The city above had never felt more dangerous than the moment I bumped into him. The red cloak of the second-in-command flashed in the market, and for a heartbeat, I froze. A sword glinted at his side, familiar in a way that made my chest tighten. But before I could gather my thoughts, the crowd swallowed him, and I stumbled backward, heart hammering. I barely noticed the coins and bread crates scattered on the cobblestones beneath me.
I ran. I didn't look back. I knew the sewers would be waiting. Kilsa had shown me their entrances, the narrow stairways and hidden grates tucked behind alleys and warehouses. I ducked down a stairway into darkness, the stench of damp stone and earth washing over me. Kilsa was already there, crouched in the shadows, listening.
"You saw him?" he asked, voice low, careful.
I nodded, trying to steady my breathing. "Yes. The man—the one with the red cloak."
Kilsa's face tightened slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his usually steady expression. "Do not worry. They cannot find us here. This sewer is a labyrinth. Even someone with eyes everywhere would not track us through this maze. Stay close. Watch your steps. The tunnels are our advantage."
The thief girl—still silent, still a shadow beside us—did not speak. She moved through the darkness like water, her presence steady, confident. I realized again how little I truly knew about her. Her eyes, hidden beneath the scarf, seemed to catch every detail, every echo, every subtle shift of air or water. I watched her as I followed Kilsa deeper, feeling simultaneously grateful and unsettled by her skill.
The first day in the sewers was disorienting. The air was damp, the stone walls slick with moisture. Water ran along channels beside us, whispering against the tunnels. I learned quickly that sound traveled far here. Every step, every breath, had to be measured. Kilsa moved like a shadow too, whispering instructions when necessary, guiding me around dead ends and sharp bends. I began to understand why he had said the sewers were our advantage. The city above was blind to us. We were invisible, undetectable.
By the second day, I had memorized the main tunnels we used and a few branching passages that led to lightless corners. I realized that if we ever needed to move quickly, we could do so without leaving a trace above. The tunnels had their own rhythm, a pulse I learned to follow. I could hear the faint drip of water echoing against the walls, the distant rush of a hidden stream, and even the subtle movements of rats or small animals. It became a strange sort of meditation, a practice in patience and awareness.
Yet, even in the darkness, my thoughts kept returning to the marketplace, to the red-cloaked man, and to the sword. I had seen it clearly. Its hilt, its curve, the way the light caught its blade—it was the same one Rose had given me before Kilsa and the girl had departed. But I had no money. How could I buy it? Even if I tried, there was no way I could have reached him without being noticed. The thought gnawed at me, a small, sharp edge in the back of my mind.
On the evening of the second day, Kilsa motioned for us to ascend. The girl had been quiet, following the tunnels without complaint, and now she led the way toward a small grate opening that smelled of salt and wet stone. The raven's message had arrived a few hours earlier: "It is safe now." We climbed carefully, emerging onto a quiet alley near the southern edge of the marketplace.
The air above was sharp with the scent of the ocean, carrying the faint tang of salt and fish. I blinked against the sudden brightness, trying to adjust. Kilsa's grip on my shoulder was reassuring, grounding me. We moved through the alley cautiously, eyes scanning for anyone who might notice us. But the streets seemed ordinary, merchants calling, children chasing each other, and the city unaware of our presence.
And then I saw it—the sword. It leaned against a stall, unattended, gleaming in the last light of day. I froze. My heart raced. It was the same sword Rose had given me, the one she had insisted I train with, the one that had felt like a piece of my past and my home. But I had no coins, no way to take it, and no idea how it had ended up here.
I turned to Kilsa, whispering urgently. "Look… the sword. It's the same one Rose gave me. But I—" My voice faltered.
He examined it briefly, frowning. "You cannot buy it, and even if you could, we cannot risk exposure here. Wait. There may be another way."
The thief girl, silent as ever, slipped forward. Her movements were fluid, effortless. I barely saw her shadow pass the stall. Moments later, she returned, holding the sword in her hand. She handed it to me without a word. My fingers closed around the hilt, the metal cool and familiar. I felt a rush of gratitude and confusion—how had she done it so smoothly? How had she bypassed the guards, the merchants, everyone? She offered nothing but the act itself, leaving its reasoning hidden, as always.
I looked up to thank her, but she only gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile. Her scarf fluttered in the evening breeze, and before I could say anything, she moved toward the docks. The horizon stretched wide, darkening as the sun dipped lower. A small boat waited, rocking gently against the tide. She stepped aboard, pushed off, and the current carried her slowly toward the open sea.
I watched her silhouette shrink against the horizon, the faint light glinting off the water. Her smile lingered in my mind—enigmatic, teasing, and yet comforting in some impossible way. She disappeared into the night, swallowed by the darkening ocean, leaving me with Kilsa and the sword, the memory of her presence, and a quiet sense of awe.
Kilsa put a hand on my shoulder. "She's gone for now. But you have what you need."
I nodded, clutching the hilt. The sword was more than steel—it was a piece of home, a piece of Rose, a piece of the past I could carry into the uncertain present. I felt the weight of it, and with it, the growing sense that the city, the canals, and the shadows beneath it were now mine to navigate.
Above us, the market carried on, oblivious to the small drama beneath the fading light. But I knew, deep down, that nothing here was as ordinary as it seemed. The sewers had taught me patience and observation; the thief girl had taught me action and subtlety. And now, with the sword in my hand, I had the means to face whatever came next.
The night grew darker, and the city's noises softened. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean whispered against the docks. I watched it long after the girl disappeared, imagining the currents carrying her farther, leaving a trail only the observant might follow. For now, it was enough that the sword was in my hand, the sewers remained a sanctuary, and the horizon held a figure whose motives, skill, and secrets I could not yet understand.
And in the quiet that followed, I realized how much the world above and below the canals had changed—and how unprepared I still was for everything it had in store.