Stealing was easier on the surface, and Nyu had gotten used to it — which is precisely why she enjoyed the occasional challenge of lightening the pockets of the underworld's distrustful upper class.

Granted, what went for upper class in the dark caves of Morathen paled in comparison to the aristocrats of Cylion and other surface cities, but there were circles of wealth that had formed around Malvorn and his luscious palace complex, like a midriff bulge. This bond of the underworld's leader and the selected few who stood to profit expressed itself in nepotism and the attendance of decadent parties and gatherings. But while those machinations were largely kept from the general public, even the most underprivileged peasant could see the forest of smaller mansions that had started to sprout around Malvorn's residence like a fungus. Run-down huts and meager shelters were torn down and made way for richly decorated urban villas, fooling their inhabitants into thinking they lived in a place of culture and prosperity.

The truth, of course, couldn't have been farther from it: while the area around the palace turned into a fancy masquerade, the rest of Morathen was still dirt-poor — and it showed. Like a painter running out of color, the bright facades and shiny marble columns gave way to more and more rundown shacks the further away you found yourself from the residence district. The concentric waves of increasing poverty would eventually splash against the rocky walls on the far side of the main cave, where the economic sediment of the underground society lived, surviving on scraps and petty thievery. The rapid changes Morathen underwent in recent years were met with mistrust and revulsion, and most people on the outskirts only ever saw prosperity from afar. To them, escaping the cave world was still the prerogative aspiration of all Fateless, as their confinement was synonymous with their generational poverty and hardship. The fact that a privileged establishment of Fateless had built itself a cozy nest amidst the darkness and almost seemed content with the way things were led to widespread frustration, especially by those who did not profit from the wealthy benefactors Malvorn had procured.

But while the entourage that surrounded Malvorn slowly came to terms with life in Morathen, their leader seemed to have had an epiphany — and as such, he proclaimed that a new dawn was upon them, that their days in darkness were numbered and that they would emerge from the depths and take revenge on the ones who sent them there in the first place.

Most common folk, though very much intrigued by the idea, found this man-made prophecy hard to believe. It was not even about the how, but the why — why would a man, who was drowning in riches, leave all of it behind to lead his people to a land where all would be equal? It was assumed that Malvorn was just spreading these ideas to appease the populace, that his words were as empty as the stomachs of those they were meant for.

Nyu knew the truth, though. She knew that Malvorn was serious, ever since he first recruited her for scouting missions to the Great Library and Cylion. But where he used to accumulate wealth, he now accumulated thoughts of grandeur and vanity. His hatred for the Fateweavers had turned into an obsession, and their downfall seemed more important to him than the opportunities it could bring to his people.

Of course, Nyu wanted to move to the surface world as much as the next person — but she was not sure Malvorn or her kin in general would make it a better place. And so she had quickly become disillusioned with what Malvorn called their cause, and instead kept acting on her lifelong maxim of trying to profit from fools. Luckily, Malvorn's grand plans of conquest had great use for someone like her — or, more precisely, her set of skills.

And those skills were in need of honing.

It occurred to Nyu that stealing from one of Malvorn's closest associates was flying rather close to the sun, but the risky plays were usually the ones with the highest rewards. And it just so happened that this particular associate ran a neat little store specializing in rare antiques and valuable tapestries, many of which had found their way into Malvorn's throne room, for a handsome sum in gold. Presently, that gold was waiting behind several inches of thick iron that made up a massive vault door in the shop's backroom.

The owner of said vault, a man named Orinath, had started wiggling again while Nyu was lost in thought, and strands of saliva were dripping from his gag and onto his embroidered shirt collar. He stared at her with vitriolic eyes and kept making muffled noises of discontent, turning his face all shades of red. His tied-up hands were trying hard to stop his torso from tipping over, but he seemed close to losing his balance and falling onto a nearby footstool.

It was a truly undignified sight, and the fine clothes he was wearing did little to change that.

Nyu slowly slid off the antique table she was sitting on — a process which made both table and shopkeeper wince. Covering her hand in a colorful piece of fabric she took out of one of the displays, she yanked the gag out of Orinath's mouth. He gasped for air, filling his widened lungs with oxygen, and immediately began ramping.

"You impertinent brat!" he spat out, almost tripping over his own words.

"Do you have any i—" was the only thing he managed after that, before Nyu's palm made solid contact with his well-fed cheek. The slap echoed through the room and left Orinath frozen in motion, his head awkwardly twisted to the side.

Nyu examined him for a moment, casually rubbing her knuckles. Then, she knelt beside Orinath and lowered her hood-covered head.

"You see," she whispered near his ear, "your skin is so soft, I could do this all day."

The man in front of her gulped. When he finally overcame his momentary state of shock, his voice was more tempered.

"I don't know what you think you're doing here, but those are the most precious antiques you are desecrating," he pleaded, glancing at the hand-painted fabric map that had served as his gag, and was now a soggy ball of spit on the shiny oaken parquet.

"The thing is," Nyu said, and put a hand on Orinath's shoulder, making him flinch and look away, "I don't care. You can keep your plunder, or whatever is left of it once we're done here. I want what's in there." With her other hand, she pointed at the vault door.

"Do you even know who I am?" he asked with half as much resolve as he'd probably aimed for.

"Of course I do. Why else would I be here?" Nyu chuckled and made sure her mask was not slipping below her nose. The thick cloth muffled her words, but it also gave them weight.

Orinath seemed unsure what to make of this response. Clearly, he was prepared to tell Nyu all about his importance in the underworld. Disappointment was showing on his face.

"You are Orinath Flyn," Nyu continued, "merchant of fine goods and antiques. Malvorn talked at length about your pristine selection and how so many of your most valuable offerings found their way into his possession. He said your store was truly unique — with prices as exotic as its wares."

She paused and looked around.

"Sounds like you must've collected quite the fortune."

Orinath seemed to have overheard her remark. Some pressing thought drew his attention, and he looked all confused again.

"How … how do you know Malvorn?"

Nyu bit her lip. Revealing her connection to Malvorn might've been a tad too much, she realized. It was possible that his piece of information was enough to puzzle out her identity — after all, how many female thieves did Malvorn know?

But now, she just had to go with it.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"You think you're the only one with powerful friends?" she scoffed.

"Malvorn would never deal with scu— I mean, the likes of you." He squinted, as if expecting another blow.

"My relationship with Malvorn is beside the point. You are stalling, hoping your henchman will be back in time to save you."

Orinath looked away.

"Well, too bad," Nyu continued. "Presently, he is enjoying a steady stream of free alcohol at the inn down the street — today must be his lucky day." Nyu paused theatrically. "I don't expect him to be back anytime soon. Seems like he does not value his job all too highly — what are you paying the poor guy?"

The shopkeeper growled a quiet curse.

"Look, you can make this easy on yourself: just tell me where the key is, and we can both move on with our lives."

"I don't have the k—," he began, but was again cut off by a slap that sent shock waves through his body. This time, Nyu didn't wait for him to reflect on his actions.

"I really don't like wasting my time. I like it even less when others are wasting my time. I suggest you choose your next words wisely."

Orinath spat out some blood.

"Or what?" he murmured, not as a challenge, but in concerned interest. "Will you kill me?" The words were slow to leave his mouth.

"Why would I?" Nyu shrugged. "Then I would never get to see what's inside this beauty."

It took another few minutes of persuasion, but eventually Orinath chose cooperation over violence. The key had been hidden behind one of the paintings in his showroom, and the spoils of his vault were now filling Nyu's pockets and a large sack on her back. Of course, she wasn't able to take all of it — nor did she want to. Shoplifting was like keeping honey bees: you only ever took as much honey as you presently needed, because you didn't want the population to die out. This way, you could always come back for more once the nest had fully recovered. It was a symbiosis of sorts — one that had been very fruitful for Nyu ever since she started this enterprise.

She left the palace district as quickly as she could, although the guards there were the least of her concerns. Loaded with such valuable cargo, the residents of the sketchier districts would prove to be more of a problem. Her watchful eyes scanned every dark alley she passed, every covered house entrance, and every rooftop. She was looking for people like her, with ill intentions and greedy fingers. She wouldn't have blamed them, but this bounty was not for sharing — at least not with them.

After crossing most of the city, she eventually reached the outskirts near the far cave wall. Nyu started to relax a bit and pulled down her mask and hood. People here knew her, and while that didn't necessarily mean they were friendly, they at least knew better than to mess with her. And they would rather cut their own tongues out than rat her out to the wealthy upper class they detested.

She reached her target a few blocks further, in front of an old gray tower. A girl younger than Nyu was waiting there, impatiently pacing from left to right, pensively playing with a strand of orange hair. When she saw Nyu, she stopped abruptly and moved towards her.

"Took you long enough," Senya murmured.

Nyu shrugged. "The less cooperative type — it took me a minute to make him see reason." Back in the day, her sister would've found these tales funny, would've immediately asked for details. Now, she just looked tired.

Both Nyu and Senya had inherited their orange hair and pointy cheekbones from their late father — along with substantial debts to half the city and an emotionally unstable mother who needed more care than she could offer. Nyu had been the head of the family for longer than she could remember, had been trying to keep the lights on by all means necessary. Recently, her sister Senya tried her best to follow in Nyu's footsteps, especially now that Nyu was frequently gone on longer missions that took her to the surface. The money was good and well needed every time she came back with all she had earned, but Nyu couldn't shake the guilt that was gnawing on her. It felt like paying for absolution — like paying them to not blame her for spending her days somewhere far away, somewhere better. And she knew that Senya did not share her sympathies for the surface world. It pained Nyu to think that after all these years, she was finally not her sister's role model anymore. But at least that meant that Senya could become a better person than her. There was definitely still room for improvement, Nyu realized.

"Are you coming home soon?" Senya asked while they were transferring all the gold from Nyu's pockets.

"I don't want to … upset her," Nyu tried to dodge the question.

"You mean upset her more than you already do by never being around anymore?"

"Ouch," Nyu exclaimed, acting like she got stabbed in the chest.

A smile flitted across Senya's face, almost too brief to notice.

"She is okay right now. It would be nice if you came."

Nyu sighed. "I still have some errands to run, but then I will come. I promise." Senya looked skeptical, but didn't say anything. They finished their task in silence until her sister was aching under the weight of their haul.

"You sure you got that, Sparkles?"

"Don't call me that," Senya hissed. "I'm not a baby anymore."

Nyu examined her for a moment. "No, you certainly are not."

She tried to hug her sister, but the younger woman pulled back. Ignoring the frown on Nyu's face, Senya looked down the street and furrowed her brows.

"Have you heard the news?" she asked quietly.

Nyu cocked her head. "Heard what news?"

"Apparently, they caught some of your surface friends."

Nyu let the snide remark slide.

"Who did they catch? When?"

"If what I heard is true, they captured two Fateweavers snooping around in Tavira. Althor and his henchmen are taking them to the palace as we speak."

"Have they gone mad?" It burst out of Nyu. "Taking Fateweavers here? I can't believe Malvorn would encourage something that stupid. He knows there will be consequences. No way the Fateweavers are going to leave that unanswered."

Senya shrugged. "About time something happened, I guess. Can't get much worse."

Nyu cursed quietly. "Wanna bet?"

#

As Nyu hastened back to the palace district, she was greeted by crowds of people lining the main street. They were waiting in restless anticipation, ready to gloat and point at their accursed enemy who had, for the first time, found their way into their midst. Nyu still couldn't wrap her head around the events that were unfolding in front of her. She knew, of course, that there were Fateless stationed in Tavira, which was the closest town to their underground hideout. But those people were supposed to observe the outside world, not rattle it. They were to report back frequently, and Nyu herself had acted as a relay at times — secrecy had almost been paramount then. But with Malvorn's recent shift towards radicalism, she was not entirely surprised that things were getting more heated. And for all she knew, she had contributed to this turn of events by stealing that book. It had not seemed significant at the time, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow connected to all of this.

Nyu found herself a vantage point atop an old staircase and watched closely as the grim procession reached them. Althor was leading the group, his expression filled with pride and confidence, followed by a couple of his men who looked like they had just been beaten into a pulp. Their black eyes and bloody lips stood in sharp contrast to the two surprisingly unharmed Fateweavers walking in between them, both of them in handcuffs and chained together. Their colorful orange robes made them stand out against the gray robes of their captors, like sparks glowing in ash.

One of them was taller than the other, a young man with a grim look on his face. He seemed restless, like he was dying to do something rash. He was staring at the guard closest to him, undoubtedly trying to come up with some smart way of escaping. The woman next to him, on the other hand, looked tense but calm. She was eyeing her surroundings very carefully and with interest. A mixture of curiosity and disgust filled her eyes, but there was also something else — was it pity?

Nyu watched both of them closely. Judging by their identical hair and eye color, Nyu figured they might be related. The man looked like trouble, his nose already bloody, but his fellow, possibly his sister, was quite pleasant on the eyes. Either way, she had a hunch that both of them were insufferable — most surface people were rather arrogant when not presently intimidated by knives.

The crowd below Nyu was getting louder. It was a symphony of booing, accusations, and wild rumors that were spreading like wildfire. Soon, the two Fateweavers were deemed some of the most important of their order, bestowed with witchcraft and the power to read one's mind. An interesting piece of information among the babbling, though, was their presumed identity. More than once, she could hear the name Dor being tossed around, which only piqued her interest further.

The Dor family was one of the wealthiest families in Cylion, and even people down here knew of them. At once, Nyu's thoughts shifted from general interest to potential opportunity. If these two were actually members of that pristine family, there were riches to be made here.

Eventually, the procession turned around a bend and was no longer to be seen. The crowds dispersed as fast as they had gathered, and life in the streets went back to normal. Most of them would probably forget about this incident within the hour, would not give it any further thought, and just return to their dull routines — not Nyu, though.

"Dor, hm?" she whispered to herself. "Let's see if you are actually made of gold."

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