~ 5 Years Later ~
"Get them!"
Frid tore through the narrow alleyways, slipping past grasping hands and lunging figures with practised ease. Boots thundered against stone behind him, the shouts of his pursuers echoing through the empty streets.
Unlike a few years ago, his movements were sharper now—cleaner, more deliberate. He had always been strong, but even at just ten years old, he could now run circles around most grown men without breaking a sweat.
And it was all thanks to these little escapades with his firecracker of a friend.
As usual, Frid ended up taking the brunt of the consequences for her ridiculous decision-making while she conveniently disappeared with those strange, fantastical powers of hers.
Though if he was being honest, he had no one to blame but himself.
He was the one who kept following her around.
"Psst!"
Frid's head snapped toward the sound.
A flash of red hair hung over the edge of a nearby rooftop.
"Get up here already!" Daphne hissed.
Frid spared a quick glance behind him. The gap between him and the pursuing men was shrinking—but it was still enough.
Planting his feet, he braced and launched himself upward. The leap carried him halfway up the wall before gravity pulled him back, but he didn't stop. His feet struck the rough stone, and he sprinted the rest of the way up the surface in a few quick steps.
His hand shot upward.
Daphne caught it immediately and hauled him onto the rooftop just as the men slammed into the walls of the building below.
Frid rolled onto the tiles beside her, his breathing steady.
Daphne grinned.
"Took you long enough."
"Shut up," Frid muttered. He pushed himself up, brushing the dust from his clothes before shooting her a small glare. "I told you to leave me out of that kind of stuff."
The redhead paused, staring at him blankly.
"That kind?" she repeated.
Then her playful expression crept back—though there was something darker behind it now, a glint in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
"Grow up already," she said lightly. "You're scared of words now?"
She glanced back toward the direction they had fled from and let out a small chuckle. The wind tugged at her mid-back length red hair, rustling the folds of her ornate black-and-gold dress.
"It's killing," she said matter-of-factly, her voice turning chillingly cold. "I killed them."
Frid didn't respond. He simply stared at her.
Since that day in the fighting rings, something about Daphne had been… different. She still acted the same on the surface—same jokes, same reckless grin—but there was a restless edge to her now. Like she was always desperately chasing the next moment—or maybe trying to make it happen faster.
She wasn't listening to reason anymore, either. Not even from the sisters she respected more than anyone. Maybe that was why Frid couldn't bring himself to leave her alone. Without someone watching her back, he was worried she'd eventually get herself killed.
Her eyes flicked back to him.
"Anyway," she said casually, "that strength of yours sure is convenient. You outran those guys for the last hour, then jumped halfway up this three-story building. And that's not even counting all the fighting before."
Frid shrugged. "I don't get it either. My mom never wants to talk about it, no matter how many times I ask."
"That's too bad," Daphne said, shaking her head. "If I knew how to be like you, things would be a lot easier."
Frid ignored the underlying meaning of her words and instead took control of the conversation.
"You have literal powers," he said in a deadpan. "You're doing just fine."
Daphne blinked, then stared down at the palm of her hand as if seeing it for the first time.
"Ah… right," she murmured.
"So what are we doing next?"
Frid scoffed. "I'm going home. And so are you. That was the deal—you don't do any of this crazy stuff unless I'm around."
"I'll walk you back then."
Daphne stepped forward, only for Frid to stop her with an arm across her path.
"What?"
"Did you forget I'm keeping all this a secret?" Frid said, giving her a look. "And I'm barely doing a decent job of that as it is."
The redhead scowled, kicking at an imaginary pebble and turning her face away. She never said it out loud, but every time Frid reminded her that their friendship had to stay a secret, it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"I keep forgetting," she said dryly. "You're embarrassed of me."
Frid's head snapped toward her.
"I didn't say that."
"Yeah, yeah." She hopped onto the edge of the building, balancing there as she walked along it like a tightrope. "It's okay, Mother's Knight. I get it."
Suddenly, her foot slipped.
Frid tensed, already stepping forward—
—but she caught herself immediately and burst into laughter.
"That's not funny!"
"It was to me," she managed between bouts of hysterical giggling.
She wiped the tears from her eyes, and as she did, soft blue flower petals began to form around her body. They drifted lazily through the air, gathering until they filled the space around her.
"Get going already," she said with a brash smile. "I'll see you tomorrow. Like always."
And then she was gone.
Frid stood there as the petals slowly fizzled away into nothing.
After a moment, he sighed and stepped toward the edge of the roof, glancing down into the maze of alleyways below. Groups of grunts were still running around.
It was a miracle none of them had decided to come up.
"I wonder why…" he muttered.
Taking a few steps back, Frid broke into a run and leapt toward the next rooftop. He landed, kept moving, and jumped again—crossing the buildings one after another until he finally reached the quieter part of town where he lived. All the while wishing he had a power that could just poof him away like Daphne.
Or at the very least, let him fly.
---
Crash
Frid stepped out of his landing site with a wince. While the general area he'd arrived at was mostly vacant, he still wanted to maintain a low profile. The noise he'd just caused was the exact opposite of that. He dusted himself off quickly, already glancing around.
"Flashy landing."
The voice came from behind him—casual, almost bored.
Frid sighed. Of course, this happened... again.
"…Hey there, Mister Mayor," he said, turning with an awkward, practised smile. "Nice evening, right? Sunset looks good."
"Yeah… real nice," Brun replied, peering at him over the edge of his newspaper. "So, was it fun? Fighting it out with the Vipers?"
Frid stiffened before quickly correcting himself.
"Oh, I'm just guessing," Brun added, folding the paper slightly. "Could've been someone else you decided to start trouble with today."
"No. Nothing like that, sir," Frid said. "I just went for a walk. It was… pretty boring."
"That right?"
Nothing in Brun's voice—or his face—suggested he believed a word of it.
"Yep. But I should get going. I lost track of time, and my mom's probably worried."
Frid turned and started to walk away.
Brun watched him for a moment, then lowered his newspaper to the ground beside him. He adjusted the brim of his hat, letting it shade his eyes as he took a slow breath.
"Do you know why I haven't told Mirena about your little escapades?"
Frid stopped mid-step.
He turned back, expression carefully neutral, but didn't answer.
Truth was, he'd wondered the same thing ever since Brun first confronted him a little over four years ago.
There was something about the man that made the boy uncomfortable. Maybe it was the way he somehow knew about what he was doing with his time. Or maybe it was the fact that he'd known his father—and held him in high regard.
"I don't like you, kid," Brun said after a beat. "That's one thing you've got in common with your old man."
He spat to the side, like the thought of the man itself disgusted him.
"The difference…" Brun went on, voice lowering slightly, "is that I respected him."
Frid said nothing.
"Your mother's a good woman," Brun continued. "Works herself to the bone for you. Doesn't have to—but she does."
His gaze sharpened.
"And you, being the little shit that you are, don't get what that costs her."
Brun inhaled deeply, his head drooping.
"If she knew what you were really doing…"
He exhaled through his nose.
"She'd probably break."
The raven-haired boy didn't offer a response. He turned and began walking away, barely hiding the anger tightening his jaw.
"Did I hit a sore spot?" Brun called after him. "It's not about what you're doing. You already know it's wrong. You're not stupid."
Frid kept walking.
"So then what—because I'm the one saying it?" Brun continued, his voice rising to carry the distance. His tone stretched into something mocking. "No… that can't be it. Otherwise, I'd be wrong, and you'd actually just be an idiot."
Frid didn't turn around.
"Which leaves…" Brun paused, then let out a rough chuckle. "You're just an immature brat who hates being compared to his father."
In a blur, Frid was in front of him.
Even he might've questioned how fast he had moved if anger hadn't consumed his thoughts.
Brun blinked, surprised for half a second, before Frid grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up from the ground he sat on, despite the massive difference in size.
"What?" Brun asked calmly, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. "You gonna hit me?"
Frid's grip tightened. The fabric strained under his fists.
For a moment, it looked like he might.
Then he shoved Brun back and stepped away, taking in a few sharp breaths.
"I am not him," Frid spat venomously.
Before Brun could answer, the boy turned and leapt away, vanishing into the outskirts toward his home.
Brun sighed, picking up his fallen bucket hat, dusting it off, and settling it back onto his head while straightening his collar.
His eyes lingered in the direction Frid had gone.
He shook his head slowly.
How different the boy was from the man everyone still called the Hero of Gatz.
"What a shame that is."
The quiet words drifted away on the wind, with no one left to hear them.
---
- Lukaria City (Menagerie) -
The pub was rowdy as ever.
Wooden mugs slammed against tables, laughter roared through the smoke-thick air—but tonight the noise carried an extra edge. Wagers were being thrown around with unusual enthusiasm.
At the centre of it all sat a blond boy. Eleven years old at most. A cocky grin tugged at his face as he watched the coins pile higher while people eagerly bet against him.
The doors burst open.
Three figures staggered inside, bruised and filthy, armour dented in several places.
"Damn it… they're alive," a shifty, portly man muttered.
Pendrick didn't even look surprised.
"And that…" he said, sweeping the mound of silver toward himself, "is my win."
Coins clinked loudly as he gathered them without bothering to count.
"You little brat!"
A woman from the battered group stormed forward, clearly their leader. She slammed a hand onto the table and leaned into the boy's face.
"You said it would be an easy score!" she shouted. "No guards!"
Pendrick blinked up at her.
"Did I?" he said mildly. Then the grin returned.
"Right. I did say that." He leaned back in his chair. "I thought you might chicken out otherwise."
The woman's face flushed with fury.
Pendrick gave a cheerful shrug.
"Sorry about that."
Over the last five years, Pendrick had extracted every scrap of knowledge he could from his instructor, Donovan. Rather than settle into the quiet life expected of someone with his upbringing, he chose a different path.
An absolutely absurd one.
Pendrick Dorn—a noble by birth—had become a fixer for heists targeting the very nobility he came from.
A year into it, he'd already become quite the mythical figure.
They called him a mastermind. A prodigy, even.
But the label that stuck—the one people said with equal parts admiration and vitriol—was far less flattering.
An untrustworthy, lowdown, silver-tongued trickster.