The rain hadn't stopped in three days.
It poured through the night like the sky itself was cracked and leaking, a steady torrent that seeped into wood and stone alike. Roof beams sagged under the weight, streets became rivers of mud and waste, and even the rats kept to higher ground. When the rain lasted this long, the Dregs never smelled clean. It smelled worse—like rot rising from the earth, like smoke smeared into wet cloth, like the world itself had gone sour.
The Dregs were not a district of the city. They were the forgotten graveyard at its base, a sprawl of slums built from old stone and rotting timber, never repaired, never loved, never remembered. Cracked walls leaned on each other like drunks, staircases hung crooked, and whole sections of tenements collapsed without warning. It was a place where the city tossed what it no longer wanted: the old, the broken, the unwanted, the poor.
And in that rot crouched Kairo.
He was small for his age. Thin, wiry, sharp in the way hunger makes sharp. His ribs pressed against the skin of his chest, his elbows and knees knotted like sticks. His shirt was a rag barely clinging to his shoulders, trousers cinched at the waist with a length of fraying rope. His hair hung in wet strands over his forehead, dark and heavy with rain, and his bare feet were black with mud.
He sat beneath the sagging skeleton of a staircase, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped tight around them. His breath fogged faintly in the cold damp. His eyes, though—his eyes were open, restless, watching. Always watching.
His stomach had stopped growling yesterday. That silence was worse than hunger. Hunger was familiar, almost friendly. It had been with him since he could remember. But silence—silence meant his body was beginning to give up.
Kairo wasn't the kind of boy who prayed. He had never seen reason to. The gods, if they existed, didn't walk in the Dregs. If they did, they would have been mugged and left face down in the gutter like everyone else.
No, the only truth here was simple: you took, or you died.
And Kairo had taken.
He had stolen a half-eaten apple once, snatched from a wagon while the seller turned his back. He had dug a copper coin from the mud, its edges worn smooth, and buried it before anyone could see. He had pulled bread from the hands of a beggar who couldn't fight him for it. Sometimes, if he had more than he could finish, he gave a bite to another street rat—not out of kindness, but because favors were worth something. A favor today meant a lookout tomorrow.
He had learned fast: kindness without profit was waste.
But now he had nothing. No food, no favors, not even a crumb to trade. And silence gnawed at him from the inside.
Two alleys down, through the rain, the baker's stall hissed with warmth. Even from here, the smell reached him, thick and cruel—the scent of loaves stacked high, golden crusts steaming. A mountain of bread sat not far from him, so close it hurt to breathe.
Two guards stood watch. Their armor was rusted and dull, helmets crooked, belts straining against their fat stomachs. They laughed through mouths full of bread, crumbs clinging to wet beards, their voices carrying through the storm.
Kairo had been watching them for days.
He knew their rhythm. He knew that at the eighth toll of the bell, the baker always turned his back to shout at the fishmonger. He knew one guard scratched his beard on the sixth toll, the other fiddled with the strap of his greaves on the seventh. Eight heartbeats. Eight breaths. That was his chance.
This wasn't desperation. This was craft. Hunger sharpened his instincts, but theft—that was survival.
The bell began to toll.
One. Two. Three.
Kairo slid from the stair's shadow, bare feet splashing in the filth. Rain plastered his shirt to his chest, stung his eyes, blurred the world—but he moved low, quick, every motion calculated.
Four. Five.
The loaves glistened in the lanternlight. His mouth watered. His fingers trembled.
Six.
He reached out. The crust was hot against his skin.
Seven—
"Oi!"
The shout froze him. A hand like iron clamped around his wrist.
The loaf tumbled into the mud with a wet slap.
Kairo twisted, but the grip was unyielding. The older guard loomed above him, breath sour with onions. "Thought you were clever, rat?"
The younger smirked. "Third time this week."
Kairo jerked his arm, teeth clenched. "Let me go—"
The punch came sudden, brutal. Fist against cheek. His head snapped sideways, pain bursting down his ribs as he crashed into the stall.
Mud. Pain. Laughter.
"Drag him to the pit," the older muttered.
"He's just a brat," the younger said, though he didn't release him.
"And brats grow into thieves. Better to cut that early."
Better to cut that early.
The words dug in like knives. Was that all he was? Something to be cut away?
No.
Kairo's heart thundered. Not with fear. With something else. Heat surged through his veins. His vision blurred—then sharpened, etched with lines of strange light.
---
[SYSTEM: THIEF – ACTIVATING…]
> NO CLASS DETECTED
NO AUTHORITY BOUND
YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN
> FUNCTION UNLOCKED: Absorb via Contact
REQUIREMENTS: Physical touch, will to steal, no active System
> TARGET: [City Guard – Unranked]
HIGHEST STAT: Strength (18)
AVAILABLE TRAITS: Iron Grip, Brawler's Instinct, Quick Strike
> ENGAGE? [Y/N]
---
Kairo didn't know what he was seeing. But he understood.
Power. Not given. Not earned. Taken.
His fingers clamped on the guard's wrist.
Yes.
---
> TRAITS ABSORBED
+3 Strength
TARGET STAMINA REDUCED
USER GRIP ENHANCED
INSTINCT REWRITE: MINIMAL
---
The guard gasped, clutching his arm.
Kairo tore free, his body jerking with sudden violence. Too violent. His shoulder wrenched, nearly tearing. He ducked under the younger guard's swing and stumbled into the rain.
His body felt wrong. His arms swung heavier, his legs pushed harder. He crashed into a barrel, wood splintering, his breath ragged. Too strong. Too fast.
Shouts roared behind him. "Stop him!" "He did something!" "My arm—he took something from me!"
Kairo ran.
The alleys blurred. Rain hammered. His feet struck harder than he meant, each step sliding. He slammed into a wall, pain jolting through his ribs, then shoved off again.
He rounded a corner—and collided with a man in heavy blue robes, scrolls strapped across his chest.
---
[TARGET: Scholar Wizard – Adept]
HIGHEST STAT: Intelligence (21)
AVAILABLE TRAITS: Arcane Comprehension, Quick Calculation, Photographic Recall
> ABSORB? [Y/N]
Yes.
---
His head ignited. Thoughts flared like sparks, too many, too fast. Every droplet, every face, every escape route seared itself into his mind. His brain sprinted ahead, predicting guard movements, calculating distances, offering a dozen paths.
But his body lagged. His feet stuttered. He froze, mind racing, body too slow. The world tilted—then he forced himself forward, crashing into another.
Leather armor. Daggers. A rogue.
---
[TARGET: Rogue – Journeyman]
HIGHEST STAT: Dexterity (19)
AVAILABLE TRAITS: Shadowstep, Lightfoot, Opportunist
Yes.
---
His steps went silent. His body slipped through spaces like water. Too well. Too fast. He cornered sharp, slid, smashed into a crate. Pain burst through him, but he kept going, staggering forward.
Then steel. A paladin. Armor gleaming even in the storm.
---
[TARGET: Paladin – Knight]
HIGHEST STAT: Constitution (20)
AVAILABLE TRAITS: Stalwart, Pain Endurance, Second Wind
Yes.
---
His lungs expanded. Pain dulled. His ribs steadied. He pushed harder, faster. Too hard. His balance buckled, feet slipping. He tumbled through the mud, rolled, slammed into stone, then staggered back up. His body endured it, but each movement felt alien.
Beside him—a priest in white robes, holy symbol clutched.
---
[TARGET: Priest – Acolyte]
HIGHEST STAT: Wisdom (18)
AVAILABLE TRAITS: Spiritual Awareness, Calm Mind, Prayer of Focus
Yes.
---
Awareness struck him like lightning. He felt every gaze, every shadow, every threat. Too much. Too loud. He nearly veered the wrong way, dazzled by it. His foot caught on stone, nearly sending him sprawling.
Then one more. Ragged cloak. A fellow thief.
---
[TARGET: Rogue – Novice]
HIGHEST STAT: Agility (17)
AVAILABLE TRAITS: Silent Step, Pickpocket's Touch, Escape Artist
Yes.
---
His body snapped forward, speed surging. Too much. He ricocheted off barrels, slammed into walls, nearly flew through a door. He wasn't running—he was crashing, stumbling, flying.
By the time he hurled himself through the window of a collapsed warehouse, he was trembling, soaked, shaking with power he couldn't control.
Darkness swallowed him.
He pressed against the wall, chest heaving. His body wanted to run, smash, leap. His mind sprinted ahead, thoughts too fast, too sharp. He was bursting apart.
And then, the System spoke again.
---
SYSTEM: THIEF – STATUS REPORT
User: Kairo
Age: 8
Class: Thief
Authority Level: 0
Alignment: True Neutral
---
Current Stats
Strength: 21 – You can break, shove, and grip with force far beyond your size.
Dexterity: 20 – Your hands and movements are precise, but hard to tame.
Agility: 19 – Your speed is sharp, but unbalanced. Control must be learned.
Constitution: 20 – Your body endures blows and fatigue unnaturally well.
Intelligence: 21 – Your thoughts are fast, sharp, too many at once.
Wisdom: 18 – The world is clearer, but overwhelming.
Charisma: 4 – Your presence is weak. Words hold little weight.
Luck: 7 – Fortune favors you rarely, and unpredictably.
---
Passives (Always-On Traits)
Iron Grip – Your hands seize like iron; prey rarely escapes.
Brawler's Instinct – Intuition for untrained melee strikes and counters.
Lightfoot – Your steps whisper, nearly soundless.
Pain Endurance – Injuries slow you less than they should.
Spiritual Awareness – Sense the presence of holy or unholy forces.
Calm Mind – Fear and panic fade faster.
Photographic Recall – What you see, you remember perfectly.
Opportunist – Distracted foes suffer greater consequences.
Iron Hunger – Starvation sharpens your instincts and reflexes.
Will to Live – Near death, body surges with defiance.
Will to Rise – Recovery from fatigue or wounds accelerates.
---
Abilities (Active Techniques)
Quick Strike – Deliver a lightning-fast opening attack.
Disarm Swipe – Attempt to strip a weapon from an enemy in melee.
Shadowstep – Slip between patches of shadow and light, harder to see.
Silent Step – Erase sound from movement, even while sprinting.
Escape Artist – Focus to slip ropes, chains, or grapples.
Second Wind – Once per rest, instantly regain stamina and composure.
Prayer of Focus – Call upon stolen clarity to clear the mind.
Unseen Tread – Blend into crowds and vanish when moving with intent.
---
Titles & Rewards
Theft-Touched – You stole for the first time.
Reward: +1 Agility.
Whisper in the Rain – You vanished while pursued in a storm.
Reward: Passive – Veil in Storms (harder to detect during rain/fog).
---
System Rule Notes
Random Theft: A brief touch steals randomly from the target.
Focused Theft: With intent and contact, you may choose trait/stat/ability.
Amount: Longer contact allows greater transfer.
All is Stealable: Stats, skills, knowledge, even essence. Nothing is immune.
Instability: Stolen growth destabilizes body and mind until adjusted.
Titles: Permanent proof of theft; each grants a lasting reward. Titles have a infinite amount of ways to acquire under circumstances.
---
Kairo stared at the glowing words. His body trembled, not with hunger, but with power that didn't fit right inside him. It was too big. Too wild. But a thief never wasted what he stole.
His lips curved, not into a smile but into something sharper.
The world would never give him anything. So he would take it.
All of it.
---