Robbing

Sam and Roka are walking through Timberland District, a place where most of the houses were built from rough, uneven wooden planks. The air carries a damp, rotting scent, as if the wood absorbed years of sweat, blood, and rain. Some homes had patches of moss creeping up their sides, while others had hastily nailed boards covering broken windows.

A few steps ahead, a figure stirs on the ground, barely more than skin and bone. His yellowed skin clings to his ribs, wrinkles cutting deep into his face. He groans, but his eyes stay shut. Another body lies still beside him, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of shallow breaths. The disease has taken hold of them. Sam sees it all the time. It drains people, turns their skin to parchment, their muscles to nothing, and leaves them half-dead long before they stop breathing.

Roka's nose twitches. He turns his head slightly, ears perking up. Something further down the road catches his attention.

Sam does not look. He already feels the weight of watching eyes. Shadows shift behind broken windows. Figures slouch in doorways, studying them too closely. Timberland is not a place for easy trust.

Sam and Roka are walking trough Timberland district, a place were most of the houses are predominantly made of wood. While it's full of dirt and some particular corners smell like death, it's still better then other places.

"Whatever you do, do not approach these people. Unless you want to share their fate."

Eventually, they reach a wide wooden building. It stands out from the rest. The wood is smoother, its surface almost polished. Unlike the others, it has no windows. If not for the color, no one would guess it is made of wood.

Above the heavy double doors, carved letters spell out: Stepstone Guild Library.

They step inside. The air shifts instantly. Outside, Timberland is loud, filthy, and alive with danger. Inside, the library is still. The scent of aged wood and parchment replaces the stench of rot.

Sam checks again in his large glasses. They are still followed.

At the entry table, a middle-aged woman waits with her posture straight.

"Gretchen!" Sam greets, his voice carrying the familiarity of someone who has been here too many times before.

"Sam, welcome back," she replies, her tone even.

Her eyes narrow. A moment of silence stretches between them.

"Wait a second! Something is different about you… did you change your haircut?"

"Ha ha ha!" Sam says sarcastically. "I know you know I'm in a guild now."

"You're playing with the big boys now, huh?"

"I'm about to."

Sam grabs Roka by the back of his clothes and pulls him over to the table.

"I need you to keep this one for now."

"Hey! No! I want to fight!"

"You'll have your chance in the future. I promise."

Gretchen places Roka under the table, her gaze lingering on Sam with a hint of intrigue.

"What now?" she asks, her voice sharp.

"Two people will come after me. I want you to let them come."

Sam's face is hidden behind his glasses, his expression unreadable. No emotion, no sign of life, as if there's nothing behind the cold facade.

"I'm gonna show them my True Power."

"All right then! Take care."

Sam turns, walking between the towering shelves, his footsteps slow, deliberate, as if he's casually searching for a book.

The two men follow.

Sam moves through the wooden labyrinth. The shelves stretch endlessly, some piled high with thick, heavy volumes, others crammed with smaller, more delicate books, their spines faded with time. Every corner seems to hide something, the flickering light casting long shadows across the rows of ancient texts.

Gretchen takes Roka out from under the table and guides him to a mirror hanging on the wall.

"Look at that, my dear."

She taps the surface of the mirror with the long nail of her index finger. The reflection ripples like disturbed water, and the cloudy distortion spreads across the glass. Slowly, the murkiness clears, revealing a view from above.

The two men chasing Sam are now visible.

"Look at the first one, my dear," Gretchen says, her voice cool and calculating. "He's showing the way. He's relative to Sam in terms of power. But the one behind him... he's bigger. Stronger."

They watch as the two men close the distance to Sam, the tension thickening in the air.

Sam takes an abrupt turn just as the two men close in, only a few meters away.

A book suddenly drops to the ground, falling from Sam's direction with a loud thud. The men, already too close, jump around the corner, their eyes wide...

Nothing. Sam is gone. The only thing left is the book, lying innocently on the floor.

The larger man turns to move forward, but before he can react, a moderate blow strikes the back of his head. He crumples instantly, unconscious, his body going limp and collapsing to the ground without a sound.

Sam stands at the entrance, a shadow among the shelves. His gaze is sharp, cold, a predator's stare, calculating, as he watches the man fall.

Sam stands at the entrance, his arms holding a large book with metallic white covers. The title, True Power, gleams faintly in the dim light.

The smaller man stumbles back, his eyes wide with panic as he tries to run in the opposite direction, only to stop dead in his tracks. The corridor of shelves is blocked off on the other side.

"You killed him!" the smaller man shouts, his voice trembling with fear and rage.

"No..." Sam replies calmly, his voice a quiet whisper in the tension-filled air. "The cover on this book has some... properties."

Sam lowers his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the man, not through the glasses, but with the intensity of someone who knows exactly how to make someone feel small.

"Why were you following me?" he asks.

The man hesitates, his body stiffening, unsure of what to do next. Sam closes the distance between them, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, as if he's already certain there's no danger left.

"Give me your money. Now!" Sam commands.

The man stammers, struggling to find an excuse, but when his eyes meet Sam's sharp gaze, he falters. His hands shake as he quickly digs into his pocket, pulling out only five small silver coins.

"That's all I've got."

Sam doesn't flinch. "Search him." He points to the man on the ground.

The smaller man hurriedly checks, but there's nothing.

Sam snatches the coins, his eyes never leaving the smaller man. He stands tall, his presence oppressive.

"Drag him out of the library," Sam orders.

"But..."

"Do it!" Sam cuts him off. "He'll wake up in a few hours." He adds with a growl, his disgust clear, "Now, get out!"

The man scrambles to comply.

Meanwhile, Gretchen and Roka watch everything unfold through the mirror, their eyes fixed on the scene.

Sam approaches their table. Gretchen, with a smooth motion, pulls a piece of paper from one of the drawers, her eyes never leaving him.

"Now you're in a guild," she says. "I suppose we need to make a formal contract now?"

Sam glances at her, his expression unreadable. "No, I'll take jobs as I did until now."

"Great, because we have one for you." She slides the paper across the table to him.

The paper has an fancy wooden furniture design at the top, and beneath it, a description of the job.

Sam raises his head from the paper.

"I can do it in one week."

"Good!" she replies with satisfaction.

"You showed them!" Roka yells, a genuine smile on his face. "They'll never bother us again!"

But Sam remains silent for a few seconds. He slips the paper into his pocket.

"Let's go."

They exit the library, and as they walk through the narrow streets, Roka's curiosity gets the better of him.

"You can make that stuff?" he asks.

Sam glances at him.

"Of course I can. That's how I earned all my money. Making good furniture"

"All your money?" Roka pauses, thinking for a few seconds. "Do you have a lot of money?"

Sam glances over at him, his expression unchanged.

"I still have some. But the big chunk of it is gone... spent on this guild. I still have a little left. Tomorrow, at the Timberland Guild Market, I'll spend another chunk."