The dawn wind swept down from the Brunna Clara Mountains with a bite that stung the skin. Whistling through cracks and cliffs, it produced a high-pitched wail, like a chorus of ancient voices recalling old battles. There, upon a rocky ledge, Kaelor stood motionless, the weight of his heavy cloak billowing against the gusts. From his vantage point, he could see, far in the distance, the dark walls of Keino in Dravencourt, barely lit by the first glimmers of daylight.
Morning in Dravencourt always carried an edge of deceit: the golden hues could make one believe the city awoke in peace, but beneath that calm was a heart beating to the rhythm of steel and military orders.
Kaelor knew that pulse well. He had spent weeks observing the city from various high points, noting the change of guards, the patrol routes, the hours when the gates opened and closed. Each mental sketch was a piece on an invisible board he had sworn to master.
The silhouette of the Imperial Museum stood out even from that distance: its central tower rose like an inverted spear against the sky, and the empire's banners waved proudly. There, under constant guard, lay the Lance of Draxler, the last remnant of a time when dragons ruled the continent.
Kaelor closed his eyes and let the cold cut through him. The air carried the scent of damp stone, and mixed with it, a faint trace of smoke… a sensory memory pulling him back to another time.
The image formed with clarity: Draxler, majestic, his voice roaring orders as black flames lit up the battlefield. The sky stained crimson, the crash of human catapults, the clash of swords against scales. And above all, the feeling of loss. That night, Kaelor's world had shattered: his people scattered, his home reduced to ashes, and his sister, Lirael, torn from his side by the tide of war.
"Today, I start to close the wound," he murmured to himself.
He adjusted his cloak, making sure the hood covered his face, and began the descent along a barely visible path. The route would take him to one of the city's lesser-guarded entrances, used by rural traders and smugglers.
On the way, his boots splashed through frozen puddles and twisted roots. At times, light filtered through the pines, casting shadows that seemed to follow him. The weight of the short sword beneath his cloak and the daggers in his boots were a silent assurance: today, he could not afford a single mistake.
Meanwhile, several streets away from Keino's central square, Lirael sat in the dimness of a rented room, leafing through a small journal. Its pages were filled with crossed-out names, addresses, descriptions of places… a record of everything she had learned about the empire since living there under another identity.
From the window, she could see the market beginning to stir. Vendors set up their stalls, the smell of fresh bread mingled with smoked fish, and the bells of the central tower rang the first hour. To anyone else, that routine was normal. To Lirael, it was a constant reminder that she lived in the heart of those responsible for the fall of her race.
Memories of her brother came to her in fragments: a protective glance, a firm hand pulling her through a crowd, and then… nothing. She had believed him dead, like so many others. But she had learned that, in this world, death was rarely final.
She pulled on a dark cloak and went downstairs. She intended to visit a contact in the port district when, crossing a terrace, her eyes locked on a figure emerging from a nearby alley. Though hidden under a cloak, there was something in the way he moved that was impossible to ignore. Her heart skipped a beat.
It couldn't be… or could it?
Kaelor reached Keino's first cobblestone streets. The bustle of the market wrapped around him immediately. Merchants shouted their wares, children darted between stalls, and carts creaked as they turned corners. He used the chaos to blend in. From time to time, his gaze swept the surroundings, marking guards and quick escape routes.
The city smelled of humanity: sweat, chimney smoke, southern spices, fresh fish, and in some corners, the sour stench of the canals. Stone-and-wood houses crowded along narrow streets, and imperial flags hung from every official building.
He strode confidently toward the district where the museum stood. It wasn't his first time infiltrating a guarded building, but never had he felt the symbolic weight pressing on him like now. This wasn't just about stealing an object it was about snatching from the empire a symbol of its arrogance.
When he arrived at the plaza before the Imperial Museum, his heart thudded in his chest. The main entrance was guarded by two soldiers in red armor, the elite regiment's emblem engraved on their breastplates. Their spears gleamed under the sunlight.
But Kaelor had no intention of going in that way.
He studied the main entrance for a few more seconds long enough to confirm that the guard change wouldn't happen for at least another half hour. He turned toward the side street, a narrower lane where shadows clung even under the midday sun. Here, the market noise was muffled, replaced by the constant drip of water from a hidden canal beneath the stones.
At the end of that street, a service door of dark wood fit snugly into a stone arch. He had seen it before, used by servants carrying supplies and tools for maintenance. A single guard leaned against the wall, scratching his chin. Kaelor walked toward him at an unhurried pace. When close enough, he pretended to stumble and fall forward.
"You all right?" the guard asked, bending to help.
In that instant, Kaelor's hand shot up, pressing firmly against a nerve point. The man collapsed unconscious before realizing what had happened. Kaelor dragged him behind some crates and took the key from his belt.
The door yielded with a soft creak, and a cold, dense air enveloped him. The interior smelled of damp stone and burnt wax. Through a narrow hallway, he reached a wider corridor adorned with marble statues and glass display cases.
The Imperial Museum was a monument to the empire's arrogance. Every hall displayed trophies from conquered peoples: ceremonial robes from the southern clans, war masks of the sea tribes, bones of mythical beasts hunted to extinction. The walls were covered with tapestries embroidered with battle scenes glorifying the emperor and his generals.
Kaelor passed a display case holding the petrified claw of a young dragon. His jaw tightened. He clenched his fist until his knuckles popped but kept walking.
Further on, at the heart of the museum, a circular room was lit by a high window. There, on a pedestal carved from obsidian, rested the Lance of Draxler. The blade, deep black with reddish veins, seemed to drink in the light. The shaft was decorated with draconic runes Kaelor read as a vow of vengeance.
But he was not alone. Two elite guards stood watch over the weapon, and a field of magical energy shimmered around the pedestal. Kaelor knew he had to move with precision any mistake, and the room would flood with soldiers.
Meanwhile, outside, Lirael moved across the rooftops of nearby buildings. She had followed her brother from the market, always keeping a safe distance. Now she crouched on a slanted roof facing one of the museum's high windows. Through the colored glass, she could make out a familiar silhouette approaching the pedestal.
There was no doubt it was Kaelor.
The disguised dragon stepped forward, extended his hand, and with a sure movement, touched the magical seal. The runes flickered, resisting, but he murmured something in a language few could speak. The barrier dissolved like smoke.
Kaelor's hand closed around the lance, and an icy current shot up his arm. At that moment, the museum's bells began to ring, and a voice shouted:
"Thief! Protect the artifact!"
The metallic sound of the bells bounced off the stone walls, amplified until it became deafening. The two elite guards reacted instantly, lunging at Kaelor with their spears. He spun, dodging the first strike by a breath, and caught the enemy spear with his free hand. A sharp twist, and the shaft snapped with a dry crack.
The second guard tried to pierce him from the side, but Kaelor blocked with the Lance of Draxler. The clash produced a dark flash that made the soldier recoil, his face pale, hands trembling involuntarily.
He could not linger. More footsteps echoed from the adjoining corridors. He darted toward the side exit, but a group of soldiers appeared, blocking the passage. Arrows whistled through the air, embedding themselves in the walls. Kaelor rolled behind a column, using its shadow for cover, and flung a dagger at the nearest archer. The man fell with a muffled cry.
Outside, Lirael watched from the window. Her heart pounded; every move her brother made was swift, lethal, and calculated. She remembered the protective Kaelor of her childhood, but this… this was different. Colder. More determined.
Kaelor raced down another hallway, striking down a guard with the flat of the lance. He pushed open a side door and emerged into a narrow alley. The fresh air hit his face, and the distant roar of the city reached his ears.
But the calm lasted only a moment. Behind him, a dozen soldiers burst into the alley. Kaelor broke into a run, his cloak streaming behind him. People in the market shouted and scattered as he forced his way through.
Lirael, moving across the rooftops, shadowed him. She saw patrols blocking streets, heard orders shouted from the towers:
"Take him alive if possible! Dead if there's no choice!"
Kaelor turned into what looked like a dead-end alley or so his pursuers thought. But he was prepared; pressing against a wall, he triggered a hidden passage he had prepared earlier. The entrance sealed shut just as the soldiers arrived, cursing and searching in vain.
Inside the tunnel, the echo of his footsteps drummed in the dark. He didn't stop until he reached a hidden exit on the outskirts, where green hills rolled toward the horizon. He paused for a moment, gazing at the lance. His fingers traced the runes, and an ancient whisper seemed to answer him.
In the distance, atop a rooftop, Lirael watched him disappear. She would not follow… not yet. But she knew this theft would change the fate of the continent.