That’s the thing about this city; you never know what’s going to happen, especially in the middle of a siege.

The sun’s dim light faded away into the night sky, lit now only by the seven sacred moons that shined over Aria. Thieves emerge from its shadows like wolves in the wild, hunting their prey. Those weren’t the real criminals in the city of Eden, the mighty capital city of Tallania, as the rich and powerful would feast with the people’s plates. But among all thieves, one stood above any other.

At the top of Eden’s most prominent and most affluent residence, a single half-elven man was sitting right at the edge. His dark, thin leather clothing paired with his obscure cloak featuring a deep hood covering his short, charcoal-like hair helped hide him in the darkness. His black mask covered his face from the nose and below, helping to protect his identity from those he so skillfully robbed.

He contemplated the city, watching its market function. From up here, it looked like it was alive: here and there, people were shouting their products, proclaiming their sales. Sometimes someone would come out of the shadows to take someone’s purse and vanish again in the darkness. But these were amateurs, and Dorovar had just become a professional. And yet, he was sitting there, at his crime scene.

“I sit here,” he thought. “I sit here and wonder.” This was Dorovar’s biggest heist yet, and it all started with someone complaining about politicians in a tavern. The word in the streets was that the mayor, a wealthy nobleman attending by the name of Nicolaus deChanelle, had just hired a new gathering of mercenary guards.

It had to mean something was up, right? Well, Dorovar sure thought so. He spent days studying the residence, checking its guests, and analyzing its guards so he could infiltrate it easily. “In and out,” he thought, admiring the manor from a nearby bush. The property stood above the city like it watched the lower citizens walking by.

It was imponent. It was elegant, and yet it simply looked wrong. Corrupt, even. Too many details, too many inscriptions in doorways and on the wall.

“Well, maybe when I’m rich, I’ll get their dreadful taste too,” He thought. “I hope not,” he quickly added to his thinking.

The rest of the property was beautiful: a garden in the front with lovely flowers and diverse plants, with a water fountain in the center, large and deep enough for someone to dive in.

“Tempting,” he muttered to himself though remembered to keep quiet.

He had enough watching. The day came, and he approached the house, careful. Two guards stood by the front doorway, armed with swords and shields. They wore chainmail armors and watched like eagles looking for their dinner. A few other guards patrolled around the property, keeping an eye for intruders just like Dorovar was.

He walked carefully through the bushes, reaching for the back of the house where a small pond stood still, and this was the first part of the plan. It was the residence’s less guarded part, and he knew that. Only a single guard was watching the pond, distracted. “Good. One less problem to deal with”.

He quickly exited the bush and made a run for the house: he knew the backdoor would be locked tight, so he didn’t even try to unlock it. He could have picked its lock, but the chance of just going face-first into a guard was high, too high. He touched the wall, felt it, and smiled. Those awful golden details would be his way in: he grabbed them tightly and went up, starting to climb. He reached for the second floor, quickly checking for any guards, and jumped in.

It was some sort of dresser, a medium-sized room with various noble-styled clothing. It smelled good, like fresh out of the tailor. Dorovar’s elven senses warned him of danger. He swiftly jumped into the clothes by the wall, sneaking like in the bushes anew as he heard a nearby guard passing by the open door. The guard didn’t notice him as he relaxed for a bit. “Well, that was close.”

And, just like that, Dorovar was inside the most guarded residence in all of Eden.

He sneaked towards the door and carefully looked both ways. It was a corridor full of closed and open doors. Many of them revealing bedrooms with fine bedding and perhaps even jewelry, but he needed a remarkable high-grade score. Making his way to the staircase, he continued to the third and last floor in this mansion, finally finding what could only be the master bedroom.

The wooden opening had fine elvish-like details in golden coloring. The handles were circular and featured a lock for which Dorovar lacked the key. Lucky for him, he had a small robbery kit, including a lockpick, of course. He reached for his purse and took it in his hands, rapidly starting to mess with the locking system like a cook would bake a cake, but that thing wouldn’t give up.

He started hearing footsteps coming closer and knew he was in danger. Dorovar looked back: he could already see the guard’s shadow just around the corner. It was right at this moment that the door clicked, and he swiftly entered and closed the door right in time to see the guard turning the corner. A close call, yet again. He could now breathe and look around.

The mayor’s chambers were probably as big as a commoner’s entire property, probably more expensive too. He could immediately see the trinkets and jewelry on the tables and in the furniture. Along the walls, some paintings hanged, some of them depicting Mayor deChanelle himself, others portraying beautiful landscapes or other just personalities.

As Dorovar walked around the room, he felt the temptation to take all of it and run away merely, but that wouldn’t be enough of a score. What he needed was something huge, something legendary. Dorovar started to look around, open some drawers, started touching the walls, and looking under the bed on the lookout for a hidden safe somewhere. Three stairsteps led him to a large bed. The lining looked warm and comfortable, and he felt the lure to lie down and unwind for a moment, although he didn’t. After uselessly looking for something that had to be there,

Dorovar took a deep breath. “It has to be somewhere in the house, then,” he reasoned. “Maybe somewhere downstairs?”

As he stepped down to the chamber’s entrance, he heard chattering and footsteps from the outside. He promptly moved back and threw himself under the bed, hiding from whoever was out there. The door opened, revealing the mysterious lurker was no other than Nicolaus deChanelle himself.

The man was tall and slender, kind of sickly looking, with pale skin. He had a thin beard covering his face, long hair in a ponytail, and cobalt-colored eyes seemingly looking everywhere. Dorovar wondered if he knew he was there. The mayor looked back and continued his conversation in an abrupt tone.

“Well, tell him we will NOT strike during the nighttime!” The mayor seemed furious.

Dorovar put his head just a little outside to see what was going on but remained hidden. From out of the dormitory, a woman dressed in expensive steel armor was still like a soldier. Her clothing underneath the protection was scarlet.

Moreover, she wore a helmet that protected her entire head, including face protection like some nobleman did. It all looked high-quality as her long sword sheathed in his belt. She also featured a circular shield strapped to her back.

The guard accompanied the prefect as both entered the bedroom. “My lord…” and she took off his headgear. Dorovar almost exhaled loudly but managed to cover his mouth fast enough, for it was Nalypsis, his old friend. She was a tall human woman with short blonde hair, teak wood eyes, and a broken nose.

She put her helmet aside. “The king demands an immediate attack. The enemy, Sire, you know their destructive power. Eden wouldn’t resist them.”

Dorovar couldn’t believe this was the same old Nalypsis he knew his entire life. The woman had made some fortune living off as a mercenary and vanished a few years back. She now looked like she was in her mid-thirties, which shocked the thief a bit as he didn’t age a single year since her departure back then.

The nobleman took a deep breath. “Give me a few moments. I need to prepare.” The woman stared at him for a second and shook her head a single time, showing agreement. She took her helmet and went out, leaving the door open. Nicolaus sat at his writing table, looked around it for a moment, took a piece of paper and ink, and started to write something.

It was Dorovar’s opportunity to escape if he could manage to sneak around him quietly, and so he did. The half-elf skillfully ducked from under the bed and made his way towards the door, keeping an eye on the man writing his letter. He then finally got out of the administrator’s chambers, reaching out for the staircase. Dorovar quickly but silently descended, continuously checking ahead for danger. He made his way to the basement, which was his second guess as to where his pretty treasure could be. He found an unlocked, unprotected wooden hatch and, checking around if no one could see him, opened it. It was cold and lit inside.

As soon as he dropped in, he could feel his spine-shivering as soon as he took the first breath inside the cellar. From both sides, a total of six huge wooden barrels were emanating a cold, white smoke. At the end of the room, a dark metal door was still, with an enormous locking system at its front. That was it. Whatever he looked for, he finally found it. He just needed to get inside.

“I thought I saw you upstairs,” a familiar voice made Dorovar jump a bit as he turned to face Nalypsis. “It’s been a long time, Dorovar. But I fear this loot belongs to me.” And just like that, like there was never any sort of bond between the two of them, she unsheathed her blade, and she was ready for a battle.

Dorovar got caught off guard here. He wasn’t a soldier. All he had was an old dagger to threaten people, and he didn’t want to kill her. That meant he was bringing his fists into a sword fight, but so be it. “Nalypsis, I don’t want to fight you. You know I can’t.” The soldier solely prepared her shield in her left arm, slowly advancing in his direction. “And that’s why you’ll get out of my way, Dorovar. I won’t hurt you if I don’t need to, but believe me when I tell you if you cross my way…” And Dorovar then took a step in her direction, making the woman lose her words. He was nervous but managed to keep a straight face.

“What are you gonna do? Kill me?” He smiled like he wasn’t scared to die. The warrior opened her mouth and closed it again, speechless and charged. In a flash of a moment, her shield flew towards the half elf’s face, who started seeing stars in no time, falling to the ground and feeling something warm in his face. He soon realized his blood was pouring from his nose. He tried getting up but was too dizzy to do anything, slipping yet again to the ground. He could now see her trying to break into the safe by picking its lock but quickly broke her tool. She tried putting her dagger inside but was left disappointed yet again.

Meanwhile, Dorovar slowly regained his strength, putting himself into two feet once again. She was distracted, and he could quickly attack her now but had another idea. He studied the wooden barrel for a moment and quietly walked to its other side. There was a small ladder that he used to climb up, as it was quite tall. Looking down, as he thought, he could now see an ice-cold brewing ale.

This was his golden opportunity. With some effort, he pushed it, and the liquid fell all over Nalypsis, making her quickly turn her body towards Dorovar, shaking with the cold. The barrel fell to the ground and broke.

“This cold can’t be natural. It has to be magical,” he muttered to himself, as the armored lady ran her way in his direction, trying to slash his legs off, as he was now above her.

He realized her intent and jumped up and threw himself at her. Dorovar grabbed her neck and used both their weight to his advantage, throwing her to the ground and quickly performing a guillotine. She had dropped her sword but not her shield, which was now strapped in her arm, and used it to attack the thief, who defended with his arms, which not only hurt like hell as it made him relax the guillotine.

She backed away and put herself up, as did he. They were now both in combat positions, and Dorovar kicked the sword away. Although she still had a shield to her advantage, that would give him a bonus for now. The elf advanced while side-kicking her ribs with his front leg and promptly initiating a punching combo directed at her face.

She defended the kick with her arm, took two blows to her face, and pushed him away with her shield, quickly bashing him again with it in his chest. He could feel the air coming out of his lungs but couldn’t stop just yet. She attacked again with the shield, and he ducked. He got up again, using his momentum to blow a left hook in her stomach, making her flinch forward and get another punch right in her jaw. He tried front kicking her at her belly, but she grabbed his limb mid-movement and swept her leg at his standing one, leading him back into the ground.

It was slippery, as the elven blood was now spilled all over the floor, and she mounted him while punching him repeatedly with her right hand. He felt cold and didn’t know if it was the basement’s magic or his body passing out from the repeated strikes, but still somehow managed to think. He couldn’t possibly fight back now. If this continued, he was dead.

At this moment, Dorovar took a look into his attacker’s gear. He knew she always kept a dagger hidden in her back. He touched her back and quickly found it. Just one quick stab, and she would be dead, but he didn’t cut her. He took it into his right hand, took a look to the side while still getting hit, momentarily aiming with his mighty elven sight, and threw it as hard as it can.

It flew right into the wooden barrel, making a hole big enough the liquid started to spill, which caused a bigger opening to be made. The structure collapsed and naturally broke down, freezing the woman’s body and soul, projecting her to the floor yet again. Dorovar, getting on his feet again, grabbed her longsword and punched her with the weapon’s handle right in the side of her head. She fell unconscious, but alive.

And now, to the final part of the plan. Dorovar got to the third wine barrel and pushed the ladder to the side. He put his hands at the wood and, with enormous effort, started moving it across the room. When it was close enough to the safe’s door, he took his newly stolen blade and cracked it open. The magically frozen wine spilled across the room yet again, but this time mainly in the locking mechanism.

“Ice expands,” he pondered. “Metal doesn’t.”

Just like that, the locking mechanism blew like a bomb had been planted inside it, cracking it open. The half-elf pushed it aside and took a look inside: a single oval object, white with a bit of sky-blue, kind of scaly. He carefully took a step inside and touched it. It was hard, really hard.

“This is something I’ve only heard about in legends…”

He took it into his hands. He knew what it was: a real, extremely rare dragon egg. And taking it, he ran away. Dorovar ran. At this point, the guards probably knew he was there because of the amount of noise he and his friend had made, so as soon as Dorovar climbed the ladder, he tried escaping through the backdoor, but it was locked. He pushed the front door, but it was locked.

“I can’t see any guards here. That’s odd.”

He then climbed back to the third floor and escaped through the same window he got inside, but something caught his attention in the dark heavens: a shadow flying past the city. The elf skilfully climbed to the rooftop, watching the night sky: far away from the city, he could see fire and smoke. Majestic, gigantic creatures fought against each other, and he knew those were dragons. Dorovar sat at the edge of the rooftop and wondered.

“I sit here,” he said. “I sit here, and I wonder: is this all there is to this life? To take, and sell, and make money so we can continue to be slaves to these corrupted snakes?”

He took a hard look at the city, watching its market, watching the people that came out of the shadows to rob the less cautious. And then he listened to the footsteps behind him.

About ten guards had finally reached him. They were all dressed in fine armor and equipped with professionally sharpened weapons.

“Stop!” Their apparent leader took his sword into his hands. “You have nowhere to run, thief!”

Dorovar got up to his feet. He took a deep look at all of them and then into the skies. An enormous fleet of colored dragons came from the north, flying straight into battle.

“That’s where you’re wrong, guard. I’m not running.”

He threw the egg to the guard’s feet, as it was hard enough not to break, and jumped.

The half-elven thief jumped facing the guards and felt the water take him. Dorovar fell into the fountain. Rapidly getting out of it, he made his way outside the city, marching into the fire and smoke, into the battlefield. When he got there, a massive creature dropped to the ground and walked towards him. The dragon had beautiful, raging fire-red scales and eyes the size of the half-elf’s head, but he didn’t even flinch.

Because that’s the thing about this city: It’s corrupted, and it’s filthy. It has more criminals than a hound has fleas, but it was Dorovar’s home and family, and this thief was ready to defend it. Dorovar drew his blades and charged.

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