Warning: This fanfiction contains scenes of graphic depictions of violence and future character death. Please be advised.
~.~.~
She ran. Ran harder than she ever thought. She exhaled quick panicked breaths as she looked back at the group of thugs chasing her. This was bad. Really bad. She pushed her luck too far finally. She gritted her teeth as she looked back at the lime and sandstone streets, the square buildings flying past her as she evaded her pursuers. Who knew what would happen to her if she got caught? At best she'd get off with a good maiming, alive, but injured in a back alley. At worst, beat within an inch of her life and reported to the guards.
That would gain her quite a reputation- a reputation she wasn't seeking. She couldn't be known for that… What kind of thief gets recognized that way? It certainly wasn't a way to survive. Word spreads fast in small towns like this, anyway. She'd have to run- run far away even after escaping her fate.
A dead end was ahead. She looked at the buildings and noted the banisters outside of the windows. She could climb to the roof if she timed it right. "There she is," she heard one of the vest-clad men shout. She glanced back, eyes wide. Before she could think, she felt her legs sprint toward to the building. She scrambled up the wall, swinging and launching herself to the next banister. Her magenta coat flapped against her body, her short dark brown bangs obscured her bright blue eyes. She operated on muscle memory, on what skills she obtained before running away.
When she found herself on top of the tall building, breathless, she looked down at her body, her knees. She smirked. All that training she had since she was little. Her father taught her well. Her uncle even more so. Then, the unthinkable… The scoundrels were scaling the building- she could hear them scrape against the walls, one of them cursing about losing his grip. "Damn it… They just can't let a couple hundred guilders go, can they?" She rolled her eyes and stood, brushing off her teal skirt, some of the dust landing on her bright red leggings. "Better keep running, then," she grunted as she took off, just missing the hand that gripped the side of the roof.
She ran, jumping from building to building. She had no clue where in the town she was, but she wasn't going to let them catch her. She had to survive. She had to become a legendary thief- like the one in the legends her uncle always told her as a child. She wanted so badly to be like him. She'd one day find that thief. She'd show her skills, she'd ask him to take her with him to teach her everything he knew.
She couldn't do that from a jail cell, she couldn't do that if she was dead. She finally came across a gap too big for her to jump. She leaned back, her hands flinching, eyes wide at the drop. She'd have to jump for it. She looked back when she heard a chuckle. These guys were insane! They had followed her this far. The leader of the group, a tan bald man with a scar on his cheek and a body built for endurance and strength grinned at her, taking note of the helpless position his prey was in.
"End of the line, little girl," he growled as he cracked his knuckles. The slowly approached her and she edged closer to the ledge. She threw her hand out, summoning a metallic four armed creature that floated above the ground- her familiar. The thugs stopped and for a moment seemed honestly surprised by this development. The leader finally smirked. "Teeth are out, eh?" He took a fighting stance, legs apart and fists up.
"Get them," she ordered as she began to look for an escape. The mechanical creature shot toward him and the band of thugs. The one in front caught the creature and parried its attacks. He looked at the gawking group of ruffians furiously. "Don't just stand there, get her!"
She gasped when the group turned their attention on them. The beast was pushed away but returned for another volley of attacks. Remember, don't kill them. We don't need blood on our hands. She reminded it. It nodded its large metal box encased glowing blue eye with an affirmative mechanical growl. She assessed her odds. She still couldn't take them on. She couldn't use any more magic than she already had- though, she never really counted familiars entirely magical. The use of any more went against the rules she established when she left home.
It wasn't the way of the thief- the legendary thief that had no magic. She'd do the same. Because of this, though she found herself at the quite the disadvantage. Her martial arts skills weren't going to cut it here. Even as she dodged their attacks and used their own weight against them, they just got right back up, ready for another round. She found herself on the edge again. She decided that falling was her only escape. The robot she called her only friend looked back. She nodded at it and it withdrew back into her. As her assailants advanced on her, she consciously tripped back, angling herself to fall on her side rather than her back.
They wouldn't know the difference. They'd assume the fall would kill her. She anticipated this. She expected to injure her arm. She expected the searing pain to course through her body before blacking out. With this knowledge, she didn't scream when she fell nor when she hit the dusty ground below.
The chase was over. The group, not wanting to claim the blood on their hands disappeared. Her plan had worked but at a price.
"Uncle Gascon," a little girl had called once upon a time. She ran to the tall, lanky gold trench coat-clad man sitting on the magenta sofa next to her father. She beamed up at him and held up a toy robot. "Uncle Gascon, look at all the improvements I made," she shouted excitedly, moving the extra wooden limbs she attached with glue. "Now it has twice as many arms!"
He couldn't help but smirk down at the princess. "Quite the little inventor, you are," he complimented, gently taking the toy and admiring it. He tilted it, observing it thoughtfully. He tried moving one of the extra limbs. It fell off to his shock. He looked down at his niece worriedly. "Sorry, Lynnea. I don't think the glue stuck to the metal that well…" He looked thoughtfully down at the toy and back to the girl with short dark brown hair.
She looked down dejectedly. She failed again. She wanted to invent neat things. She had magic, but she never took interest in it. She wanted to create things with her hands. Something about art, something about inventing drew her further away from studying it. She wanted to be like her uncle, a simple inventor that wondered the land.
When he saw the sad look on her face he looked at the toy. "Hey. It's alright. You'll get it next time," he encouraged, raising a hand and rubbing her head. "Just keep working on it." He tilted his head and smiled at her as he handed her back the toy she had "improved", the original being something he had made for her for her fourth birthday.
She had grown a bit over the years- she was around eight then, about the age when he had started really trying to build and tinker with small gadgets. Somehow, she had inherited his love for machinery. A mage and a mechanic, a combination fit for a future Empress.
"Hey, you want to hear a story," he asked her. He grinned as he glanced over at his brother. "You don't mind, do you," he requested.
"Not at all. You haven't seen her in so long. I wouldn't dare interfere," Marcassin permitted, clasping his hands over his lap. He nodded down at an unsure girl in a purple gown and moved to make room.
Gascon did so as well, patting the area next to him. She smiled happily and climbed up with her toy. He pulled her closer to his side and began to tell her a tale. She listened intently about the man with no magic, just his trusty familiars and his pickpocketing gun aiding a ragtag team against a horrific monster.
"No, he wasn't. Father wasn't there," she argued with her uncle, looking up at the black haired sage. "Father's too nice to fight such things," she half insulted, half praised, closing her eyes and tilting her head up.
"Oh, but your father was," the wandering brother admitted. "When it comes to the fate of the world, he's really quite stubborn." He looked up at his little brother with a confident smirk then back down to his niece. "He gets it from your grandfather- just like you," he teased, tickling her. He laughed as she giggled.
He continued to tell of the battle, the struggles they faced. It came down to the thief who had managed to barely survive. Everyone else had fallen. The girl waited with baited breath when her uncle fell silent. "And...," Lynnea called with a hushed whisper, looking up at her uncle.
"And… And he, of course, rushed to save them. He stood up after taking a direct blast from his enemy. He wasn't about to let it win," he explained. "That wouldn't stop Swaine. No." He shook his head and looked back down at Lynnea. "He took the hand full of phoenix feathers and narrowly dodged its attacks. He brought them back and together they pressed on."
"Did they win," she asked, eager to hear the outcome. She tilted her head, confused. She looked up at her father. "Father, you were there! Did they beat the monster?"
"…Did they beat it…," she asked again, quieter this time, trailing off. The scene, the three of them sitting on the couch in the throne room of the palace faded with her words. "Could I beat it? Could I ever be like him," she heard her older self ask through the dark void of her mind. The darkness disappeared. She was still sitting on the couch, her father and her uncle gone. She looked from side to side, then directly in front of her and saw the trenchcoat-clad teen- her seventeen-year-old future self. She shook her head at the older Lynnae. "I don't know," she answered quietly, looking down.
"I'm letting us down aren't I," she asked her younger self. "Look where I'm at." She held her left arm subconsciously and looked away. "Father would be ashamed." She shook her head and turned her head, her eyes closed. "But I'm doing this for me. I'm doing this for my own sake. I will be my own person. I will be a thief." She opened her eyes, but the girl was gone and so was the throne room with its dim light and darkened corners. She saw the back of her uncle. She saw the golden coat billow back from an unseen breeze.
"Uncle…," she asked him. He didn't respond. She reached for him with her right arm. "Can you tell me… Can you tell me how to become like that man?" She saw his bowed head raise and turn to look over his shoulder. He was frowning disappointedly at her.
"Why are you still chasing this dream," he asked hollowly. "You will always be nothing more than a princess," he observed as he looked back in front of him. He began to walk away. "Give up," he ordered harshly, not bothering to acknowledge her again.
"But- but you said- Uncle Gascon!" She ran after him, holding her hand out to grab his shoulder. When she was mere inches away, she snapped back to reality. Her eyes snapped open. At first, she felt nothing. Then her mind slowly processed the injuries she had, resulting in what first was a dull ache now a jarring pain in her left arm. She sat up and felt it, wincing and whimpering when she felt the multiple pieces of broken bone. The sky was orange, the sun low.
She considered her options. She had no healing potions. She'd have to rely on magic… which was also an issue. Of all the magic spells she failed to master, healing ones were the least of her talents. All the others were fine except any spell that allowed for support. She would have to try. She had notes inscribed with runes from her practice sessions and she pulled them out of the inner pocket of her coat. She flipped to the page marked "Healing Touch". Resting the notes on her lap, she pulled out her wand made from a branch from what little trees existed near Hamelin. It was a gift given to her by her parents and her uncle.
She smirked at the beautifully carved wand, the handiwork of the rarely seen Gascon. The magic was her father's and it was given to her by her mother. So much love had gone into it. It made her feel safe just having it despite her rule of not using magic.
She raised the wand and tried to cast Healing Touch. It began to glow and then her arm began to twist. She felt more bones breaking and she almost cried out in pain. She bit her right arm and the cloth muffled the pained shout. She dropped the wand and gingerly held up her now even more mangled arm. Her breaths were ragged as she felt the now pulverized bones. Injuring touch, more like! She thought bitterly. No way is this going to heal, now. She frowned and looked up. I'm going to need to replace my arm… I need that arm. How the hell am I supposed to replace it… She looked down at the wand and the notes. She took out her own version of the pickpocketing pistol. She had never seen the mythical gun that thief used, but she still managed to craft her own. What one could do with an ordinary pistol and some spare parts amazed her, sometimes. If she could make this, she could make a prosthetic arm and hand.
But how?! She had no metal! She had no parts or equipment! She needed something to connect the nerves and the rest of her body. How would she manage that on the low salary of a rogue? She fished the floral coin purse from her pockets on the outside of her jacket. She peered inside. There was no way she could afford anything like that. She leaned the back of her head against the building wall in defeat. The sun had sunk but the sky glowed a somber blue. The streets lit up and shed a little light into the crevices of the town.
She looked down at the wand again and frowned. Perhaps she needed to make an allowance to her no magic rule. If wands could be crafted using magic talent and carving- if machines could be powered by magic- the only way to make an arm as good as her own was through magic. If there was anything else she was good at, it was making gadgets with the proper materials.
She'd have to find something suitable for now. She'd have to rely on the spells Fuse and Rejuvenate to make her invention a reality. She'd improve it when she found better materials.
For now… She eyed some cloth lying in the corner of the alley. She picked it up and bit into it with her mouth. She took her right hand and ripped it. She stomped on one end with her foot and knelt down to tie it with one arm. She looped the makeshift sling over her shoulder and gently, painfully, rested her arm in it. She took the rest of the dusty old cloth and draped it over her. She didn't want those goons to find her.
Once her handy work was done, she'd leave. She'd find another town to take refuge in, to further her education of being a powerful thief. Perhaps she'd even find that man, she figured as she walked out into the better-lit thoroughfare. She'd find him. She swore to herself she would. She'd find the legendary thief, the one she looked up to her whole life, Swaine.
She hoped he was worth the effort. She hoped he was worth the loss of an arm. He had to be. What hero ever wasn't? The darkness of night and the uncertainty of it approached the town. It would soon be upon it. It would soon be upon her- the girl in a ragged coat and a broken arm seeking lofty dreams. She'd welcome it… for now.