Chapter Summary:

Our story begins with the birth and coming of age of Azarath, who will later be known as the Nerevarine. It follows his transformation from a quiet, reserved boy into a rebellious teenager and explores his bond with Laverna, the rogue twin sister of Bellona Magius—who would later become the Hero of Kvatch. Together, Laverna and Azarath become partners in crime, planning heists and enjoying their freedom—until their journey takes a darker turn.

"His name is Azarath, please take care of him. Give him a better life than I could have."

It was all the note said, attached to the cradle of the Dunmer infant left at the temple's doorstep, with a symbol of the Atronach on the paper—representing the sign he was born under..

Galadrion had spent many years serving as a priest at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City, but he had never experienced anything like this.

"I don't know the first thing about raising kids," he thought to himself. "What kind of person just leaves their kid at a temple like that?"

The infant lay still in the cradle, sleeping soundly. Galadrion couldn't help but marvel at how peaceful he seemed, unaware of the world around him or the uncertain future ahead.

With a deep sigh, Galadrion knelt beside the cradle, the old Altmer's hands trembling as he reached for the child

"I will raise you," he felt as if the Divines were speaking through him, telling him this was his duty. "I will do what I can."

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Galadrion remained steadfast in his duties at the temple, continuing his work as a priest. But now, with Azarath to care for, his days were marked by the rhythm of feeding, cleaning, and soothing the infant. There was little time for anything else. The child became his priority, and though Galadrion had no experience raising children, there was something instinctual about the way he cared for Azarath.

As Azarath grew, Galadrion found a surprising sense of fulfillment in the routine. By the time Azarath was five, Galadrion had come to see the boy as his own, though he never forgot the mystery of the child's origins. Azarath's dark skin and striking red eyes were a constant reminder that his story was different, that he had been left at the temple for reasons unknown.

One evening, while most of the city nearby slept, and the nightlife of the market district and other areas were faint hums in the distance, Azarath couldn't sleep. His mind was racing, as usual. He was a very pensive little fellow. Galadrion sat with Azarath in the quiet candlelight. The boy, now five, was a curious and sharp child, always asking questions about the world beyond the temple walls.

"Why do people come here, Galadrion?" Azarath asked.

Galadrion sighed deeply, resigning to the fact his old bones wouldn't get as much sleep as he'd like this evening. He sat next to the boy and pondered a minute before speaking. "People come seeking guidance, solace, or sometimes forgiveness," he answered.

"Forgiveness for what?"

"For the things they regret," Galadrion said simply.

"Do you have any regrets?" The boy was curious.

The old Altmer was silent for a moment. "A few," he admitted.

Azarath kicked his legs idly, waiting for him to continue.

Galadrion exhaled slowly. "When I was younger, I thought I had all the time in the world. There were things I wanted to do, people I should have spoken to, chances I should have taken. But time moves forward, whether we're ready or not."

"Can't you still do those things?"

Galadrion gave a small chuckle. "Some, maybe. Others are long gone." He looked at the boy beside him. "But life has a way of giving us new choices. I won't waste those."

Azarath seemed to think about that for a moment before nodding, satisfied for now.

Azarath's thoughts drifted to something else before he looked up at him again. "How did you find me?"

Galadrion hesitated a moment before he spoke. He then sighed deeply. It was time for him to know, he was old enough to know. "You were left at the temple's doorstep, wrapped in a simple cloth. There was a note tucked beside you."

"What did it say?"

The old Altmer folded his hands in his lap. "It was short. Just a name—yours—and a symbol of your birth sign, the Atronach, with a request to give you a better life."

"A better life?" Azarath scoffed. There was a mix of anger and hurt in his voice. "I could have been killed or kidnapped, or worse! How do they just leave a kid there like that?"

"I wish I knew," Galadrion felt a tear in his eye, "But I also thank the gods you were brought into my life. At one time, I wished I had a son, but you more than make up for it."

Azarath smiled slightly. Galadrion patted him on the back and wrapped his arm around him.

"I'm proud of you, young Azarath. I'm proud of who you are and who you are becoming."

.

The years went by fast, and before Galadrion knew it, Azarath had grown into a teenager. He still followed Galadrion's teachings, but he was starting to get bored with life at the temple, itching for something more. But then, he met her. And everything changed.

They first crossed paths on one of his trips to the market district. There was a street fair going on, and many of the local shops had stalls with merchandise on display. Azarath walked through the crowd, eyes scanning the stalls for the items Galadrion had requested, when he spotted her: an Imperial girl his age with black hair, moving like she was part of the shadows. She was fast—too fast. In an instant, she swiped a silver bracelet from one of the stalls and darted out of sight without the seller noticing.

Azarath frowned and stepped closer, watching the crowd around him. No one seemed to have noticed the theft. He took a few steps forward, eyes locked on the spot where she'd vanished. His pace picked up as he moved deeper into the crowd, his gaze tracking the movement of the girl ahead. She was quick, but he kept his distance, making sure he wasn't drawing attention to himself.

Then, she turned around, and their eyes met.

For a brief moment, neither of them moved. Azarath knew she was a thief, but as he looked into her eyes, he saw a kindness, a warmth that made him want to know her rather than get her into trouble. Without a word, she smiled and put a finger to her lips, signaling for him to stay quiet.

He slowly stepped closer to her, intrigued.

"What did you do?" It was a stupid question, and he was aware of that before it left his mouth. He knew what she had done; he didn't need to ask. Yet, he felt awkward in the moment and didn't know what else to say./p

"What do you think I did?" She smirked.

"You stole that bracelet!"

The girl chuckled softly and then shrugged. ""They've got more than enough. No harm in taking a little."

"But it's wrong to do that."

"Is it?" The girl folded her arms, her eyes playfully challenging him.

"Why are you doing this?" He wanted to understand, not judge. Galadrion taught him that all living beings were children of the divines and that even those who had lost their way could be guided back towards the light.

She hesitated before speaking, but something about him made her comfortable opening up. "To help my mom and sister," she finally answered, "We live in Bravil. Things are tough."

Azarath felt empathy for her, though he disagreed with what she was doing. He nodded slowly. "I understand. But this isn't the way."

"Oh yeah? What is the way then?" she quipped.

"I…ummm." Azarath stumbled on his words, he didn't know what to say. He was already nervous talking to her, and now she was putting him on the spot too. Being raised in the temple, this was the first girl he ever really talked to. And he liked her.

The girl found his discomfort endearing. She looked him over, studying him curiously. Then, she smiled.

"You're a good boy," she said playfully. She brushed a strand of black hair behind her ear, her gaze lingering on him. "But too good. I think you need to sin a little. It'll loosen you up a bit."

Azarath felt his face flush. He shifted uncomfortably. "I—uh, I just—"

The girl took a step closer. "You sure you're not interested in doing something... a little more exciting? Maybe you'd like to tag along for some heists with me and my crew? I could show you the ropes."

He swallowed hard, still unsure of how to respond. He didn't want to be involved in what she was doing, but he knew he wanted to spend more time with her, and he couldn't say no to that. "I've never stolen anything. It's... wrong."

The girl raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. "Is it really wrong? These places have more than enough." She paused, letting her words hang in the air before adding, "I take a little, give it to the ones who need it more."

Azarath looked at her, struggling to reconcile what she was saying with the teachings he had followed for so long. "But why?"

She shrugged nonchalantly with a twinkle in her eye. "The world isn't fair. I feel like what I do helps even things out a bit."

Azarath was silent for a moment, processing her words. "Maybe I can tag along with you, but not steal anything. I could just act as protection."

She scoffed and let out a loud belly laugh. "Protection?"

"Yeah." Azarath cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "I mean, I don't agree with what you do, but you don't seem like a bad person, and I don't want to see anyone hurt you."

"That's sweet." Laverna blushed, moved by what he said. She giggled quietly, pausing to think for a moment. "Well, I don't need your protection, but I won't say no to the company of a handsome Dunmer lad like you. Just don't be a snitch, alright?"

"Okay, fine. If it means I get to be around you, then I agree," he said flirtatiously.

"You sure about that? You just met me. I could be a psycho murderer for all you know."

"Somehow, I doubt that," he said, gazing into her eyes longingly.

"Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?" she teased.

Azarath's heart raced, and before he could respond, the girl grinned. "By the way, I'm Laverna." She held out her hand, her eyes glinting with mischief. "And you are?"

"Azarath."

Laverna smiled wider. "Nice to meet you, Azarath. I'm sure we'll get to know each other... better."

And she wasn't wrong. Later that evening, Laverna had Azarath distract the innkeeper at the Tiber Septim hotel while she and her crew were busy swiping bottles of wine and champagne.

Laverna's crew was a ragtag group, but they were tight-knit and efficient. First, there was Thaeril, the Bosmer rogue and archer. She was the scout and lookout of the group, always a step ahead, ensuring they never walked into a trap. Unlike Laverna's playful and charismatic nature, Thaeril was quiet and pragmatic. She didn't waste words or energy on jokes—she focused on the job. She had a sharp eye for details, spotting weaknesses in security and paths of escape before anyone else. While she didn't share Laverna's love for chaos, she respected her leadership and made sure their schemes stayed as clean as possible.

Then, there was Tork, the Nord. Large and imposing, Tork was the muscle of the group. His thick arms and broad shoulders made him a formidable presence. Though he could be a bit rough around the edges, he had a soft spot for his crew, always looking out for them when the job got too dangerous. His loud laugh often filled the air when he wasn't busy making sure no one was getting too close to their operation. When it came to breaking and entering, Tork was there to handle the brute force.

Lastly, there was S'rahtavi, the Khajiit illusionist. Small, nimble, and unassuming, S'rahtavi had a talent for making people forget things—or believe things that weren't true. She had a way with spells, using her magic to cloud the minds of those who might be a problem for the crew. Her fur was soft, a mix of light tan and darker brown, and her yellow eyes were always darting around, taking in every detail. She was the subtle one, the behind-the-scenes worker who ensured things ran smoothly, her spells making sure the crew could slip by unnoticed.

Once they finished, the crew went to the Waterfront to celebrate their successful heist. They laughed and joked, passing bottles around, each of them taking pride in their part of the job. The excitement was still fresh. Tork's booming laugh echoed across the docks. After a while, though, the group started to break off.

Finally, it was just Laverna and Azarath, sitting by the water with the stolen wine, their laughter fading as the night grew quieter.

Azarath couldn't help but feel a rush. The whole night, the theft, the thrill—it was more exciting than anything he'd ever experienced in his life at the temple.

"You know," Azarath said after a few moments, trying to put his thoughts into words, "I've never done anything like this before."

Laverna smiled slightly, looking up at the stars. "Well, now you have. Not so bad, huh?"

Azarath grinned, swirling the wine in his bottle. "It was fun. But... I don't know. I keep thinking I should feel guilty."

"You're not hurting anyone who can't handle it. Things can be replaced, unlike people. Sadly, most people forget that. And we aren't stealing from anyone who's hurting. They'll be upset for a time but eventually they'll move on like it never happened."

Azarath mulled over her words, still conflicted. They had also stolen food earlier and given it to the beggars. They were helping others—he could justify it that way. But deep down, he knew the truth. Whatever cause he would use to justify it-whether it was helping the poor, helping himself, or helping Laverna's family, there was only one real reason he'd keep doing it: he enjoyed it. And he knew whatever she told him or herself, it was why she did it too.

Laverna took a swig, grinning as the alcohol hit her. "You know," she said, looking over at Azarath, "you said you were just gonna tag along as protection. Whatever you meant by that. But it seems like you're all in now huh?"

"I guess so." He couldn't argue with her. This life was appealing to him, and he couldn't deny that Laverna was even more appealing.

"Next thing I'll teach you is picking locks and learning to sneak. It might take some practice, but you'll get the hang of it."

Azarath nodded awkwardly. He couldn't say no.

She passed him a bottle. He took a long drink, savoring the burn. "You know, for a while, growing up, I was happy in the temple. Galadrion is a good man; he raised me as his own. He could've left me out in the cold, but he chose to take me in. But… I also know it's not me. The Cyrodilic gods? The Nine? That's not my roots. I'm a Dunmer. It's not our culture; it's the Empire's."

Laverna shrugged, taking a drink herself. "Yeah, well, the Nine don't interest me much either. My mother's a lot like your Galadrion—a priestess, always pushing the Divines on me and my sister. She wanted us both to follow in her footsteps, serve at the Temple of Mara. But my sister and I? We got our father's blood." She let out a short breath, almost like a laugh. "He was a Colovian mercenary. Taught me the bow, my sister the blade. My mother's family was Nibenese, and they looked down on him. Disapproved of their union, but she didn't care. She loved him anyway."

She paused for a moment, swirling the bottle in her hand. "My sister followed the Divines like my mother, but she was always more of a warrior. We look exactly the same, but we couldn't be more different."

Azarath smirked, trying to be charming. "Wow, I thought it was a miracle that one beautiful woman like you exists. But there are two of you?"

"Surprise, surprise!" Laverna said playfully. "She's my twin. Older than me by a few seconds. Probably why she's a bit wiser. Wise, but stubborn. She needs to loosen up like you did. And boy, does she need to get laid."

Laverna's smile faded, her expression growing somber. She stared out at the water, fingers tightening around the bottle. For a moment, it looked like she was holding something in. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, as if she wasn't sure she even wanted him to hear it.

"We used to be inseparable, but things changed when we lost my father. He died on a contract, and we started moving in separate directions."

She shut her eyes, but the tears still slipped down her face. The sharp, quick-witted woman he'd met now looked small, like the wounded child she'd once been.

Azarath moved closer, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Wanting to get her mind off her grief, Laverna changed the subject. "You know, I always wanted to go to Morrowind. Sounds much more exciting than Cyrodiil. They've got these huge insects people ride around called Silt Striders, and giant mushrooms. And I saw a picture of this one weird-looking animal that floats in the air—a netch, I think it's called. And an entire city on the water: Vivec. It seems amazing."

"I wouldn't know," Azarath said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "You know more about my ancestors' land than I do, it seems."

"Ah, I'm not so sure about that. People exaggerate," Laverna sighed, taking a big gulp of wine, finishing one of the bottles, then tossing it aside. "People who've never been to Cyrodiil are told it's all tropical rainforests surrounding the cities, this exciting, exotic place. But having lived here my whole life, I know it's a lot more bland than that."

There was a pause. Azarath glanced at her, her head still resting on his shoulder. She smelled good. She probably stole whatever perfume she used, but he didn't care. It smelled better on her than it would on anyone else. He took in the moment, his fingers stroking her raven hair. Finally, she looked back at him and smiled, licking her lips. Should I try to kiss her? He thought to himself. No, not yet. But he was confident the right moment would come soon. This would be the first woman he kissed, he needed to work up the nerve. Maybe she'd beat him to it, but he knew she'd prefer him to be the bold one. Then, she spoke again.

"You know, when I first met you, I figured you might follow a daedra, or at least be open to daedra worship. Dunmer are generally more open to that kind of thing. Either that, or they worship the Tribunal gods."

"The Tribunal is a bunch of posers from what I've read," Azarath scoffed bitterly. His anger toward them felt personal, yet he couldn't pinpoint why. It was intuitive, not rational. "Vivec? Almalexia? Sotha Sil? Just a bunch of powerful mortals who conned people into thinking they're gods."

"And you don't think the Nine Divines are a con?" Laverna laughed. "When I make an offering to Nocturnal at her shrine, she actually speaks to me. When's the last time an Aedra has spoken back to you?"

Azarath was at a loss for words. "I'm not sure. But now that you mention it, Azura has spoken to me in dreams before."

Laverna looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "What does she say?" She sat up, leaving his embrace. She started skipping stones in the lake. He mirrored her, doing the same.

"I'm not sure. It's not always clear. She talks about destiny and prophecies, something about my fate. But it's hard to understand what she means. Galadrion told me she's one of the few Daedra who are good, though."

"So Azura has spoken to you, but not the Divines, yet the Divines are the ones you follow? That's curious."

Azarath was caught off guard. She had a point. "I guess I never thought about it like that."

Laverna smiled, a soft, knowing smile. "You're not like most Dunmer I've met. You're not like anyone I've met, actually."

"And you're not like most Imperials."

She shrugged. "Guess we're both not typical."

Azarath let the silence stretch for a moment. The wine was starting to settle in, making him feel lighter. He looked at her, wondering what she was thinking.

Laverna grinned, reading his mind. "You know, you've been a good sport so far. But I think it's time to have a little more fun."

Azarath raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I want you to strip and take a swim in the water," she said, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "And I'll join you."

Azarath was about to protest, but then he saw the look in her eyes—the challenge, the invitation. He stood up, slipping off his tunic without a second thought. Laverna did the same, and they both waded into the cool water.

They swam for a while, laughing and splashing, the moon reflecting on the ripples. It felt freeing, like they were untouchable in that moment.

After a few minutes, they climbed out, dripping wet. Azarath turned to Laverna, still catching his breath. Water clung to her skin, droplets tracing down her arms and collarbone. Her dark hair, slick and heavy with moisture, framed her face. She pushed it back with a quick swipe of her hand and looked at him with that same teasing smile, her lips slightly parted, breath still uneven from the swim.

And then, before he could say anything, she was there—close. Her body was cool from the water, but her presence was electric. The moment was right. Without thinking, he pulled her in, his hands finding the curve of her waist, feeling the damp fabric clinging to her. The warmth of her skin was a stark contrast to the cool air, and in that moment, he felt alive—her wet body pressed against his, the faint taste of water still on her lips as they finally met in a kiss.

As the kiss deepened, Laverna pulled back slightly and extended her hand, signaling for Azarath to follow. They quickly snuck onto one of the nearby ships, making love in hushed excitement. They had to be quiet so no one on board would hear, each covering the other's mouth whenever a sound threatened to escape.

Finally, as they lay catching their breath, they heard a gruff Nord's voice boom from above—"Who's there?"

Stifling their laughter, they quickly slipped off the ship before he could catch them

While Azarath had been raised with conservative values by a priest of the Divines, priests never took a strict vow of celibacy. Laverna's mother, after all, had met her father, married, and had children while serving as a priestess at the Temple of Mara. Azarath had been taught not to view it as something casual or to take lightly, but he felt no conflict about being with Laverna. He knew this was more than just fleeting attraction—this was something deeper between them.

As the weeks passed, their string of heists continued. One of Laverna's favorite targets was the Count of Bravil, her home city. She'd told Azarath of his corruption, how he let the people of the city suffer while he lived in luxury.

"He's a bigger thief than I am," Laverna said, "and yet he gets away with it."

Azarath's appearance started to change, too, as the months went on. His messy red hair was now shaved into a mohawk, and he wore piercings in his ears. He also spent time working out in the training grounds outside the Imperial City Arena and was starting to look jacked.

Galadrion became concerned when Azarath continued coming home late, looking hungover or exhausted. He knew Azarath was getting older, edging closer to adulthood. He couldn't shelter him forever, but he still worried.

Galadrion had met Laverna a few times. She was always friendly when she stopped by the temple, and she had a way of charming most people she met—even those she'd stolen from, who sometimes forgave her because of her likable personality. She also had a habit of hugging most people she encountered—she even hugged Galadrion when she came to meet Azarath.

Despite their attempts to hide it, Galadrion knew they were more than just a young couple. They were partners in crime—going on heists, getting into trouble. But he knew that young people could be mischievous, and he hoped this would be a phase they would grow out of. Aside from their shenanigans, they seemed to have a good relationship, and he liked that Laverna made Azarath happy. He also believed that sometimes sin could build character. Sometimes you needed to make the wrong choices to get back on the right path.

The only thing that truly worried Galadrion was their safety. The crime world was growing more dangerous. He'd heard rumors of a crime lord named Dar'Jhan, who was buying off guards and eliminating anyone who interfered with his operations. Galadrion knew he had to talk sense into Azarath and steer him back onto the right path.

They continued their schemes for about a year and a half while Azarath stayed at the Temple, until Galadrion decided enough was enough. One evening, he waited up for Azarath to come home late and had a talk with him.

"She's a nice girl," Galadrion said. "I know you like her, but she's getting herself into trouble. Don't let her lead you off the right path."

Azarath clenched his fists. "You're not my father. You just found me. You're not my parent. I hate you for cooping me up here in this temple. I want to live. I don't want to be a prisoner."

Galadrion went silent, deeply hurt. After a moment, he said, "Yeah, you're right. I'm not your father."

Azarath stared at him, the anger not dissipating but feeling empty now. It wasn't that he didn't care about Galadrion—he just wanted out. He didn't want to feel like a caged animal anymore. The words he'd thrown at Galadrion stung, though, and guilt gnawed at him. But he couldn't back down now. He wouldn't.

Galadrion spoke again. "I never meant to imprison you. I just wanted you to be safe. You're getting older, Azarath. You're a man now, and you need to find your own way. I understand that."

Azarath felt his chest tighten. Part of him wanted to apologize, to take it all back. But he couldn't—not yet. Not while he was still trying to break free. Not while he was still fighting for his own freedom. The guilt gnawed at him, but the anger was stronger. He wouldn't show weakness now.

"I don't care about impressing you," Azarath seethed. "I'm gonna live my life how I want to. She makes me feel alive."

Galadrion didn't say anything for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he spoke again. "I never meant to hold you back. I just wanted you to be safe, to be happy. But I can't keep you here forever. You'll always be welcome here, Azarath. And she is too, for that matter. Even people who lose their way deserve a second chance."

Azarath looked at him. He felt the weight of his words, but he still couldn't say sorry. Not yet. Not when he was still trying to figure things out for himself.

"Goodbye, Galadrion," was all he could say. "Thank you for everything."

He rushed out the door before his tears could show. He didn't look back—he couldn't. He didn't want to see Galadrion's tears either.

Laverna had also recently had a falling out with her mother, Venus, for similar reasons. Venus had been catching on to her thievery for a while and had finally decided it was time to put her foot down. She was less forgiving and understanding than Galadrion, choosing to give Laverna tough love by kicking her out of their house temporarily.

"You've chosen a wicked path, child. You must repent and seek forgiveness from the Divines."

"Oh, and making your daughter homeless isn't wicked?" Laverna gritted her teeth. "Such hypocrites, your worthless gods are. And what have they ever done for you, huh?" She paused, seething with anger. "Fine. I don't want to live here anymore under your stupid rules either. I'll run away. Azarath and I will run away together, and we'll build a better life than you can imagine—away from this shithole you call a city!"

"Laverna!" Her sister Bellona stopped her in the doorway. "Please, don't go!" she begged.

Bellona turned to Venus. "Mother, you can't just cast her out like this! She was trying to help—in the wrong way, sure. But she has a good heart. She's just misguided. And by Talos, she's still your daughter!"

"I'm sorry, Bellona, but there's no other way." Her mother's eyes were watery. This was just as painful for her as it was for them.

Laverna placed her hand on Bellona's shoulder and pressed her forehead against hers affectionately.

"You know this isn't about you, sister. We came into this world together, and nothing will ever keep us apart."

Then she extended her pinky, and they did their signature twin sister handshake. Laverna gave Bellona a pat on the back before heading out.

"We will be in touch, sister." She then turned to her mother with bitterness in her eyes. "And you? You can drop dead for all I care."

She hesitated, but she wasn't done yet—there was something else. And she wasn't going to hold back.

"You know, not a day goes by that I don't wonder how things would've been had you died instead of father. How much better things would be right now."

Her mother looked down at her feet. That stung—Laverna could tell. She smirked as she walked out. They were even now.

Azarath and Laverna's new life together was far from glamorous. But they had each other, and they were working towards building something better together. They lived in a shack on the Imperial City waterfront, among the beggars who had nowhere else to go. They were saving up money to get a place together in the Imperial City Market district, which was affordable enough and better than what they had now. Anvil, though, was their dream. Just like it had been for Laverna's father, Cornelius, and her mother, Venus.

The Thieves Guild usually kept them under their protection, but that safety was fading. The Crimson Claws, a ruthless gang led by the Khajiit Dar'Jhan, were taking over the underworld. Bodies of beggars sometimes washed up in the water—punishment for tipping off the Thieves Guild about jobs Dar'Jhan had wanted for himself. A rare alchemical ingredient called Lichor was often left as their signature in the victim's pocket.

The beggars, once the eyes and ears of the Grey Fox, were now too terrified to speak. No amount of gold could change that.

For almost two years, Azarath and Laverna had pulled off their schemes without drawing the attention of the Crimson Claws. But their luck was bound to run out eventually. One morning, after a heist at a noble's estate on the outskirts of the Imperial City, Azarath woke to sunlight filtering through the cracks in their shack's wooden walls. Groggily, he turned over and saw Laverna sitting on the floor, turning something over in her hands. A dull glow of dwarven metal caught his eye.

He sat up, rubbing his face. "Laverna… what the hell is that?"

She grinned, holding up an ornate dwarven crown embedded with shimmering gemstones. "A little souvenir from last night."

Azarath blinked, now fully awake. "That's not just some regular gem, Laverna. That looks rare. Where did you even find it?"

"In that noble's estate we were in," she said with a shrug, admiring the craftsmanship. "It was just sitting there, collecting dust."

Azarath fidgeted with his hands, uneasy.

"Augustus Valerius," Laverna lowered her voice, exaggeratedly mimicking a male Imperial. "That was his name. Why can't we Imperials ever have normal or dull names? Every one of us sounds like we're some kind of historical figure or something."

Azarath ran a hand through his hair. He wasn't in the mood for humor. "You don't think someone's gonna miss that? That's not some loose coin purse you swiped. This is the kind of thing people come looking for."

"Oh, relax," she waved him off. "Nobody's coming for it. If it was that important, they would've protected it better."

Azarath exhaled, unconvinced. Something about this felt off, but Laverna had a way of brushing off his worries.

But what neither of them knew was that the crown wasn't just any artifact—it was a key piece in a scheme orchestrated by the Crimson Claws. They had planned to steal it because of its immense value. And now, it was gone before they could get their claws on it.".

That night, Azarath and Laverna slept soundly, unaware of the storm coming for them.

Until—

The door burst open. Before either of them could react, rough hands yanked them from their shared bedroll.

A sack was shoved over Azarath's head. He heard Laverna cursing, struggling against their captors, but there was no escaping this.
The Crimson Claws had found them