Chapter 2: Life in the Shadows

Nyra's earliest memories were of cold, damp rooms, the musty scent of the mold-streaked walls, and the scuttling of rats in the darkness. Saris lived in a squat above a dying tavern, where the ceilings leaked and the floors creaked ominously. But for all its grime, it was home.

The old thief raised Nyra with a rough-hand and a sharp tongue. She gave her no love, but she did give her knowledge—of the streets, of the people who ruled them, and most importantly, of how to survive. For in Halthor, survival was a game, and only the clever played it well.

By the time she was six, Nyra was already learning the tricks of Saris's trade. She would follow her "mother" into the markets, her small hands quick and unnoticed as she lifted coin purses and baubles from unsuspecting marks. Saris taught her the art of blending into the background, of moving through the crowds like a whisper.

"You're small enough to slip through cracks," Saris would say, watching as Nyra darted through alleyways, her nimble fingers prying open crates or unlocking doors with stolen keys. "Use it. The moment you're noticed is the moment you're caught. And in Halthor, caught means dead."

But while Saris was teaching her how to steal and survive, Nyra's own heart was being shaped by something different. Something deeper. Every day, as she moved through the streets, her eyes would be drawn to the city guards. Halthor's guards were not noble knights by any means; most were corrupt, taking bribes from the local gangs to turn a blind eye. But despite their flaws, they had something Nyra lacked: power.

Their swords gleamed in the sunlight, their armor marked them as untouchable, and when they spoke, people listened. Even the criminals of Halthor paid attention when a guard walked by.

Nyra watched them, day after day, practicing drills in the training grounds near the city's heart. She admired the precision in their movements, the way their blades sang through the air. More than anything, she wanted to wield that kind of power.

"Swords are for fools with money to burn," Saris would scoff whenever she caught Nyra staring. "They'll get you killed faster than they'll keep you alive."

But Nyra wasn't convinced. A sword was more than just a weapon—it was a way out. A way to be more than just a shadow, more than just a thief scraping for coins. It was freedom.