious, his mouth no longer bleeding from where he'd been attacked.

"Hardan," Secrat answered. "We'll return back home to Hardan."

Ezic smirk shared his skepticism. "You're awful warm-skinned for

Hardan."

The Thief smirked in return but made neither a rebuttal nor defense. Instead, he met Brutus at the door. Ess walked with a limp, beaten and worn by the day's trials. His large smile no longer expressed bad oral hygiene, but shared a mouth filled with blood.

A final look at everything that had happened. The broken counter. Table. Shattered glass. The dead bodies. One whose head had been decimated and the other with eight or nine knives plunged into his back. And the blood.

Brutus still giggled like a child as they made their leave.

2

Italina felt empty and desolate in the night. At night, the civilians bled out into their homes like the Fat Man bled out into the dirt-floor of the Bell's Brothers Pub. With the exceptions of ones and twos, the crowds were scarce to none. And in each glance around the streets, each footstep upon the marble sidewalk, it was like looking at a new city other than the one they'd been in before.

Covered with dirt footprints, even the smell of the city felt less thick and heavy, without the rivaling scents battling back in fourth.

"How long you think it'll be before Knights arrive at The Pub?" Secrat asked, looking at his hand, checking to see which fingers he could move and which ones he couldn't. He couldn't move most of them.

"If the civilians leaving The Pub made a complaint about fighting, they'd stop by eventually just to look at things. But, at the same time, you gotta think they get a lot of these sort of complaints. But, if anyone says anything about there being murders, anything at all, they'll put a hustle in it. Could be already there, in-fact." Brutus said knowingly.

Brutus limped with every step he took, like a dying antelope waiting to be put out of its misery. But he wouldn't be put out. Copé couldn't do it. He needed Brutus alive, at least long enough to confirm to the others why he'd be dying. Brutus looked like hell. His eyes nearly forced all the way shut by the swelling on his face, his cheeks were various shades of purple and red."Well then, we best not roam about long. If Ezic and Ricar provide fallacy as description of us that could buy," Secrat stopped, hearing the chuckles from

Brutus.

"You don't think those lily-livered type gonna vouch for us or help us,

Italinians don't give a horse's ass of gratitude." Ess' voice was loud as usual, the alcohol still in his system.

"They said they were from Olzaric, a couple knights won't be enough to intimidate them."

"A rustling leaf is enough to intimidate that Giant," Brutus quipped.

Copé had no real defense for him.

Several feet later, and Secrat did begin to take sight of individuals in larger abundance. A lot of them, in-fact. But they were not up-and-about, but, rather, on the sidewalks were makeshift tents and pallets.

Men, women, and children finding refuge as they stared up at the skies.

Secrat did the same. The stars brightly visible. For some, in Italina, it made for a romantic setting, and had Copé had more time, he might even had gawked at their simple extravagance.

"I just don't get what the fuck he was so damn sad about. Crying like he'd murdered a saint and not someone who was trying to whip his ass." Brutus blurted out, not interesting in waiting to see if Copé would ever respond to his initial statement.

As said, the setting was romantic for some, but not for Brutus, who was beyond such romanticism.

So as not to disturb or have to deal with the ones sleeping off on the sidewalks, Copé ventured off from the marble sidewalk and down to the roads where they'd only bump into horses and wagons on occasion. It wasn't completely pitch-black outside. A full moon was in the sky and it shined a small light on their pathways.

"If you thought so low of them," Secrat began. "I don't see why you bothered putting your nose in their affairs. All those bruises on your face could have been prevented!" Secrat threw his hands up and did all sorts of vaguely meaningful hand-gestures. He'd never been the best at verbal confrontation and knew not if Brutus could even see the expressions. "Would've saved us a lot of time and a lot of blood!"

"Yeah," Brutus concurred. "But now I know where you stand."

"Oh, and where's that?" The Thief wasn't really truly upset, or at least, the adrenaline and the alcohol helped numb him of that.

"Father Toucan Veras believed in you, still believes in you. Some think it favoritism. But you can't say it's all favoritism. Terrible thing you did, yes, yes, but you still escaped the wagon and killed Elson Man. And before that, what had you done? You killed a man who exceeded your size four times over.

That's special, hell, makes you seem like a wunderkind thief." Brutus smiled at his fancy verbiage, but then, his voice changed to add: "But then, you damn near got me killed." He touched down at the wounds on his stomach.

"That was your own ignorance. If you would've died, it'd be your own hands with blood on them." Copé tried his hand at sounding assertive and definite. It would not be to his benefit for Brutus coming back to the Flux making such malicious proclamations.

"Why?" Brutus said, making eye-contact with Secrat, a condescending half-smile, "Because Daddy dearest forbade you from taking a life?"

They continued further into Italina and saw men mopping the marble floors. That's how they kept them clean. Secrat thought that rather eccentric. Copé stared back at Brutus but said nothing. The confrontation would end as soon as they arrived back at the wagon with Taison. If Secrat replied, he'd only be pouring more alcohol on a roaring flame in a time when being inconspicuous was necessary.

"Remember that boy, the boy earlier on the real big wagon? The boy who said things about a group who slaughtered children and experimented on folk?"

Brutus stopped only long enough for Secrat to nod. "Who does that sound like to you? The Carvers? No, that's not their forte, not where they shine. What then? The Carvers scalped heads, cut eyeballs out, sodomized with spears, did all that shit. But specific things, large tents and mad doctors, that's different.

They don't do that!" Brutus sounded mirthless and empty.

The same strange look he gave in intense moments. A look that gave Secrat a fairly good idea why Toucan demoted him and gave Samuel position as his right-hand man. Secrat let out a sigh, they couldn't arrive to the gates fast enough. Unfortunately, they remained a way's away.

"Not The Carvers, another group on the outskirts of Hardan. I believe it.

Do you believe it? Because I believe it.

All of Italina probably believes it. But were his words heard? Deliberately ignored, most likely. They feel protected. A barrier keeps the ugly outside world from them, and that disassociates them from the monsters. But they deliberately ignore, which makes them become the monsters." Brutus stopped speaking for a moment, his facial expressions made his bruises ache.

"They stick their heads in the ground, not realizing their Kings, their

Knights, they aspire to commit atrocity beyond the gates."

Secrat couldn't disagree, looking at the marvelous city in the moonlight.

Outside was a broken wasteland.

"But they're better than us!" Brutus exclaimed with a drunken hiccup.

"Even The Carvers are better than us!"

"No, they are not," Secrat replied fast, feeling defensive.

"The Carvers leave a legacy of pain and heart-ache wherever they go. The Italina People do nothing but obliviously coast. And we, The Red Flux, seek repentance to the God's through excuses, lies, and technicalities," Brutus said dryly.

"The Red Flux is contrived of good men. Could you imagine Lukas Lewis bleeding out a child and stamping his head onto a pike!?"

"No," Brutus admitted. "Though, I could see you doing it."

"Alright," Secrat said, he felt the red hotness of his temper poking through the inner confines of his mind but stuffed it back down. He could not hide his irritation physically, however.

"Barbarism is the way of life in Maharris. Always has been. Always will be. Flourish or perish, kill or be killed, and you understand that. These walls around Italina, they only contain it to the wilderness. You understand that.

Toucan doesn't, but he does understand one thing ..."

Secrat hushed Brutus Ess with his hand, but it was in vein. A small army of men, a small army of knights, at least ten of them, all of them in one large carriage pulled by several horses. Lanterns hung from the sides of the carriage.

"What!?" Brutus hollered out, and it was needless to speculate whether their presence was noticed or not.

"You two, come with us," one of the Italinian Knights demanded, yelling loudly and with a forceful voice.

Brutus silenced himself, realizing, at last, his misconduct. "They found us fast," Ess said. "So much for giving 'em dummy descriptions of us."

"This is your fault." The Thief felt his snarl form, his teeth grinding. Having to escape from all of this would be tough enough already but having to account for the beaten and maniacal Brutus would stack the odds out of his favor.

Secrat and Brutus both scrambled the opposite direction of the carriage. Brutus walked achingly, and soon, Copé led him off into a narrow alleyway between adjacent buildings. The Knights pursuit of them would have to be on foot. Ess did his best to keep up, Copé would only slowdown so much for his sake. Ess' limp lagged him some, but there was at least a feel of pep and effort in his step.

They heard the Knights leap out of the carriage, at least some of them, not all of them. The sound of their sabaton's slapping down against the marble.

Their footsteps were large and seemed synchronized.

Brutus and Secrat bled deeper into the alleyway as it approached its end. The hyperventilating happened early on from Brutus Ess as he followed not too far behind, Secrat, on the other-hand, roamed his eyes about the darkness, the moonlight supplied so little, and did not supply a definitive game-plan or answer to their survival.

Breaking into a home and hiding out until it settled down could work, but they'd never able to kick in a door discreetly. And it was hardly like Secrat's nervous shock would calm long enough to pick a lock.

Civilians could help. Disappearing in the crowd, that is. It worked in the Whispey Deserts. But there were more in search of them. And the crowds became scarcer as the night time raged on.

Secrat and Brutus found themselves back on the roads, leaving the alleyway. The high exhaust, Secrat felt his feet move slower. He fought the fatigue. It'd give him no assist.

Copé turned and looked back and saw a single knight on their tail. And, without thinking, spiraled his body and threw a knife in his direction.

It'd do nothing and only offer distraction. The Thief knew it on some level before throwing it. He raced toward the Knight, running at him with a second wind. Soon after, the knife struck the silver armor of the knight, who instinctively tried to block it. Secrat drove a boot to the Knight's chest and unsheathed the Knight's sword. Bringing it out, Copé slashed at him with the sword. The Knight went down at once, without an audible sound of dismay.

Could have been simply playing dead. It didn't matter.

As The Knight was falling, Copé saw something out the corner of his eyes, and without stopping to think, on impulse again, brought the sword in-front of his face on the defensive. As he did, a sword came down fast on him, blocked by this own. It was fast, however, and it caught him off-guard.

Copé fell. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw that at least ten knights were running his way. He made certain to dodge the preemptive strike of the Knight, causing him to dig down into the dirt-ground. Secrat crawled away before scrambling back up to his feet, racing off and ahead of Ess.

He'd risk losing Brutus and being kicked out of The Red Flux again over his own death.

His escape had to be imminent or not at all. Sooner or later, the numbers would outmatch him, and his fatigue would halt him. However, as his eyes poked and prodded, looking for something to come loose. Nothing did, no hiding spots, and sure enough, The Guards would have his head soon.

He ran down the road. This time running in-front of a chariot. His heart racing. Secrat made eye-contact with the man at the reins. Then looked at The Guards running in their pursuit of him.

His mind, unable to decide what would work and what would slow him down. He had not the time to make the decision, however, and watched as Brutus yanked the man out of the chariot. It was an older gentleman and he fell feebly at Ess' whim, offering no defense or means to fight back. The old man only let out a cry for mercy. Brutus held a knife in his hands.

Secrat rested a sword over Ess' shoulder, touching the brim of his neck.

Brutus turned around and looked at him, that prick-smile, "Ain't that the son of

Toucan, always kind and merciful," Brutus said before a quick pause, "Except most the time, when he's not."

"We don't have fucking time for this," Copé said, his face cold and serious.

Brutus smiled bigger and looked like he was about to say something. But the sound of the old man fleeing caught him fire. And, with a frown, Brutus took a look at the hurrying guards and accepted his loss, climbing quick into the chariot.

Secrat did as well, with Ess at the reins, Copé swung the sword toward nearby Knights, keeping them from engulfing the chariot's mobility. A chariot for two with one horse, fate controlled whether the Knights would realize all they needed to do was behead the horse.

Fate and Copé swinging at anyone who came near it.

The Knights gathering, slashing swords against the chariot, breaking off pieces of the wood with ease. The doors were the first to be pried off. Copé swung his sword at the neck of one of the Knights and felt it slice between his helm and the top of his armor. It'd kill him, but the sword became stuck to the man's neck.

Secrat tugged, trying to free it, but with the men swinging their blades in his direction and the chariot beginning to move, he lost clutches of it in a fumbling, but did manage to seize grasp of the man's helm, prying it off his lifeless head.

The item was useless, however, and as the horse whinnied and began creating distance between them and The Knights, Secrat tossed the helmet out at one of the Knights, taking him off from his feet.

Maybe it wasn't so useless after all, thought Secrat.

The Knight's ran after them, but slowed their chase in time, weighted down by their heavy armor. The distance only became greater and more robust in progressing seconds. The Thief felt the air dissipate out from his lungs, how long had he held it in there? His breathing regulated in time. Brutus' lungs took some time.

Copé looked behind them. The Knights were all gone, most likely to the alleyway from which they came. Secrat felt the closest thing to relief that he'd had in what felt like an eternity. "We'll have to get some distance and scrap the carriage." He stopped again; his shaky hands took his mind off the pain they usually felt. "We'll stick out. Have to break in somewhere. Hide. Think about the rest with level heads."

Brutus said nothing. Secrat took that as them in agreement. The horse turned left at Ess' command. Off a few hundred feet, Secrat took vision of one side of the walls surrounding Italina. They'd make one more turn and ditch the carriage.

However, seconds into their movements, the large carriage holding all the Knights reeled in-front of them. Startled, Ess yanked at the reins, swaying the horse to the right in a different path. He yanked more and more at the reins, harder and harder as his worry grew.

Secrat stood on the chair of the chariot and took out one of his knives. He knew not exactly what his intentions were, but something had to be done.

However, as he heard a loud gasp from Brutus, followed by the words,

"What the FUCK!?"

His attention went back to what was in-front of him. What was in-front of him? "What the FUCK!?" Secrat found himself mimicking.

A bright green aura reached out from the blackness with a mesmeric tint that neither seemed inviting nor friendly, but beautiful regardless.

The world slowed down. Not figuratively and not a trick of the mind. The world slowed down.

The greenness ever-so intoxicating, starting to pour forward like a wave chasing toward them. With its glowing green. Its power. The road's became stained with emerald, the skies, soon after. Everything. Belonged to it.

Everything. It owned. They could hear nothing.

As Copé's mouth tried to open, the force it took was immense. It was slowed. Not that he couldn't. He didn't want to. To take his eyes off from the aura.

An arrow landed in-front of Brutus and Secrat. It missed. They both could watch the arrow before it hit its mark. Meant for them.

Secrat turned his head. The noises went from silent to loud again. The hollering, the galloping of horses, the loudness, footsteps, all of it, and fast, an arrow flew over his head. He turned his head back to the Emerald World, and watched an arrow landed in-front of him and Brutus. Slowed again. Back on the Green.

The arrow went through the head of their horse. Their horse's head

ruptured. Exploded might have even been a better word. The horse's head exploded, slowly, and Secrat saw all of it. The blood spurting out. He saw it mid-flight. The pieces of it. The brain. All turned to mush.

Copé's eyes went up and he lost himself in the deepest tint of the color. His lids heavier and heavier, he wanted to close his eyes, it was almost a bother to keep them open. He yearned to drift, and drift, and ...

His arm was tugged by Brutus, who dragged him off from the carriage and to the dirt-ground. Secrat found himself back to normal in that instant. The dirt looked like dirt and nothing else. But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was the green. The remorselessness and never-ending green. His eyes burned like wax beneath a flaming candle. The image carved into his psyche. Scarred into his brain. The Green.

He opened his eyes and saw Brutus running off from him. The carriage of Knights not too far off. Copé ran like hell. His eyes burned every time he blinked with that god forsaken color.

Each footstep, his eyes burned, with no signs of decaying or wearing off.

The exposure to it.

He went ahead of Ess, who rubbed at his eyes with the same struggles. Which meant Copé hadn't simply imagined the array. Ess and him ran with no particular destination. They ran for their lives and in-front of them was only the walls of Italina. Such a damper. Beyond them was freedom.

The sound of an arrow being shot off again. Copé heard it from a distance. The swishing and swashing sound of it soaring through the air. And before that, the bowstring released as the arrow shot out from between his fingers.But Secrat didn't contort himself to look or pivot his body in attempt to dodge it. Too afraid for that, he simply continued running, more terrified of the green than he was death.

A low, short guttural sound rang the inners of his eardrum. Brutus had been hit. On reflex, The Thief looked back, seeing The Green again. Ess fell slow. His grumbles now a jumbled jargon, the agony in his eyes delayed showing itself.

Once it did, the blood fell out next, out the newly made wound in his thigh. Brutus fell on the dirt-ground. The Green Dirt Ground.

He laid, his eyes to Copé with worrisome suffering. Worrisome GREEN.Secrat could feel his hands shaking, they rattled slowly, with the fear more distinguishable and savored. The Thief turned away, his head away from Brutus, looking back at the wall and in a return to normality. Normal time.

Normally colored.

The wall was thirty feet. At least. It towered over him with its height.

"I'm sorry, Brutus," Secrat said, his back to him. "I'll do everything in my power to find you. The Flux will not forsake you. Don't fight, they won't kill you unless you make them."

"Fuck the Flux," Brutus yelled.

Secrat did not respond. He ran. Ran forward. Ran fast. Toward the wall.

The Green was after him. The Guards would also reach him in due time.

Brutus would be their distraction.

He ran.

A string of arrows landed in-front of him. Some of them aflame. He didn't care. Finding worse things than death. Death was a sweet release. At last, he made it to the wall. The wall, trepidatious in his heart, apprehension arising higher and higher, even higher than the wall could stand. But it was not for the fear of heights. The granite walls had ridges, some here and some there. Not a lot of consistencies with them though. Copé landed his foot on one small ledge and began his ascension.

In a different time, perhaps, it'd have been more trivial. But not this time, his hands nimbly made their progression. It was a slow climb, but he was far too afraid to look and see if the guards neared, far too afraid of the arraying aura. The green layer.

The adrenaline alleviated his wounds, smashed and broken, seemed a

distant memory that pulsated numbness.

"ATTENTION!" a voice called out. It sounded squeaky and high-pitch, monotone and dead inside, like a voice with no life in it. "Your arrest has been called upon, with just cause, for the murder of two currently unidentified men, the attempted murder of woman, Alisa Muriel, and stolen items that have since been confiscated. Such as, a statue, from named woman, various items of nondescript monetary value, a small fortune of coin, and a large, decorative case. As criminals, under Italina Law, the items' possession has been evoked from you, stolen or not." It took no breaths in-between words and showed no flub or discrepancy in its voice.

It was not human.

It surrounded all the sides, coming from below, in the sky, from one side and the other. It was everywhere. Like King Harris had summoned God himself to handle Secrat.

In his ascension, Secrat felt his foot miss one of the ridges only a few feet short of the top. A fall from the height would kill him.

He dangled off by one-hand. He felt the sweat pour off of him, he only helped his moistened hand wouldn't lose its grip. His hand, not the broken one, felt ache. The ache of tire and exhaust, the ache that said it'd be a matter of time before he could go on no more. His eyes stuck back to the greenness, as he looked, it engulfed the city's view to such immaculate levels, like the whole of Italina had been scorched in it.

But, something else, the way it looked, like the buildings were curved and angling down, the tops of them like bending trees. Like they were alive. Like the aura itself was alive. Pulling them at its whim.

Secrat regained stability for himself, his eyes back in the blackness of the night. But, the stains of color began bleeding through, he could see green on his hands and on the ridges of the wall. His hand frolicked aimless at first, but with the aura, he was able to find the next ridge jutting out. As he found it, he fought his way up more, until finally, finding himself able to pull his body over the wall.

The platform atop was narrow, unlike the front-entrance which allotted the knights to stand in post. Throwing himself over, on the other-side, he found himself. The outside sanctity of the Unprotected Wilderness was ahead. The sickly grass and dead trees never seeming more inviting to him. Decaying nature never so filled with life.

But, then, the sound of screeching in an unrelenting tone, like a final bird's dying cry lasting forever. His eyes took a final look at the Italina he left behind; his curiosity had turned into obsession at the anomaly bestowed upon them.

Brutus laid, in fear, his body, like everything else, distinguishable as a darker shade. A shade like the buildings.

Brutus crawled away backward, like The Woman did from him earlier.

Poetic justice, to some. Secrat felt a small inkling of guilt that evaporated like water beneath the sun. Guilt would inevitably die by the hands of fear.Copé looked down. Down below him. Off the wall. The large carriage stayed, stopped in-front of the wall with bowman perched and shooting. Though, their arrows were never high enough. And when they did, Copé found himself easily able to evade their slow attempts.

Secrat stared deeply into the blank space forward. Where it all started, it'd seem, the brightest flare. The spark.

Until, at last, he saw the depiction of a dark figure.

A figure ripped out from the aura, its own full-color. Leaving the background just as. The figure's stature looked that of a strong warrior, that being from a time when warriors still existed. Not a Messenger Boy Knight or a One Who Pried on the Weak, but a Beast in silver armor. A muscular frame and a height more exaggerated than attainable. Even taller than The Giant from The Pub, and by more than a few feet.

His gauntlets and greaves, emerald, and his silver helm with a likewise comb. Those aspects blended with the scenery behind and around him. It seemed like he was a part of it, in some way. Somehow.

His eyes had a fiery orange like a roaring flame and his body seemed to visibly shake. Not himself, not the way Copé's hands shook, but as if he was an unsettled creature, uncontrolled and without abidance to what must be. A dizzy appearance that made it look like there was more than one of him. The Knight, or The Creature, whichever fit better, withdrew its blade from out of its scabbard. It too, looked to be on fire.

The Creature made its first step. And vanished.

But not vanished. It hadn't vanished.

Copé realized as his eyes adjusted. The atmosphere clogging his perception. The Creature simply moved THAT fast. It appeared and disappeared. Appeared and disappeared. Each time, moving closer and closer toward Brutus, who acted afraid. Not acted. WAS afraid. With reason to be,

Brutus climbed to his feet, limping away weakly, but there would be no escape.The Creature met him; its sword laid on his shoulder while he stood. A plaintive cry came next. The searing and blistering pain of the flaming blade. Brutus dropped back down again, slowly. Everything remained its elongated pace. Everything except The Creature. Its speed unhinged.

The Creature's helm pointed down at Brutus and Copé saw the Guards nearing to him. Brutus would offer no fight against them. And, in the next moment, Copé watched as The Creature's eyes jerked up, beaming at The Thief. Frightened, but not petrified, Secrat tried his hand at descending down the outside wall. His vision obscured, with little flickers of color. It didn't ease The Thief, however. The Creature's residual afterimage etched into the inside of his eyelids.

He stopped for a moment, rubbing his eyes with one hand, but the burn was intensified. His exposure to it only worsened the agony. The burn became immense, and his eyes watered terribly, but as they leaked down his face, they bled a bright green.

His scared flinch cost him his balance, and he found himself descending helplessly down. The fall didn't scare him. His mind was elsewhere.

Traumatized elsewhere. But he knew the landing would kill him.

His hand reached for a ledge and found one. He felt the momentum spiral with his body, and while he no longer fell toward the ground, the momentum shifted and had him kneeing the wall.

At once, he lost his grip and slammed his back against the ground of the Unprotected Wilderness.

The fall wasn't too far, but it all happened too fast to fully know how much pain he was in.

His mind bled the damned color. The Knight, or Creature with the flaming sword. That's where his mind belonged.

The Knight with the Flaming Sword.

Livius Reid.

An Aeonian.

### Chapter Fourteen

Copé ran. The strength of the Aeonian diminished, but glimpses and flickers of "the color" didn't leave him. He ran. The blades of sickly grass beneath his feet even looked healthy with the lively hue. He felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach, a heaviness in his chest. Still, he ran.

The Italina Knights had their carriages and horses, and they surely would be after him.

But The Aeonian would not venture beyond the town's walls, not for an insignificant thief, nor one of the God-like, wunderkind variety such as Secrat.Secrat ran without direction, only distance on his mind. This must have been how The Woman felt, running aimless from her perpetrators. Copé couldn't remember a time he had been more intimidated or scared than how he felt now.

Secrat ran. They wouldn't look all night, not outside the walls, not when the area was so populated. Too dangerous.

The wagon was gone, confiscated according to The Creature's words. It, or they, the Italina authorities must have been notified by The Woman. She must have run to them and informed them of Brutus' attempted murder, of Secrat and Brutus' successful steal.

Copé felt something beneath his feet and tripped. This seemed as good to hide as any. He fell hard onto the ground, his own momentum sending him forward forward. The feeling of his knees drives against the dirt-floor was enough to make him yell out. The way he landed, he leaned against a large dead-tree.

The Italina walls were still very visible to him. He realized he might very well have been at the exact opposite standpoint of where Taison and the wagon were. Or once were.

His body ached everywhere. His back was sore, his knees more bruised than a prostitute from The Hallow, and to top it off, his hand was throbbing again.

The chilly air made his body shiver. Not accustom to such temperature.

His clothing being drenched with sweat offered little assist.

Unless Taison was able to outrun the Knights, he would've been captured. In other words, he was captured.

Marc Sero, Lukas Lewis, and Samuel Syi's whereabouts was up in the air as well. Of course, Brutus was taken for certain. And if, empty-handed without Brutus would have upset Toucan, then coming back alone would surely spell out The Thief's death. A small moment, a trickling of thought, found itself roaming, the thought of screaming "Fuck It!" to the heavens and leaving The Flux occurred to Secrat. Alas, he knew it wasn't an option for him. The Whispey Deserts were hot and living arrangements around all Maharris were never favorable. Besides, he was well accustomed to be a member of the troupe.

Secrat felt down at his leggings and found himself some tobacco, dampened and moist by his sweat. He lit it up with an abrasive scroll and a pine-stick. The flame had a haphazard hue until Copé's eyes settled. He had seen nothing but what the stars allotted him for so long that the Aeonian still messed with his vision. He assumed it'd frequent his psyche for a times and while it made figures easier for him to distinguish in the blackness, he wanted nothing more than to have it vacate him.

He brought one end of the cigarette up to his lips, welcoming the smoke into his lungs. He watched the small flame shake and realized he, himself, was the cause. The fear yet to bid its farewell.

It was either come back with the rest of The Red Flux or don't come back

at all.

He took a puff of the cigarette. God, I hate these, Secrat found himself thinking. He had hoped they'd calm his nerves but as the emerald smoke escaped his lips, he felt on the brink of a panic attack.

All the items taken. Even the Statue that got them in this predicament. The whole of the Aer Festival heist was a failure.

They took EVERYTHING. But Secrat knew he'd have to return. He'd have to penetrate the Italina Prisons and rescue his brethren.

He knew not how to do that, however. Not the faintest of assumption nor idea. Had it been like a fable or storybook, the good guy would find the answer to his or her dilemma in an unrealistic location. But Secrat wasn't the good guy. Secrat was a thief meaning to rob innocent common folk of Italina and a reoccurring murderer of those innocent common folk.

However, as he flicked his cigarette out from between his fingers over to the ground in-front of him, he saw that fate didn't concern itself with such technicalities. He saw what he'd tripped over and saw that the Italina Knights had, in-fact, not taken everything. A coincidence, like in the storybooks, made all the difference. A coincidence that operated as special happenstance to let him carry on in his misadventure. One that would let him, The Hero, carry fourth and save The Red Flux brethren.

An outline of green around it, Secrat saw the Italinian Knights armor stolen by Marc Sero, buried partly in the dirt.

2

The silver was a difficult fit around Secrat. Heavier than anticipated, the suit, not Secrat, he knew he'd be unable to ascend the castle walls with it. Not that he could do it again other-wise.

His body was beaten and battered, and without the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the injuries and hardships had caught up with him.He limped his way to the other side of Italina, trying to find a stance resembling how the Knight's carried themselves. They walked, more or less, like a normal person trying to walk with pride, always looking force and tense.

Not like Livius Reid, who was the real deal, or would it have been Livius Reid's ghost? The fables and myths assigned certain credentials, but Copé had no true idea of what an Aeonian was.

Getting through the gates led to no confrontation. New guards in the rotation. Had it been a different day, a composite sketch would have spelled Secrat's capture and demise, but the Aer Festival cluttered everything to his favor.

An array of thieves would lurk inside the town for the night. Secrat assumed the only reason Livius was summoned is because a knight was murdered. But, then again, he knew not how it all worked.

The Guards did stop him, with cautious faces. "Officer," a Knight said in

such a formal tone Secrat thought he might as well be talking to King Harries himself, "State your business."

Secrat smiled, he'd have laughed in the face of the knight had it been a different circumstance. "In pursuit of a thief that left with items outside town walls. He escaped," Copé said, his voice deepened as to create a false sense of professionalism and poise.

"The troupe!? You were in pursuit of the man by yourself?" The Knight's face seemed aghast.

Secrat fanned him off with his hand. "Nay, I lost track of the carriage, had to walk all the way back around on foot."

"What carriage? There'd been no carriage put in his pursuit."

"No, but, uh, there had been carriages of nobleman posted all about the outskirts of the Wilderness. Looks like Harries anticipated them." Copé felt his heart beating faster. Anyone of normal intelligence would be able to see through his lie. If it were a knight of any know-how or significance, his lie would fail.

"Odd, the other knights made it seem like he didn't want any men posted outside the walls. Like he thought it too risky because the savages that show up for the festival," the knight sounded befuddled. Not that he disagreed with

Secrat, but that he was genuinely confused. The other two knights gave no input, they were young and inexperienced, as was the knight who spoke."Clearly, that's what the King wanted everyone to think." Copé said back, and for some reason he didn't understand himself, he pointed at the top of his head with a smile.

"Aha," The Knight said, nodding with a smile of his own. "Very smart of the King."

Secrat nodded back, and began to walk forward, saying nothing, his back to the knights.

"Then again, from what The Woman who was almost killed by the troupe said, the remaining thief was far from the most skillful in the operation."Secrat bit his lip as the gate into Italina came open, waving goodbye to the fuck-faced knight.

3

Up the steps to the King's castle, Secrat realized he hadn't the faintest idea of where prisoners were kept. But somewhere about the castle was the safest assumption.

The Castle started at the complete other side of Italina, the very end.Copé was fortunate enough to find a coachman as escort by horse to the castle. It cost him almost all the coin he'd nicked from the Heavy Man at the

Bell's Brothers Pub.

The steps leading to the castle looked endless, and to the left and right of them were decorative props. A fountain made to look like some sort of flower, the water falling out and down the petals. It was the closest anyone in Italina had come to seeing an actual living plant. The other side had a large granite sign, one with the same stone used for the walls. Carved in elegant letters, the sign decreed all the various rules Italina citizens were expected to abide by. At the bottom, it was sign with Livius Reid's name.

Copé went up the steps and felt immediate fatigue. Useless messenger boys for King Harries or not, the Knights deserved credit for navigating the steps on a regular basis.

Once Copé looked up and did see more steps, he felt relief. With all the sweating he'd done, it was a wonder how his armor didn't look more bronze than silver. Along with relief, he also felt thankfulness for the emerald colors instilled in him by the Aeonian. They, at once terrified him, and still terrified him on some level, but they had proved their worth, allowing him to more clearly make out figures that otherwise would have been hidden in the night.

Lined with a porcelain flooring, Copé expecting nothing less from Italina's King. Similar to the streets, the floor's shined without blemish, unscathed by dirt or grime, but as Copé walked upon the snow-white porcelain, the footprints behind him were clearly visible. They cleaned it THAT often.

His face shined on the floor, and through the reflection, he saw the dried mud and blood, a gash on his cheek he hadn't even noticed, and how the bags under his eyes told the tale of sleep deprivation and exhaustion.

The castle's size was gargantuan and consisted of far more than simply the King's Throne.

Acera's layout was far less complicated. Though, their castle did sit far off, floating in the Amisoic Sea.

The walls were painted glass, with hooded men, allegedly The Aeonians, and they were standing on a mountain. Presumably, the Mountain of Jalint. Knights and swordsman, and nobleman that Italina natives would surely recognize, but were lost on Secrat. It was all very immaculate but Copé did do his best not to be distracted by the scenery. He did notice though, of five hooded figures on the mountain, one of them had a painted emerald aura.Copé rubbed his eyes. In the night, he could see green figures and the works, but it wasn't as potent in the lit scenery of the castle.

A dark red rug started up with gold little strings at the end of each side. To Copé's left and his right, he saw staircases, doorways that led up and down, but neither with signs answering where they led.

Before him, the rug went on and on, and stairs came, encompassing the whole room from then on.

The prisons would be downstairs, at least by Copé's thought process.

They'd be downstairs in a dungeon. All his Flux companions.

Secrat ventured off through one of the doorways, the one on the left-hand side.

He found a lie – an excuse, one that would work. 'The King ordered me to interrogate our prisoners.' That way if he was stopped by another knight, he could ask them to accompany and lead him.

Down the stairs, the thief went, slowly. The stuffy smell of nothingness in his nostrils. The scents of the town made Italina a city he had no further interest in visiting.

The end of the stairs assured he was on the right track, or at least, a right track. A large door concealed the end of the stairs, cracked open, he brought it open the rest of the way. It wasn't the prisons, but rather, a room of a different sort. "Their trophy room," Secrat whispered beneath his breath.

The Statue of Livius Reid was the first thing to catch his eyes. But there was more than that. Much more. Rivers of coin and gold in neat stacks. Nay, it was more than a river, it was an Amisoic Sea's worth.

His mouth was watery by the sight, but Copé swallowed his spit. None of this could be his.

He turned himself one way in the room and found himself face to face with a fellow knight. "What brings you down here?" The voice sounded familiar, but it could have just been his formal tone.

But, at the same time as Secrat, the Knight remembered him, while twirling his mustache between his fingers.

"It's you!" The Knight cried out, unsheathing the sword from his scabbard.

The room was brightly illuminated by candle light, this was, indeed, The

Knight from back at the Italina gates.

"Ah, fuck," Secrat said at once, looking around the room with some empty hope for a weapon.

His knives were beneath his armor, and nothing else he could see about the room looked to offer him any assistance. He backed away slowly, keeping eyecontact with The Knight.

"Stop moving or, so help me, I will make you a puddle in this immaculate and historic castle." He had his sword readied on his shoulder for a swipe.

"And, I wouldn't want that," Copé said, still looking around the room, then, at a last whim, snatching a handful of coin, he threw a pile of gold at The Knight. It did nothing, clinging against his armor. True to his word, The Knight swung his sword fast. It missed Copé, who cowered to the floor. The sword slashed into a pile of the coin, bringing it down on The Knight, who quickly readjusted.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Secrat mumbled over and over, capitalizing on the distraction, he fought to his feet and ran deeper into the room, but could clearly hear The Knight following behind.

The armor slowed him down, and with it, he would not be able to escape the castle. "Stop!" The Knight yelled, and Copé obliged, albeit because he was turning the corner to hide behind a large vase.

The Knight stopped on the other-side of the vase; it came at mid-height to them. He beamed at Secrat, who, on the other side, was ready to run at any moment. "You people are all the scum of Maharris, you know that!?" The Knight yelled, cornering the vase to the other side.

Secrat did the same, practically switching places with The Knight. "The

King ordered me to interrogate the prisoners!" Copé yelled, breathing heavily.

"Oh, you'll be seeing them shortly," The Knight yelled, swinging his blade over the vase.

He missed again. Swinging and hitting the Statue of Livius Reid."Terribly sorry, please forgive," The Knight said, patting the statue on the back as he continued his pursuit of The Thief.

Secrat ran back to the stairs, throwing chunks of gold and chalices in his opposition's direction. They never seemed to slow him down, however. Then.

At once. The Thief heard the thud of something falling behind him.

It was The Knight. Having tripped over his two left feet. Secrat laughed. But when his eyes turned back to what was in-front of him, his smile left his face. Three knights, their swords drawn, staring back at him.

The Thief let a breath escape him, his body drenched with sweat, he took one last glance at the fallen guard, then back at the others.

"Thank God, you're here. This hoodlum was just found by me, trying to STEAL!" Secrat said seriously, then, in a whisper, added: "I think he might be the thief who escaped earlier."

Secrat found himself kneed in the stomach and in handcuffs soon after.

4

"I have to thank you again, Thank You." Brutus said sarcastically. "You said you were going to save me, and here you are, saving me from The Inside!"

Secrat smiled dryly. The shackles around his hands and the cell encumbering him made it a little hard to see the humor in his predicament.The brilliant tapestries woven with intermingling colors and an array of visuals, the fanciful decor, the enormous castle, and dirt less streets did not prelude to the Italina prisons.

The floors carpeted filth, a suffocating aroma of dust and soot. The lighting abysmal with nothing natural bleeding into its confines. Rather, candles were strewn about the outside of the cell walls. The candles seemed not to lead to the stairs on the left side, going up, but to a wooden platform, a step above the floor, where ropes fell from the ceiling. The Gallows.;It was a scare-tactic, Secrat knew. A theatric. A show meant to petrify the prisoners. Like the Aeonian. Copé inspected his thought. The Aeonian was more than that. He looked back over to Brutus, "Well, at least we'll keep you from dying alone."

Brutus snickered some, leaning his back against the wall of his adjacent cell, looking over to Lukas Lewis and Samuel Syi to his right. Secrat looked to his left. To his right. "Tell me again, if you would, how the Italina Knights would even know Samuel and Lukas existed?" He asked, his eyes over to Taison. Whose bloodshot and teary eyes told a story of utter defeat.

"After you and Brutus left, a knight arrived on horseback to where I," Taison stopped a second, a large sniffling snort followed, "To where I was, and then," Taison stopped again, breathing heavily.

Copé snapped his fingers and rattled the shackles around his wrists, "Blurt it out," he yelled; irritated.

"Secrat, be calm," Samuel said firmly.

Copé groaned, pacing around in his cramp, new home.

"The Knight noticed the Statue of Livius Reid. Said it belonged to a woman. I told him I was her friend and I was holding it for her. He believed me, or at least, I think he believed me. But then, the Woman must have come back through the gates, told them about you two trying to kill her! Because he arrested me thereafter."

"But that doesn't explain how they knew about Samuel," Secrat quipped fast, realizing their one true chance, or only hope at rescue was shackled beside him a few cells down. Copé let out a breath, he could hear his rattling chains, his hands were shaking. "What happened?" He said next, his voice swayed in such a way as to come off friendly and non-confrontational.

"The Knight had a blade to my throat and I," Taison sobbed like a small child, with hyperventilating and heavy-breathing at excess, "I was terrified. They told me they'd kill me if I didn't act normal, that I needed to wait until you and Brutus came back."

"You sold us out," Secrat returned. "You could have called their bluff; they'd have locked you up."

"I didn't know it was a bluff!" Taison fired back. "I'm new to this. I don't see why I had to take the hardest job for!"

Secrat yanked loud at the chains. Scaring Taison. He ran over to the cage bars, glaring at him. "You were given the only job Samuel thought a fat piece of shit like you wouldn't mess up and look what went and happened!"

"Maybe if someone wasn't always ready to kill someone, it wouldn't have been a problem," a voice called out, accusative and fierce. Secrat looked over to Lukas Lewis.

"It wasn't me," Secrat replied, feeling his teeth on-edge. "I am the only reason Brutus didn't slash a knife into her flesh."

"And you're bragging about that?" Brutus interjected. "If I would have killed her, none of this would be happening!"

Lukas' eyes weakened their intense beam at The Thief, a concerned look or a surprised one, he looked over to Brutus. "You tried to kill her? Father

Toucan Veras specifically said," Lewis began, but was quickly interrupted."I know what Toucan said. And I'll tell you what, let's see who he likes more, a traitor or an almost murderer." Brutus answered, now in a seated position, he motioned at Taison with his foot and gave a smile. Lukas didn't smile back, his face remained offended and angry.

Samuel shushed Brutus, and when Ess attempted a retort, Samuel shushed him again. An Italinian Knight came down the stairs, the look on his face was firm and serious, plain and authoritative. Again, this was the mustache-twirling knight that they had seem the entirety of their time at the Aer Festival.The Knight didn't contact any of them, simply came down the stairs and stopped at a large writing desk in the middle of the room. He skimmed through varies pieces of parchment for several times, Copé noticed the key hanging from the belt at his side.

The Knight's silver armor had been dealt away with, and now wore an attire more resembling of hard-leather. He continued rifling through pages, nodding and talking to himself, until, finally, looking off over the table at his prisoners. "Feeding time!" He said, a large, holier than thou smile on him as he

said it.

The man no longer wore a helm. He had short dirty blond hair and an average build. No weapon on his person.

If he neared close enough, and The Thief could get his hands on him, he could ... do what? Copé stopped and considered his options for a moment.

Killing him wasn't ideal, but he might not be given a choice.

Lukas Lewis would be upset, and he'd get an earful from Father when they returned to The Flux. That was fine with him. He accepted that. But his mind was also somewhere else. Before, it was summoned the very moment he took the life of an Italina Knight. Was it a coincidence? He wasn't for certain.

However, he knew Livius Reid would stop them with his presence.

Copé needed the key.

The Knight stepped off to a part of the room obscured by a wall and out of view for Secrat and them in their cells. His hand-gesture suggesting he'd return in a moment.

"Any cogs in motion in that head of yours?" Brutus asked. Secrat looked over to him, but Ess' eyes were on Samuel.

Samuel's eyes were squinted, looking around the room with keen observation. The Chosen Elite Thief by the side of Father Toucan Veras.

"Have you noticed the key hanging from his belt?" Copé whispered, his face pressed against the cell bars, looking at Samuel.

"Yes, I have," Samuel said, a small smile. "But I need an ample opportunity to grab it. If I grab it and he notices me doing it, he'll have the advantage. He'll ready a weapon or alert the other guards. It needs to be done discreetly and without him knowing. I'll throw each of you the key and once we're free we'll dispose of him." Samuel checked the pockets of his leggings. "I only wish they'd have left my," Samuel stopped for a minute, taking his hands from his pockets and looking at one hand; confused. There were burn marks circling his middle finger.

"What do you mean by dispose of?" Lukas Lewis asked, quietly, almost beneath his breath.

"Time you realized a real lesson about The Red Flux," Samuel said. "We're not murderers, but we will survive."

Lukas' mouth hung open like he was about to speak but was startled by the sound of The Knight wheeling in the cart behind him. The Knight continued wearing his large, ear-to-ear grin on his face as he did so. "You'll have to excuse our accommodations," he started, a loud chuckle.

The cart he pushed was wobbly and rickety with wooden shelves that appeared rotten. Glass plates rested on each shelf. "Our prisons may be more on the dingy side than you've come to expect, living in that high-esteemed

Wilderness of yours."

Copé felt in his leggings. The Italina Knights armor had been plucked off of him, but as they disposed of that, The Thief did manage to smuggle a white phosphorous pine-stick and a piece of abrasive parchment in his flask. It was though they'd find them dangerous.

Italina was oblivious to such methods of creating fire, resorting to rubbing rocks together and things of the sort. He was fortunate enough that they left his flask. He removed the items from out of its confines.

"I can promise you, however," The Knight continued. "If nothing else, Italina lives to satisfy your palate. It might not be Ollie's Abil, but I can tell you, it's better than the grub you inbred cretin get back home." The Knight flashed a smile, removing the dome-lid off from the rusted silver-platter.

Calling the food less than Ollie's Abil was an understatement. Sushi, burnt on the top, a charcoal tint, and what looked like spaghetti noodles, without the sauce, dry and bleakly colored.

The Knight wheeled the cart over to the other side of the room, the side closest to the stairs and closest to Taison. Secrat saw Samuel bracing himself in his cell at the opposite end.

"You really are ridiculous people, you know that?" He said, laughing some more. "Living out in holes and in tents but look at this wonderful paradise I have for myself!" He said, flailing his arms up, "And there you are, living in holes. These cells might as well be a blessing for you." The Knight brought the top-plate off from the cart and walked over toward Taison, who seemed more than reciprocating to The Knight's offering of food.

Copé sighed. The boy was a glutton at heart, but at a second glance, he saw something else on Taison's face. Scheming eyes and a lip that quivered at the knowledge its owner was about to do something foolish.

"You have to wonder how many diseases you've all encountered outthere... how many infections." The Knight brought the plate over to Taison.

The Thief reacted quick to try and stop him from his act but wasn't fast enough.

Taison might have meant to be discreet, reaching for it when The Knight was leaned over, about to slide the plate beneath the cell door, but he failed. The Knight either heard the rattling shackles or felt his presence and reacted thus, leaping back and out of his reach. Both Taison's arms were fitted awkwardly between the cell-bars and The Knight yanked the chain between them and brought them out more, then rammed them with his knees. The first arm fell back, but the other was less willing, breaking as it unnaturally bent

itself.

Taison cried out, a scream of agony, falling helplessly, supported by the bars of the cell. The shackles on his hands shook, his body convulsing like he was nearing his death. The Knight looked at the slobbering buffoon with disgust, brushing himself off like it was unpleasant to even be touched by the likes of a wanderer.

The Knight would be more protective over his keys from then on, and in that, Copé knew the opportunity was leaving them.

The Thief took a large gulp of alcohol, tasting the contaminates of his pine-stick and parchment. He arose back to his feet and spat the alcohol off into The Knight's face. His wearied state enabled the means for Secrat to snatch the keys off his belt and scrape the pine-stick over the sandpaper, lighting his stick. "How FUCKING dare you!?" The Knight yelled, his face red with rage, but before he could open his eyes to the perpetrator, Copé lit him ablaze.

The Knight let out a shrieking howl, cupping his hands over his face like it'd keep the flame from engulfing it. He twisted and spiraled, falling down onto the floor. Falling on his back. The fire raged on. No longer yelling from his anguish, but not dead either. The Knight's focus seemed drifted more on his left hand, which shook like it was trying to break itself off.

Copé noticed the ring on his finger, it seemed to be giving off steam.

Brutus Ess, who was once laughing at the dismay of The Knight, laughed no longer.

The steam sprayed out fast. And while The Knight's hand reflected the symptoms of a seizure, the rest of his body was still. The fire died down.

"What the fuck is this?" Brutus blurted out in amazement of the whole spectacle.

Secrat said nothing. Confused, he looked to Samuel Syi for confirmation of what he was seeing. Samuel stared stone-faced. The fire carried on for a moment or two, but then went out.

The Knight's face showed no burn-marks, no blisters, not even a singed mustache. The Knight sat up, the look on his face was astonishment and surprise. He climbed back to his feet. The steam no longer fleeing his ring, he marveled at it. Every bit as caught off-guard by it as they were. "Looks like I have something watching out for me!" The Knight exclaimed, waving his hand around with excitement.

In that moment, in that exact moment, an arrow went through the side of his skull. His face now neither smiling nor intact.

The Knight slammed down to the ground before Copé even fully understood what had happened. Blood leaked out his skull like yolk from a cracked egg, but Secrat's eyes were no longer fixed on The Knight. Instead, his eyes looked for the man who shot the arrow.

Obscured from view, the man's boots stamping down against the steps could be heard. At once, Marc Sero came into Secrat's view, walking beyond the cells, looking back at them. He wore a plain expression, no smile and no smirk, no real assurance he was even on their side. Except the dead Italina Knight, of course.

"I'll be damned," Brutus said, beneath his breath with a quiet amusement on his face.

"Marc Sero could kill you before you even knew you were dead." Copé was understanding that statement a little more now, "He was just that good.""What took you so long?" Samuel jested, which drew a blank stare from Sero, like he thought Syi was serious.

"Sorry," Sero began, throwing a wooden bow onto the writing desk, "I had one idea laid out, but I could find where I buried the damn suit of armor.""I hate when that happens," Secrat Copé said, biting his bottom lip and not knowing quite what to do with his hands. His thumbs were interesting though, and well-worth twiddling.

Lukas Lewis seemed mostly unamused by Marc Sero's rescue; his eyes shifted toward the massacred head of The Knight.

On the bright side, they wouldn't have to worry about a lack of sauce for the noodles anymore. Blood aplenty! Copé laughed some at the thought but knew Lukas would share his sense of humor.

But while Lukas looked beaten and depleted, he still wasn't as broken up as Taison, who continued to sob and yell, holding his misshapen arm.

"How did you make it past the guards?" Samuel asked.

"Guards?" Marc Sero responded, "What guards?" He stopped for a moment, looking at how bad his arrow tore into The Knight. "Oh, they're at

King Harries' speech."

"All of them?"

"Well, all of them ... now," Sero said, nudging at The Knight with his boot. "Since I couldn't find the suit, I decided to do something else to make it easier on myself. A letter proclaiming I'd kill the King of Italina during his commemorative speech tonight. Paid a peasant off to deliver the letter with some ill-gotten coin, and it all worked out pretty well."

"Pretty well!?" Taison yelled out, his face drooling with snot, tears and spit, "Is this what you call pretty well!?" The bone of his arm bulged out against his skin.

Marc Sero looked down at him, less than sympathetic. "Let's find a way to get you guys out of those cells."

"I think I have that covered," Copé said, a small victory, if nothing else, "I took it from the Knight."

Sero nodded his head approvingly. Walking over to the writing desk, Sero began inspected various pieces of parchment. The Thief held the key in his hands, going over to the door of the cell. It took some maneuvering to fit his hands in-between the bars with the shackles, but he was eventually able to reach the keyhole. He smiled as he did it, for some reason, he found himself wanting the admiration of Marc Sero. Still, part of Secrat hated Sero for stealing his thunder.

The key didn't fit and Sero realized it the same moment as Secrat.Sero shook his head disapprovingly. Then, leaned over behind the desk for a second. The second after, a ring of keys came flying from his hand into

Secrat's cell.

"It's as if to say that, just because you're in a prison cell, the world doesn't bend at your will, making every key the one that leads to freedom," Sero said.

"One of those keys should do the trick though."

It was difficult to distinguish for certain whether Marc Sero was annoyed

or being playful. His voice stayed dry and without any hint toward his mindset.The Thief shook it off, however, choosing not to dwell. He reached for the key and a sharp jolt of pain surged through his broken hand. After wincing, he grabbed them with the opposite hand and freed himself from his shackles. The cuffs left impressions on his wrists. He opened the cell-door using another one of the keys, tossing them off to Samuel once doing so.

It felt nice to be free, although, he knew entirely too well freedom would only come beyond the walls of Italina.

Secrat walked toward Marc Sero and the writing desk. Sheets of parchment alluded to different things, Wanted Posters, drawings of Brutus and Secrat. They hadn't had a reason to make composites of anyone else. Secrat shredded both sheets in-half. They weren't the best likenesses anyways.

Samuel Syi's cell opened. Syi, hurriedly, and shackle free, ran over to The Knight. Copé watched him. Syi inspected the ring on his hand for a moment, then twisted it off. A burn-mark was left on The Knight's hand, not unlike the one on Samuel's.

"A special ring," Secrat remarked, his eyes looking over as Lukas Lewis

left his cell.

Samuel looked up at him. And smiled. "A very special ring."

"It come with a story?"

"It does." Syi said. Turning as Lukas joined his side.

"You'll have to tell me it sometime," Copé said, watching Brutus fumble with the keys, now in his cell.

"I am afraid that one's going to my grave."

Secrat opted not to question further. The ring's power is what he pondered on, but Samuel was allowed his secrets.

Brutus opened his cell-door, the swelling on his face had gone down considerably, but his movements remained peculiar.

"I don't know about all of you, but I've done 'bout had enough of Italina for one lifetime." His voice was less high-pitched and raspy. Brutus, like the rest of them, was exhausted by the day's occurrences.

"The guards won't be gone for too much longer, and for all I know, there could still be one or two of them roaming about the castle." Sero said, lifting his bow off from the table and advising them to leave.

"Do you have a means of transportation? We'll need to get far from the castle fast." Lukas asked, first words he had said in a while. Copé's wishes of him going mute in vein.

"Yes, yes, I stole one of their big ugly carriages," Marc answered.

"Where is it?" Lukas asked next.

"Oh, well, it's in my back pocket, I didn't want to look obvious.

"Answered Sero, then added: "It's outside, where else would it be, you idiot!?"

"The Knights won't let us through the gates, so this carriage will be of no use to us after a point." Secrat interjected.

"I'll smuggle you all, cover you with sheets and blankets."

"They'll recognize their own carriage," Secrat interjected.

"Then we'll string them up by their necks!" Marc exclaimed. "You'll have to forgive me for not thinking of everything." Once more, Copé found himself unsure on if Marc was annoyed or being playful.

"Can somebody help me?" the loud whimpering voice of Taison called out from behind them. Secrat had almost forgot he existed. What a pleasant time that was.

"I dunno, are you going to try and be a hero again?" Copé asked, throwing a smile at Brutus, who seemed equally amused by Taison's suffering.

"You didn't exactly do a lot of good with your heroics either," Lukas said back, in Taison's defense.

"How was I supposed to know he was fireproof?" Copé asked, as he started walking toward Taison's cell.

His chubby-faced acquaintance sat uncomfortably suffering in his cell, Copé extended his hand between the bars. Frightened, Taison reached Copé's hand. "Not quite," quipped The Thief, bowing his head at where Lukas Lewis threw the keys in Taison's cell. Taison reciprocated the nod, now knowingly, and with his good hand, gave Secrat the key-ring.

Copé resisted the urge to walk away and leave him as a joke. Must have been tired like Brutus. Instead, he unlocked the cell-door and walked inside the cell in-front of Taison. The round thief held his good hand up for Secrat, who obliged and exerted himself to assist Taison.

He had a half idea to lift him up by his neck, twist him and ring out the idiot from him like water from a rag, and that half-desire was all but enough to hatch an idea.

Secrat freed his hand from Taison, causing him to fall backward to the floor and let out a shriek of dismay. Lukas glared at him, but Copé didn't care much. "String 'em by their necks," he kept hearing Marc Sero say repeatedly. He didn't know why. Didn't know why the words meant something. Until, at last, he looked up to the end of the room, at The Gallows. Nooses hanging from the ceiling over a platform. Copé twirled the Useless Key around in his hands.

"Ascend the walls," Secrat announced. Drawing eyes from about everyone except for Lukas, who tended to Taison.

"That's thirty feet, slugger," Brutus fired back. "If I wouldn't been shot with an arrow, I still wouldn't be able to climb that damn thing."

"We'll pull you up by a rope," Copé said, pointing at the nooses.

"Start one little bar-fight and suddenly you're ready to kill me off?" Brutus feigned being offended.

Copé ignored him; he looked over to Samuel Syi and Marc Sero instead.

Marc shrugged his shoulders, "Sounds about as good as anything I can think of."

Secrat Copé and a reluctant Lukas Lewis dispatched some of the nooses, each carrying two of them, about ten feet apiece, over the back of their necks. They, and the rest, ascended up the stairs, wasting little time, with knowledge that very soon King Harries' speech would conclude and he, along with all the knights would arrive back at the Castle. The next floor up was filled with chairs and a stand front-and-center, a presentation of Italina's trial system.

Soon after, they arrived at the ground-floor, back to the entrance where Secrat had once been. The Thief realized, had he taken the left-hand side instead of the right, he'd have eventually found the prison-cells.

As they made it to the steps, Secrat stopped dead in his tracks. "We'll be leaving Italina empty-handed," Copé realized. "All of this, will have been for nothing."

Amid their hurried movement, they all stopped as well. Samuel was the first to look at Secrat. "If it's about our survival or a heist, always choose survival, Copé."

"But what if we could have both?" He countered. "I killed a Knight, only hours ago. Marc Sero killed a Knight. I have a broken-hand. Taison, a brokenarm. Brutus, well, look at him. All of this will have been for nothing at all. All of this pain, and I say, what if we could have both?"

"Because we don't have time for it," Samuel said, firmly.

"He's right," Lukas Lewis interrupted. "Secrat, that is."

Samuel seemed a little surprised by it, doing a double-take on Lewis. Copé, meanwhile, wasn't taken by it. But was counting on it. Lukas Lewis was easily manipulated, especially by his own morality and need for vindication.

"This whole night has been nothing but useless bloodshed and nonsense, and if there is any way at all to make it a little more meaningful, I'm all ears for it." Lukas added.

Samuel turned around for a moment, as if expecting to see an army of men traveling up the steps after them. When he didn't, however, he let out a breath and looked back to Secrat, "Proceed."

Reaching down in his legging's pocket, Secrat brought out the key he'd stolen from the Knight. "I couldn't think of what this key went to earlier, thought it went to the cells. But, before I was identified, I was let into a room, and in it, I saw everything we'd stolen at the Aer Festival and more. I think this key gives us passage into that room, and I think if we're smart about it, we could leave with more than enough to show for our efforts."

A reluctant nod from Samuel Syi let Secrat Copé lead the way down the stairs to the Castle's Trophy Room. The key worked as anticipated, and inside, they poured, eyeballing all of the items with hurried minds.

The obvious items were chosen first. The Statue of Livius Reid was carried down by Secrat Copé, Samuel Syi and Lukas Lewis, taking their time down the plethora of stairs.

Meanwhile, Brutus Ess carried what he could, the ache in his leg made it difficult. That ended up being a couple of diamond-encrusted sais and a pair of katars of similar esteem.

Marc Sero carried handfuls of gold-bars, making it down and back up for a second-load before they were even halfway down with the Statue.

"After the Statue's loaded, that's all we'll be able to take," Samuel snarled, grinding his teeth as they continued their way down the never-ending steps.

"Everything look good, Taison?" Lukas asked, him and Secrat, walking backward down the steps.

"Nobody I can see," Taison said back. Walking behind them, cradling his broken appendage, like it was his contribution to the wagon. A very invaluable contribution, Secrat thought.

Marc Sero came back down the stairs with more gold-bars, running down fast. Once they made it down the stairs, they laid the Statue down in the wagon, amongst all the other items. It wasn't a bad get, all things considered, but the grand finale would be making it out of Italina with all of it, and themselves intact.

Samuel sat upfront at the reins. The carriage seated all the thieves, and more-so, with four horses up at the front. "Had to steal them from their stables, kept their carriages there too." Sero said, climbing into the wagon in-front of the carriage, sitting in the back corner.

Secrat couldn't suppress a laugh. They found themselves sitting in the very same assigned spots they'd come to Italina in. As if all their thoughts unanimously paralleled, laughter came from all in unison.

Samuel Syi toted the reins, plucking and yanking, and soon, they were mobile about the city roads. The night was at its absolute blackest, over midnight or well-nearing, yet many fellow carriages were in the streets. The horses galloped by three smaller chariots that Copé could count in seconds.

They needed to be further out into the city. Before they scaled the Italina walls. The whole city of Italina sat in-front of the Amisoic Sea, and for some time, the top of the walls would only overlook the splashing waves of that ocean.

The feeling was an unreal one, as all laughter faded away and silence was allowed to take. Copé sprawled himself out, lying flat in the wagon and looking up at the stars. He could count them. The stars. And while an inopportune and inconvenient time, he found himself struck with an existential crisis. Some were no more distinguishable than those stars. Some thieves. Some knights. But, the moon. The moon was special and unique. Of all the stars, the Christique's, the Lukas Lewis', the Toucan's, or the Black Man and

His Wolves. That's all they were. Stars. They were insignificant.

Indistinguishable. Unimportant. A waste. What about him?

An incomprehensible shriek followed suit. It belonged to Taison. Whose unofficially designated job as watchman at last paid off, his hands flailing like a crazed orangutan, his finger's poking and pointing like a pirate at the first sight of land. But it wasn't land he pointed at, but a carriage of Italina cavalryman. The three of them riding horseback, their armors looking more on the decorative side and their horses bard with chainmail, it'd appear they were only just arriving back from the King's speech. But did they chase after the carriage because they recognized the carriage, or because they had since found out of the prison-break. Secrat presumed the former, accounting for the short numbers on their tail.

Copé rolled on his back and crawled toward the back-end of the carriage, meanwhile, Marc Sero readied an arrow for his bow.

Samuel continued at the reins, but the increasing speed of the carriage told he was aware of the situation.

Copé heard something knocking against the carriage, "They couldn't possibly have already gotten that close to us!" Copé whispered to himself, bobbing his head up out of the wagon. He ducked again fast, barely missing the swinging sword of one of the knights. A second later and his head would've gone its separate ways with his body. "Or, maybe, they could be."

The Thief crawled from that area of the wagon, reaching for the katars. They were like nothing he'd used prior, holding them in his hands, he wasn't even for certain he was doing that correct. However, he brought himself up to his feet and stared off at the three knights. Still only three of them, it meant the others mustn't be aware of their escape. Copé walked forward, wondering what he'd possibly do.

He blocked a slash from the guard and made a stifled attempt at snatching the knight's sword in-between his two blades. The knight was soon able to retract his sword back over to him, however. Secrat leaned forward from the wagon and made a swipe of his own, barely missing his adversary's neck. Copé stumbled, his stomach leaned over the wagon to the outside, his nose pointed at the ground.

The sound of an arrow being shot behind him, soon followed by the clink of it hitting its mark. Copé looked and saw a horse falling over itself, taking the knight down with him. The only downside was it wasn't the knight grabbing The Thief's clothing, trying to pull him out from the wagon. He succeeded too, in part, flipping Secrat over the front of the wagon. Secrat landed with his feet on the knight's running horse and the front of the katars resting on the edge of the wagon. He felt the hand of someone inside the wagon grab his, too little too late, it'd seem.

The moonlight illuminated just enough for Secrat to see the face of the knight beneath his helm, his eyes looked maddened and ready to kill. He brought the sword up with both hands, intending to press it down into the stomach of Secrat.

Copé drove a boot at the knight's leg which did little to stop his attack, but it allowed Secrat to readjust himself, kicking off from the knight's horse, tossing the katars back, and leaving himself simply hanging from the side of the wagon. This brought back memories.

He brought himself back up into the wagon, rolling in and landing ungracefully on his back. Resting for a second. Secrat looked over at the weapons he had to work with. Someone had taken the sais for their own usage, and he had since decided never to touch the katars again. He snatched up a rope from one end and climbed back to his feet, sprinting toward the back end.

Brutus Ess laid uselessly in one corner of the wagon, his wounds admittedly making him no use for combat. Copé through the other end of the noose at

Brutus, and smirked, "Hold onto that like your life depends on."

Brutus obliged, "I'll do my best," he said with a curious look on his face, eager for what Copé had in mind. The Thief, never one to disappoint, braced himself, both remaining knights were more taken by Marc Sero and Lukas Lewis' efforts. Sero with a bow and Lukas with the sai swords. Secrat took a breath and let it leave him. Of all the stars, the Christique's, the Lukas Lewis', the Toucan's, or the Man and his Wolves. That's all they were. Stars.

Secrat began his run but hesitated. He took a final breath. And ran.He leaped out from the wagon, using the walls for extra support. The death end of the noose in-hand, and by some chance found himself landing in a seated position in-front of the knight. A comical aesthetic for those watching, no doubt, but Copé felt nothing short of terror. The knight was taken aghast as well. Almost enough that his reflex would send him tumbling off his own horse. Almost

Copé hadn't the chance to attack, however. His surprise advantage was spent entirely situating himself on the horse. Once that was finished, he received a headbutt from the knight. "Fucking crazy," the knight said. And, indeed, Secrat was, a 'fucking crazy,' that is. The Thief fell back to the side of the horse, dependent entirely on the noose he hung onto. The knight brought his sword out from his sheath. Secrat used his momentary obliviousness to climb beneath the horse, using the noose, as an assist to keep himself beneath the horse. Copé felt his hair descend to the dirt. His back less than a foot away from touching the ground. The horse's gallop never waned, and in a moment of shear lunacy, Copé plucked the foot of the knight startling him again.

The knight slashed his sword down in a missed attempt, and in that attempt allotted Secrat the means to pull his arm, bringing the knight down, almost off his horse. The knight refused to fall though, and in a position on the side of the horse, continued on the offensive. The horse began to slowdown, but to the dismay of the noose, which tugged it along.

Copé found himself on the receiving end of a punch from the knight, knocking his head down against the dirt. If not for the rope, he would've fallen to the ground.

Secrat fought back, for no reason in-particular throwing a headbutt of his own. It hurt him much, much, much more than it hurt the knight, but soon after that moment, he flung the noose over the head of the knight. The knight reacted fast, trying to slash the noose with his sword, but it yanked him too soon. He found himself tugged off from the horse and by the neck, chasing after the carriage. True to his word, Brutus did not let go.

Secrat readjusted, the horse at a complete standstill now, Copé brought himself up on the horse, seeing the lifeless knight off in the distance, still being pulled by the carriage. He slapped his feet to the side of the horse, who was easy to start running again.

In time, he caught up to them, the horse running beside Samuel Syi, "Enjoying yourself?" Samuel asked. He seemed to be.

"Not as much as some of the others," Secrat answered, looking back at Brutus Ess, who yelped and hollered sadistically watching with mirthless amusement once the knight's body snagged against something and decapitated him.

Samuel had the same sadism carried in his grin, a moment where, with the adrenaline and their hearts pounding, they shared an unrelenting affection for infliction. Of anarchy. Of pain. Of Mischief.

"What happened to the third man?" Secrat asked, more curious than concerned.

"He fell back," Samuel asked. "Think he is going back to inform the others."

"It's time we ascend the wall. Amisoic Sea won't be a problem anymore," Secrat fired urgently, looking behind him to make for certain there weren't any green auras were following them. There weren't.

Samuel Syi agreed, slowing the carriage and making a turn, having never strayed too far away from the Italinian wall.

The walls' huge towering never seemed greater. The once cold air of Italina, no longer cold, but rather, freezing. When the adrenaline vacated him, Secrat found himself shivering with discomfort.

The objective became simple once the carriage was stopped, but they moved fast regardless. In certain spots, they tied the nooses into knots, keeping the gold bars snug in-between them. On the same noose, they focused themselves on the Statue of Livius Reid.

It was a beautiful aesthetic, the visual splendor of seeing Livius Reid hung by a noose.

But The Thief took very little time to enjoy himself or that fact, his winded-body deprived of sleep. He felt himself more resembling of a sleepwalker than that of an able-minded man. Samuel Syi gave all the orders, instructing how to do this and how to do that. He was also the one to tie one noose onto another and do the same with a third. The wall was only about thirty-or-so feet, and thereby, all they needed was three of the four nooses. A good thing too, as Copé doubted any of them would want to use the noose that had severed the knight's head only moments earlier.

Samuel Syi and Marc Sero brought themselves up the wall. Marc holding onto the rope as he climbed. Neither of them struggled or seemed to have any discomfort whatsoever. Secrat soon began his climb up the wall as well. He had done it once before, a time ago that felt like an eternity-and-a-half and did it well. But this time was more difficult. His injured hand made it difficult to form a grip around the ridges, but he continued on. By the time Samuel and Marc finished muscling their way up, Secrat was about halfway. The adrenaline coursing through him wasn't enough to alleviate the absolute wore and fatigue, but soon, he reached the top of the wall, taking the hand of Samuel, who helped him making it to a seated position.

The Statue was the biggest issue of the whole heist. The thought of leaving it likely crossed the mind of many of them. It certainly had crossed Secrat's mind. But they couldn't. The Statue was the most valuable item. And to surrender it would be too large a disappointment.

Sero shared the rope with Secrat and Samuel. Their tug-of-war with gravity began soon after, them trying their hand at ascending the Statue and gold-bars. The Statue itself was three-hundred pounds, give or take, a heavy son of a bitch, and the gold would stack on about forty or so. The ropes were in no danger of breaking, however. Having carried similarly large men to their death.

It wasn't as heavy as Copé anticipated. It raised off from the ground easy enough, three foot bled to four, from which then, went to five. The Thief felt the burn of the rope on his hands, or his hand, more-so, as his injured hand offered little assist. Seven feet or so and Copé could feel the sweat on his brow but ignored it. It'd be a very long way from there, but he knew they'd muscle through.

After this, it'd be about lifting Brutus Ess, who watched down below them, having to resist the urge to cheer them on with helpful phrases like "Hurry up, assholes!" and the works.

Taison and Lukas Lewis stood beside the wagon. Lewis twirled a sai around in his hand nervously, both of them were on lookout for any knights. Not that Taison would be any help against them.

Copé continued yanking up at the rope with heavy might. He doubted his assistance was that greatly appreciated, but they were about fifteen feet up the wall now. About halfway. Samuel and Marc did the heavy-lifting, grunting and tugging like a whore from The Hollow off toward Jalint.

When the gold-bars began making their way up to them. As directed by Samuel, Secrat unfastened them from the noose and threw them, one by one, over the other-side, into the Unprotected Wilderness. It lightened the lift, and in that, Copé made no stride returning to assist them.

His eyes went over to Lewis and Taison again. It'd only have been an

instant, had he not caught sight of a knight. The night made it so very difficult to make out. All he vaguely saw were the figures and what the moon led view

to.

The cavalryman walked toward them. Lewis took sight of him and did a turnaround, glancing over like he was looking for another Flux member to assist him. But none would. Brutus was in no condition, nor was Taison. He was on his own and soon realized as much.

The knight-shaped figure had his weapon unsheathed, he wasted little time to swing his blade. Lewis was fast at reacting, leaping back away from the sword. All Lewis had in his hands was a small sai.

Thieves were trained to make use of weapons like knives and such, and thereby, he wasn't as too much of a disadvantage. Lukas made a jab forward, though, only drove it into the man's armor. It was dark and finding areas of flesh would be an issue. The man drove a forearm fourth, right to Lewis' temple, sending him spiraling in a daze.

"Secrat, help!" Samuel hollered out, as at last, the Statue came in armreach. Copé did so, grabbing an arm of the statue and lifting, though, he looked on at Lukas battling the knight.

The knight drove a sabaton to the knee of Lewis, bringing him off from his feet. Lewis held his leg in dismay.

His adversary was going for the kill; sword readied. The knight brought his sword down, his intentions clearly sighted at the back of Lukas' neck. But instead, he left a tackle from behind by Taison. The round-faced thief wrapped his uninjured arm around the knight's neck, stuck on him like a leech. The knight stammered at first, and fell to one-knee, as Taison continued his hold. Soon, the knight fought back to his feet, the much-larger Taison still him much in his clutches.

Secrat noticed Lukas Lewis' outline as well, Lewis returning to a vertical base. He gripped the sai in his hands, and upon realizing the situation, ran toward the knight. With the sai, Lukas went for a jab, but simultaneous to that, Copé watched the knight drive an elbow to the broken arm of Taison, forcing him to relent his hold.

The knight moved. And the sai. Drove into the throat of Taison. Lukas Lewis flinched. Leaving the weapon wedged into his throat.

The knight swung his sword from behind Lukas, who anticipated it, ducking. A surprised Taison found himself decapitated. Lewis reacted fast, tackling the arm of the knight and prying the sword off of him.

Secrat felt a smile forming on his face with every action and reaction. A smile of the tides finally turning in his favor.

Lukas Lewis brought the sword off from the ground and whipped it across the knight's neck. It didn't decapitate him. It wasn't as satisfactory as that. It killed him though. Digging about halfway through his neck, Lewis released it from his clutches before conclusion and watched as the knight fell to his death.

His death, by Lukas Lewis' hand.

They finished tossing the Statue of Livius Reid outside the city walls and it fell with a thud. They began next at lifting Brutus Ess, who was a much, much easier task.

By the time they finished, Lukas Lewis started his climb up the wall as well. Copé's smile still hadn't left his face, and he didn't know why he felt such joyousness about the chubby boy's death. But he did. He absolutely did. As Lewis joined them, they had already started lowering Brutus slowly down the wall. They couldn't simply drop him like they did the Statue and gold-bars.

"Will Taison be able to tie the rope around his waist by himself?" Samuel asked, his eyes watching Brutus descend.

"Taison's dead," Lukas Lewis said plainly.

Syi jolted a moment, and Brutus dropped a great-deal faster for a second as a result. Marc Sero carried an unenthused intrigue, while Secrat tried his best at seeming downright surprised. "What do you mean? What happened!?" Samuel asked loudly, either to emphasize shock or because he had to contend with his teeth being clamped down as they lowered Brutus with the noose.

"A knight showed up, I fought him off, but not before he took a stab to Taison." Lukas answered, an in-shock lack of emotion in his voice.

"It looked like more than a stab to me," Copé answered. He made for certain not to be smiling as he spoke, but it was difficult. "Did you happen to bring the sai's up with you?"Lukas shook his head.

"No matter," Samuel said. "If one showed up, it's only a matter of time before the rest of the nest comes knocking." Syi began his climb down, before adding, "It's time we make our leave from this god forsaken hell-hole."Copé saw Marc Sero smile in agreement before making his climb down as well. Lukas Lewis made no quick movements, his face empty and broken, he stared off from into the distance. Off at where Taison's corpse resided. Because of him.

Copé looked there as well. He could see the Sanchi Tower, standing high, but far into the distance, it glowed green, a beautiful image in spite of the circumstances.

Secrat Copé held optimism for the very first time in a long time, and as his eyes cast off to the sad Lukas Lewis, he grinned, punching his dearest friend on the shoulder and saying, "At least they didn't cut off your head, killer!"

### Epilogue

The statue and gold-bars were taken deeper in the Unprotected Wilderness by the members of the troupe and they began scouting for a carriage to carry the cargo back to The Red Flux. The initial idea was to bury the items and leave one of the Flux to watch over the area until the rest of them could arrive back from the Flux campsite with ample means of transportation. However, because the cumbersome nature of the Aer Festival, it was made very easy to steal a small buggy and a couple of horses from slumbering wanderers.

Fireworks went off into the night as they made their leave, a commemoration, to some, of the Aer Festival and the finishing touches to King Harries' speech. To them, however, it offered condolences for the broken hands, arms, ribs, and severed necks. A well worthwhile grand finale that didn't startle Copé this time as he heard it. They shot off into the sky and broke away like little falling stars. Far more visually appealing at night.

The arrival back to The Red Flux was met with welcomed arms. Lukas' mother Mirai and little-sister Ansh hugged him, and he, though shattered, feigned a smile.

The rest of the Flux clapped and hollered with signs of admiration, taken by the beaten wounds dressing each member. A large statue and some goldbars, not the biggest, nor the most ground-breaking of heists, but a survived heist. Copé ventured out from the wagon and off to the side, standing by Father Toucan Veras, who seemed aware, without having to ask, that all had not gone according to plan.

His father wore a long, black cloak that went over most his torso, very neat and clean. Contrasting from Copé's dirt-riddled leggings and stainedbrown shirt.

"How's your hand?" He asked Copé, whose hand was a complete blackish purple, resembling someone who had contacted frostbite.

"It's been worse," Secrat lied, albeit thinking back to when daddy dearest stomped on his hand and broke in the first time.

Father Toucan Veras chuckled like the evil sadist Copé always suspected him to be and walked over to Samuel.

Veras wouldn't be chuckling once Samuel Syi informed him of the countless murders and of Taison's death.

He didn't, either.

Soon after, everything fell back into calmness, smaller and less reckless. A venture out into the Whispey Deserts brought fortune from the gold-bars and the Statue of Livius Reid. They even tried to sell the Sword of Charles Tertius, but it was labeled "fake" by merchants. "Seems about right," remarked Father

Toucan, tossing the sword back to Secrat Copé, though nothing else came of it.

Copé was made an Elite Thief. With Lukas Lewis' indiscretion, he felt himself unjustified in his hatred for The Thief and relented. Though, it was through the help of Copé's exploitation of the fact that such realization was come to.

Back again, in time, Copé aimed his eyes at the night. Copé had enemies, ... many of them. Ones who wanted him dead. But, in the grand-scheme, stars is all they were. Nothing more, and nothing less.

He'd face them, undoubtedly. In time. Stars in the sky sure to fall. In time.

Such was life. But The Thief would be more than that. Special. Unique.

Phenomenal.

Secrat Copé would be The Moon.

