Chapter 15 – The Hand That Takes to Give
The night was heavy when they gathered in the tavern.
The air still held the scent of old fires, but the ground was firm beneath their feet.
Adam stood among them.
He looked into their eyes—one by one.
Men with cracked muscles, women with sharp eyes, children trying hard to look grown.
His voice was rough, but calm—like someone who knew exactly what he wanted:
> "Tonight, we don't fight anyone face to face. Tonight, we steal. Yes. But we're not stealing from neighbors, not from the poor like us. We're taking back what was stolen from us—from the gangs' stores, from the port pirates."
He pointed to a map drawn in charcoal on the table.
Circles, lines, arrows.
> "Here are the storerooms. Weak guards on this side. Here's the alley they use to smuggle goods. That's our path."
He turned to two burly men:
> "You carry the sacks. Don't kill unless someone attacks. But if a weapon is raised—drop the hand that raised it."
To the women:
> "You cover us. Laugh with the guards. Ask about prices. Distract them."
To the boys:
> "You're the eyes. I don't want shouting in alleys. No surprises. If you see a patrol, whistle twice."
Then he looked at Gyro.
His voice lowered:
> "You're my right hand. Stay close. Watch me—and watch them. Anyone who betrays us tonight… we settle with him tomorrow."
---
They moved into the night like a single shadow.
The twisted alleys swallowed them in darkness.
The sea's sound whispered in the background.
The women walked ahead, calm steps, chatting and laughing with the guards.
The guards laughed back, unaware of the shadow creeping behind.
The children scattered like rats.
Two whistles when a guard passed.
Adam raised his hand in the dark, freezing everyone like statues.
When the coast was clear, he waved them forward.
---
They reached the storehouse.
A heavy door.
Adam drove a rusty dagger into the lock.
Twisted it carefully.
A soft creak.
The door opened.
Inside was pitch dark—but the scent of rice, oil, and dried fruit hit their noses.
Adam whispered:
> "Fill the sacks. Quick. No noise."
Hands moved in the shadows.
Heavy sacks.
Breathing fast.
Cold sweat.
Gyro came close and whispered:
> "It's a lot. We'll need two trips."
Adam shook his head:
> "One trip. We don't come back tonight. Greed kills."
---
They left as they came.
The guards still laughing with the women.
The women let out loud laughs as they slowly backed away.
The children ran ahead, whistling at the end of the alley—a signal: all clear.
---
When they returned to the tavern, screams were waiting.
But not screams of fear.
Screams of joy.
Children stared at sacks of rice and flour.
Women opened barrels of oil like they'd found treasure.
Men touched dried fruits like they'd forgotten their taste.
Adam raised his hand.
Everyone fell silent.
> "No one sells this. It's ours. Our food. No one goes hungry tonight. Anyone who steals from his brother—gets cast out. We only steal from thieves."
---
He sat by the fire with them.
The faces around him—cleaner, fiercer.
Their eyes held something new: understanding.
Adam pointed at them with the stick he was using to stir the embers:
> "Tonight, we rewrote our pact in blood. We're no saints. But we chose to be thieves with honor. We take from those who robbed us—and give to those who starve."
He turned to Gyro, sitting nearby—tired but alert:
> "Tomorrow we dig our roots deeper. Into the market. Into the port. Into the palace. We won't be slaves to old chains. We'll forge our own."
Silence.
Then he added, voice lower—as if making a promise hea
vier than gold:
> "This is the Eternal Skies I promised you. Not a dream—but a pact written in blood. Chosen with awareness. Paid for together."
---
End of Chapter 15