• Creeping on cat’s paws, the fog drifted over the city and settled down. Goaded on by the gentle breeze, the fog interloped through every corner of the city. Somewhere under the cover of the fog, a man dressed in tight leather clothes under a black over coat slid from shadow to shadow until he had found his prey. White light glinted off of the multitude of daggers hanging from his belt.
    She hurried down an alley way and spun around as she heard footsteps behind her. Her red dress splayed around her as the suddenness of her movement flung it outwards. All she saw behind her were the shadows of mice and Ravens moving about. As she turned back the other way, a hand clasped over her mouth and a cold, sharp blade slid under her neck. Mortified, she was about to scream when a low, hoarse voice whispered into her ear, “Be silent, or you will die. Now, tell me what you have stolen from the Mages’ Academy.”
    The hand slowly fell from her mouth and settled on her shoulder. As her lips parted, she whispered in a frantic and small, constricted voice, “I didn’t steal anything from the Mages. I-I w-wouldn’t dare! I would not have been able to leave the b-building if I did have anything of theirs.”
    “Don’t try to lie, I watched you climb into the Mages Academy. You brought a small sack filled with something when you came out. Do not lie to me” He warned.
    “I s-swear, I didn’t take any—” and the blade slid across her throat silencing her. As she fell to the floor, blood poured from her throat whilst she looked up into her killers face. He was young with dark, short hair. He wore a breathing mask over his mouth and nose, making it impossible to tell who he was. But before her last breath, she saw his eyes. They were darker than a moonless night and just as cold. Filled with hatred and anger, the pupils were almost slits. And then all she saw was darkness as death clasped onto her and the pain eased away.

    No light shone through to the Thieves Guild, located deep underneath the city’s sewers. Even without light, the boy was able to make his way around the small room. With one hand planted on the wall, he slowly edged along until his knee pressed against something. Moving his hands down, they came to a rest on a soft mattress. It was smooth to the touch and stuffed with straw from the softness when he pushed down on it. He felt a pillow lying on it and surmised that it was a bed. Spreading his arms as wide as he could, he placed his chest down and himself sink slightly down as he tried to feel the ends of the bed with his outstretched arms, but the bed was too big. Satisfied that it would be large enough for his size, he continued to blindly make out his surroundings. As his hands left the bed, it slid across a smooth, cold surface. Spreading his fingers out, he felt the object. It was a small table. On it, he felt a stick of wax and paper box next to it. Opening the box, he stuck a match and lit the candle wick bringing the entire room into existance. All the furniture had one side against a wall. The bed was on the Eastern wall and took up the entire length of it, which was about two meters. The table was placed against the bed and was against the North wall. Next to the table was a full sized mirror standing alone slightly dislocated from the other furniture, leaving a blank space on the wall. It stood at a towering height of three meters and the boy barely reached half way up the mirror. Opposite from the mirror was a larger table with two chairs placed around it, and hanging from several hooks that had been hammered into the wall, above the table, were his clothes.
    He reached out to the clothes and removed them, begining to dress. The Thieves Guild had been especially generous in giving him a room and accepting him as their newest Thief after his initiation. They had given him a set of clothes to be worn at all times as a mark of his membership. Pulling the gifts down from the hooks, he admired them. Then slipped into them and inspected himself in the mirror.
    His black hair barely visible under a bandana he had tied over his head and knotted. His breathing mask allowed only his charcoal-like eyes and forehead to be seen. The overcoat he wore fit his shoulders perfectly and fell to his feet. The soft leather he wore under the coat fastened over his bare chest and had several sheaths in the belts and straps. His pants were ordinary trousers and fell past his feet. The belt was the most unique of all the garments he was wearing. Instead of running around his waist, it even latched themselves to his leg. It had the Thieves Guild emblem etched into the buckle and sheaths already filled with daggers hung around his waist as well as his thighs. The boots he wore kept his pants legs from touching the floor and were made of a light material, with metal plates sewn in to protect his feet and shins. Marveling at the jet-black uniform, he admired how well the Thieves Guild had pieced the fabrics together.
    As he stared into the mirror, a light clicking sound behind him made him spin. Sitting on the small table, next to the bed, was an hourglass that was reseting itself. Next to it was a counter that read the 7th hour of the morning.
    “You’re almost late for your classes, young Thief.” Came a voice from behind him so unexpectedly that he jumped. Turning around, he saw an old man standing in the doorway. Surprised that the old man was able to walk so lightly and was able to enter unnoticed, the boy was unnerved.
    “Wh-Who’re you?” Demanded the boy.
    “I am the caretaker of the dorms and classrooms as I am too old to be of any real use the Guild anymore.” A scar ran down his right eye, blinding him as he pointed into the room and at the youth. “ You should get along now. Classes start in five minutes. Say, what is your name?” Enquired the old man, raising an eyebrow.
    “My name is Canagan. Why do you need to know?” He probed
    “We of the Thieves Guild are given an alias to keep our true identities a secret. You would do well making yourself one.”
    After a moment of silence, “How does Celsius sound?”
    “It suits you.” Laughed the old man.
    “Then call me Celsius!” He nodded as a smile crept across his face.
    “I will then, Celsius. Now you had better get to class.” Mused the old Thief.
    Heeding the caretaker’s advice, he slipped out through the door and tore through the maze-like hallways, heading for the morning classes.

    The classroom was cramped and the air was stagnant. Although the winter chill still remained, and the air was still cool, it was difficult to breathe. Leaning against the back of the seat, Celsius propped his head into his cupped hands and stared at the ceiling. The instructor had allowed them several minutes of rest and left. Several boys were in the corner talking excitedly with each other. A larger group of girls were sitting in a circle on the desks, whispering, giggling, and pointing at the boys. A couple of other children chased each other around the room, squealing and laughing at being able to out run one another.
    Sighing, Celsius stood up from his seat. He was a head taller than the other boys in the room, and the same height as the instructor. Walking over to the doorway, he poked his head out and looked for any signs of the instructor coming back. He only saw foot steps leading away from the room, not towards, in the floor made of soft soil. Returning to the room, he bumped into one of the children.
    “Sorry,” he said softly, “Are you alright?”
    The child didn’t even notice and kept running.
    Sighing, he walked back to his seat and stared at the front wall. Then he noticed several of the girls looking, pointing, and giggling at him. Tearing his eyes away from the wall, he looked directly at them, and they quickly looked away then began giggling, stealing glances at him. Bored, he drew one of the daggers from his belt and began to fiddle with it. First flipping it one way, then the other, throwing it into the air, and catching it at the last moment by the handle. It was all child’s play for Celsius. Frustrated and impatient, he flipped it into the air one last time, stood up and pushed the chair back, caught the tip of the blade in mid air, then threw it with all his might, a soft grunt forcing its way out of his mouth. The dagger whizzed through the air, flashing red, and wedged itself, with a soft thump, perfectly between a gap flanked by two bricks. With a sigh, he walked up to the wall and pried the blade free from the wall. The dagger was still in perfect shape, despite hitting the wall hard.
    Replacing it back in its sheath, Celsius walked back to his chair and sat down, wishing the instructor would return soon. As he was about to stand up to check the door again, the instructor burst into the room.
    “What’s the problem? I heard a loud sound earlier from this room from down the corridors.” Said the Senior Thief.
    “Oh, that. It was just HIM throwing his knife.” Said one of the girls, in an aloof manner. Angered by the girl’s aristocratic attitude, Celsius flashed her a menacing look that made her take a step back.
    “You threw your dagger?!” Exclaimed the instructor. “Show me.”
    Rolling his eyes, Celsius pulled the dagger from his belt and flipped it into the air like he did before, stood up from his chair, caught the tip of the blade and flung it once more, but with less force. The dagger once again flew through the air, spinning madly, before its blade embedded itself into the gap between two bricks at eye level.
    “Amazing!” Cried the instructor, “How-Where did you learn this?”
    “Dunno, just threw the knife and it did what it had just done.” Remarked Celsius.
    “Incredible, simply incredible! Even most senior thieves aren’t able to throw that well.”
    “Is there anything else you need?” Asked Celsius, staring blankly at the Theif.
    “No, you may retrieve your dagger now.” Answered the instructor. Without walking to the dagger, Celsius flung his arms back and the dagger flew out of the wall and back to its sheath by itself. Everyone gaped at the feat.
    “Just added some wires to the dagger.” Anticipating the room, he pulled out some fine wires and held it up, then placed them back into his pocket. Returning to his seat, Celsius tilted it back onto two legs and propped his legs onto the table top, waiting for the class to get interesting.

    After what felt like hours later, their Instructor finally got them to leave the room and head for the practice gounds.
    “Alright! Stand with your backs to the side of the wall. We’re training your reflexes today.” Before the sentence ended, darts and fine needles were already being fired from holes on the walls. Celsius jumped onto the top parts of the wall and clung on to the cracks in the bricks. Looking down below, he saw that everyone was sitting on the ground with their arms up around their heads, whimpering. Many were bleeding, with huge gashes on their skin.
    Jumping back down into the flurry of darts, Celsius cut through them with twin daggers, drawn and whipping through the air. Chains were attatched to them and he used it to twirl them around him dangerously. Metal met metal and a soft tinkling sound soon filled the room. The darts slowly dwindled away as less and less of it returned.
    Soon, Celsius was surrounded by a ring of needles and nothing came from the walls. Looking around, he saw many of the others crying at the painful wounds they had gained.
    “Are you mad?!” He had turned to face the instructor but had Thief Masters staring back at him. “They could have been killed!” The Senior Thieves and Thief Masters crowded the doorway, all with stoic expressions. He moved towards the other students and huddled everyone together before checking for any injuries that needed to be tended to immediately.
    “Where did you learn to fight? Who did you learn to fight from?” A grim voice came from behind him. A Thief Master was towering over him and was staring down at Celsius with cold eyes.
    “I learnt to fight in the streets and I taught them to myself” Came Celsius’ reply. Unconvinced, the Theif grabbed him by the neck and pushed him face-first against the wall.
    “Where did you learn to fight?” He repeated.
    Rage flashed through Celsius’s mind. “I already told you I taught them to myslef! How many times do I have to tell you?!” Without warning, Celsius spun and threw the Thief across the room. The bricks cracking and breaking apart as he tumbled from the rocks and onto the cold floor.
    The other Thieves moved forward and drew their daggers. Before they had time to take a second step, the room began to glow red. Noticing the change in their surroundings, the Thieves took several steps back. The soft glow had now turned into a sharp, piercing illumination. The Thieves raised their arms to shield their eyes. Heat accompanied the light and soon, most of the Thieves were covered in beads of sweat. The walls had begun to steam and was beginning to emit their own devilishly red glow, as if what lay beyond the stone wasn’t more stone but fire, ready to burst forth from the seams of the bricks to engulf all that stood within the room.
    In a flash of motion and metal, Celsius crossed the room and sliced the head off the neck of a Senior Thief. When he turned around to face the remaining Thieves, his face was contorted in anger and a black line began to surface across his face. The next few seconds were drawn to a slow crawl as he burst forward and drove his daggers into the next Thief’s heart. Reaching to his belt, he drew another dagger and, with a flick of his fingers, sent it flying across the room at anothe.

    Blood spewed forth from the gaping wounds of the Thieves and splattered onto the walls.
    The last Thief to stand was a Master Thief. His daggers weren’t even drawn yet. As Celsius jumped towards him, the Master leapt to the side with great speed, even with his heightened awareness, the Thief still managed to dodge the attack. Anger pushed him on and he pursued the Thief. He bounded out of the room and down the corridors towards the footsteps of the Thief. Drawing a third dagger, Celsius flung it ahead of him. As he heard the knife clink on stone, he slowed.He crept forward, seeing the dagger had hit the wall of a bend. Rounding it, Celsius leaned back and ducked just in time as a dagger was trained on his throat.
    Sparks lit the corridor as their daggers struck together.
    “What are you? Only Masters have the ability to move this fast and have such great reflexes.” Grunted the Thief as he parried Celsius’s slashes. Even with his superior skill, the Master Thief was no match in terms of strength.
    Celsius pushed forward. His face centimeters away from the Master Thief’s face. A sudden flash of light revealed his features. It was covered with black markings and a red dragon snaking from his left temple down over his left eye, past his nose and around his mouth to end at his chin. Recognizing the etchings on Celsius’s face, the Master Thief leapt away and began to run down the corridor, but Celsius jumped in front of him and began throwing a barrage of strikes at the Thief.
    He brought one arm down and knocked away one of the daggers the Thief was carrying. Leaping back when his dagger hit the floor, the Master Thief reached into a side pocket and threw a small pellet on the floor. There was a sudden flash of light and smoke filled the corridor. Celsius drew back and covered his face with an arm, blocking the flash. Taking this distraction to his advantage, the Thief slipped away under the cover of smoke.
    One hand waving away the smoke and the other covering his mouth, Celsius came through the cloud of smoke coughing and spluttering. When he saw that the Master Thief had escaped, a roar escaped his throat and he slumped to the floor, unconscious. The marks slowly dissolving and fading from his face as he lay, eyes closed, on the floor.