Author's note: After some years of not touching this fanfic, I decided to do some updating (and editing) on the fanfic. R&R is also appreciated. Also, the Ragnarok Online game and trademark is not mine; just the idea of this story.

It was a rainy day. Everyone was inside of their houses, sheltered from the rain. Everyone… except for a young soul; wounded and exhausted, she walks feebly and weakly, staring vacantly forward. She clutched her arms, as pain started eating it once again.

The child's vision started fading as her strength finally gave up. Her body collapsed in the mud, her eyes seemed to stare blankly.

From out of nowhere, a hand reaches to her, and she only stares at the hand that seems to reach deeper and deeper to her…

"Apples! Get your fresh apples here!"

"Silk from the east! Pure silk guaranteed!"

"If you want precious stones, I have them all here for a cheap price!"

Cyrina woke up from her daydream as the market vendors shouted, advertising their goods. The sun is unusually scorching than usual in Morroc, yet the market is still full of people, going here and there. She looked around and sighed; it was already high noon, yet she can't find her target. She took out an apple from her bag and took a big bite.

"I can't believe he's late. And they say he always comes on time…" she muttered, taking another bite in frustration. She glanced at a corner, and saw an old lady begging for alms. She's been there forever, she thought. Yet it never ceases her amazement on the old lady's "resilience" on people's numbness. Then, from the old lady's direction, she saw him: a merchant clad in full armor and wearing a cloak to protect himself from the heat… or to hide his goods, she thought. She smirked; deep inside she knows her job will be done soon.

The merchant turned to a dark alley just past the apple vendor. Cyrina quietly followed, carefully observing the surrounding and the merchant at the same time. As he made his turn in the alley, Cyrina quickly and silently followed. But as she looked for her target, she saw no one in that alley. As she made a step forward, a blade pointed her from her back; a sign not to make another move. Cyrina beamed, "…I never thought you felt me following. Very good indeed…" She sensed the merchant behind him was shaking, even with his stilleto all ready to stab her. "…but I wish you wouldn't shake that violently… that's fatal…" "D-don't talk to me like that, you thief!" the merchant blurted, as he held his weapon tighter. "Y-Y-you won't get this… I'll kill you before you do!" "…I do wish so too…" In a blink, Cyrina disappeared, which panicked the merchant even more. He ran further, trying to get away from his marauder. He stopped as he saw a dead end. "Tsk tsk tsk… such carelessness…" her voice was echoing throughout the walls of that alley. The terrified merchant scanned around to see where she was hiding. And all of a sudden, his vision became black…

An hour after noon. Cyrina walked to the Desert Salon, a pub well-known all over Morroc, yet visited by only a few. She kept on humming as she walked, for she felt good after finishing the job. After all, that is what makes her alive – for her. She went in carelessly, banging the door as she went in. All the people inside looked at her, their eyes irritated and goaded at the person who just bashed in. Cyrina went straight to the bartender, without even looking around. She sat down and quickly ordered for her "usual". A while after, a cold concoction of wine served in a tall glass was served to her. She stared at it blankly, and then sipped a little of the drink. She then looked around the pub. "It's the usual…" she thought. Nothing much happens in this place, and not much people go in either. That is why this is one of her favorite places to hang out – no one bothers her in this place; and she can think quietly. "Oh yeah!" the bartender uttered, as he quickly looked for something under the counter. He then gave Cyrina a folded paper, already crinkled, "She gave this to me two days ago. Said to hand it to you pronto. But hell! You didn't show up the past two days!" he chuckled. Cyrina reluctantly accepted the paper. As she looked at it carefully, she saw the familiar crescent stamp. "…I see…" She took out a few silver coins, in payment for her drink, then stood up and left.

"No one knows who she is, or where she came from… we can't be sure of her identity…"

"I'll be the one to confirm it. You have no say of what I bring or throw, understood?"

"I didn't understand what those words mean. But I did understand something… what the first voice said about me… who am I? Where did I come from? Where is my family? Do I have a family? They keep haunting me; over and over… those questions keep repeating itself inside my head…"

"So, what will it be, Cy?" the receptionist asked.

"Huh? Oh…" her mind returned to reality once again. "Has she arrived yet?"

"Yeah, she just came yesterday. I'll call her for you."

"Sure, thanks Alba," she said as she handed two silver zenies to him.

As Alba left, Cyrina seated herself on a table near the counter. She took off the glove from her right hand to ease it a little, and then she noticed the skull ring on her index finger. "How long have I been wearing this ring anyway?" she thought, as she raised her hand to eye level, still staring at the ring.

"Here, take this. It's not much, but it's the least I can give to you…"

"… 'the least I can give to you', huh?" she wore the glove once more and rested her hand on the table. She glanced at the counter and saw Alba talking to one of the customers. As she looked around, "she" came…