THE WORLD IS COLD
Northern Frontier City of Plekhelm, Kingdom of Arcadia
Year 23,814 of the Cerulean Calendar
The world was cold.
That was the only truth Corvin had ever known.
Plekhelm stood on Arcadia's northern frontier, caught between the lawless Nameless Lands and the pirate nation of Tesseri. It was a city forgotten by the very kingdom it served. Monsters prowled beyond its walls. Raiders crossed the borders whenever they pleased. Soldiers died protecting a kingdom that barely remembered they existed.
Every year, the capital promised aid.
Every year, less arrived.
The roads crumbled into dirt. Shops closed their doors. Buildings that had once housed entire families stood abandoned, their windows shattered and their walls slowly being reclaimed by nature. Gangs claimed entire districts while the guards looked the other way. Merchants raised their prices to compensate for the dangers of travelling north, making even basic necessities increasingly difficult to afford.
And yet, life continued.
People still married, children were still born, taverns remained open, and merchants continued selling their goods. The city had not stopped living. It had simply learned to live with misery.
In Plekhelm, survival came before morality.
The lucky became merchants.
The strong became soldiers.
The clever found ways to profit from the suffering of others.
Everyone else simply tried to live long enough to see tomorrow.
Corvin belonged to the last group.
Or at least, that was what most people would have said.
"Damn it, Corvin!" a merchant roared, his voice booming across the marketplace. "THIS TIME I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"
A small boy burst through the crowd, weaving between shoppers with practiced ease. Barefoot and dressed in little more than worn rags, he held a chunk of stale bread firmly between his teeth.
Beneath his oversized shirt rested another six loaves, pressing awkwardly against his thin chest.
The merchant thundered after him, knocking over a basket of apples before nearly colliding with a passing cart.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE RAT!"
Corvin couldn't help smiling.
He knew these streets better than anyone alive.
Every alley.
Every rooftop.
Every loose brick.
Every rotten wooden beam.
He knew which buildings had windows that could be climbed through, which streets became crowded during the evening markets, and which shopkeepers were particularly fond of throwing things at children.
He knew where the guards liked to stand, where the merchants kept their spare goods, and which alleys were best avoided after dark.
He knew Plekhelm.
To everyone else, it was a city.
To Corvin, it was home.
He ducked into a narrow alleyway barely wide enough for two people. Without slowing down, he planted one foot onto an old barrel before launching himself upward.
His fingers caught a windowsill.
He swung for another.
For a moment, everything went according to plan.
Then he felt something shift beneath his shirt.
His eyes widened.
"No..."
Two loaves slipped free.
They struck the ground with dull thuds.
The merchant skidded to a stop.
"My bread!"
The fat man scooped them up triumphantly, breathing heavily as sweat dripped from his forehead.
"You little bastard!"
Corvin stared down at him.
Then he sighed.
Two loaves gone.
It could've been worse.
He hauled himself onto the rooftop and took off again, crossing roof after roof with the confidence of someone who had spent years doing exactly this.
The evening breeze cooled the sweat on his skin as he leapt across the narrow streets below. His bare feet landed against old tiles and wooden beams, each step carefully placed despite the speed at which he moved.
He passed over a small courtyard, jumped across a narrow gap, and disappeared behind the roof of a neighbouring building.
After circling half the market, he climbed back down into the very street he'd fled only minutes earlier.
Just as he'd hoped...
The merchant still hadn't returned.
Standing behind the stall was the merchant's daughter, a young woman with auburn hair tied into a loose braid. She wore a simple dress beneath a faded apron, and her hands were busy arranging the remaining bread.
She noticed Corvin almost immediately.
"You lost him already?" she asked, folding her arms.
Corvin shrugged.
"Getting better, right?"
He flashed her a sly grin.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"I guess," she replied, snickering.
Corvin placed a hand over his chest.
"That's all you have to say? You're quite mean today."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to congratulate you for stealing from my father again?"
"Would be nice."
"You're impossible."
"And yet, here we are."
She rolled her eyes.
Corvin grinned.
Aurora had always been rather strange.
Most people in Plekhelm treated him like a nuisance. Some considered him a thief, others a pest, and a few had threatened to break his legs if they ever caught him near their businesses again.
Aurora, however, seemed to find his antics amusing.
Perhaps a little too amusing.
She glanced toward the street where her father had disappeared before looking back at Corvin.
Without another word, she deliberately turned her back to him and began rearranging the baskets.
"Oh dear..." she announced loudly. "I do hope nobody steals anything while I'm not looking."
Corvin grinned.
"Thanks for this again, Aurora! You're the best!"
He slipped behind the stall.
His hands moved quickly, grabbing six fresh loaves and tucking them beneath his shirt.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
He adjusted the fabric, making sure none would slip out.
Ten loaves in total.
Now that was a successful afternoon.
"You still owe me," Aurora muttered, keeping her back turned.
Corvin looked at her.
He didn't notice the faint blush spreading across her cheeks.
He didn't notice the way she kept rearranging the same basket despite there being nothing wrong with it.
And he certainly didn't notice the way her voice had softened.
As clueless as a fork, Corvin smiled.
His grin was so wide that it seemed to brighten the entire stall.
"One day, I swear I'll pay you back a hundredfold!"
"You've been saying that for years," she replied sarcastically.
"And I'm going to keep saying it until I can!"
Corvin said it with such conviction that, for a moment, it almost sounded like a promise he could actually keep.
Aurora laughed.
"Actually, I have a way you can pay me back."
Corvin stopped adjusting the bread beneath his shirt.
He looked at her curiously.
"What is it?"
Aurora turned to face him properly.
She looked down at him, meeting his eyes.
"Meet me tomorrow under the tree near Barkley's."
Corvin blinked.
He thought about it for a moment.
Then another.
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"Alright. I'll see you there tomorrow."
Aurora stared at him.
"Just like that?"
"Did you want me to sign something?"
"No!"
"Good. I don't have a pen."
She covered her mouth, trying to suppress another laugh.
Corvin looked at her with a puzzled expression.
"What?"
"Nothing. You're an idiot."
"An idiot who is leaving with ten loaves of bread."
Aurora shook her head.
"Get out of here before my father comes back."
Corvin gave her a playful salute.
"As you wish."
Within seconds, he had vanished back into the winding maze of alleyways.
Aurora watched him disappear.
Then she returned to arranging the baskets, although she found herself smiling for considerably longer than necessary.
Tomorrow.
She had something to look forward to.
...
The deeper Corvin travelled into the city, the uglier it became.
The smell changed first.
Fresh bread, cooked meat, and expensive spices disappeared behind him, replaced by sewage, cheap alcohol, damp wood, and smoke.
The buildings grew older and more cramped. Their walls were stained by years of rain and neglect, while broken windows were covered with pieces of cloth or old wooden boards.
Men with hollow eyes sat against cracked walls, clutching empty bottles.
Some were asleep.
Others were too drunk to remember where they were.
Children no older than Corvin searched through rubbish piles, hoping someone had thrown away something edible.
A few fought over discarded scraps.
Women leaned against doorways wearing painted smiles that never reached their eyes.
Some called out to passing men.
Others simply stared into nothing.
Corvin kept walking.
He knew better than to stare.
Life had taught him that everyone carried their own burdens.
Some simply hid them better than others.
He had seen enough suffering to understand that the world wasn't particularly interested in why someone ended up where they did.
It simply kept moving.
Almost without thinking, he slipped beneath a broken section of wall before climbing over another.
The narrow passage beyond was barely wide enough for him to squeeze through. He stepped over discarded bottles and pieces of rotten wood before emerging on the other side.
Soon, the noise of the streets faded behind him.
An abandoned building stood before him.
Missing windows.
Collapsed roof.
Rotting wooden floors.
Home.
He climbed through an empty window frame and landed inside.
The building had once been a proper house. There were still remnants of furniture scattered throughout its rooms, although most had long since been broken apart or taken by scavengers.
The roof had partially collapsed, leaving several sections exposed to the evening sky.
Rainwater had stained the walls.
Dust covered almost everything.
Inside sat everything Corvin owned.
A pile of dirty blankets serving as a bed.
A few empty bottles used to collect rainwater.
A handful of pieces of firewood.
A burnt circle where yesterday's fire had been.
Nothing more.
Corvin dropped the bread onto the floor before sitting heavily on the blankets.
He stretched his legs and let out a satisfied sigh.
Ten loaves.
He counted them again.
Just to make sure.
Ten.
A grin spread across his face.
"Beautiful."
He picked one up and placed it beside him.
For a moment, he simply sat there, enjoying the quiet.
Then his eyes drifted toward the cracked ceiling.
Five years.
He'd been living here for five years.
Five years since the incident at the church.
Five years since he'd become homeless.
He could remember fragments from those days.
They held a special place in his heart.
Sister Annabell.
She had taken care of him and the other orphans.
She played with them, fed them, cleaned their clothes, and made sure they were properly looked after. She taught them how to read and write, even though such skills were usually reserved for nobles and wealthy merchants.
Corvin still thanked her every day for that.
He remembered sitting around the old wooden tables while she taught the children their letters.
He remembered her patience whenever someone struggled with a lesson.
He remembered how she would scold them when they misbehaved, only to turn around and offer them something sweet when she thought nobody was looking.
She had always been kind.
Perhaps too kind for a place like Plekhelm.
Corvin remembered the games they played.
The stories she told.
The way she would gather everyone together during particularly cold evenings and make sure nobody went to sleep hungry.
He missed the smell of her soup.
The ring of the bell.
The sound of children's laughter.
He missed having somewhere to belong.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then...
Another memory always surfaced alongside it.
The church.
He remembered standing outside as it ignited in those beautiful red flames.
He remembered the heat against his face.
The orange light dancing across the surrounding buildings.
The distant shouting.
And the torch in his hand.
He had been standing there, holding the very thing responsible for the fire.
He didn't remember how it happened.
He couldn't remember why he had been holding it.
He couldn't even remember exactly when the fire had started.
The memories were fragmented, separated by gaps that he had never managed to fill.
One moment, there was the church.
Then there were flames.
Then there was him, standing outside with a torch in his hand.
Fortunately, nobody died.
That was what people had said afterward.
The fire had destroyed much of the building, leaving its walls blackened and its roof collapsed. The damage was too extensive for the church to reopen, and the kingdom had shown little interest in restoring a building in a district it barely acknowledged.
Sister Annabell and the other children had been forced to find somewhere else to go.
And Corvin?
He became just another street rat.
He never really felt bad about it.
Well, not entirely.
He missed the church.
He missed the people.
He missed the life he had before everything happened.
But the fire itself?
He had never quite understood why everyone made such a fuss about it.
It was an accident.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Besides...
Being sad didn't fill your stomach.
He reached for a loaf and bit into it.
The bread was so hard it nearly hurt his jaw.
He chewed anyway.
It wasn't particularly good.
It wasn't fresh, warm, or especially pleasant.
But it was food.
And food was food.
"Damn pig..." he muttered.
"Charging two Vlorans for this..."
He took another bite before finishing the loaf.
After swallowing the last mouthful, he stood and walked toward a loose floorboard near the wall.
Hidden beneath it lay four Vlorans.
Four small coins.
Enough for two loaves of bread.
Chump change.
He picked them up and turned them over between his fingers.
Four Vlorans.
That was all he had left.
He tucked the coins away and pushed the floorboard back into place.
He needed to pay another visit to him.
Jorken.
Corvin clicked his tongue.
He wasn't particularly fond of the man.
But work was work.
And money was money.
He adjusted his shirt, checked that the remaining bread was safely tucked away, and headed for the door.
...
Corvin walked through the bustling red district of Plekhelm.
It was much better maintained than the slums. Its streets were cleaner, its buildings were in considerably better condition, and its lanterns were regularly replaced.
It saw a lot more faces, after all.
Merchants, travellers, soldiers, and wealthy visitors all passed through its streets.
But that didn't mean it was any better.
Sad men who wanted to forget their worries for the night still wandered the streets.
Women with no other choice still offered themselves as company to those sad men.
And the pigs who owned the bars those men drank in, and the establishments where those women worked, stuffed their pockets each night with the hopes and dreams of those people.
The red district was built around desperation.
It simply dressed itself better than the rest of Plekhelm.
Corvin was looking for one such pig.
He approached a large tavern near the centre of the district.
Its wooden sign hung above the entrance, swaying slightly in the evening breeze. Red lanterns illuminated the windows, casting a warm glow onto the streets.
From outside, the building almost looked inviting.
Inside, however, was another story.
Men sat at crowded tables, drinking their lives away.
Some laughed.
Some argued.
Others stared into their mugs, hoping the next drink would somehow make their problems disappear.
Women working as entertainment moved between the tables, doing their best to satisfy customers who had paid for their attention.
Some appeared comfortable.
Others looked considerably less fortunate.
Corvin had seen enough of the world to understand that people didn't always get to choose the circumstances they found themselves in.
He walked past them without saying anything.
He wasn't here for them.
He approached the bar and slammed his fist against the countertop to get the barkeeper's attention.
The burly man looked down at him.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then he sighed.
"Boss is upstairs, kid. Room eleven."
Corvin flashed a smile.
"Much appreciated."
"Don't cause trouble."
"No promises."
The barkeeper gave him an unimpressed look.
Corvin grinned before making his way toward the stairs.
He climbed past groups of people gathered around small tables, passing two men arguing over a card game and another who appeared to have fallen asleep with his face against the wall.
The upper floor was considerably quieter.
Several doors lined the narrow corridor, each leading to one of the private rooms.
Corvin continued walking.
Seven.
Nine.
Eleven.
He stopped.
Then knocked four times.
...
He waited.
...
And waited.
...
Nothing.
Corvin leaned closer to the door.
He could hear voices inside.
One sounded familiar.
The other belonged to a woman.
He sighed.
Then tried the handle.
Unlocked.
Of course.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"Hey, Jorken. I'm here for a job."
His voice carried through the room.
Then he looked toward the bed.
Jorken was there with a young woman who looked around fifteen, only a year older than Corvin himself.
The sight immediately soured his expression.
The girl looked uncomfortable and tired.
Jorken, meanwhile, seemed entirely unbothered by the interruption.
Corvin's face twisted with disgust and contempt.
Jorken finally noticed him.
He looked toward the doorway, then sighed.
"Hey, missy. Take five."
The girl quickly gathered her belongings and made her way toward the bathroom.
She seemed relieved to have an excuse to leave.
Corvin watched her disappear behind the door.
Then he looked back at Jorken.
"Good," the older man said. "Because I've got something just perfect for Plekhelm's little rat."
He reached for his cigar and took a puff.
Corvin's expression hardened.
He hated that nickname.
He hated the way Jorken said it, too.
As though he were some amusing little animal that had been trained to fetch things for him.
"What's the job?"
Jorken smiled.
He leaned over the side of the bed and opened the drawer beneath it.
After rummaging around for a moment, he pulled out an envelope and tossed it toward Corvin.
Corvin caught it.
He turned it over before tearing it open.
Inside were several sheets of paper.
He pulled them out and began reading.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then stopped.
He read the passage again.
"Holy shit."
Jorken raised an eyebrow.
Corvin looked up.
"You want me to steal from a fucking Alchemist?"
He stared at the older man.
"Have you gone senile in your old age?"
Jorken's expression changed.
The amusement disappeared from his face.
"Boy..."
He took another puff of his cigar.
"I think you've forgotten your place."
Corvin said nothing.
Jorken leaned forward.
"And if I were you, I'd get to work. Steal what I've asked you to steal and bring it here by tomorrow morning."
He exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"Tonight's the only time the alchemist won't be home."
Corvin stared at him for another moment.
Then he folded the papers, placed them back inside the envelope, and tucked it beneath his shirt.
He turned toward the door.
"That's what I thought," Jorken muttered.
Corvin's jaw tightened.
He wanted to say something.
Several things, actually.
Unfortunately, he also wanted the money.
And he knew better than to start an argument with someone who could make his life considerably more difficult.
So he left.
The door closed behind him.
...
Entering back out into the red district, the cold night air struck his face.
He stepped away from the tavern and found a relatively quiet alleyway nearby.
Only then did he pull out the envelope again.
He unfolded the papers.
And began reading.
---
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:
Tonight is the night the individual currently residing at the property will be away.
He is travelling to an important royal meeting to discuss additional support for Plekhelm.
LOCATION:
The property is situated within the Noble District.
Expect guards, magical traps, and detection sigils throughoughout the premises.
SECONDARY TARGET:
Another paper.
This one will contain the information I am about to provide.
It concerns a new Magic Crest prototype, supposedly of Noble Class.
It is a body-enhancement Crest.
Although it has not yet entered mass production, obtaining both the blueprints and the prototype would grant us full control over its production and sale.
PAYMENT UPON COMPLETION:
1,000 Vlorans.
Corvin stood in the nearby alleyway, staring at the page.
He read it once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
Finally, he lowered the paper.
"What the fuck is a Magic Crest?"
He scratched his head.
"And why does it matter that it's Noble Class?"
He looked back at the envelope.
There were several terms he didn't understand.
Magic Crest.
Prototype.
Body enhancement.
Detection sigils.
He had heard of magic, obviously. Even someone living in the slums of Plekhelm would have a hard time avoiding the subject.
But knowing magic existed and understanding how it worked were two very different things.
Corvin had never been particularly interested in the subject.
He had more immediate concerns.
Like food.
And money.
And keeping his teeth inside his mouth.
He looked at the payment again.
One thousand Vlorans.
His eyes widened slightly.
He read the number once more.
Then a smile slowly spread across his face.
"Well..."
He looked at the envelope.
"...does it really matter when I'm getting paid like this?"
He folded the paper.
Then, after a moment's consideration, tore it into pieces.
The scraps fluttered away in the evening breeze, disappearing into the surrounding alleyways.
Corvin watched them go.
"Time to risk it all."
He stepped out of the alley.
As he made his way through the crowds, his thoughts began wandering.
One thousand Vlorans.
He could hardly imagine having that much money.
With that kind of payment, he could finally pay Aurora back.
He could buy himself a proper house.
A real house.
One with an actual roof that didn't leak whenever it rained.
He could buy furniture.
Clothes.
Maybe even a proper bed.
And food.
Oh, the food.
He could buy all the food he could EVER want.
He could eat fresh bread every morning.
Meat whenever he pleased.
Perhaps even those expensive pastries they sold near the marketplace.
He had always wondered what those tasted like.
His grin widened.
"God, I'm going to be rich."
For perhaps the first time that evening, the prospect of stealing from an alchemist didn't seem quite so terrible.
Of course, he hadn't actually seen the property yet.
He hadn't seen the guards.
He hadn't seen the magical traps.
And he had absolutely no idea what a detection sigil was.
But those were problems for later.
Right now, he had a thousand Vlorans to think about.
...
Corvin continued moving through the crowds until he finally reached the edge of the red district.
Ahead stood a series of imposing gates.
They separated the noble district from the commonfolk.
The difference between the two parts of Plekhelm was almost comical.
On one side stood crowded streets, poorly maintained buildings, and people struggling to afford their next meal.
On the other stood grand houses, manicured gardens, paved roads, and buildings that looked as though they had been built to last several centuries.
The walls separating the districts were tall and imposing.
Guards stood before the entrance, while others patrolled along the top.
Their armour gleamed beneath the lanternlight.
Corvin slowed his pace.
He examined the structure.
Then the guards.
Then the wall.
He tilted his head.
"Purely looking at this part of town, you wouldn't believe Plekhelm was struggling."
He looked more closely.
There were cracks in the stonework.
Some sections of the wall appeared considerably older than others, and several areas had clearly been neglected.
The guards were concentrated around the front entrance, while other portions of the wall received considerably less attention.
Corvin's eyes narrowed.
"Unless you have a keen eye like me."
He gave himself a small nod.
"The walls are breaking down in some parts, and only the front section is fully guarded."
He paused.
"Still..."
He looked toward the noble district.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done."
He stood there for another moment.
Then reached into his pocket.
A small match rested between his fingers.
Corvin looked at it.
Then at the nearby trees.
A mischievous smile began forming on his face.
Perhaps he was feeling particularly adventurous tonight.
Perhaps he simply didn't like the way the guards stood around as though they owned the entire city.
Or perhaps he had always found something fascinating about fire.
Whatever the reason, he struck the match.
A small flame appeared.
Corvin watched it for a moment.
Then he sent it toward one of the trees surrounding the fortress.
The flames caught.
Within moments, the tree was illuminated by a beautiful crimson glow.
Corvin stood admiring it.
The light danced against the surrounding stonework, painting the walls in shades of red and orange.
It was beautiful.
Absolutely beautiful.
He watched as the flames grew brighter.
For a moment, he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing.
Then...
"FIRE!"
A guard's shout snapped him out of his little trance.
Corvin blinked.
Then looked toward the commotion.
"Shit."
He glanced back at the burning tree.
Then toward the wall.
"Right. Work."
He hurried toward the nearest section of the wall, keeping himself out of sight as the guards began moving toward the disturbance.
The commotion grew louder.
More voices joined in.
The guards were shouting orders, and the sound of their armour echoed across the surrounding streets.
Corvin watched them pass.
Perfect.
A grin spread across his face.
He made his way toward the gate, where the confusion was beginning to spread.
Then, with another match in hand, he set the entrance ablaze.
The sudden flames illuminated the entire structure.
For a brief moment, Corvin simply stared.
More beautiful crimson flames.
He almost wished he had more time to admire them.
Unfortunately, he had work to do.
"I wish I could stay and admire it, but I've got work to do."
He said it rather solemnly.
Then he took a step back.
And shouted at the top of his lungs.
"OH MY GOD! SOMEONE HAS SET THE NOBLE GATE ABLAZE!"
His voice carried through the surrounding streets.
Several guards turned immediately.
Others rushed toward the entrance, while the commotion began attracting the attention of the townspeople.
A small crowd started forming.
People shouted.
Some pointed toward the flames.
Others simply stood there, watching the spectacle unfold.
Corvin, meanwhile, was already slipping away.
He moved along the castle wall, keeping his head low as the guards above him rushed toward the disturbance.
Their armour clanked against the stone as they ran.
Their voices grew louder, then gradually faded as they moved farther away.
Corvin continued until he found a suitable place to climb.
He looked upward.
Then glanced back toward the city.
A satisfied smile spread across his face.
"Perfect."
He began climbing.
The stone was cold beneath his hands, and the old wall offered little comfort as he made his way upward.
Eventually, his fingers caught the upper edge.
He pulled himself over.
And finally reached the top.
Corvin stood upright.
For a moment, he simply looked out across Plekhelm.
The city stretched before him.
Thousands of buildings.
Hundreds of streets.
Countless little lights illuminating the darkness.
From up here, the slums looked considerably less miserable.
The red district appeared almost beautiful beneath its lanterns.
The marketplace was a distant collection of rooftops and warm lights.
Even the old buildings looked somewhat charming when viewed from a distance.
Corvin tilted his head.
Then laughed to himself.
"It looks a lot better when you're not up close."
He smiled.
Behind him, the noble district continued descending into chaos.
Ahead of him lay the city he had called home for most of his life.
And somewhere within those walls was an alchemist's house containing enough money to change everything.
Corvin looked toward the distant buildings.
His smile widened.
Tomorrow, he would meet Aurora.
Tonight, he would become rich.
At least, that was the plan.
---
Fin