Hi there! My name’s Zelnite, but I’m sure you’ve heard that name already.

Hmm? The Great Thief is more handsome than you expected? It’s unfair to give so many positive attributes to a single person? Hehe! I know, right?

Anyways, I’ll read your fan-letters later. I’m off to steal the great treasures of Baruria! I’ll be sure to record my adventures in my journal, so none of you miss out. Wish me luck, everyone.

Not that I need it, of course!

Xxx

A figure chases him into the forest, refusing to be deterred by his misdirection spells as he doubles back on a path he took again. So he decides to confront them, and chooses a sizeable clearing past a copse of tree as the location.

“Give it back!” the shadow demands, and the whistle of a razor-sharp edge slices a few flyaway bits of his hair. The red strands flutter in the air. Slowly, compared to the speed of his assailant’s swings.

The thief grins. A worthy adversary. Finally!

His opponent – a female, he concludes by the softness that surrounds his elbow when he jabs it at her chest, winding her – is wonderfully talented. He’s not met someone so attuned with her weapon in his life, with the exception of himself, perhaps.

What, did you think those jewel ghosts following him are there for decoration?

For a second, he thinks of stealing the ornate, dangerous-looking weapon, polish it up and let it sparkle on a wall. But he doesn’t think that it’ll look half as good with all the care of the world if it’s not in her hands.

Truly, she makes the scythe sing.

He doesn’t expect the tenacity she comes at him with. Several times, he has to hold back a tiny bit, so as to avoid seriously injuring her, because she makes it so easy. She makes attacks that are foolish, like she’s not afraid of losing her life.

What did he steal that’s caused her to attack him with such single-mindedness?

Either way, he’s decided to return it to her. The great fight is more than adequate payment for whatever artifact he’s stolen.

(Any thief worth his salt learns quickly: value is relative! One man’s trash, another’s treasure, something like that. And Zelnite ranks a good fight second amongst his most valuable things.)

(His first, you ask? It’s his cute fans, of course.)

He might be going easy on her, but in a minute, when she falls for a feint that completely disorients her, she’s on her back, her scythe flying through the air.

Zelnite catches it.

And he immediately drops it. Even through the thick magic-resistance of his dragonskin gloves, he feels the corrosive darkness of the weapon pulling at the flesh of his hand, and his spirit through it.

…Why does a young girl possess such an insidious-feeling weapon? Curious.

The lady is perhaps eighteen or nineteen, with skin as white as paper, violet hair in rather girlish pigtails and eyes gleaming crimson that glare him with hatred so obvious that he feels the heat even in the dimness.

Then she swings up to kick at him, attempting to pick her weapon back up.

He jabs at her throat, and she falls again.

“Now, now, I admire your tenacity, but there’s no need to put yourself at needless risk.” His voice oozes confidence and wisdom, with just a touch of concern. He admires his coolness for a second, before parsing the girl’s answer.

“Go screw yourself,” she grits out after a coughing spell, clutching at her neck.

He sheathes his weapons, as a sign of trust, though he’s fairly sure that it doesn’t matter to her.

“Well, that’s rude,” he says, sitting down and crossing his legs. He lays out his night’s spoils on the cold marble floor.

The entirety of some noblewoman’s jewelry, a diamond chalice, a pair of guns carved out of earth crystal, and one of the chief Barurian researcher’s journals.

“Which one of these is yours? I’ll give it back to you.” Zelnite smiles to himself, because he’s probably gained himself another fan now.

Instead, she glares at him sullenly. “Are you mocking me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Um, what?”

Then, she violates his personal bubble. Her face is maybe half an inch from his, and he can feel the flutter of her lashes against his cheek, her hand running across his stomach.

“This, you disgusting thief,” she says, her pretty face twisting up into an expression of disgust. Pale fingers are wrapped around a silver hairpin, with small purple jewels encrusted into the shape of a butterfly on it.

So he has a story about that pin, actually: While making his mad dash from the Barurian dungeons/research labs, an irate researcher tossing every arcane spell imaginable at him, he runs across a small child chained up to the wall.

Their conversation goes something like this, as Zelnite bars the iron doors behind him, feeling Shida’s curses pummel at the barriers he’s erected.

“Well, what’s a kid like you doing here?” Zelnite asks, trying to keep his voice pleasant so as not to frighten her.

She looks up at him, her blue eyes so dull they look gray in the light. “I’m being punished for my inadequacy.”

Zelnite takes a look at the room. She’s manacled to a white concrete wall, facing three identical walls. Her skin is pale, and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days.

“Well, that doesn’t sound fun. What’s your name?”

“Alice,” she provides with little hesitation.

“Well, Alice. My name’s Zelnite, and I’m a master thief. How would you like me to steal you away from here?”

The girl, Alice, furrows her eyebrows. “A master?”

“Yup! The best in the world. I love stealing treasures from people who don’t deserve them.”

Her eyes are wide. Zelnite smiles at her. He loves children; they’re the greatest listeners and have the best imaginations. “But I’m not a treasure.”

“I disagree, Miss Alice!”

She’s quiet for a second. “Well, my commander says that theft is a crime, so as a future member of the Barurian military, I can’t condone it.”

Zelnite winces at how robotic and adult-like she sounds, and curses the cruel regime. He also resolves to increase his thefts towards members of the royal family fivefold.

“However, I can commission you to…um…” she moves to tap her chin with a finger, and frowns at the bonds preventing her arms from moving. “Direct me out of here. I’ll pay you,” she says, pleased by her own childish logic.

He smiles, ignoring the reverberation of magic that pulses through the air as his barrier is finally dissolved.

“I accept your offer!” He snaps his fingers.

In a flash, a small girl is nestled in his arms, the manacles that bound her steaming and broken beyond repair.

She rubs her wrists and Zelnite tries to ignore the welts on her arms. That’ll just make him angry, and angry people make mistakes.

“Anyways, where would you like to go, Milady?” he asks, grinning mischievously at her.

She deliberates. “The West Wing is fine. I think I’ll be praised for escaping prison, even though you were the one who did all the work.” She pouts as she says it, and almost looks her age.

He laughs. “Well, nobody has to know, right?”

And he drops the girl off in the empty, whistling halls of the West Wing. When she lets him down, she gives a polite bow, a stiff bend of ninety degrees.

“This is your payment,” she says, straightening her back and handing him a jeweled hair clip. “It’s my treasure.”

Taking an emaciated child’s treasure doesn’t sit well with him, so he pushes her small hand away. “I don’t need a material payment,” he replies. He grabs her cheeks and presses his thumbs to the corner of her mouth. “You can smile some more to reward me, though!”

She looks befuddled as he tries to push her lips into a smile.

“Really, I’d prefer it if you just took the pin.”

The little tyke must have somehow snuck it onto his person. So, he has questions. Questions of how she managed to do it, and how the pin was related to the angry teen in front of him.