Wind

The boy shook his head, City of Dreams... what a bloody joke.

The nobles could act as uppity as they liked, but that would never change the fact that Cornelia had its seedy underbelly, just like any other city Gantz had ever lived in.

The docks district was a vast industrial ward, filled with manufactories and harbors and warehouses. It was set hard against the River Amathea, which bisected the city's eastern districts. Many abandoned buildings housed gangs that had influence over a certain territory right up until it brushed against a rival's. The authorities left everything alone despite any number of crimes committed, as long as they didn't happen to spill over into the more 'reputable' districts.

The young man just chuckled to himself –

Quietly, it had to be quietly. He couldn't possibly give himself away now; the game had just begun.

Speaking of warehouses, Gantz was in one right now, high up in the rafters where the light of lanterns did not reach. He was also decked in dark clothing, which concealed his wolf-lean form, consisting of dark leather breeches, shin-high boots, a black tunic and a dark leather vest. His face, with its streamline features and dark complexion, was concealed beneath a black coif of cloth hiding all but his almond-shaped eyes, and he watched the workers below as they sorted or carried different containers here and there amongst the many piles of goods.

This warehouse was the depository for any number of ill-gotten goods, stored and overseen by the members of a shipping guild with a fairly legitimate front in place – not that anyone was looking too closely when it came to the docks, but just the same.

Gantz figured some rich nobles or merchants headed the guild and probably used this place to store their hard assets for any number of schemes. If the gossip could be believed, Gantz figured the guild-heads used this 'acquired' wealth to gain influence in court for whatever purpose nobles had. Funding other lucrative, but less-than-reputable-and-therefore-best-to-be-done-discretely ventures were also likely.

Gantz could care less. Being free-lance, he worked for whoever shelled out the best pay... and the boy always did get the best pay, the reason being because he was a Master Thief without peer. Of course, payment wasn't always money. The boy had a powerful reputation in the docks, and often times he did jobs for no other reason to add to that reputation. Of course here, infamy could be a double-edged sword and the boy had foiled many a would-be assassin as well.

It all came with the territory. Fortunately for Gantz, he could never be bested in a fight because of two reasons: he never fought fairly, and he was the fastest man alive.

Oh sure, it sounded conceited, and was – he could admit that – but it was also the truth. Fighting fair was for idealistic fools infatuated with old stories of outmoded chivalry – the favorite pretense of nobles – and the boy was seemingly blessed from on high with almost supernatural dexterity and speed. He was no mere thief, he was a Master Thief, and that's all there was to it.

The boy was perfectly still from where he perched. He had lived his whole life with the notion that stealth and secrecy were weapons just as potent as the long-bladed knives he had sheathed over each hip. Of course, he also had smaller blades hidden about his person – contingency was the mother of all preparation – and he wouldn't be caught dead without a weapon of some kind on his person at all times. He slept in varying locations about the docks, always in secluded and secure locations, and he trusted no one, especially his patrons. In the City of Dreams many a would-be career thief tended to live short and brutal lives. Gantz was suspicious and careful, and had survived for years in this dangerous profession because of his preparation and speed.

So here he was, waiting for the appointed time. He had been casing this place for a while, and had the routine down. It was getting on in the evening and the workers' shift was nearing an end. Afterward, strong-arm guards would come in and patrol the warehouse during the night hours. Gantz knew they were knuckle-dragging types who were underpaid and hardly kept up an ironclad vigil during their stints of duty. As it was, the boy was certain he could avoid them all in a bright pink dress with a pair of torches strapped to his head...

But that would be uncomfortable.

From his vantage point, the thief could see most of the warehouse below, though not every nook and cranny. He knew it all well enough, however, where certain guards took their ease, dozing their duty away. He knew which goods were stored where, his goal being the office in the corner of the warehouse. His current patron was highly interested in what was stored in the head clerk's desk under lock and key. Gantz didn't care what it was as long as he was paid the promised price. The delivery point was of his choosing, and the payment would be there or nobody got anything.

Perched as he was, his belly scraping the thick wooden beam, the young man kept very still, having long trained himself to be patient and silent. He could think of far more uncomfortable places than this – his neck stretched on a gallows for one. He could not relax a wink if he wanted to maintain his edge. Being a Master Thief, patience was a virtue as good as gil itself, and not getting caught was his personal art form.

Finally, the time came, a bell being rung at one end of the warehouse. Workers wiped their brows and set their burdens down, able to keep for another day. Soon enough, they all shuffled toward one end of warehouse and out the broad doors into the docks proper.

The guards came in soon after, large shoulder-thumpers with the look of shaved gorillas – or not shaved in some cases. Regardless, Gantz continued to bide his time until the dozen guards had all taken up their familiar routes so that the thief could see the perfect way to avoid them all at each interval toward his goal.

When the time was right, he slid down from his perch, touching to the ground without a sound. Amongst a great pile of assorted crates, he moved on cats paws, at one with the shadows. Not unfamiliar with combat, the thief knew well that fighting was to be avoided at all costs during a heist. One person spotting him and raising the alarm meant he had failed and would flee, not risking himself further in pointless battle. Besides, he didn't want gorilla viscera all over his knives. The weapons were really as close to a family as he'd ever had, and he tried to treat them with respect.

Gantz ghosted pass one guard that had paused to scratch his behind. The thief shook his head as he put his back to a barrel, ducking low to look down a corridor made between rows of sacks and various types of chests. He figured there were some foodstuffs in here amongst the treasure. The guild did have a legitimate front after all. A good portion of the merchandise was likely legally gained, put in place to fool any cursory inspection by authorities, which would probably never bother. One could make money legally just as well as illegally if one had the financing, know-how, and contacts. Doing so wasn't any fun, though.

Anyhow, the thief moved down the row between chests, crawling on all fours past two guards that had stopped to search each other for fleas – or maybe not, Gantz couldn't see well crawling as he was. He moved down, creeping past chests, barrels, and other containers until he came to a low crate with the lid half removed. He stopped to crouch low and was surprised to find that the box contained bottles of Cornelian St. Blanca, a white wine apparently. Gantz didn't know much about wine, but he took a bottle anyway and stuffed it into his small leather pack, strapped closely to his back.

Afterward, the boy raised his head up ever so slightly to peer over a box, seeing a guard moving away from him down a perpendicular corridor between goods. The boy waited several minutes until the big ape turned a corner and then he squeezed gently between boxes and sneaked up the corridor, knowing he had a good three minutes until that guard came around again.

Gantz came up around the corner and suddenly his twin knives were in hand. The creature in a large cage to the side amongst crates had startled him.

The white tiger lay in its cage, grooming itself and shaking its big head before it looked at the thief, its sharp green eyes boring into him.

The thief suddenly smiled and saluted the creature before sheathing his knives and continuing on – though he suddenly stopped and looked back...

The tiger was gone. The cage was empty.

The boy shook his head. He had a job to do, so he continued forward.

He neared the office, seeing that it was only a small square made of wooden walls jutting out from the corner of the warehouse itself. A fairly sturdy wooden door greeted the thief, an old cast iron lock fitted in place to secure it. Gantz had to stifle a laugh. The old lock was pitted with rust. A mouse fart could probably dislodge it.

Quickly, Gantz had to hide amidst a pile of goods while the gorilla passed by again, yawning into his burly fist before moving on. Afterward, the boy extracted himself, flexed his fingers, and reaching into the inner recesses of his dark leather vest. With one hand he pulled forth several small metal implements and took a deep breath before beginning his work. As he picked the lock, he kept time in his head, always trying to beat his best record. As it was, he tied with himself, taking off the pathetic excuse for a lock, and opening the office door just enough to slip inside, closing it quickly behind him.

The small space was cramped and ill lit but tidy. Gantz had enough light to go by though, and quickly went to the large dark wooden desk across the room. He slipped around and searched the drawers until he found the one that was locked. His tools still in hand, he went to work a second time. Simple enough, the drawer opened and the boy found what he was looking for...

And was quickly disappointed.

The correspondence from his patron had specified that the item would be in a box, but Gantz had expected something a little grander. Instead, what he found was a plain wooden box that fit easily into the palm of one hand. The boy shook his head, scouring the drawer again, but found nothing else of value. No, the plain box must be it. Well, obviously its what was inside that was valuable, but Gantz had plenty of time for that later.

Now he had to escape.

He placed the plain wooden box in this leather pack and moved up quickly to the door. He opened it just a sliver and peered out to see if the ape was coming back.

He nodded: Good, no gorillas in sight. He slipped out of the office and ghosted down a corridor to the other side of the warehouse where his escape would be made. A tall pile of crates led to a large window with a missing pane. For normal people, getting to the top of that crate pile might take minutes to traverse and anyone doing so would undoubtedly be spotted from below. For Gantz, however, it was just a stepping-stone.

He readied himself, replacing his tools in his vest and focusing. Suddenly, he burst into a full run, lean legs pumping. He took a starter hop when near the pile and jumped, far too high, stepping off the top crate and shooting through the window...

Out the window he came in a long arc, as if the air itself buoyed him. He alighted to his feet with barely a sound, popping up amongst stacks of large shipping crates outside.

He waited several seconds. No hue and cry, no alarm raised. No one had spotted him. He grinned beneath his black coif and took off running at full speed. He ran much faster than anyone should have been able to, even gaining enough momentum to run upon the sides of buildings before leaping upon the roofs of adjacent storehouses. He ran across the broad slanting building tops, clearing the forty feet gaps between them with room to spare. He felt the wind all around him as he ran and again was reminded of the freedom of birds.

He sailed over to another rooftop, the gibbous moon high in the night sky overhead. He headed north toward the market district, but would not enter it. He had time yet before he was to seek the meeting and get his payment. His patron had specified an early hour in the morning for reasons unknown to the thief.

As always, Gantz would secure the location before he ever made contact so he would be there early... But that still gave him a good hour.

He stopped and leaned against a roof fixture to think. He gave a shrug. He supposed he could go to the Greased Knuckle and hang out with his mates for a bit.

Located in an old warehouse in a relatively stable neighborhood, the old tavern was a den of cutthroats, of which the thief frequented when he was apt to be a little more trusting than usual. The place was 'governed' by Bart Knuckle, an old brawler that had never been beaten once in his years of pit fighting. You couldn't buy that kind of street credit, and no one messed with Bart... at least in this part of the docks. The old fighter was savvy, and had become something of a mentor to Gantz over the last few years since he had come to the White City. The brawler and a small group of somewhat trustworthy brigands were the only ones allowed to occupy the upper floor of the makeshift tavern, and, as it happened, Gantz was one of those few.

Of course, he still kept his back to the wall around these people, but amongst them he found he could almost relax. With his profession, that was something he needed at times... the smallest of respites from his never-ending vigilance.

Regardless, the thief took off, heading toward the Greased Knuckle. With his speed, it took him under ten minutes to reach the roof of the warehouse, and the crowds below and noise within was evident on the lower floors. In the shadows of the roof, Gantz removed his black coif and placed it into his pack. He then took out the bottle of Cornelian St. Blanca and went in through a shattered window on the upper floor.

Without a sound, he slipped into a small storage room, empty of anything but dust and vermin. A large rat scampered away at his coming, but Gantz had come in unnoticed otherwise. A rickety door separated this room from the 'lounge' where Bart and his gang were undoubtedly relaxing.

Smart enough to know he should announce himself to a room of cutthroats before entering, Gantz knocked on the door three times before slipping in.

Five other people occupied the room.

Bart Knuckle was a big man who never wore a shirt. He sat sprawled out on a ruined red couch, his arms spread across its back. The old fighter's head was bald, his nose broken. Indeed, he looked like he had fought a war with his face, his dark eyes beady under a heavy brow. He wore only a pair of frayed breeches cinched with a leather belt. His broad chest and thick arms were heavily muscled, and, as usual, he had an attractive young woman snuggled up next to him.

"Aye, cuss, you finally come to see your ol' uncle Knuckle again, eh? 'Bout time, cuss, ain't seen you in a fortnight. Thought maybe you was getting uppity on me."

Gantz grinned, his dark almond-shaped eyes sharpening. "Good to see you too, old man. You're ugly as ever."

The old brawler just grinned. "Oh, aye, lad, being the lead 'round here means you gotta tussle. Of course, you is always running from fights, being a thief an all. Wouldn't expect you to understand."

Gantz held up a finger. "Master Thief, old man. Emphasis on Master."

Another man across from small rickety table filled with bottles and junk, snorted. He was taller than Gantz, but not a patch on Bart. He had unruly dark hair and wore black clothes head-to-toe. One eye was covered over with a large patch, which only partially hid the line of an ink-vine scar that sliced down one side of the man's face. This one's name was Peg-leg, even though he didn't have one. He did remind Gantz of a pirate though... funny, because the thief hated pirates.

Peg-leg grunted. "You keep stealing from them nobles, Gantz, and they'll send them Royal Knights after you. If that monster Garland gets a hold of you, you can kiss it goodbye."

The thief shook his head. "Nah, I'm small-time outside the docks, Peg. Besides, those knights only care about the war they're gonna start with the Dragon to the north. I ain't causing a ruckus like the Blood Knives were. The knights don't give a damn about me."

Peg-leg nodded. "Aye, those Blood Knives asked for it though. Every gang around here knows to keep to some kind o' code, but those bloody bastards were killing dockworkers in broad daylight, disrupting business and causing an uproar among the blue bloods. Of course, Garland's Dark Swords came in and put an end to that right quick. That Garland killed half of them himself, I heard. Afterwards, it all went back to work-a-day, but you piss off the wrong silver spoon, Gantz, and they'll get the knights on you as certain sure."

"Yeah, yeah," Gantz replied with a dismissive wave.

The man just shrugged. "Hey, don't say I never warned you, cuss."

The boy smiled. "Arghh, me heartie, your concern do bring a tear to me brown-eye."

Everyone laughed except Peg. "I ain't no damned pirate," he mumbled.

A large rotund fellow sat adjacent to Peg-leg, wearing a vest over his coarse linen tunic and breeches. Lenny always had with him a small barrel of lemon-flavored grog. It looked and smelled just like urine, and the greasy man lifted a filled mug towards Gantz in salute. "So, kiddo, how'd your venture go this swell evening?"

Gantz folded his arms and leaned back against the wall. "Off without a hitch, Len, how's your pee?"

The rotund fellow blushed. "Damn it, cuss, it ain't piss I'm drinking, its mead! Its really good, but you lot is too snotty to try it."

Gantz shook his head. "Just cause it's sterile doesn't make it good for you, Len."

Everyone chuckled. Lenny just shrugged and took a long pull from his mug of piss.

Gantz laughed, but kept his peripheral vision on the woman that leaned on the wall just the other side of the door from him. She was the final occupant of the gang and a relatively new addition. Nearly the same height as Gantz, she was strangely pale, yet her eyes were ice blue and she never seemed to blink. Her hair was a cap of raven black that covered her ears. Gantz wasn't exactly certain why she was up here because she never seemed to talk, and the boy knew that Bart liked to laugh. She wore dark leather armor, and twin scimitars strapped to her back.

She had a dark air, this one, and Gantz trusted her least of all. He knew what to look for very well, and he could see she was trained in combat just from the way she stood – likely highly trained. She might be a career thief like Gantz, but the boy doubted it. From all signs, she seemed to him more like an assassin, most likely in the employ of Bart Knuckle. The boy knew his mentor had all kinds of back deals going on; he was more than just the simple thug he seemed.

However, of all the things that Gantz found disconcerting about her, the fact that she had pointed ears made him the most uncomfortable. Oh she hid it very well, but Gantz stayed alive by being acutely observant, and he had noticed, despite her efforts.

Of course, he had kept it to himself. He thought he might have heard something about pointy-eared people once, but it was most likely just some superstition.

Bart looked up. "So, cuss, can you let us see the loot, or is it all cloak-and-dagger like?"

The boy grinned and went up to the dilapidated table. He set the bottle of wine down on the table. "There you go, mates, a little taste of blue blooded refreshment for your dining pleasure."

Bart Knuckle shook his head. "I ain't no lout-brained bum, boy, I know you didn't risk being noticed for a fool bottle of wine. You get something worthwhile or not?"

Gantz leaned against the wall again. "Sorry, old man, top secret."

The strange woman gave Gantz the barest glance when he said that, before she went back to staring at nothing.

The boy sensed a tension in the air all of the sudden, and his hands slid carefully down to rest on the handles of his long knives.

Something was wrong. The woman suddenly straightened and looked towards the staircase that led down to the noisy lower floors. She glanced at Gantz again –

Then she attacked.

The thief had his knives out in less than a blink and the woman's blades rang against his own. She was fast, faster than anyone Gantz had ever fought, coming at him like a whirlwind of steel, saying nothing, her icy eyes intense.

Steel rang on steel. Lenny was knocked back, spilling his mug with a loud curse. Peg just stood up, unsheathing his rapier and looking baffled, the fight before him like a blur...

Bart Knuckle hadn't moved from the couch.

The assassin came with a thrust of her main-hand sword, then slashed several times with her other. Gantz blocked them all and turned the last strike aside with calculated power. It knocked her off balance just a split-second and Gantz launched a kick into her stomach. She slid back several feet with a grimace, but took up another stance and faced him, her eyes like ice-blue fire. Still, she said nothing.

Bart pointed at the boy with his chin. "You stole something from the wrong person this time, cuss; wrong thing from the wrong person. I warned you, cuss, I told you before, but your head's just too big. This is how it had to be, cuss. Cause you wouldn't listen, something had to give."

A slow grin spread across the boy's face. He twirled his long knives expertly in his hands before pointing one at the reclined brawler. "This woman isn't enough to take me, old man. Human or not, she's too slow."

A strange look crossed the brawler's face.

Gantz noticed. "I see, so you didn't know about her pointed ears, eh? You are getting old, Bart."

The assassin glared at him, but Gantz just shrugged. "You're quick, missy, but I'm the fastest man alive." To prove it, he sheathed a knife and reached into a hidden pouch faster than anyone could move. The pellet he took out was thrown to the floor and a burst of smoke quickly filled the room.

Everyone started coughing.

When the smoke cleared, the thief was nowhere to be seen...

The young woman at Bart Knuckle's side suddenly screamed. The old brawler had a throwing dagger lodged in his throat, his beady eyes lifeless.

Lenny and Peg-leg looked agape.

The assassin just growled, before glaring at all those present. She moved again, her one blade going through Lenny's face to skewer his brain. The assassin looked back, as Peg-leg came up to thrust with his rapier.

The woman batted the attack aside, going up to the man with inhuman speed. She whirled about, bringing her twin blades around to cut the man's head from his neck. The severed head spun through the air even as Peg's body sagged to its knees.

The young woman at Bart's side could only scream, and the assassin quickly produced a throwing dagger. With a flick of her wrist, she launched it precisely into girl's open mouth, silencing her for good.

Afterward, the dark elf kicked open the door to the storage room and looked about. It was empty. All she felt was a gentle breeze of cool night air from a shattered window.

Her jaw clenched. The human thief had done three things before she could even react; pulling the smoke bomb; killing the stooge while the room was concealed; and escaping utterly...

No human should be able to do that... not faster than she could herself. These humans were slow, fat, lazy creatures... but this one was something else.

Regardless, her mistress would not be happy about this at all. Lady Tiam had made very clear that no one was to know of the orb, yet someone had survived who knew of its location, setting up the job and hiring this thief to attain it. It seemed forces were moving all about this city...

The dark elf hissed in frustration.

Meanwhile, Gantz flew from rooftop to rooftop.

He supposed he had just been betrayed, but, since he never really trusted anyone, it hadn't surprised him a great deal. The distinction between friend and foe was razor-thin in his line of work and real trust could cut too deeply. Still, the boy hadn't seen any sign of this coming.

He suddenly wondered what was in the plain wooden box he had stolen. If it had caused all of this, it must be something important indeed.

For once, the boy let his curiosity get the better of him. He sailed over another rooftop and set his back to the roof fixture, the night almost too quiet. He took the wooden box out of his pack and held it up before him. He opened the lid and strange feelings assaulted him, as he gazed at a palm-sized sphere of crystal that rested within. Just looking at it, the boy felt an overwhelming impulse to hold it, yet he knew doing so would entail something... unalterable.

Still, his fingers itched to hold the bauble, and the boy overrode his caution for once. He grasped the orb and held it out in one hand before him.

Suddenly there was a flash, purest white, and the boy was suddenly flying. Ever upward he went blasting passed banks of clouds in the night sky. Indeed, he circumnavigated the world in mere minutes, until the sun flared on the horizon and the light of dawn could be seen.

In the pastel luminescence, the vision stopped before a massive floating citadel, its many white towers cracked and crumbling. Still, it was a mighty sight to behold, soaring upon the winds as if it weighed nothing at all.

Within was a plea... a plea for aid...

Suddenly, Gantz found himself back upon the rooftop, night still dominant. He was weak and dizzy, floundering back against the ceiling fixture, his hand sore from its terrific grip on the orb.

He was short of breath, as if he had actually flapped his arms all the way to the other side of the world. Coughing painfully a couple times, he looked up towards the moon, his dark tilted eyes as wide as they would go.

"I am... Chosen... of Wind..."

A flush of nausea gripped him and he fell back against the fixture, his consciousness fading. "The Crystal... he needs my help..."