He had already spent almost two months in that new world.
With Lyra by his side, the heists had become part of his routine, though he never got used to the knot in his stomach that came with every robbery.
After their first successful job in the mansion, Lyra insisted they needed bigger targets if they truly wanted enough money to live.
—If we keep robbing poor houses, we'll only survive, —Lyra said while adjusting her gloves.— But if we aim higher… we could leave this life behind soon.
Rowan hesitated.
—How high?
Lyra gave him that confident, almost playful smile.
—Castles. Nobles. People who won't notice if one or two jewels go missing.
Rowan swallowed hard.
That didn't sound like simple theft—it sounded like a death sentence.
But Lyra was right. By working honestly, he'd never earn enough. Robbing "small stuff" wasn't enough either.
And after several nights of training, he accepted.
First Castle
The first castle was medium-sized, with tired guards and half‑watched patrol routes.
Lyra studied the patterns for days. Rowan followed her quietly, memorizing every shadow, every map, every blind spot.
The night of the heist, everything went surprisingly well.
They slipped in through a high window, crept through silent halls, and stole a small chest filled with coins and jewels.
As they escaped through the gardens, Rowan felt—for the first time—the thrill of a perfect job.
—See? You're getting good, —Lyra whispered with a smile.
Rowan wasn't sure if he should feel proud… or even more guilty.
Second Castle
The next job was harder. More guards, higher walls, dogs patrolling.
But Lyra was too clever to fail easily.
Some nights, while they hid in bushes waiting for the right moment, Rowan watched the moonlight glow on Lyra's determined face.
He couldn't help notice how different they were.
She stole to live.
He stole because he had no choice.
Still, the second heist was successful. Riskier, yes—but profitable.
When they returned to the village, Lyra nudged him lightly.
—Told you you could do it.
Rowan only gave a small smile… but he knew they were pushing their luck.
Third Castle
The third castle was different. Massive. Guarded. Armed to the teeth.
Even Lyra noticed.
—This one… is trickier, —she admitted with tense lips.— But the treasure inside is worth ten normal hits. With it, we could rest for months.
Rowan felt a bad feeling squeeze his chest.
But he nodded.
—Alright. Just… let's come back alive.
—Always, —Lyra replied.
That night, the moon hid behind heavy clouds.
They climbed the walls silently, moving through the shadows.
They slipped in through a high opening and landed quietly inside a dark room.
For a few minutes, everything went well. Rowan took valuables while Lyra advanced toward the vault.
Then they heard it.
A crash.
Voices.
A door slamming open.
—STOP RIGHT THERE!
Lyra froze for a second before trying to run. Rowan rushed toward her, but two guards intercepted her.
One grabbed her arm violently.
—Lyra! —Rowan yelled.
—RUN, ROWAN! GO! —she screamed, struggling desperately.
Rowan hesitated for one fatal second.
He wanted to go to her… but there were too many guards.
He saw her eyes—full of fear and fury—
—RUN! NOW!
Rowan clenched his teeth and escaped through a side hallway.
The guards chased after him, their footsteps echoing.
He ran through endless corridors, down stairs, jumped out a narrow window, and fell onto wet grass.
—STOP HIM! —they shouted.
He dashed into the forest, dodging trees, panting.
The guards followed, but with more distance now.
He thought he might get away.
Then he heard the coldest shout he had ever heard:
—SPEAR!
Rowan barely had time to turn.
A guard, just five meters away, hurled a spear with both hands, with full strength.
Everything happened in a blink.
The impact was brutal.
The spear pierced through his back and exited through his chest.
Air escaped his lungs in a broken gasp.
—Agh… A‑Ah…! —Rowan collapsed to his knees, trembling.
The guards approached, checked what he carried.
They ripped the bags with jewels, coins, and stolen goods from him.
They looked at him one last time.
—He won't last, —one said.
—Leave him. He's dead.
They walked away, vanishing among the trees.
Rowan lay alone on the ground, face upward, the bloody spear tip glowing faintly in the dark.
His breathing was weak, uneven, hot, painful.
Tears blurred his vision.
—He… help… me… —he whispered.
His voice reached no one.
He looked at the trembling stars above him.
Thought of his family.
His home.
His life before all of this.
—What… did I… do…? —he murmured.— Why… did I end up like this…?
The pain was unbearable. Blood warmed his chest.
His hands trembled, life slipping from his body.
—I don't… want… to die like this… —he sobbed, tears falling down his cheeks.
He screamed again, desperate, knowing no one would come.
—H‑Help…! Please… please…!
The forest responded with silence.
Cold, indifferent silence.
Rowan remained there, alone, lying among damp leaves, feeling his consciousness slowly fade…
Until everything went dark.
He kept screaming for help…
A help that perhaps would never come.