Cold sweat dripped down Kaelen Thorne’s collar as he worked the lock.
Metal scraped against metal, a tiny, sharp click in the silent vault.
If the patrol schedule he bought off that greasy tavern sweep was accurate, he had exactly four minutes before the guards circled back to the east wing.
Lord Sterling’s manor was built like a fortress, but even fortresses had cracks. Kaelen's specialty was finding those cracks, slipping inside, and leaving before anyone realized they had been bled dry.
Gently, he twisted the tension wrench.
A heavy thud echoed inside the iron door as the final tumbler fell into place.
Grinning in the darkness, Kaelen pushed the heavy vault door open, its hinges perfectly greased. Wealthy bastards loved their maintenance, and tonight, that obsession worked in his favor.
Inside, shelves of silver plates, velvet-lined boxes of emeralds, and stacks of gold bars gleamed under the faint moonlight filtering through the high ventilation grates.
He ignored them all.
Gold was heavy, loud, and hard to fence without attracting the wrong kind of attention. He wanted something smaller, something specific.
Rumors in the lower slums whispered about a sealed vault containing an ancient relic, a sword from an age of forgotten wars.
An anonymous client, a wealthy collector who asked no questions, had offered enough gold to buy Kaelen a small estate in the southern provinces. It was the kind of money that meant retirement. No more freezing nights on rooftops, no more dodging the city watch.
Stepping past the chests of coin, Kaelen's eyes locked onto a wooden rack at the back of the vault.
Resting on the velvet-draped wood was a weapon that looked utterly unremarkable.
Its design lacked the gold leaf, the polished rubies, and the elegant engravings of the ceremonial blades hanging on the surrounding walls. Instead, it was a simple, dark iron gladius with a worn leather hilt, looking more like a discard from a militia training camp than a priceless relic.
His brow furrowed in disappointment.
This was the legendary treasure? It looked like rubbish.
Still, a job was a job, and the gold was real enough.
Reaching out, he wrapped his gloved fingers around the leather grip.
A strange sensation hummed through the leather, vibrating against his palm.
Startled by the sudden sensation, his grip slipped.
Slipping from his fingers, the heavy blade tumbled toward the stone floor.
Panicking, Kaelen lunged forward to catch it before the noise could echo down the hall and alert the entire household.
His bare palm scraped against the pommel as he snatched it out of the air.
A sudden, searing heat erupted from the metal, burning right through his skin like a branding iron.
Pain flared, white-hot and blinding, forcing a choked gasp from his throat as his knees buckled.
Instinctively, he tried to drop the weapon, but his fingers refused to open, locked around the hilt by an unseen, magnetic force.
Light exploded from the blade.
A brilliant, violent flash illuminated every corner of the dark vault, turning night into blinding day and scorching the walls with an intense, supernatural glare.
Shouting voices instantly echoed from the corridor outside, accompanied by the heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots.
Alarms began to ring throughout the manor, a shrill, deafening clamor that shattered the quiet night.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Struggling to clear the spots from his vision, Kaelen realized his meticulously planned, silent exit was completely ruined.
Footsteps pounded closer, the metallic clank of plate armor growing deafening.
Yanking his hand with all his might, Kaelen finally tore the sword from the floor as the magnetic pull subsided, though the blade remained glowing with an unstable, sputtering light.
Two guards burst through the vault entrance, halberds lowered and eyes wide with anger.
"Intruder!" one roared, his voice booming in the enclosed space.
Ducking low, Kaelen charged directly at them.
Before the first guard could bring his heavy weapon down, Kaelen slid across the polished stone floor, kicking his legs out from under him.
Armor crashed against stone in a deafening tangle of steel, and Kaelen scrambled to his feet, sprinting past the second guard into the hallway.
Shouts erupted behind him.
Turning a sharp corner, he nearly collided with a third guard who lunged with a broadsword.
Parrying instinctively, Kaelen threw the strange iron blade up to block.
Metal clashed against metal, and a shower of bright blue sparks hissed into the air, throwing the guard off balance.
Seizing the moment, Kaelen slammed his elbow into the man's nose, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage, and pushed past him.
His lungs burned as he sprinted down the grand corridor.
Every window he passed showed the courtyard below crawling with torchlight and angry soldiers.
There was no going back down the way he came.
His escape route through the kitchens was blocked, likely crawling with guards by now.
He needed a new plan, and he needed it immediately.
Upward was the only option.
Adrenaline surged through his veins, sharpening his senses.
He knew the layout of the manor, but the sudden chaos had thrown all his careful preparations out the window.
A pair of massive mastiffs, trained to hunt intruders, bounded into the corridor ahead, their jaws dripping with saliva as they growled menacingly.
Kaelen cursed under his breath.
He didn't want to hurt the beasts, nor did he want to be torn to pieces.
Reaching into his belt pouch with his free hand, he pulled out a small leather pouch filled with concentrated pepper powder.
Bursting open, the pouch released a cloud of stinging dust directly into the path of the charging dogs.
Both dogs immediately sneezed, shaking their heads in confusion, their aggression momentarily neutralized.
Slipping past them, Kaelen pressed his back against the wall as a volley of crossbow bolts whistled through the air where he had stood a second before.
One bolt grazed his leather jerkin, leaving a clean tear but thankfully drawing no blood.
Pulsing blue light from the hilt was growing brighter, casting long, eerie shadows against the stone walls.
It felt warm now, almost comfortably so, contrasting sharply with the cold panic gripping his chest.
Why was it doing this?
He had stolen dozens of magical artifacts before, but none had ever reacted like this.
Most required a complex ritual or a word of power to activate.
This one had sparked to life with a mere touch of his bare skin.
A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.
Kaelen spun, his thief instincts taking over as he drove the hilt of the glowing sword upward.
It connected with the chin of a massive guard, sending the man stumbling backward with a dazed expression.
Falling directly onto the guard’s foot, the heavy bronze sculpture Kaelen kicked aside elicited a loud yell of agony as the man collapsed.
"Get him! Don’t let him reach the upper levels!" a voice bellowed from the end of the hall.
It was the captain of the guard, a towering man in polished silver plate armor.
Kaelen didn’t need to be told twice.
He bolted toward the grand staircase, his boots squeaking on the polished marble.
Behind him, the sounds of pursuit grew louder, a cacophony of shouting men, barking dogs, and clanking metal.
He reached the staircase, his legs aching from the sudden, intense exertion.
Each step felt like a mountain, but he forced himself upward, driven by the pure, primal fear of capture.
He had spent his entire life avoiding the inside of a prison cell, and he wasn't about to start now.
As he reached the second-floor landing, a guard lunged from the shadows with a spear.
Kaelen sidestepped, the spear point grazing his sleeve.
Instant sparks of blue energy erupted the moment the iron blade contacted the wood, shearing the spear cleanly in half.
Both Kaelen and the guard stared at the severed weapon in shock.
Kaelen didn't waste time wondering how a dull, unremarkable blade had sliced through seasoned ash wood like hot butter.
He delivered a swift kick to the guard's chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs into the advancing guards below.
That bought him a few precious seconds.
He sprinted down the second-floor hallway, looking for an exit, but every door he passed was locked or led to dead ends.
Sterling's manor was turning into a giant trap, and the walls were closing in.
He could hear more guards ascending from the back staircases, cutting off his escape routes.
They were coordinating their movements, trapping him like a rat in a maze.
He needed to get to the grand gallery on the third floor.
It was the only place with a direct exit to the outside that wasn't heavily guarded, even if that exit was a perilous jump.
He reached the final flight of stairs, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.
His muscles screamed for rest, but he pushed through the pain, his focus entirely locked on survival.
Vast and imposing, the room was filled with priceless paintings, ancient suits of armor, and delicate porcelain vases as he burst inside.
Moonlight streamed through the massive, arched stained-glass window at the far end of the gallery, casting colorful patterns across the polished mahogany floor.
It was a beautiful sight, but Kaelen had no time to appreciate it.
He could hear the guards splintering the door behind him.
They were close, too close.
He ran along the long, polished mahogany table in the center of the room, kicking over expensive silver candelabras and crystal vases to create an obstacle course.
Crashing glass and clattering metal trailed in his wake, but they barely slowed the guards down.
Splintering open, the doors at the other end of the gallery admitted three more guards, their swords drawn and shields raised.
They had him surrounded.
There was no way out.
Kaelen looked at the guards ahead, then at the guards behind him, and finally at the massive stained-glass window to his left.
If he jumped, he might die from the fall.
Staying meant he would certainly hang.
For a man who valued survival above all else, the choice was surprisingly simple.
He gripped the glowing sword tighter, his knuckles white.
Warm and reassuring, the light pulsing from the hilt grew stronger, as if encouraging him.
He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves.
Raising the weapon in front of his face, he braced his shoulder and sprinted at full speed toward the colored glass.
Air rushed past his ears, filled with the shouts of the guards closing in behind him.
He leaped.
As Kaelen crashes through a stained-glass window, the sword in his hand, now glowing with an ethereal blue light, speaks directly into his mind: "Finally. It's about time, little thief."