A/N This story takes place in a fantasy medieval world, with creatures of other races that will be introduced as we go along.

Chapter 1:

Skye… that's my name, right?

I haven't heard that name in a long time.

Was it Skye…?

I look up from my dark hiding spot in an alleyway, looking to the blue, clear sky above. The shade of azure makes the sky look like a clear, waveless sea above somehow. That thought somehow brings me comfort.

I continue to stare motionless towards the sky, my mind drifting as I relax against a wall in my hiding spot.

Is my name really Skye?

I take my gaze off the broad expanse of the sky, and back down into the darkness. I grasp at the fading echoes my lost memories. I struggle to find the memory that is just barely out of reach that proves my name is indeed Skye.

There...

I recall clearly, many years ago... A boy told me that my eyes were as pretty as the sky itself, a lame attempt to catch a girl's eye by making a pun out of her name.

How many years ago was that? At least twelve years before… That… I shake my head to keep memories from surfacing to the forefront of my mind. I don't need those memories in my head. All I need and should have space for is this: I'm a human who lives off the streets.

Looking back at the sky, I let my mind drift away once again into idle thoughts. I could sit here for eternity, doing nothing.

"Brrrrrr" The rumbling of my stomach kills the moment, grumbling and groaning loudly. "D'arvit" I curse under my breath in elvish tongue, slowly getting up. I picked up a bit of elvish from listening to countless shopkeepers and tentative acquaintances speak in the commonly used tongue.

I begin to walk out of my hiding spot, back towards the light.

Skye... Nobody has addressed me by that name for a long time. My most popular names were "Missy", "Thief", "Burglar" and the occasional "Murderer". Not the most appealing collection of nicknames, but it's not like I could decide how other people branded me.

I pull the hood of my coat over my upper face, shadowing it in darkness. I turn to a pipe along the side a terrace house and begin scaling it with practised dexterity. The sound of my hands thumping against the hollow metal pipe fills my ears.

Finally, I reach the top. I push myself over the edge of the roof and into the safety of elevated land.

The house is made from brick and mortar. Like most houses in the slum sectors, its architect must have wept when he saw how the building turned out.

Most of the bricks were not evenly cemented into its body, leaving the mortar spread messily. This resulted in small dents and humps along it, with some splashed over the red but now red-and-white bricks. The roof was flat and had a base of cement, with tiles along it. The tiles overlap each other to shield the roof from rain.

"Damn it, why can't I get up?" I whisper to myself, laying on the slanted tiles of the flat roof. There was not much around, other than puddles of residue water — owing to poor execution of the construction of the roof, the water had yet to slide away to the ground below. The puddles were small after enduring wave after wave of harsh sunlight.

When was the last time I ate? Probably a few days back. I've had rotten luck with stealing food as of late.

I will myself to get up, and walk limply to the edge of the roof that is facing the street below, surveying the scene from above. It's morning — The street is packed with early shoppers looking for their day's worth of groceries. Perfect.

I return to the pipe that I scaled earlier, effortlessly sliding down to the bottom. I head towards the street outside the alley.

While I move towards the exit, I pull my hood back and ran my fingers through my long, black, greasy hair, which seemed more like a translucent black veil, to try and detangle it. My hair has seen better days, but I rarely get the opportunity to shower. The once silky smooth hair was now an unruly mess of jet black strings. Straightening it and hiding it under my coat, I exit the alley.

I look to the left and right, checking for any patrols of legionaries. After confirming that the coast was clear, I make my way over to the bulk of stalls and shoppers in the wet market.

Halfway, I stop myself as I walk beside a wall. Something had caught my eye. I back up a few steps and turn to my left. There. A wanted poster of me, which featured a drawn image of me. It depicts me quite accurately, all the way down to how I'm wearing a hood in the poster. I look around to check that no one is watching, before grabbing the poster off the wall and crumbling it into a ball, tossing the crushed poster over my shoulder and moving on.

The good news is that they've still yet to get ahold of my face, the bad news is that the authorities have started to take notice of me. Should I feel intimidated or flattered? I'm not sure.

My eyes search the morning crowd of market-goers: a man in a brown tunic, matching brown loose pants and sandals. Probably a young man who has yet to go off to school; a woman wearing a long gown with her hair tied in a bun, probably a housewife looking for the daily round of food to supply a family.

My eyes continue to scan the crowd while I move in closer towards the market. Still no legionaries or any sort of patrol — perfect conditions for a free breakfast.

I enter the wet market. The crowded, noisy place is jam-packed with early birds who are looking for fresh foods. I keep a low profile, my head kept low while still remaining mindful of my surroundings.

What should I steal… An interesting question for one to ask oneself, but it was a question that would be inevitably asked by someone in my position.

My eyes lock onto a bread stall, and I close in on the target like a shark on its prey. While on my way over to my destined victim of shop theft, I spot an opportunistic moment.

"Oi! Watch where you're going, missy!" A shout soon fills my ears. No one else flinches. Market-goers are usually determined to mind their own businesses and remain oblivious to the world around them. I raise my hands in fake surrender and apology.

"Sorry sir, I didn't mean it," I reply, before bowing my head low and walking past him. He shakes his head and begins to continue on with his life, but not before I reach out with calculated precision. A small dagger slides out from the left sleeve of my coat. I feel the blade with my thumb, easing it into position in my fingers with practiced grace.

A quick swipe at a string holding a coin pouch as the man turns away rewards me with a money pouch dropping into the welcoming embrace of my left palm. I quickly use my right hand to open up the right part of my coat's torso area and drops the closed coin bag into a pocket, then returning my blade to its concealed spot on my coat sleeve. Another bag's worth of easy money.

Finished with my small detour, I reach the stall, where rickety wooden boxes barely hold its load of bread, the poorly crafted collection of wooden slabs look like they could give way at any moment. I look through the options of bread idly, out of the corner of my eye watching the store keeper, waiting for…

There, the stocky man in a white apron looks away, his arms hairy and toned from his work in kneading bread. I quickly reach out and grab a loaf of bread. I'm already making for a clean getaway when...

"Excuse me, don't these things come with a price?" I feel a hand on my shoulder, fear suddenly coursing through me as although I can't feel it, I'm sure color is draining away from my face.

I turn to face the owner of the voice and just as I suspected, it's a legionary, clad in full armour. Chain mail can be seen peeking out from his uniform tunic, a sword sheathed behind his back behind his shield, a helmet covering most of his face, which showcases young features, blue eyes that are drooping somewhat from the daily morning grind. His sleepy eyes stare me down, as if piercing my body and reaching for my very soul.

My mind races as we exchange stares for a moment or two. What are my options? In most scenarios, these were my main set of options: steal, run, kill or scream. Screaming never had any productive effect, so that's crossed out. With such a large crowd, I doubt I would be able to get away with murder in broad daylight. Stealing was definitely not an option, which left me with my last possible course of action: Running.

A hasty plan formulates in my head within moments, while the legionnaire on patrol probably contemplates in his mind what to do with the thief that was yours truly.

With all the speed I can muster, I lurch backward, grabbing a loaf of bread from the stall and throwing it with all my might into the face of the soldier, before turn tailing and making a run for it.

Jumping onto the slanted table that supported numerous boxes of bread, I balance myself for half a moment before looking to the cloth roof of the stall. I decide it's probably best to add it to my escape route — I'm not sure how running through the market crowd will go.

I jump up and scamper onto the cloth roof, my body sinking in and I swear the cloth must be tearing already. I look ahead and take in what I can, as fast as I can. A house is about four meters away, definitely not within jumping distance, but if I can climb onto the roof, there was no way the legionnaire could pursue.

My mind made up, I make the jump, the power of the jump severely dampened by the soft ground I was on. I land on the ground with a soft thud. Without daring to take a glance behind my back, I dash for the house. Most houses have a pipe to the upper floor, and this one was no exception.

I grab the pipe tight. I immediately start to scale it, hearing sounds of a man shouting from a distance away. I keep on going, climbing and climbing until I reach the end of the pipe, where it stops short about half a meter before the roof.

Getting a grip on bricks of the house, I hoist myself onto the top of the pipe, my shaking feet quickly balancing on it before I look up to check how far the roof is.

After quickly deciding the edge of the roof is close enough, I jump up. My hands grab the edge of the roof. My fingers scramble to find purchase before pulling the rest of my body up.

I crawl further inwards of the roof, before daring to turn around to check. Two legionaries below have finally caught on, looking up to meet my gaze as I remember to pull my hood on, so as to prevent them from remembering my face.

Most of the time, they will give up because of how stiff they are under all the armor, but I wasn't going to wait to find out if they would try to follow me. I turn around and start running, preparing to jump to the next roof.

With a running start and strong launch, I sail across the air between houses, landing onto the next tiled roof and continue the process, until I've cleared about a block through jumping between terraced house roofs.

Sitting down on the current roof I was on, I sigh and look up to the sky, laying back to once again relax and recharge from the exhilarating experience. It's been quite the morning, and…

Wait, where is my bread? My eyes widen as I physically look at my hands. The bread! I lost it! "D'arvit" I curse in elvish tongue under my breath, groaning.

I have no idea how long I have spent lying here on the roof, despairing over the loss of my breakfast, but the rumbling of my stomach coaxes me back to life.

These were one of those times where I wished I could go back in time. I wish I could go back in time and slap myself across the face, and tell myself to put the damn bread into my coat pocket. Unfortunately, for some reason, I was convinced that my day was going to have to be worse than it already was.

After another round of what seemed like an eternity of despair, the insistent rumbling of my tummy again pushes me to move on with life. I climb down the roof using a pipe by the side of the house, and walk back onto the street, pulling my hood back down again.

I'm feeling weaker by the moment I realize, and I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to last without food. I wander around the streets. I eventually pass by a bakery, the aroma of fresh baked pastry filling my nostrils.

I cannot take it any longer. I dig into my coat pocket and retrieve the stolen coin pouch from earlier, emptying it onto my hand. I count the coins; eight bronze coins, and three silver coins. Not much of a fortune, but it was enough for a few days worth of frugal eating.

I walk into the shop, a bell ringing as I push through the wooden door. Stealing from such a store was almost suicidal; the shopkeepers were usually experienced, and even if they were looking away, you could be sure that the shop owner would be watching you like a hawk.

Baskets of fresh pastry line the stone counter. The shop consists of a walkway from the door to the other end of the shop, with a stone counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the shop. I walk along the counter, scanning through my options.

I'm the only customer around, so the friendly-looking shopkeeper smiles warmly at me, following me while I walk. "See anything that interests you, love?" She says finally, trying to break the silence.

I shrug in response, continuing to compare different pastries in my head, working towards a decision. "Everything interests me," I reply softly.

"How about this love, you pick two of 'em, and I'll charge you… five bronze pieces. How about that?" She smiles while facing me, walking backward from behind me to infront of me.

I shrug, then nod my head, digging into my coat pocket. I slowly feel the coins in the pocket located along the inner layer of my right torso side, taking out five bronze coins and handing them over, before grabbing two loaves of bread that I decide are the best options.

Going legal; not a bad option, but not a good one either, stay legal for too long and you might find yourself broke. Of course, I'm probably a biased right about now, I think as I stare at the two fresh loaves of bread in my hands, feeling their warmth with my palms.

I leave the shop. I begin to dig into the pastries, hungrily ravaging through them, tearing the crusty fresh bread with my teeth. I must be very hungry. It's only morning, but I can already tell that today is going to be a long day.

A/N Thanks for reading! It's my first time writing, so please go easy on me. Special thanks to Ali or Iamdeadghost for helping me proofread it, and teaching me how to not be a noob writer, as well as Roselle for helping me realise how terrible the sentence structure was in my first draft. I'd also like to thank Aqua Lilly and Femme Fatale On Ice for being my awesome beta readers, they're the reason why this thing isn't a piece of trash.