Chapter II: Sylvia Hovda

(Deleted the previous chapter 2 as it didn't fit with what I currently have in mind)

With nimble and graceful footwork, Sylvia Hovda quickly leaped from building to building, the midnight darkness concealing her presence. Her heart no longer raced as she performed life-threating acrobatics where one false step could equal death. In fact, she'd stared death right in the eye countless times in her years as an assassin. This had all become routine to her from countless hours spent honing her skills to perfection.

Yet there was still another worry in her heart. Her master had called for her and she knew better than to ignore his orders. The Crow's codes had been etched into her mind to the point where she could recite all forty-two rules in chronological order from the heart. The utmost important one being to /never/ disobey master.

Gliding alongside her was Oscar with his oily black feathers blending in with the darkness. He barely had been able to match Slyvia's pace. In his prime, he'd been the fastest crow in all of Aftan, or at least according to him, he was. As time passed, he'd decayed. He was retired, slow, old, and fragile. Yet the bird held his chin high, sure of himself. He barked out orders, "Get moving missy!" he screeched.

"I'm going as fast as I can so hush for a minute won't you?" Sylvia had been lying to a certain extent. She was capable of covering ground quicker, however, the now old and feeble crow would've fallen far behind, and she quite enjoyed him by her side despite his annoying and egotistical personality. Though she did slightly pick up the pace as she wished to return to her master's side as soon as possible.

Her master, Corvus, or at least that's the alibi he'd worked under had requested for her most likely an hour ago. For the longest time, she wondered his real name and figured he hadn't shared it with anyone alive to this date. Thinking of her master, she subconsciously sped up, creating a noticeable gap between her and Oscar.

Her life had been dedicated to serving Corvus and the guild in order to repay an unrepayable debt. As a child, she'd grown up in a small country farther north of Aftan. The country was poor and ravaged by an ongoing and raging civil war. More than a quarter of the population lived in the utmost poverty, beginning for scraps in the dark slums.

Her family was dirt poor, constantly gambling away their earnings or using it to fuel their drug and alcohol addiction. Eventually, they'd hit rock bottom and with no money, no home, and no food had sold their daughter into slavery. She was young and beautiful so it wasn't hard until a buyer emerged.

The man she'd been sold off to was an older rich noble who'd been pushing into his sixties. He constantly fueled money into the war, supporting the current King in fear of what'd happen if the rebels won. He owned a large estate, contrary to most of the population, with an enormous cotton farm that his slaves worked in. However, Slyvia faced a much worse fate. The disgusting swine used her to relieve himself of his adult ambitions. It wasn't until years later when Slyvia had crossed her twelfth birthday had she been liberated.

She still remembered the morning as if it'd occurred yesterday. Flocks of crows flew overhead the mansion, painting the sky black. At the time she'd been chained up in the basement, a blindfold masking her eyes. However, her ears were just as sharp as her eyes. She listened closely as gunshots cracked through the air, followed by screams. After minutes of gunpowder exploding and shouting, she heard the basement door kicked open. At first, she feared it'd been Cyrus however once her blindfold had been taken off and her vision adjusted to the blinding light, she'd seen Cyrus. Though not as she expected to. His head was separated from his body, tumbling across the wooden floor.

The next face to appear was Corvus. At the time, the end of his beard had begun to take on a gray color. His wrinkled face did little to hide his age of an older man who'd perhaps been pushing into his late fifties. Though the obvious giveaway was the cane that'd supported him to stand.

The rest was pretty much as expected. They'd freed the remaining slaves of the estate before looting any valuables. Most of the slaves had returned back to the streets in far worse condition than any other. Some escaped to neighboring countries in hope of better lives, however, Sylvia doubted they'd fare a brighter fate.

On the other hand, Sylvia had nowhere to go. She was a twelve-year-old girl and surviving life in the streets would be practically impossible for her. So, she pleaded to join The Crows. They'd been a small guild that originated from Aftan and arrived here after the rebels requested help, promising riches.

To her surprise, they'd accepted her. Training had begun relatively soon. An elderly woman, Anne--who'd been a member since The Crow's founded-- trained her in the arts of assassination. From basics like picking locks and constantly observing your surroundings to dagger tossing and throat slitting. Her skills had been honed and perfected over her teenage years and quickly she'd climbed through the ranks.

"Excuse me for being late, Master Corvus," she kneeled before his presence. His face was emotionless as always, eyes stern and hard so it'd been impossible to read what he was thinking.

He stroked his gray beard, nodding. He spoke oddly, inhaling rather than exhaling. It gave him an out of breath and a sickly tone. "It's pleasant to see you, Sylvia." He tapped his cane sending Oscar perched onto his shoulder. "You don't look a day older since the last time we've spoken. Marvelous."

The corners of Sylvia's mouth yanked upwards as the compliments rang in her head. Without any hesitation or falter in her voice, Sylvia replied, "You don't look a day older either, master."

He chuckled at the comment. "No need to be so kind. My era has passed long ago. Now I am weak and fragile, humiliated by disease. Soon my time will pass, and you'll dictate The Crows."

Sylvia held her tongue, afraid at the thought of his death. However, he was right. He was a shell of his youth. He had only shared his fate with her. Years ago he contracted a terminal disease that his body had grown too weak to fight. Soon he'd pass.

"My crows have been tracking the growth of a young man. He's around your age," he said in a raspy and weak voice that resembled more of a whisper. "I've held off on bringing him up until now as he'd needed to mature, however, he'll be found by others if I wait any longer."

Sylvia's eyes slightly widened, surprised. The Crows rarely brought in new members so the words excited her. Though she wanted to know more, she waited.

"Oscar will guide you the way." He turned around, back facing Sylvia. "Try not to harm him." His words drifted before disappearing into the shadows.

Oscar and Sylvia stood alone now and without further notice, they'd begin.