The Dravenholm branch of the Fellowship of the Seven Stars stood like an unyielding monolith—a testament to absolute authority. Towering spires clawed at the heavens, their gilded tips reflecting the dim torchlight lining the streets. Its massive, reinforced doors bore intricate carvings of divine decrees, etched in celestial script that only the most devout could decipher. A place of worship for the faithful, a courthouse for the damned, and a fortress for those who enforced Solmiel's will.
To an ordinary person, infiltrating this structure was madness. But to Jack, madness was just another name for a gamble.
He sat perched on the rooftop of a crumbling building across the street, his lean frame draped in a tattered cloak that barely concealed the arsenal beneath—knives, playing cards laced with essence, smoke bombs, and a small pouch of dice that rattled softly with every movement. His auburn hair was a tangled mess, tousled by the wind, and his sharp green eyes gleamed with amusement as he studied his target.
He rolled a coin between his fingers—a nervous habit, or perhaps an unconscious ritual before every gamble. This wasn't his first heist, but it was easily the most reckless. Stealing from the Fellowship? That was asking for a death sentence.
But the payment… oh, the payment was worth the risk.
His contact had been elusive, only leaving a message:
Retrieve the artifact within the vault, and you shall receive what you asked for.
Jack didn't care about the artifact. What he wanted was power—essence, raw and unfiltered. Something to fuel his ever-risky gambles.
With a grin, he flipped the coin. It spun midair, catching the moonlight before landing on the back of his hand.
Heads.
Time to roll the dice.
Jack moved like a whisper through the night, slipping into the alley beside the temple. His fingers traced the brickwork until they found a weak point—just as his sources had informed him. A slight press, and the stone shifted inward, revealing a hidden maintenance shaft.
"Too easy," he murmured, slipping inside.
The passage was narrow, forcing him to crawl, but soon he emerged into the lower levels of the temple. Dimly lit corridors stretched ahead, patrolled by armored sentinels of the Fellowship. The scent of incense mixed with cold steel, a reminder that this place was both sanctuary and prison.
Jack exhaled slowly, reaching into his pouch.
A gamble.
He pulled out a single die, whispering, "Come on, lady luck…" before rolling it on the stone floor.
It landed on a six.
Instantly, his form shimmered, blending with the shadows. A temporary illusion—one that wouldn't hold if someone looked too closely. With measured steps, he slipped past the guards, his heart hammering with excitement.
He found the vault doors deep within the temple's heart—reinforced, inscribed with divine sigils meant to repel intruders.
Jack smirked.
"That's cute."
He reached into his sleeve, pulling out a deck of cards. Selecting a single one, he flicked it toward the lock. The moment it touched the surface, the card ignited with dark essence, seeping into the mechanisms within.
A second later, the vault door clicked open.
Jack stepped inside, eyes scanning the treasure trove before him. Gold, relics, ancient tomes of forgotten power. But he wasn't here for any of that.
His gaze landed on a small black box, pulsing with restrained energy.
Bingo.
Just as he reached for it—
A voice boomed behind him.
"Thief."
Jack barely had time to react before a force slammed into him, sending him crashing against the vault wall. His illusion shattered, his breath knocked from his lungs.
A figure stepped into the vault—clad in ceremonial armor, a silver spear crackling with divine energy in hand. A Horn of the Fellowship.
"Surrender, and your punishment will be merciful. Resist, and you will burn."
Jack grinned despite the pain. "Oh, I love those odds."
Then he grabbed the artifact and ran.
Alarms rang throughout the temple. Jack darted through the corridors, dodging guards, flipping over altars, and slipping between pillars like a wraith. Bolts of divine light rained down, scorching the air around him, but he moved with the grace of someone who had danced with death more times than he could count.
He burst out into the streets of Dravenholm, panting, heart pounding. Almost there—
And then he collided with Ify.
She had been walking down the street, minding her own business, when suddenly—
WHAM.
Jack crashed into her, grabbing her by the arm before she could react.
"Run."
Before she could even process what was happening, he dragged her along.
Behind them, the temple doors burst open, armored figures spilling into the streets.
The Fellowship was coming.
They barely made it into an empty parking lot before Jack yanked Ify behind a dumpster, clamping a hand over her mouth as security drones hovered past, scanning the streets with red lights. The sirens of patrol vehicles echoed in the distance, but none stopped.
When the last of them disappeared around the corner, Jack let out a breath and released her. "Phew. That was close. Thanks for the help, sweetheart."
Ify didn't hesitate—she punched him.
Jack barely had time to react before her fist collided with his face, sending him sprawling into a pile of trash bags. A dent formed in the metal dumpster behind him from the sheer force of her blow. He groaned, rubbing his jaw. "Oof… damn, you hit like a—"
Then he felt it.
The streetlights flickered, their glow dimming as if something unnatural was swallowing the illumination. Shadows stretched unnaturally, slithering up the concrete walls of the alley like hungry beasts. Ify's eyes gleamed crimson, her canines extending slightly, and her breath came slow and controlled—but her fury was anything but.
"You—reckless, brain-dead fool!" she hissed, stepping toward him. Her shadow moved with her, splitting into jagged tendrils that coiled and lashed against the ground, leaving scorch-like marks on the pavement.
Jack's instincts screamed at him to move, but the second he tried, his legs locked up.
His veins burned—a deep, pulsing ache spreading from his limbs to his chest. His breathing hitched as a sudden wave of nausea and fatigue crashed over him.
Status effect. Weakness.
Ify had done something to him. Cursed him. And she wasn't done.
Jack slumped back against the dumpster, coughing. "Alright, alright—let's, uh, breathe, yeah? No need to go full horror movie on me."
Ify stopped inches from his face, her crimson gaze burning into him. The streetlights above buzzed violently before shattering, sending sparks raining down. Her shadow tendrils snapped back, slithering into the darkness.
Jack let out a breath of relief as the pressure eased. The burning in his veins faded, and his legs regained their strength. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, forcing a grin.
"Damn… remind me never to piss you off."
Ify's fists trembled, but she took a step back, inhaling sharply. Jack could see it now—the internal war in her expression. She had almost ripped him apart without meaning to.
She turned away, fists clenching.
Jack, still slumped against the dumpster, let out a nervous chuckle. "Uh… so, about that explanation—"
Ify grabbed him by the collar.
"Start talking. Now."
Jack dusted himself off, rolling his shoulders with a wince. "Look, I'd love to explain right here in the middle of an alley where I was almost murdered—but how about we go somewhere less… murder-y?"
Ify didn't loosen her grip on his collar.
Jack raised his hands in surrender. "Relax, I know a place. Just trust me a little, yeah?"
Ify scoffed but released him with a shove. "Fine. But if you try anything stupid, I won't hold back next time."
Jack flashed a lopsided grin. "Noted."
---
The bar Jack led her to was a run-down dive hidden in a forgotten corner of Dravenholm. A neon sign flickered above the entrance, half the letters burnt out. Inside, the air smelled of cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, and the only patrons were old regulars slumped over their drinks. A shabby bartender wiped the counter with a rag that was probably dirtier than the surface itself.
Jack picked a secluded booth at the back, gesturing for Ify to sit. She did—but her sharp gaze never left him.
After ordering a whiskey for himself (which Ify promptly snatched from his hands and downed in one go), Jack sighed and leaned back.
"Alright, story time," he muttered, running a hand through his messy blond hair.
He looked at her, his usual cocky grin fading. "I needed a lot of money. Fast."
Ify raised a brow. "For what?"
Jack exhaled. "Medicine. My sister—she's sick. Really sick. Some nasty disease the doctors don't even have a name for yet. The treatment is experimental, and guess what? Costs a fortune."
A shadow crossed Ify's expression, but she said nothing.
Jack continued, voice quieter now. "I tried everything—gambling, smuggling, forging old relics for collectors. But it wasn't enough. Then, one day, this… mysterious bastard shows up."
"Mysterious?" Ify asked.
Jack nodded. "Yeah. Never saw their face, but they knew everything about me—my skills, my debts, my sister." He tapped the table. "They said they'd pay me exactly what I needed. No negotiation, no funny business. All I had to do was break into the Fellowship of the Seven Stars' vault here in Dravenholm and steal a certain artifact."
Ify frowned. "And you didn't question that?"
Jack shrugged. "Of course I did. But I don't have the luxury to care. I need that money."
His fingers tapped the wood rhythmically. Then, he smirked slightly. "One thing I do know is that the artifact wasn't just some fancy trinket. It's old. Pre-Solmiel era old."
Ify froze.
Her fingers clenched against the table. "That's impossible."
Jack watched her reaction with interest. "Is it?" He leaned forward. "Solmiel's rule began three thousand years ago, right? Everything before that was supposedly wiped from history."
Ify's mind raced.
Artifacts from before Solmiel's reign shouldn't exist—not officially, at least. Anything related to the old world was purged, buried, or rewritten by the Fellowship.
Jack's voice lowered. "Whatever I stole… it's something the Fellowship didn't want the world to know about."
Ify's heart pounded. If that were true… then this was bigger than either of them had realized.