An orangey glow began to illuminate the side of many homes and businesses as the sun set in Sol City. Torkum had asked Vi'ira to accompany him on a trade with family of merfolk whom he had worked up a deal with, and he promised the trip would be short due to the deal taking place right outside of Capitol Landing in the middle of the sea. She wasn't sure why she believed him, seeing as they had just gotten back and left for the trip in the afternoon the day before. She was exhausted, but wanted to take a walk around the city and stop for something to eat. She hadn't ventured too far into the food culture of Sol City, but she was excited to try any and all food offered to her.

As she strolled down a fairly empty street, she took note of the ivy spreading over the brick of some buildings while others were pristine. The variety of architecture and outdoor decor in Capitol Landing was one of Vi'ira's favorite things to study. A particular building with deep purple trim and dark green shingles caught her eyes. The shop was made of multicolored bricks, from tan to white to a faint red and lined with an array of different plants. Vi'ira fished her journal out of the satchel attached to her belt and got to scribbling away the details of the establishment. It wasn't long before she felt a sudden tug at her belt that almost knocked her over. A hooded figure dashed past her, belt in hand. She looked down to see that the buckle of the belt had fallen off, completely ruined from being torn from her hips, but her feet began to run before she could let that sink in. The belt was her mother's and it didn't matter if the buckle was destroyed, she was going to get it back.

"Aye! Ye scabby bastard scum!" Vi'ira yelled in the street, enraged, her hair blowing furiously behind her. "Bring back what isn't yers!"

It was safe to say that Cyran was having one of the worst days of his life, and considering how long and fraught with tragedy his life had been, that was saying something. Perhaps he was being dramatic, but considering he’d woken up to a string of bad luck, he felt he was justified in saying that statement.

Especially considering he was currently being led on a wild goose chase through the streets of Sol City after a cloaked figure who had stolen his pouch containing all his meager earthly possessions right off of his belt while he was perusing the bread selection in a bakery.

The series of unfortunate events that unfurled next could only be described as a comedy of errors, as Cyran immediately gave chase, and would have put up a good fight if he wasn’t still hungover from the previous night’s festivities. The thief managed to ward him off with his own dagger before pushing him into a nearby puddle of mud in their escape. So now he was soggy, chilly, and miserable as he chased down the figure who’d been bold enough to rob someone in broad daylight.

Even assassins had off days, he supposed.

Unfortunately, the thief had the advantage of being on his own turf- Cyran hadn’t been in Sol City for long enough to get a sense of the layout- soon enough the criminal managed to give him the slip by leading him through a series of complicated alleyways and shake Cyran off at a dead end. He’d picked up the trail, but not after awkwardly scaling the brick wall and losing precious time.

Cyran came back out into the empty main road just in time to catch the sight of a billowing cloak rounding the corner. Breaking out into a sprint, Cyran took after the figure when he heard a voice cry out,

“Aye! Ye scabby bastard scum! Bring back what isn’t yers!”

Cyran turned the sharp corner into the next street, ready to help the thief’s next would-be-victim, only to find that the person running at him wasn’t the cloaked figure at all. Instead, he was facing down a white haired elven woman with enough anger to challenge the gods painted on her face sprinting in a warpath straight in his direction.

He didn’t have time to stop the impending collision. Unfortunately, neither did she.

Cyran saw stars as both were sent sprawling to the cobblestone ground, their capture attempts thwarted.

“Oh gods, I am so sorry.” Cyran said as he frantically pulled himself to his feet, extending out a hand to help the woman up as well. “I was looking out for someone who stole my bag, and I didn’t watch where I was going…”

He trailed off as he looked around, surprised to see that the thief had vanished entirely. Where did he go?

He could chase after the thief later- for now, he focused on helping the girl up. When he saw her face, something about her seemed familiar. For a moment, he couldn’t quite place it, before he remembered their brief encounter at the Marrowvine’s ball. She looked a bit different without the costume, but he was certain it was her.

“Wait, we met at the gala, didn’t we? Are you alright? I heard someone shouting, did that thief steal your things too?”

Vi'ira charged down the street, her cloak whipping around fiercely. She didn't have time to react when another figure emerged from around a sharp corner and the two of them collided. The wind was knocked out of her as she was tossed in the air and struck her hip on the ground. A sharp pain erupted at her side, but she tried her best to not focus on it. It would bruise, but there was no break, and there was no time to stop running.

At first, she was frustrated.

If she would've stayed on the thief's trail, she could've already had her belt back. There was no telling now, and Vi'ira breathed out quickly. She hurriedly sat up as she rubbed her hip, hesitant to take the man's hand for a moment. She peered behind his legs in an attempt to see if the thief was still in sight, but alas. The crook had escaped. However, at the mention of his bag being stolen, Vi'ira finally looked up and locked eyes with the elf. A thought pricked up at the back of her mind, a memory.

Had they met before? She grasped onto the man's wrist as he helped her up. When she steadied herself, she leaned over to pick up her journal, which lay sprawled out on the cobblestone with the pages folded all sorts of directions. Never mind that. Why did he look so familiar?

"Wait, we met at the gala, didn't we?" That's what it was! The Marrowvine's Black Harvest Ball, of course. She hadn't recognized him without the fangs. "Are you alright? I heard someone shouting, did that thief steal your things too?"

"Ah, I knew we 'ad met before. I didn't recognized ye without the..." Vi'ira opened her mouth as she took a moment to steady her breathing again and pointed to her canines, "...the fangs. Some crook ran by and stole my belt right off of me, 'as all my tools." She adjusted the thick leather band holding her blade as she spoke. Thankfully, Vi'ira wore her rapier on a separate belt from her bags of equipment. She felt as though there would be a weight issue, causing it to become lopsided or slip off from carrying everything at once. And, apparently, it would be very handy in situations such as this.

"I'm sorry about yer bag, but we'll be sure to get it back. I don't take kindly to thieves, and I assume ye are the same, seeing as ye were barreling around the corner like a madman on a mission." She chuckled to herself as she brushed off her dusted knees and stood to her full height, with the dark haired elf standing at only one or two inches taller than her.

"It's Cyran, right? Ye were the one who pantsed Zarius." Even on a day like this when her stuff had just previously been stolen, she found herself laughing. "That...that was very good. I'm Vi'ira." She pressed two fingers to her temple and bounced them off as a salute, not sure if now was an appropriate time to shake hands formally.

Cyran relaxed somewhat when he received confirmation that he had indeed remembered her from the right place, and that he hadn't made a fool of himself. She was one of the few moon elves he'd picked out of the crowd, and her eye was rather hard to miss. The black, distinctive cracks in her skin like spiderweb veins reminded him of his own injuries that marred his back. He hoped that it didn't mean what he thought it meant. No one deserved to bear injuries like that.

"Yes, you were the one dressed as a pirate that pretended to be an ambassador. It takes a lot of guts to do that." He was glad he'd remembered her name, as he had been rather out of sorts by the time he was roped into that horrible game. When she mentioned the incident involving Zarius, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his elongated ears. Was it too much to ask for people to forget that it happened entirely? "Hm, ah, yes... well, I did do that, though in retrospect I wish I'd drank the liquor instead, as it seems that's what I will be remembered for." He cleared his throat awkwardly, changing the subject while the two of them caught their breath.

"You're right, I don't take kindly to thieves. Especially when they take my money and my weapons." Cyran said, eyeing her rapier. It was lucky for her she kept her weapon out in the open rather than stored away. While some might prefer to conceal their blades, her honesty may have been what spared her. "Something similar happened to me while I was in a shop a few blocks away. It's awfully bold of them to steal from people in broad daylight. Then again, perhaps they have the ability to back it up."

Cyran surveyed the area, eyes narrowed. In an instant, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, something in his demeanor changed, becoming cold and sharp. He was on the hunt now, taking in every detail of the street they'd found themselves in. Aside from the impressive architecture, there was nothing out of place. Normally, he wouldn't expect to find any signs of the thief's escape... or at least he wouldn't if the two hadn't tousled in the mud earlier. There were still faint muddy bootprints on the stones that came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road. "Whatever he did, we won't find him anywhere around here. Either he teleported, flew away, or turned invisible."

Which meant they weren't just dealing with your every day, ordinary criminal. This had ceased to be a chase. This was now a hunt.

Cyran turned back around to face Vi'ira. "In that case, how would you feel about teaming up and teaching him a lesson? I assume you know how to use that sword. Between the two of us he'll regret the first time he ever picked so much as a coin purse."

Watching the elf's cheeks flood with color was amusing, but nowhere near as amusing as the actual prank itself. 

"Aye. I'm not sure I'll ever truly recover from that night. My first 'igh-esteemed party and I make an absolute arse out of myself in front of the 'ost." She did not intend to engage in a conversation to Madam Marrowvine about the hoax of a village she conjured up ever again, and planned on avoiding talking to her at all if she could manage that. She understood the embarrassment Cyran had just expressed. Putting herself back in that moment was worse than venturing through any life-threatening storm, maybe even being stolen from, for that matter. "I think by the end o' the night, we 'ad all wished we 'ad fallen victim to the vodka rather than our demented friend's wishes."

As Cyran recounted his interaction with the thief, Vi'ira nodded along. Stealing in the daylight was not an easy feat, especially considering they had not picked the easiest looking targets. They must have some sort of backing of protection to steal from two Moon Elves back to back, especially one of a lean, muscular frame and another that carried an unconcealed weapon. Did they have something that this criminal could have wanted?

Vi'ira followed as Cyran seemed to be lead by something, perhaps an instinct. His eyes bounced around the seat, analyzing every object they crossed paths with. Vi'ira kept her eyes peeled in the dark alleys and empty sidewalks that lined the street, noting anybody that passed by and scanning for any quick movements. The thief was gone, yes, but someone like them must leave a mark, a trail, some sort of imprint of their presence on the cobblestone. Cyran's ears pricked up at the sight of muddy footprints. She followed closely behind as they slowly tracked the prints down another alleyway close by.

"Whatever he did, we won't find him anywhere around here. Either he teleported, flew away, or turned invisible." Ah, so it was going to be like that. Tiredness nipped at the back of Vi'ira's eyelids, but certainly returning their stuff would feel much more rewarding than a couple hours of sleep.

Cyran quickly turned around and made fierce eye contact with Vi'ira as he proposed the two of them work together to get their property back. She was certainly in, and did not aim to allow an act like this go unpunished. Vi'ira reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a hearty squeeze, "An offer I could not possibly refuse. Partner's it is, Cyran." She grinned at the tall elf, a glimmer of mischief glazing over her eyes. "Only one problem: 'ow do ye track a man who's disappeared into thin air? 'ard to leave a trace when there's nothing left to leave one."

"'e seemed to know 'is way about this part of the city, wouldn't be too far off to say 'e's local." As she spoke, she noticed at the very end of the alleyway a collection of crates seemed to have crashed to the ground, but no one was nearby. She held onto the hilt of her rapier, easing her steps as she walked forward to get a better look and urging Cyran to follow behind. "I think ye may 'ave been onto something when ye mentioned invisibility," she peered around the corner and saw this street was desolate, "No one's around, and yet every one of these crates 'as fallen? Seems like someone may 'ave gotten caught up casting a spell and lost their balance. But where did 'e go from 'ere?" 

“Don’t worry about it. By now the only thing on Madam Marrowvine’s mind is her husband’s seat on the council, and the fact that her announcement speech was upstaged by a girl in a witch costume.” The night had certainly been full of embarrassing moments for all of them, save for Astrid, who honestly looked like she was having the time of her life daring people to perform more and more ridiculous feats.

As Cyran searched for any sign of their thief, he came to a similar conclusion that Vi’ira had. They were two of the only moon elves presently at Sol City, and two who looked like adventurers at that. Either this was someone who didn’t want them in their city, or someone who thought that thought there was something of value in those packs. He couldn’t speak for Vi’ira, but Cyran only carried enough to get by.

He was somewhat comforted that he wouldn’t be alone when Vi’ira clapped a supporting hand on his shoulder. “Yes, partners in crime. Or… anti-crime, I suppose.” He noticed that Vi’ira looked rather exhausted, though determined to push through the fatigue. He gave her a comforting smile, hoping to ease her worries. She must have had something rather special to her in her stolen pouch. “Don’t worry. My specialty is tracking down those who don’t want to be found.”

When Vi’ira pointed out the crates, Cyran poked around the alley for a few moments, but found nothing of substance. The trail ended there. The thief must have tripped while rushing to get away from them. “There’s no way to tell where he went from here, but there’s no doubt he’s a local. He was far too good at giving me the runaround.”

It would be foolish to try and track him down by foot. This was a calculated robbery by someone with the foresight to target them and the skills to carry it out. By now he had completely disappeared, and there would be no chance of spotting him again unless he wanted to be found. But thieves, in Cyran’s opinion, had a weakness that could be exploited. If they were worth their salt, then they needed somewhere to keep their stolen goods.

“Did you notice how he only had our bags on him? Robbing just two people in one day is poor for a cutpurse. But if he kept everything he stole on his person, that would weigh him down. He’s got a place where he stashes everything between thefts. And we’re going to pay him a house visit.”

He beckoned for her to follow him as he set off. There was no use staying around here. The sun was setting, and while he had no qualms seeing in the dark, he wasn’t sure about his companion. If they wanted to find him quickly, they had to start searching.

Vi'ira nodded as Cyran spoke, making note as he commented on his tracking abilities. She began to wonder what it was he might do for work. Perhaps he was a ranger, a hunter, a guard? The possibilities would all check out: he appeared to be more than capable of himself, fit, and possessed a determined personality. They hadn't known each other for long, but she could tell he was head-strong, and she knew they would get along.

"He was rather quick on 'is feet, very agile." Vi'ira was speaking out loud at this point, taking mental notes to avoid having to stop to write something down every time a new thought or clue appeared. It was going to be difficult searching for someone with the ability to turn invisible, but everybody has a weak spot. Vi'ira is a smuggler, and she had dealt with her fair share of slimy crooks and criminals.

She clapped her hands together as Cyran mentioned a hideout for the thief to store items. "Ye're right! It's much too late in the day to 'ave been the only two 'e stole from. A lair, a hideout, something nearby..." Her eyes began to dart around once again. The buildings began to cast heavy shadows onto the cobblestone, darkening the street quickly.

Cyran began to walk ahead, ushering Vi'ira to follow. She stood by his side, keeping quiet for a moment as she took in the new surroundings around them. He walked with a commanding way about him, confident in the directions he lead them throughout the city. She couldn't help but commend him in his navigation skills. They ventured down a couple more alleyways and hidden streets, looking out for any stray people or establishments with some sort of clue, whether that be towards what business took place inside, or who hid out there. 

"So," she broke the silence unable to keep wondering any longer, "what is it that ye do? Ye mentioned yer specialty in tracking, and can't 'elp but pry." Many had often hushed her in situations like this, accusing her of being too nosy for her own good. It wasn't her fault curiousity killed the cat, or in this case, the pirate. Prying always either lead to shared laughter, exciting and intriguing stories, or a fight, and she certainly didn't anticipate the last option to happen between them.

They continued to walk, twisting around corners and sneaking through backstreets. She was much too focused on what was happening around her that she didn't even think to pay attention to where she was walking. She felt her foot collide with a heavy, solid object and she began to tumble towards to ground, nearly landing on her already sore hip. "Jukkete udún [Fucking hell]!" She had braced her fall, but scrapped up her hands a bit on the rough stone. She brushed them together to get the rubble off and looked to see what exactly she had tripped over. Low and behold, it was a rusted lid to a manhole, and a couple feet away, muddy footprints next to an entrance into the sewers. She looked up at Cyran with a exasperated expression.

"Well, this'll be fun."

Others might have found Vi’ira’s questions far too personal, especially considering they had just met, but Cyran wasn’t offended. He found he enjoyed her curious nature and enthusiasm refreshing. It was nice to adventure with someone who wasn’t content to work in silence, as his line of work didn’t lend to meeting with the friendliest of individuals.

“You’re not prying at all.” He was quick to assure her. “I’m a bounty hunter. Not the most… honest line of work, I’ll admit, but sometimes we just have to do what we can to make a modest living. Most of the time, I’m hired to track down criminals in the first place.” He neglected to mention what the other cases were. He was honest about what he did, but that didn’t mean Cyran took any pride in it. “But what about yourself?”

The shadows grew longer as they walked through the streets as the sun dipped below the horizon. Cyran kept an eye out for any potential spots a criminal might hide in- darkened corners between alleys an ordinary guard wouldn’t pay much attention to, or houses that hadn’t been touched in a long time. He noticed a few people watching them from hidden locations, nothing more than a few pairs of eyes peeking out from corners and from behind the curtains of windows. More thieves? Criminal networks were often well connected. He hadn’t considered the possibility that their robber had a support system. No one made a move against them, though.

He sent them warning glances as they moved anyways, letting them know he was aware of exactly where they all were.

He was so busy keeping an eye on his surroundings that he missed Vi’ira tripping on an empty pothole. He didn’t, however, miss the rather loud profanity that left her mouth.

“Are you alright?” He whirled around, instinctively reaching for a dagger that wasn’t currently there, ready to take out any thieves at a moments notice. He relaxed when he saw there was no threat to be found, perhaps aside from whatever rust-based diseases one could accumulate from such a nasty pothole. Vi’ira grimaced as she rubbed at the red scrapes on her palms, recovering from her second tumble that day, when she caught sight of the muddy footprints leading into an underground entrance.

“Well, this’ll be fun.”

Cyran wrinkled his nose, one of his ears twitching as he stared through the manhole. He could make out figures in the dark, tiny rodents with beady red eyes that scampered about on old, slick stone. There was also a rickety ladder that looked like it would fall from the weight of one person, rather than two.

“A thief in the sewers? Why couldn’t he have just picked a decrepit hut like any normal criminal?” He asked incredulously.

He made sure Vi’ira had recovered before pulling his jacket off. If they were going to be wading through sludge, then he didn’t want to get one of his only sets of clothes dirty. His loose, sleeveless tunic did little to protect him from the chill. He ignored the elements as he secured his jacket around his waist, the only place he had left to keep it, and turned back to Vi’ira.

She didn’t look as disgusted at the prospect of following him underground. She had a steely look of determination on her sharp face, ready to keep going no matter what was in store for them. He couldn’t help but admire that steadfast nature.

His features softened. “He must have taken something important from you. Whatever it is he stole, I promise you, we’ll get it back.”

No matter what the underground held for them.

"Ah, a bounty 'unter," she breathed, "Yer right to what yer good at, and no use not profiting a bit. Per'aps, a bit more 'onest than ye think." Vi'ira knew what it was like to, at points, question your own boundaries when doing your line of work. Especially alongside her father, Torkum, who had a tendency to speak impulsively and act without any acknowledgement of consequences. She's been caught up in trouble before, and assumed Cyran had experienced the same, especially doing what he did. "And it's a good thing yer 'ere too. It'd take me much longer on my own."

For a moment, she smirked, seeing as her previous guesses were close enough to his actual answer. Many elves are swift in nature, stealth in their blood. Why not put those skills towards tracking down and stopping thieves of the night.

"I'm a sailor in the tradin' business with my father. We transport weaponry across the Luna Seas for any interested enough and willing to cough up some coin, whether that be armories, city guards, the lot of 'em. It's a 'ard business, but I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't enjoy it at times." The thrill of adventure is what drove Vi'ira. She wanted to learn everything she possibly could, and experience tales she had only read about in ancient texts. This curiosity came at a price. If she was being completely honest, many would label her and her father as smugglers. It would be dishonest to say that every trade and transaction made between her and her employers was legal. Upholding every law known in Capitol Landing is for the higher class. Do what you must to get buy, a saying Vi'ira often reminds herself of.

The night grew darker over the city, but in a way, she felt safer under the moonlight. Vi'ira trusted her Moon would watch over Cyran, as well as herself. The Moon guided those on the path of treachery, offering guidance in a time of pure darkness. It made her feel at ease. It did not, however, make it easier to see in the slightest. This is when her walking was disrupted by a large, rusted disc, and they discovered tracks leading into the sewers.

"It's never that easy, is it," She balanced her arm on her knee as she stood back up, and resumed her position next to Cyran. Now, they were truly partners in crime. The two of them could handle whatever hid down there. If you combined Vi'ira's passion with Cyran's intelligence, they were surely going to get their items returned to them. No matter the setbacks, she believed Cyran was prepared. They stood hunched over the entrance to the sewers. She stood sharply into it, and nodded as Cyran spoke. "Aye, the tools are replaceable, but the belt was my mother's." She looked up to meet Cyran's eyes. "I intend to return to same 'onor to whatever it is ye lost."

She took a deep breath before crouching down close to the entrance. The only way down was by climbing down a series of lopsided, protruding steel bars. One or two of them seemed loose.

"Best be careful."

Before Cyran could protest, she begun her descent into the underground. Her impulsiveness was showing, certainly, but it was best to approach these situations like ripping off a bandaid: quickly and sternly. The descent was shorter than she anticipated, and she hoped down a couple feet to stand in a dark tunnel, only lit by a few scattered torches. The flames were not only orange, but a mixture of warm and cool tones. Blue flames danced with orange on the wet stone, pairing strangley with the mist all throughout, casting a greenish hue over all of the shadowed walls. A small river ran in between the entirety of the tunnel, the water heading West. She wasn't sure if that mattered, but she noted it. The ceiling dripped and echoed as water fell to the ground, creating a melody with the flowing of the stream... or sewer water. It was eerily quiet, adding a layer of suspense to the whole ordeal. The thief could be hiding anywhere, and she drew her rapier to prepare. 

And, better yet, the stench was certainly nothing to tell home about, but after traveling on ships with hundreds of land-born men, and living among dwarves her entire life, your tolerance for smells alters. She knocked on the metal where the ladder ended.

"It's a party down 'ere, don't want to miss it."

His heart broke when he heard what the thief had taken from Vi’ira. He knew quite well what it meant to hold onto items from those you loved- items that, while low in real monetary values, were the real priceless treasures. Before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth, Cyran replied. “Mine has something of my daughter’s.” The truth almost felt painful to voice, but it was necessary. Vi’ira deserved the honesty, as she had granted him.

As he recollected himself, Vi’ira had decided to take charge, making a spirited climb down the rickety metal bars. Cyran watched her descent anxiously, not relaxing until he saw her hit the ground below and heard the splash of the water from her boots.

“It’s a party down ‘ere, don’t want to miss it.”

“I’ve quite had enough of parties to last a lifetime.” Cyran muttered to himself, but he wouldn’t be deterred. He climbed down the ladder himself, mindful of the rungs Vi’ira pointed out to him. In a few short seconds, he landed next to her, surprised to see a fairly well-lit tunnel lined with torches that flowed a myriad of colors.

“It looks like our purse snatcher has more abilities than we first thought.” Cyran warned. He had no weapon to make use of himself, but he trusted Vi’ira knew how to handle that sword. “Stay sharp.” If this thief was worth his salt, this place was probably rigged with all manner of roadblocks designed to turn them away from their goal.

Vi’ira pointed out the river running west, prompting Cyran to peer down the tunnel in that direction. From the twisting shadows he was able to make out what looked like a series of twists and turns, though not much else. “It’s as good a place to start as any.” He decided, and the two set off, side by side. As they walked, footsteps echoing through the sloped chamber, creating an offbeat rhythm with the slowly dripping water, Cyran’s mind drifted back to their earlier topic of conversation.

A sailor was a respectable job, and not an easy one at that. Most sailors he’d met were full of gumption and drive, and while strong personalities, they worked until they got the job one. He was glad to see Vi’ira possessed those same qualities, ones necessary to survive on the harsh waters. “A sailor, huh? I did a job on the ocean once, where I sailed with a… rather strange crew. We got caught in a nasty storm.” He reminisced. “I much prefer the earth to the water. It’s far more stable.” Not to mention he got seasick far too easily.

“Have you ever encountered anything interesting in your travels with your ship?” He couldn’t help but be curious. Sailing wasn’t a profession for the faint of heart, and all of them had stories to tell. Vi’ira certainly looked like she had more than a few.

Vi'ira hadn't had time to reply to Cyran's statement about his daughter before she made her way down the rusted ladder. A daughter? She hadn't even thought to coin him as a father, let alone a bounty hunter with a heavy family burden. Her heart went out to him, though she knew nothing of being a parent, she knew what it was like to be taken from someone too soon. There's never enough time. She hadn't met a bounty hunter with something as powerful as that weighing down on them, yet, none were as compassionate as Vi'ira saw Cyran to be, and she couldn't help but soften at the thought. She knew the details of his daughter is not something she would find out about right away, but admired his honesty. Cyran wanted back what was his daughter's, just as much as Vi'ira wanted back what was her mother's. They both possessed a strong desire to protect family, or at least, remember them through what they had left. That much she knew. She felt safe working alongside him, a feeling not often found when pursuing a thief in the depths of the underground.

She watched with fierce eyes as Cyran climbed down to ladder, being sure to focus on the entirety of what was around them. He hopped down, creating the same splash on the stone as she did just moments before. Almost instantly, he steadied himself and readied his stance, anticipating an attack at any moment. Cyran was swift, moving similarly to a shadow, or wind. At times, he reminded her a lot of her younger self, as silly as that was.

She made sure to mention the water flow to Cyran, and almost instantly, he was heading off towards West. The echo of the tunnel was intense, serving as a reminder that the two of them were surrounded by an abundance of empty darkness, with one or two creatures hiding in the night. They walked in tandem for a moment, peering down opposite tunnels and surveying for traps.

"Ye didn't take me as a sea-baring type, no offense," she made sure to emphasize that last bit with a smile,"It's 'ard to get used to, but funnily enough, I was born into it. Developed sea legs as soon as I could walk." She always got awfully sentimental when she got lost talking about the Luna Seas. There is where she was born, where she first learned to command a ship, where she came face to face with darkness, all of it. She held special memories closeto her from her time on land, but nothing traversed what she had learned out on the waves.

“Have you ever encountered anything interesting in your travels with your ship?” Vi'ira beamed. The most child-like thing about her, being as young as she was for a Moon Elf, was her desire for stories. She yearned to hear more and tell as many as she possibly could. No matter her age, she knew this is something about her that would never change.

"The simplest answer is yes, many interestin' creatures and folks. It's 'ard to pick just one when recounting all my time out in the sea..." She looked off for a moment, sifting through the files logged in her brain. "Ah...ye mentioned sailing thru a storm. There was once a time, when I was out with me father, a violent storm snuck up on us. We were confused by 'ow it came out of nowhere, especially without any of our crew noting to us any changes in the weather. It came down 'ard and fast, something was certainly off about this storm...and that's when we found out it was alive. Tendrils of dark snakes formed by condensed water began to cascade down on us, lightning eels following suit. From what I gathered, the cloud was not only a vessel for these monsters to move through unnoticed, but the storm-cloud was its 'eart. Barely made it out with our lives, ye see. Never encountered another one since..." She huffed, concluding her story. "I expect ye've had yer fair share of intriguing encounters, yerself?"

Vi’ira’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a story, and Cyran was floored by how young she looked at that instant. Elves had long lifespans, but it only occurred to him in that moment that she hadn’t yet reached that point. For someone so young, she had gone through a lot. He could tell that much from the way she’d spoken of her mother’s belt… no child should have to experience that kind of loss. It was the kind that left you hollow inside, unsure exactly how to fill it and feel whole again. He wondered how she managed to stay so bright through it all. It didn't surprise him that she'd grown up on the ocean, either.


He laughed quietly at her casual ribbing about his weak seafaring abilities. “It’s alright, I know better than anyone what my weaknesses are.”



He couldn’t help but feel a stab of apprehension when she described a stormcloud made of living eels. How did one combat such a creature, much less make it out with their lives? When Vi’ira finished her story, she turned to him, clearly hungry for whatever information he was willing to give. Cyran mulled over the question, wondering what he’d done that might be considered fun or interesting. “Well, it’s nothing so daring as facing off a cloud of giant shadow snakes, but I once met a girl back home in Moonglade who could make people’s blood burst in their veins. It was a horrifying sight.” He shuddered at the memory. Then, just to clarify, he added, “We were fighting a group of bandits. They kidnapped some hostages from Moonveil Village.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Are you a fan of stories, then? I remember when I was younger, I appreciated reading tales of grandeur as well. It's a commendable hobby." One he hoped she held onto. It took a special kind of person to find joy in every day tales, and share that joy with others.


They were walking side by side, making their way through the winding tunnels. The stench was awful- not unbearable yet, though it was getting worse the further they went in, like the scent of garbage that had baked too long in the sun. This must have been the smell of trash and rot carried by the sewer water. Cyran listened attentively, nodding along as Vi’ira gave her answer to his question, when he noticed a stone out of place on the ground, just barely jutting out at an awkward label. It was hardly suspicious, but Cyran’s arm darted out to stop Vi’ira just before she put her boot on it.



“Wait.”



Vi’ira gave him a skeptical look as Cyran backed up, grabbing a small pebble and throwing it at the brick. The weight made the brick sink, and right before their eyes, a complicated mechanism made of invisible wires triggered a hidden crossbow on the other wall- the crossbow fired a deadly arrow that hit the wall in front of them, right above where the stone had been.



Cyran released a breath, pulling himself back into a standing position. “Alright, this one should be deactivated.” Crossbow bolts were usually one-time traps, one that had to be manually reloaded by the one who set them after each use. Still, something struck him as odd. “Doesn’t this setup seem rather elaborate to you? A small-time cutpurse wouldn’t need so much protection.” Something wasn’t right here- Cyran couldn’t help but shake the feeling that they’d stumbled into something bigger than a simple robbery.

Vi'ira's eyes widened as Cyran went about his tale of his run in with a powerful sorcerer. "A blood mage...that is 'orrifying..." She trailed off as he continued to add details to the story. She began to imagine what exactly would happen if somebody began to alter the state of somebodies veins, and if you make them burst, that could only lead to.....Oh, yuck.

“Are you a fan of stories, then? I remember when I was younger, I appreciated reading tales of grandeur as well. It's a commendable hobby." Yet another aspect of him that Vi'ira saw in herself. She was fascinated by Cyran, and hoped to learn more throughout this hunt together. Although, it would be nicer if the circumstances were more kind to them.

"Aye, a story is like a drug. Almost better than a drink. I can feel myself gettin' lost in other's words far more times than I can count...However, a drink and a tale? Ye'd never be able to get rid o' me." She chuckled a bit, wishing she were in a tavern talking rather than a dark sewer system. "I find myself driven by the urge to learn. So much of this world goes undocumented and unnoticed, and I 'ope to one day see it all fer myself, as impossible as that sounds. No matter how much older I get, that part of me never seems to dull." She felt quite comfortable conversing with Cyran, more comfortable than she had felt with many others in Sol City. She felt as though she had to be on her toes at all times in such an unpredictable city, and even in the underground, she was relaxed.

Not too long after she finished her response to his question, he came to a sudden halt.

"Wait."

Vi'ira stopped in her tracks, holding her walking pose. The sole of her foot was centimeters away from pressing down on a jutted stone that she had yet to even notice. As the two of them backed away, Cyran tossed a pebble at the brick and an arrow shot out immediately. She gasped as the arrow sunk deep into the stone, an abundance of force pushing it out of the hidden dispenser. Thank the Moon for the bounty hunter.

"I owe ye, truly. That would've been a nasty injury if it weren't fer ye." She was gravely thankful, and wanted to kick herself for not noticing it herself. Then again, this is what Cyran lived and breathed, it was his life. She was convinced her impulsiveness towards comparison will be the death of her. "There's certainly somethin' else going on in these tunnels...Here, take this." She pushed her rapier in Cyran's direction, ushering him to take it. He was hesitant at first, but when she insisted for the ump-teenth time, she reassured him that she wouldn't be needing it.

He still stood with the look of confusion on his face in front of her. She closed her eyes and for a moment, the wind began to pick up around them. It began to focus on the area surround Vi'ira, whipping her long hair wildly. She extended her palms out beside her and began to feel the shape of a blade forming in her hands. The wind began to circle rapidly and tightly to form the shape of a misty sword, not quite transparent, but not entirely solid. Her hands figdeted with energy as the wind left a tingling sensation coarsing throughout her arms. ¹

"It seems we 'aven't just got one caarnu on our 'ands. The closer the traps are, the closer we must be to locatin' a central camp." She clutched the wind blade tightly, her hands still tingling wildly as the air whistled with every movement. They had to approach with caution, and it was best if they were both armed and ready.

---

1. Summon Wind Blades

He enjoyed listening to her animated discussion of her love of storytelling, and her love for adventure. He hoped that she would be able to find what she was looking for. On a ship, she’d have no trouble seeing the world, and experiencing all it had to offer. “Why don’t we visit a tavern after this?” He asked. “You can tell me more of your stories there.”



He didn’t get to hear her reply, as they soon discovered the trap and had to refocus on the task at hand. When Vi’ira tried to forcefully hand him her rapier, Cyran shook his head. “I couldn’t possibly take it. You need that, and I can handle myself without it.”



Vi’ira rolled her eyes and shoved it at him again, expecting him to take it. The following back and forth that ensued was annoyingly repetitive and incredibly pointless, and Cyran eventually relented to Vi’ira’s stubbornness, as he had a feeling that she would just keep going until he eventually wore thin. He accepted the blade, testing its weight in his hands. It was thinner than the curved swords and longer than the daggers he was accustomed to working with, but it would do for now. He tilted his head in confusion as she insisted that she would be fine. He understood, however, as the wind picked up from nowhere and plucked a blade straight from the air itself.



She shot him a wry grin, as if to say, see? I told you I could handle myself.



“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” Cyran conceded, raising his hands in the air, the universal gesture for you win. He was surprised to learn that she had a talent for magic, but found it fitting. Wind was a boon to all sailors- without it, they would lose momentum. He supposed the same held true for her. “That’s a rather neat trick.”



He nodded as she mentioned a central hiding place. “When you’re met with resistance, you know you’re going in the right direction. We should proceed with caution.” Vi’ira was a headstrong person, and he feared without warning, she might just try to charge ahead in pursuit of the thief and trigger every trap in the sewers. They moved slowly, taking care of any obvious trip wires and uneven bricks they saw.



Eventually, the tunnel opened out into a large, sloped circular basin, with a large, curved roof with several water spouts built into its sides. Cyran was surprised to see the room bathed in moonlight- when he looked up, he saw an iron grate, giving them a slim view of the night sky above. “This must be some room to contain stormwater runoff.” He noted, nodding to Vi’ira. He was a bit disappointed to find that there didn’t seem to be any stash of treasure, or the thief, in sight. “We should keep going.”



The two of them kept moving through the room. Everything was silent except for the sound of rushing water, and the ambient noises of the city overhead. A shadow darting behind him caught his attention- Cyran whirled around, Vi’ira’s rapier raised, but there was nothing there. “Did you see that?” He turned to Vi’ira, who had jumped to action, wind sword raised. She nodded at him, tense. They’d both seen it, but whatever it was, it had vanished as quickly as it appeared.



“Did ye two really think it would be that easy to get to me treasure?” A voice called out from behind. Cyran whirled around, rapier at the ready, when he saw a familiar figure in a dark brown cloak blocking their way. Their face was covered with a hood, and body obscured by long robes. The only thing visible was their hands. They were fast- much faster than Cyran anticipated.



Cyran pointed his blade at them. They were too far to be within striking distance, but unfortunately for them, Cyran was fast too. A confrontation between them would be ugly, though, so Cyran would give them one chance to call this off. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. Give us back what you took from us, and things don’t have to get messy.”



The thief laughed- a horrible, cackling noise. “Elves think they’re so clever. Always looking down on others. But all it takes is a little bit of dirty water to bring you down to our level!”



“I’ve had enough." Perhaps any other time he would have had more patience, but he’d given the thief enough chances by now. “Alright, don’t say I didn’t give you ample warning for this.”



He darted after the thief, rapier raised and ready to strike. Before he could reach, the thief simply smiled, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth, and waved. “Good luck.”



Just before Cyran could pierce the blade through his gut, the earth trembled below him, and a stone wall jutted from the ground, blocking the exit.¹ The blade bounced harmlessly off the stone with a soft pinging noise.



Cyran whirled around, only to find that the other exit had suffered a similar fate. He turned to Vi’ira, utterly confused, when the sound of rushing water intensified, growing from a slow trickle to a roar.



The two of them looked up just as water started pouring from the spouts above their heads.

---

1. Stone Wall

As the two continued to walk, Vi'ira often caught herself subconsciously walking ahead of Cyran, but after the instance only moments before, she tried her best to walk in rhythm with him. She knew Cyran thought she should be paying more attention, and she surely agreed. It was hard to not proceed hastily, and now knowing there were an array of traps hidden in this network of the sewers, she headed Cyran's silent advice. Even in moments when he may not be aware, he has a disciplined and stern look etched on his face. She noticed it when they first collided into one another, and again when she had just nearly stepped on the trap. He must be a caring father.

They entered another section of the underground, this part slightly different than the rest. It was decorated with water spouts all along the walls, and instead of being lit by multicolored torches, moonlight danced across the stone. As the two of them walked further in, Vi'ira stuck out her empty hand and waved it around under the rays of the moon cutting through the slits in the iron grate above them. She couldn't help but feel as though this was a sign that they were getting closer. Her Moon was kind enough to reassure them in their hunt, cheering them on. A small wave of relief washed over her body, causing her to feel warm in her chest and in her fingertips. Cyran mentioned going further, and she agreed.

This was quickly interrupted, however, by a shadow darting around the room. Vi'ira looked to Cyran to confirm he too saw it.

"Did you see that?" She nodded her head as she raised her wind blade and positioned it next to her face. A voice emerged from the shadows, rambling about their treasure. Their treasure? If Vi'ira remembered the events from earlier, her and Cyran were robbed of their own treasures. The two of them quickly whipped around, blades still held high. The cloaked figure had finally shown themselves, but even close up their face was still skewed by dark shadows. She let Cyran do most of the talking, afraid that her sharp tongue may further agitate the thief. He was certainly more level-headed than her, and trusted he'd be able to handle a negotiation well.

But, of course, a compromise was no where in range. The voice spoke with a harsh hiss when mentioning elves, and things began to click in Vi'ira's mind. This would make sense as to why only Vi'ira and Cyran had been targeted, further emphasizing this criminal's distaste for elves. She wouldn't be shocked if this hatred had amplified since the recent news of more elves elevating to positions of power. Citizens must be angry, surely, but there was no justification behind robbing two solo Moon Elves blind.

"Good luck."

Before she could fully process what was happening, Cyran jumped at the cloaked figure. They stood waving with a wicked smile revealing their cracked, yellow teeth, but disappeared in a flash as a stone wall arose from the ground and covered the thief, as well as blocking the exit. Vi'ira whipped her head around to the opposite side of the room where another entrance lay, but there was no way for her to reach it before another wall shot up and blocked it. Cyran turned to her with his brows furrowed intensely, but his head snapped away quickly as the two of them looked up. The spouts had begun to pour out water rapidly. 

Vi'ira locked eyes with Cyran. "I'm goin' te need that drink after this." Cyran's eyes were wrought with worry, and Vi'ira could practically see his mind racing. The water was spewing onto the floor fast as it began to pool at their ankles. The noise of splashing was loud, and echoed in the stone chamber they were now trapped in. The two of them split and began furiously scanning the opposing sides of the cylindrical room for any sort of clue towards escaping this, or any kind of secret door opener. They needed something.

"There's nothing! There's nothing 'ere!" Vi'ira huffed in frustration, looking to Cyran as he took continued to poke and prod singular stones on the wall. The water had now reached their knees, and she looked down as the water began to flood into her boots. As she did, she saw the reflection of her Moon. It rippled on the surface of the fast-moving water, and then it dawned on Vi'ira. The grate.

"Cyran, the grate. That's the way out." She pointed to the exit above them, the iron still illuminated greatly but the sky. She begun to take deep breaths and shake out her hands, looking to Cyran once more, feeling some comfort ease her. "I bet I can get it dislodged with enough wind." Cyran nodded to her, and she knew what she had to do.

She took no more time to collect herself before thrusting her arm forward towards the grate and a burst of wind energy erupted from her hand¹. The wind twirled in the air and hit the grate, making barely a dent in it. It appeared rusted and untouched, which would certainly make things much harder. She took another breath before casting yet another spell, another gust of wind shooting towards to grate. This hit caused it to push up slightly, but they were still trapped. The water had now reached their waists. 

Exasperated, Vi'ira cast yet another burst of air towards the grate, letting out a yell of frustration as she did. Using her arcana back to back this rapidly was slowly weakening her, and the heaviness of her body and the stress of the situation were doing her no good. As she wound up her arm to send another blast, she felt the water slapping her elbows, slowly reaching her forearms. She yelled once more, and sent the wind hurtling towards the grate. This time, the metal screeched as it loosened a decent amount. One more push. That's all it needed.

Cyran had approached Vi'ira's side as she had begun to sway. In this moment, she looked up at her Moon. She began to whisper, "Blesse nin with polod nin ithil. N- mín guide na safetui. [Bless me with strength my Moon. Be our guide to safety.]"

The water had reached their necks. Her eyes roared with a deep intensity, her mind only focused on getting the two of them out of here. With one final breath, Vi'ira gathered her strength, focusing the arcana in her body on her hands. She screamed as she shoved her hand through the water and it emerged from below, sending water and wind rushing towards the iron grate. It flew up in the air and collided with a bang back on the pavement. Vi'ira wanted to let out a long sigh of relief, but was cut short as the water swallowed her and Cyran under. Cyran swam up first, the rapier tucked away at his side. Although, his swimming looked much more like flailing as his limbs flapped through the waves. Through the water, Vi'ira could make out his foggy silhouette reaching his hand out to her. She felt her body being pulled, but she aided and used what was left of her strength to push herself up through the dense water. She was soon greeted by fresh air biting at her chilled skin. She inhaled deep as Cyran pulled her through the grate and out onto the street. 

They had escaped.

Her breaths were short as she laid sprawled out on the cobblestone, her wind sword still firm in her grip. "Oh," a rage flickered in her eyes, "that marami N`Tel`Quess [insane non-elf] isn't gettin' out of this one."

---

1. Gust Thrust