The city of Vareen slept uneasily beneath a blood-colored moon, its towers jutting from the mist like silver knives. Somewhere in the upper levels of the spire-district, alarms blared, lights flickered, and one very important vault realized—far too late—that it had become part of a story.
And before you ask, yes, this was my idea.No, I didn't think it through. I rarely do. But really, where's the fun in that?
From her vantage on the roof, Elara Quinn—better known across twelve kingdoms and three planes as Eclipse—balanced on a thin wire stretched between two towers. Her coat whipped in the night wind, stitched with constellations that shimmered faintly against the darkness. In one gloved hand, she twirled a deck of cards, each edge glinting with arcane light. In the other, she held the Mask—the infamous artifact that made her name both legend and curse.
Below her, Jess crouched near the ventilation grid, a tangle of wires and curses in equal measure. Jess had the kind of face that made people trust her right before she robbed them blind—a grin sharp enough to cut glass and fingers faster than a thought.
"Remind me," Jess hissed, "why we're robbing the Church of Luminar again?"
Elara grinned. "Because they said I couldn't."
That's the thing about divine institutions. Tell them you want to borrow a relic, they call it sacrilege. Steal it under their noses, and suddenly you're a cautionary tale. Same difference.
Behind them, Reven dropped down from the skylight with the grace of a cat and the personality of a brick. Tall, dark, and perpetually scowling, Reven had been a knight once—before following Elara meant being excommunicated, outlawed, and declared "unholy menace of reality." He wore the title like a badge of honor.
"Fifteen guards in the west wing," he said in his gravelly voice. "Magic wards are active. You sure this mask of yours won't alert the heavens?"
Elara looked down at the Mask—an ornate thing of black iron and living silver, shifting subtly like something alive and curious. It didn't speak, not exactly. It pulsed. It whispered. Sometimes it laughed. The first time she wore it, it had burned her soul raw, branded her with power meant for gods.
The Mask. The big mystery. The so-called relic of balance. It picks one wielder at a time, whispers cosmic secrets, and makes sure no one gets too powerful. You'd think that'd make me a hero. It didn't.Mostly, it made me really, really good at pissing people off.
"Relax," she told Reven, slipping the Mask into her coat. "It only screams when it's hungry."
"Hungry for what?" Jess muttered.
"Reality."
Reven sighed. "Of course."
The trio crept through the vent shaft, the metal groaning beneath their weight. Somewhere below, priests chanted the nightly hymns—low, rhythmic, and utterly oblivious. The air shimmered faintly with divine wards, but Elara's fingers danced through the air, sketching runes that unraveled them like threads.
Magic. Trickery. Sleight of hand, only the stakes are universal order. The thing about being a god of trickery? You never know if you're winning or improvising the rules as you go. Personally, I've never seen a difference.
They dropped silently into the inner sanctum—a marble room lined with golden statues and etched celestial sigils. At the center floated a crystalline orb, suspended in a pillar of light. The Heart of Luminar, source of the Church's miracles, pulsed like a living star.
"Pretty," Jess whispered. "What happens if we touch it?"
"Reality collapses," Reven said flatly.
Elara smirked. "Or we get rich. Fifty-fifty."
Jess hesitated. "You're joking, right?"
Elara's smirk widened. "I'm always joking. Usually."
I wasn't joking.
As Elara reached toward the orb, the air warped. Time seemed to hesitate. For one heartbeat, she saw herself reflected in the crystal—not her human self, but Eclipse: the mask fused to her face, eyes blazing with otherworldly light, hair bleeding into shadow. The world around her twisted and cracked like glass.
Then she blinked, and it was gone.
"Everything all right?" Reven asked.
"Perfectly," she lied.
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a card from her deck—the Magician, fittingly—and flicked it into the air. It expanded, spinning into a glowing sigil that enveloped the orb. The light dimmed, the Heart folded into itself, and suddenly, it was gone—tucked neatly into Elara's hand as a small, humming card.
"Mission accomplished," she said brightly. "See? No explosions."
That's when the explosions started.
Alarms screamed, magic wards flared to life, and the floor erupted in celestial fire. Reven swore. Jess shouted. Elara laughed.
Here's the thing about being a thief of gods: no matter how carefully you plan, divinity always cheats.
They ran—through fire, through collapsing corridors, through guards yelling prayers that burned like sunlight. Elara's laughter echoed through the chaos, sharp and wild and utterly alive.
By the time they reached the rooftops again, the night was a symphony of bells and chaos. Elara stood at the edge, the stolen relic glowing faintly in her palm, the Mask whispering like a pleased cat.
"Worth it?" Reven demanded.
Elara smiled at the city below—burning, furious, divine. "Always."
And that, dear reader, was the night I accidentally set half a city on fire, declared war on three pantheons, and stole the Heart of Luminar. But don't worry—it gets worse.After all, this is only the beginning.