I lay curled against a mound of old cloth, the night's cold seeping into my bones. My snores — embarrassingly loud, even by my standards — echoed through the shed like thunder rolling over rotten beams.
Somewhere nearby, I heard them wince.
"She sleeps like a dragon," someone whispered.
"More like a dying goat," another muttered.
'I would've kicked them both if I'd been awake enough to care.'
Their footsteps softened, boots scraping gently over the warped wood. Then a pause — the hush before mischief. I didn't see them, but I could feel them like fleas crawling too close to my skin.
One voice, rough and clipped, cut through the gloom. The leader. "Watch her."
A kid's voice — young, still stuck between boy and man — wavered with disbelief. "What for? The whole neighborhood can hear her snore! If anything, she's the least dangerous thing right now."
Then the sound of a boot against ribs — and a muttered curse. "Fine, fine… But if she eats me, I'm haunting all of you."
I kept on snoring.
Or rather — my body did. Because somewhere, deep beneath that surface of half‑dream and half‑reflex, something old and drilled‑in twitched awake.
The thieves gathered around my stash — the little hoard I'd risked so much to keep hidden. Their breaths quickened, greedy heat rising off them like steam.
"Would you look at that," one of them whispered, palms trembling with the hunger of coin. "We're gonna be rich."
Another let out a low whistle. "Must've looted a royal crypt or something."
And then — absurdity. One actually dropped to his knees before my satchel, folding filthy hands in prayer. "Oh, blessed be the Lord…"
'I'd have died laughing if I'd been awake to see it.'
"Get your fool self up and grab the damn loot before—"
Rustling cloth. A breath caught. A creak.
The youngest thief turned toward me.
And found I was no longer lying flat, mouth open to the ceiling. Instead, my body had twisted upright, head tilted at a strange, unnatural angle — eyes still shut tight, snores still rumbling through my throat.
"Z‑Zombie…?" his voice cracked.
"Nonsense," another barked — though I smelled the fear on him even through the dark. "She's just sleepwalking. It shou—"
Whoosh. Crack.
A small stone zipped from somewhere near my hand and clocked him square in the face. The thug toppled backward, out cold before his skull hit the floor.
Silence crashed through them.
Even half‑asleep, part of me smirked. 'Nice shot, me.'
"…What the hell was that?"
"That… wasn't sleepwalking."
My head lolled slightly, lips twitching into a wicked, unconscious grin. Eyes still closed. Body still loose as a cat in sun.
The real nightmare had only just begun.
They scattered like roaches doused in oil. Panicked scrapes, muffled curses, crates tumbling over.
"Hold your ground!" the leader roared, voice straining to sound braver than his pulse. "Stop being a bunch of wusses! It's just one girl!"
At his bark, they hesitated — then shuffled back, weapons trembling in sweaty palms. Clubs, rusty blades, a broken spear. None worth a damn.
I remained half‑slumped, limbs slack, breathing slow. Yet the air prickled with tension sharp enough to slice through bone.
They couldn't have known — not really — that I'd trained under Master Sylph's midnight madness. Half my childhood had been dodging sticks swung at my skull before dawn, or parrying kicks while still half‑asleep. A body that remembers even when the mind wanders.
And worst of all?
I wouldn't remember a damn thing by morning.
A gust rattled loose shingles overhead. My fingers twitched.
One of them gulped. "She's asleep," he whispered.
"Then why is she smiling like that?" another croaked.
Then — I moved.
My foot swept sideways, catching a crate. It crashed into one thief's chest like a battering ram, sending him tumbling into two others. Wood splintered. Air fled lungs.
"…Don't just stand there! Get her!"
They rushed me in a wild, ragged wave.
The first dagger‑man lunged, blade high. My body swayed sideways, elbow slipping under his ribs. Breath left him in a wet gasp as he folded, eyes rolling back.
Another swung a club at my head.
Still snoring.
Still smiling.
My leg swept low, hooking his ankle. He toppled face‑first, jaw cracking against the dirt.
"She's possessed!" someone wailed.
"She's not human!"
"Shut up and flank her!" the leader screamed.
They came two at a time now — one with a net, another with a sack, hoping to trap me like livestock. But my body bent back, spine curving like a bow, and the sack cut empty air.
I dropped in the center of them — crouched low, weight coiled. Hands snapped out, striking joints and throats. Pressure points. 'Master always said: "End a fight before it begins."'
They dropped around me, groaning.
Rust‑edged weapons clattered from limp fingers.
Eyes still shut, smile fading into something colder.
One thief whimpered. The leader staggered backward, breath rattling.
"You fools… she's just a girl! Just a—"
A stone hissed through the air, grazing his cheek. A thin red line bloomed.
My hand hung, fingers loose, another stone between them.
'I don't even remember picking it up.'
The youngest thief backed away, voice shaking like a reed in wind. "I… I'm out." His weapon hit the floor, and he bolted.
The others followed — panic hammering them into cowards.
The leader lingered a heartbeat longer, pride crumbling behind fear. Then he too turned, boots pounding into the night.
And me? I yawned, turned onto my side, pulled the cloth closer. Warmth spread like lazy honey through tired limbs.
'Peace, at last.'
Morning light leaked through the broken boards, painting the dust in gold. I stirred, stretching arms overhead until joints popped.
"Wow," I murmured, blinking at the sun. "I've never slept so well in my life. And on the floor, no less!"
A slow glance around — scuffed footprints, overturned crates, a dagger lodged in the floor.
I tilted my head. "Huh… what happened here?"
My gaze found the pile in the corner, where my treasure lay hidden under rags. Relief eased through me.
"Oh well," I sighed, patting it gently. "Doesn't matter, as long as my treasure's safe."
I rose, dusting off my coat, humming softly. Outside, the day called with the promise of fresh headaches.
"Time to find our little crybaby."
The door creaked as I shoved it open. Sunlight kissed my face; the morning breeze carried scents of smoke, bread, and trouble.
With a spring in my step, I stepped into the world again — blissfully unaware of the chaos my sleeping self had left behind.