Summary: Volke and Bastian- from their meeting, to the future, they always had… a relationship that was beyond normal standards. But, they were never normal. No pairings.

Words: 1,135

Fire Emblem is not mine.

It was an overcast day in the slums of Crimea. However, the excitement that was always there, never having once ceased since he came into town. Even as some men were starving, there was an awfully loud commotion down the street. The source of said commotion? A brown haired rebel, who was running down the streets. Behind him where the guards from the better part of town. However, they wouldn't catch him. They never did.

After all, he was a rather skilled thief. It was who he was, and that aspect of him would never change. He made a fortune from poverty, although it may not have been the most… legal way. And, it wasn't as if he kept all his fortune for himself. Like that tale for children, he was akin to a Robin Hood for the slums. Steal from the rich, give to the poor.

Volke always made the headlines of the newspapers. Jewelry stolen from the Duchess, gold stolen from the Nobles… all of those events were because of him. He made a name in the underworld, one that was known and almost revered.

That kind of reputation eventually faded in his future, because of his job choices, but he didn't regret who he became. He only regretted getting close to someone.

But, that would be in the future, a long time away.

Volke, as of right now, was only a thief living in the lower quarter of Crimea's lesser towns.

He ducked into a thin alleyway, the dark of his clothing helping to masquerade him from the soldiers. The thief kept his dark red eyes locked on the entrance to said alleyway, watching them run past him. He waited for a brief moment, before slipping out. Another crisis averted, another day that he could help out the other citizens, unlike the soldiers.

While he knew that the Crimean government was rather kind, he was positive that they weren't aware of really how rough it was in these parts. Surviving in this place, without much food or water or warmth, was hard enough as it is, but all Volke was trying to do was help them. And if that required putting himself as a criminal? Fine, that's fine. He'd deal with it. Like he did with that scar on his forehead, now covered by a red rag, fashioned into a headband.

It would be better if the people, who liked him, didn't know about that scar.

He sighed quietly, half at the stupidity of the guards, half at the fact that he was late. Volke may not have had a tight schedule, but it was becoming dark soon and he'd rather not be caught out by himself. As fast as he was, he was no fighter.

So when he approached the house to which he anonymously donated to, he was alarmed to see a man in the doorway, talking to the woman who resided there. When the woman pointed at him, the man in the doorway turned around to meet the 'renowned' thief, Volke.

Who Volke saw was a man- early twenties- who was lightly built yet had a feeling of power. He was blond, with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, and he had blue eyes. Volke could see that the man was wealthy- he had on a bit of well made and probably custom-made clothing, with embroidery. Embroidery was simply too expensive for anyone that wasn't a noble.

What the man- Bastian, he introduced- saw in Volke… a lanky, brunet, older kid that seemed uncomfortable. He was poor, obviously, but had a look in his eyes that said almost everything about exactly who he was and what he believed in. Speaking of his eyes, they were a rare, garnet red color. Now, that was the most… interesting part about him.

Bastian had a proposition. He needed someone who could easily sneak in and out of places, because he had a feeling that a resistance was brewing. Volke could easily fill in that role, being as fast as he was, but also how thin and scraggly he was. However, the brunet was on the verge of refusing…

… until Bastian brought up the payment. His common sense was overtaken by his inner desire for money, and he accepted.

Yes, the request was a bit dangerous for a nineteen year old thief from the streets, but Bastian was indeed confident about it. After all, he had heard stories from the other dukes and nobles about the red-eyed thief. But, Bastian was apparently the only one with sufficient connections to reach him.

Well, it would be worth it in the end.

Volke finished the job with a bit difficulty, and although his life was endangered, he managed to finish without any severe injuries. His reward? A hefty sum of gold. He knew he was right when he thought that Bastian, was rich.

Eventually, Volke decided that he was sick and tired of simply being a thief. He broadened his job range into assassinations, with the new acquirement of… well, becoming an assassin. He took on the title of the Fireman- and quickly, he became renowned over all of Tellius, but for the wrong reasons.

He ended up making a lot more money, because now he understood that he could demand his own prices for jobs, and that he didn't have to follow the employer's rules. If they didn't want to pay that much, then they could find another assassin. Most of the time, they wouldn't be able to find a more reliable assassin, and they always came back to Volke. It was as simple as that.

Volke had derailed a lot from his original intentions of helping out the slums of Crimea, but every now and then, he would spare quite a lot of his fortune. He never really got over it either, choosing to live in a town close to Melior, Crimea's capital, and residing in the poorer part of town. It was a generosity that he never really overcame.

And, well, it was connected to his fixation with gold. The worst part was that Bastian knew what made him tick, and he knew how much money had to be offered to get Volke onto his side. And in a way, they became good partners, comrades, almost friends. But, Volke knew not to let him too close, because he was a dangerous man. People wanted him dead, and Bastian hanging around him too much would always endanger the duke's safety.

And, that wouldn't end too well for the darkly clad assassin, would it?

So, their paths would always cross as long as they both were living, but knowing the darker of the two, it probably wouldn't last long.

They could only hope that the both of them were satisfied at death.