The first thing anyone should know about Glass City is that it lies.
From a distance, it gleams like a dream — towers cutting into the clouds, sunlight dancing across polished windows like scattered diamonds. It looks beautiful. Almost holy.
But step closer, and you'll see what it really is.
The shine fades. The air thickens with burnt coal, damp stone, and old blood. Broken glass crunches beneath your boots, smoke coils through the alleys like lazy snakes, and whispers cling to every wall — half-truths, bargains, and lies sharpened into weapons.
People like to say the city doesn't sleep.That's a lie too.It sleeps just fine — it just dreams of knives.
I grew up in those shadows. I learned early that in Glass City, the things that glitter the brightest usually hide the sharpest edges. The streets don't forgive. The people don't either.And the city… well, the city doesn't care if you live or die.
The nobles live high above us, up in the inner rings — towers so tall they almost stab the heavens. Their wine tastes like rose petals and their air smells like spells meant to keep filth away. Sorcerers sweep their streets with invisible wards, banishing rot, noise, and people like me.
Once, I overheard a noble boy call us background noise.He laughed when he said it.I still remember that sound.I wonder if he would've laughed as hard if he'd known the noise could slit his throat one day.
I am not background noise.Shadows watch.Shadows wait.And shadows always remember.
My name is Aradia Duskborne.Don't ask about the surname — people whisper it like a curse, not a title. My mother said the name held power once. Maybe it did. By the time she died, power was just another word that tasted like rust and blood.
A voice snapped me out of my thoughts."Oi, Aradia! You gonna stand there brooding all day, or actually steal something useful for once?"
I didn't need to look. Only one person in this city could make mockery sound like music.Jarek.
He leaned against a cracked brick wall, arms folded, smirk fixed in place like it was part of his face. His hair was an artful mess, and his green eyes — gods, those eyes — had a habit of making people forget their better judgment.
"Stealing implies intent," I said, scanning the market beyond the alley. "I'm merely redistributing wealth."
"Redistributing," he echoed, laughing under his breath. "You always make crime sound like it's a noble cause."
"Maybe it is." I tugged my hood lower. "The rich won't miss what they have. The poor die if they don't take."
Jarek pushed off the wall, strolling toward me with that infuriating swagger. "Spoken like someone who thinks she's meant for something bigger."
I didn't answer. Because the truth?I wasn't sure I believed that. Not yet.
The market stretched before us like organized chaos — a living, breathing creature.
Merchants shouted over one another, hawking everything from greasy pastries to stolen trinkets. Kids darted between carts, sticky fingers quick as whispers. Guards loitered nearby, pretending not to notice as long as their palms stayed heavy with bribes.
In Glass City, survival wasn't polite. It was a gamble. Sometimes you walked away with treasure. Sometimes you walked away with a knife in your ribs.
Jarek was already plotting trouble. I could tell by the way his grin sharpened.
"If you spent half as much time planning as you do talking," I said, sidestepping a cart stacked with steaming bread, "we'd be rich by now."
"Rich?" He chuckled. "What's the fun in being rich? Gold's useless if you can't laugh while taking it."
"Or live long enough to spend it," I muttered.
But he was already gone, slipping into the crowd like a shadow that knew exactly where it belonged.
I stayed behind, pretending to inspect bruised apples while my eyes scanned the chaos. That's when I saw her.
A woman moving through the crowd like she didn't belong to it.Her gown shimmered faintly — silver-threaded, noble, expensive. Her hair gleamed under the sun, arranged with care that screamed wealth. But it wasn't her beauty or her status that made me stare.
It was her eyes.
They darted constantly, sharp and terrified. She wasn't shopping. She was being hunted.
And then I saw them — shadows tailing her, too smooth, too quiet. Trained. Assassins.
I should have looked away. Should've kept walking.But something in me froze.
Jarek's voice came from somewhere behind me. "Don't even think about it. That's noble trouble, Aradia. The kind that gets you gutted and left in an alley."
"Something's wrong," I murmured.
"Something's always wrong," he hissed. "And it usually ends with me dragging your reckless corpse home."
He never finished the sentence — because the shadows lunged.
Chaos erupted like the city itself had drawn a blade.
I slammed into the noblewoman, knocking us both to the cobblestones just as a dagger sliced through the air where her throat had been. Screams tore through the market. Carts overturned. Smoke and blood filled the air.
"Gods above, Aradia!" Jarek's curse rang out as he drew his knife, movements fluid and deadly.
I pushed the woman behind me. "Run!"
She didn't. Her hand went to the pendant around her neck — a shard-shaped charm glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. It wasn't ordinary magic. It was something alive.
The assassins regrouped, closing in. I had nothing but instinct and a shard of broken bottle I snatched from the ground. It wasn't elegant, but it was sharp enough.
The first attacker came fast. I ducked, slashed upward, caught his arm. He hissed, stumbled, didn't fall. These weren't back-alley thugs. They were professionals.
"Aradia!" Jarek shouted. "Behind you!"
I spun just in time to see another blade aimed for the noblewoman. I threw myself between them, rolling across shattered glass. Pain tore up my arm, but adrenaline drowned it out.
And then — everything changed.
The pendant flared.Light burst through the chaos.The world shattered.
The market vanished, replaced by an endless expanse of floating shards — glass suspended in darkness. Each piece reflected faces, places, memories that weren't mine.
Aradia.
The voice whispered from everywhere and nowhere, soft and knowing.
Pain lanced through my skull. Too many images. Too many lives. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. And then, just as quickly as it began — the world snapped back.
The assassins froze mid-motion, eyes wide. The noblewoman was standing now, the pendant still glowing faintly, her face pale but resolute.
"Aradia…" Jarek's voice was low. "What the hell just happened?"
"I think she saved us," I breathed. "Or maybe… it wasn't her."
The light dimmed, and the market returned to its madness. But something had changed — in me. The air felt heavier. The world sharper. Every sound, every breath — too vivid.
Jarek grabbed my wrist. "We need to move. Now."
I didn't argue.
The three of us ran — ducking between stalls, through smoke and panic. Boots pounded against cobblestones. Voices screamed behind us. My lungs burned, my blood raced, but I didn't stop until the shouts faded to echoes.
We stumbled into a narrow alley, the stench of soot and rot thick in the air. I leaned against the wall, gasping.
Jarek groaned, wiping sweat from his brow. "One day, your heroic impulses are going to kill me."
"You're still alive," I said, managing a shaky smile.
"Barely." He glanced at the noblewoman. "That light wasn't normal."
She clutched the pendant tighter, its glow fading to a faint shimmer. "It's called a Vein Shard. And if what I saw is true…" Her eyes met mine. "Then it chose you."
I let out a humorless laugh. "I don't get chosen. I steal."
But deep down, I felt it — a pulse beneath my skin, like the city itself was watching.
"What's your name?" she asked softly.
"Aradia."
Recognition flickered in her eyes. "Then you were never just background noise."
Jarek groaned. "Great. She's got prophecy eyes now. Wonderful."
I elbowed him. "Shut up."
The noblewoman's tone turned grave. "They won't stop hunting. You've seen too much. And the Shard never goes unnoticed."
"Who are they?" I demanded.
"The ones who serve the glass," she said quietly. "The ones who think it still belongs to them."
Before I could press her, she stepped closer and brushed her fingers over the cut on my hand. "Don't fight what you saw," she whispered. "The Shard doesn't make mistakes."
Then she was gone — swallowed by the city's veins, leaving only the echo of her words behind.
Jarek exhaled, shaking his head. "You attract the weirdest people."
I didn't answer. My eyes were fixed on the glow that lingered faintly in the dark.
The city's hum felt different now — deeper, alive. Like a heartbeat pulsing beneath the cobblestones.
And somewhere inside me, something whispered back.
This is where it begins.
Jarek nudged me. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, though it was a lie.
Glass City stretched out before me — broken, beautiful, cruel.And for the first time in my life, I didn't just feel like part of its noise.
I felt like part of its story.