THEO Thorne wrapped his arms tighter around himself. He shivered, the chilling, biting wind hissing through the city rattling his bones; it howled like starving wolves. The powdered ice was freezing through his weathered deerskin boots.

The spires of the Aegremont rose high in the distance, the twinkling lights of the city of Vallabrada like dancing fireflies in the midst of the harsh winter. The night's watchman stepped out into the darkness, standing guard by the main gates, on the palace's battlements and patrolling the dead streets.

The lights of the city slowly died away, the firefly lights disappearing into the night. The silhouettes of buildings and the Aegremont towered dauntingly, regal and tall, against the dark sky.

Theo approached the gates. He lowered his head further to negate the bitter wind, and slipped through mere minutes before they thundered close for the night.

The streets were empty. There was nothing but the lonely lamp posts holding up their small flames flickering uneasily before the wrath of the cold. The citizens of Vallabrada were no strangers to winter—guarded, shuttered windows and doors and the imported Solærian fur coats worn by the watchmen were a good indication of that.

Theo trudged down the street, his boots crunching under the fine layer of ice adorning the cobblestone footpaths.

He breathed warmth into his bare hands as the cold song sung by the wind echoed through the city. He rubbed his palms in agitation; they were cold and tired and refused to get warm.

Four days.

It had taken Theo four days to walk from his family's farm in Seca to the brilliant city of Vallabrada. He'd heard stories about the glorious metropolis. Never in his life did he ever foresee himself walking the streets of the capital of Florain, a place where farm boys like him stuck out in the worst of ways.

But when people like Theo had nowhere to go—no destination to pave a path towards—everyone set course for Vallabrada.

Theo wrapped a frozen hand around the hilt of the sword at his hip. His father had given it to him. His final words continued to ring out in his head.

"R-Run," his father had stuttered through blood-soaked teeth and lips, hand to the hole in his chest as if the mere pressure of his palm would keep his insides in. "T-Take the sword. Take it and r-run."

And that's what he did. Theo had ripped the sword from his father's dead hands and took off, sprinting from the farm and out of the valley towards the main road, heading in any direction that would take him far from his home that went up in a lick of flame behind him.

Shadows crept past Theo's peripherals. He ignored them. They were probably nothing, just contours of the night.

And then he saw them again.

More than one.

A rustle pricked Theo's hearing, sinister whisperings that sent his senses into overdrive.

Danger, they said, you're in danger.

Before Theo could even think about running, he was surrounded.

They were dirty and straggly with wiry, wild hair. Filthy hands folded over and over each other hungrily as hollow, starving eyes watched Theo eagerly. They were all probably no older than Theo, sixteen or seventeen-year-old boys and girls who looked far too haggard for their age.

Theo resisted the urge to draw his sword.

Despite their appearance, they were probably friendly; he didn't want any trouble because he was brash enough to wave around a blade as he followed an assumption.

Theo's eyes flicked from one gaunt individual to another. "I don't have anything."

A girl with stringy, greasy blonde hair bared three black teeth and hissed, "hand over the sword."

Theo gripped the hilt tighter, his knuckles bleaching white as his grasp grew in intensity the closer a taller skinny boy approached.

Theo wasn't going to surrender the sword. He never would. Never. It was the only thing he had left of his father. The last piece of his family's lineage. He just couldn't hand it over.

"What do we have here?"

Two pale boys with patchy bald heads separated, making way for someone new to enter the circle.

He was a short man, mismatched colored hair of russet brown with silver roots reaching down to his shoulders. An unkempt, grey speckled beard hid a pointed chin. Ungroomed eyebrows rose slowly in curiosity. A blackened, cracked smile greeted Theo, who swallowed the bile building in his throat.

The old man's brow furrowed like crinkled parchment. "That is a lovely sword." He clasped his hands behind his back and bent forward slightly. "Aldorian steel, yes?"

Theo remained silent as he angled himself away from the old man.

"Oh, dear!" the old man gasped. "Where are my manners!"

He held out a weathered, wrinkly hand. "I am Osmund. Old Osmund as my friends like to call me."

He splayed his hands. "And I am the Thief Lord of Vallabrada!"

Theo's brow knitted together. His eyes flicked around to the other children around him, some who rolled their eyes, others who rubbed the back of their neck exhaustedly, some who just turned their backs.

"Well, self-proclaimed," Osmund added.

Indeed, Theo thought.

Who in the Goddess was this strange man? There was an aura wafting off him that set Theo on edge. A cold shiver slithered down his spine, forcing his body to spasm once.

Or was that just the cold?

"And who might you be?"

"I am no one." Theo kept his peripherals on those around him, watching them all warily for their next move. "I am just someone looking for a safe place to stay."

Osmund raised his chin. "An orphan?"

Theo clenched his jaw. "Something like that."

"Ah! Another one!"

Osmund popped the collar of his woolen coat as he walked towards Theo. Theo backed up a step, and Osmund raised his hands in response.

"Easy, child," he cooed. He gestured to the other teenagers around them. "We're all orphans here. We all once had families who abandoned us—"

"I was not abandoned," Theo bit back.

Osmund nodded slowly. "Ah. A child torn by tragedy."

Theo exhaled through his nostrils, enough of a response for an attempt at a sympathetic smile to stretch Osmund's face.

"I take in orphans, son." The sympathetic smile turned into a sinister grin, revealing black teeth again. "In Vallabrada, we all need a place to go. It is such a dangerous place, after all."

Theo squinted suspiciously.

There was something fishy about this man. He didn't seem like the kind of do-gooder who took in orphaned children on merit or by the goodness of his heart. He had an ulterior motive, that much was clear, especially so with the way he eyed Theo's sword.

Theo flicked his gaze up to the old man. "What's the catch?"

Osmund's eyes widened and his brow rose. "Catch? There is no catch."

"I find that difficult to believe."

Osmund threaded his long, bony fingers in front of him. "All right, son. Why don't we start again, hmm? This time, with a bit more transparency."

Theo rolled his shoulders. He'd let this play out. Perhaps he could receive something out of this; out of this man.

His parents were dead, his home was gone, he had nowhere to go. It wasn't like Theo had any more to lose. What could possibly go wrong here?

"My name is Old Osmund," the old man began again. "I'm a thief." He gestured to all the children around them. "We all are."

Osmund pocketed his hands in his coat. "I am a teacher. I teach these students—my children—how to live in Vallabrada. How to truly live in the Capital of Crime."

Theo watched warily as Osmund strolled around him. "We steal. We pickpocket, we rob, we take what we need to survive, all without drawing a single drop of blood. In exchange, I offer shelter. I offer a home. A place to call your own."

Theo glared at Osmund. He watched him carefully, looking keenly for deceit.

Thieves lied. Good thieves lied well.

But Theo could not see deception. Perhaps the old man was telling the truth. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more of a catch to this explanation.

Osmund bowed. "And you are, son?"

Theo relaxed his shoulders slightly. "Theo Thorne."

Osmund grinned. "Well! It's a pleasure to meet you, Theo Thorne!" He whipped around to his band of thieves. "Lads and lassies, welcome Theo!"

The boys and girls around them waved lazily, clearly now disinterested that there was nothing to steal from this weary traveler.

"Don't mind them, my boy!" Osmund waved them off. "Off you go, children. I need to talk to Mr. Thorne alone."

The call to leave seemed like a blessing to the little family who disappeared into the shadows from whence they came.

"Where do you hail from, son?"

"Seca."

"Seca, huh? You have come a long way." Osmund spread his arms. "What brings you to our glorious city, Theo Thorne?"

"Nowhere to go," Theo replied bluntly.

"Ah, yes. When one has nowhere to go, one always ends up in Vallabrada." Osmund's forehead creased. "What has led you to the awful destination of orphanhood?"

Theo bit the inside of his cheeks before replying; it was all still so raw.

He gripped the sword tighter. "A fire. Bandits raided our farm. They slaughtered my mother, butchered my father." Theo tried to swallow the knot in his throat. "I don't even know what happened to my little sister. The last I heard of her were her screams."

Theo exhaled heavily and tilted his head up to prevent the tears from rolling down his cheeks. "And then the farm was set alight. I barely escaped."

Osmund's features softened; the only true expression Theo believed. "My condolences."

Theo inclined his head slightly.

"You need a place to lie low," Osmund deduced.

Theo fiddled with the rounded pommel of his sword. "I...yes. I have nowhere to go. I have no family to go to. My parents and my sister were all I had."

Osmund stepped closer to Theo. Theo didn't step back this time.

"I have a place for you to stay, Theo."

"And in return, I become a criminal."

"In return, I teach you how to survive in Vallabrada," Osmund corrected. "This is not a kind place. It is one of wonders. And also, a place of immense darkness. Survivors thrive here. The weak do not. And the honest? They never last long in this city."

Theo squinted. "And the catch?"

Osmund rested worn hands on the boy's shoulders. "My band is my family. And my family extends to something greater. I have but one ask to all who join. One request."

"What?"

"The Black Raven Syndicate."

Theo's lips parted.

The Black Raven Syndicate.

The largest, most ruthless crime organization in Florain, maybe in all of Aldora. The greatest of all crimes were members, and only selection from the organization itself granted access to outsiders.

Theo knew a Raven once.

Ellaborn Mandred.

He'd seen him around the village back in Seca. He'd always looked like a friendly man. But there had always been some kind of unusual air to him, especially when he always flashed his Syndicate tattoo: a raven in flight on the inside of his wrist.

It wasn't until Theo was older that he found out that Ellaborn Mandred had been a child murderer in his youth. He'd slain children for the Syndicate, for a reason Theo never found out.

"The Syndicate are protectors of Vallabrada," Osmund explained.

"Criminals?"

"Of a crime city, yes. Members of the Syndicate are not just protectors of Vallabrada, but are the protected. The Syndicate is a family, but a family not bound by blood."

Theo tilted his head. "Why are you telling me this?'

Osmund lifted his chin. "I will teach you the ways of Vallabrada. I will teach you the values of the Syndicate. I will prepare you to become the greatest of Ravens, greatness you would never have achieved in the backwaters of Seca."

He looked upon Theo proudly. "You will henceforth be my apprentice."

Theo's brow crinkled in all kinds of stunned and confusion. What in the Goddess's name was this man talking about?

The Black Raven Syndicate was something he never envisioned himself being a part of. He wasn't a criminal. Stealing made him guilty. Committing crimes wasn't in the threads of himself. It forced a pit in his stomach that made him sick. Even as a child, he could never do it. His mother always found out; she was always good at that. She could always see right through him.

She was gone now. They all were.

Everything was gone.

Theo had nothing left. Nothing but the sword at this hip.

He had to live the Vallabradan way now. There was nothing but survival now. Survival was all that mattered.

"All right." Theo looked up. "All right."

He stared at the old men directly in the eye. "I'll do whatever you want. As long as you'll give me a place to stay."

His eyes flicked down. "For now."

Osmund grinned widely, wrinkles pulling and stretching skin around his skull. "Excellent!"

He stepped back. "Now, for the first test."

Osmund held out his hands. "The sword."

Theo's eyes flashed. "What?"

"The sword, my boy. Personal possessions do not exist in this family. Only each other."

"B-But...But this was my father's. It's all I have left of him."

"And I sympathize. But personal possessions are exploitative. They are a weakness. There is no room for such frailty." Osmund tapped his fingers against his palm. "The sword, Theo."

Theo felt his lower lip quiver and his eyes shimmer.

He saw no such sympathy in Osmund's aged face now. He was a hard man, there was no doubt about that. But a man capable of empathy, it seemed.

Osmund was right.

This was a new start for Theo. Not by choice, but the beginning of a new life either way, a life in a city that had no kind of affinity or compassion.

And so, he had no place in holding anything from his old life. He had to let that die; let it die with the rest of what he left in Seca.

Theo unstrapped the sheathed sword from his hip and surrendered it to Osmund. The old man received it gladly.

Osmund wrapped a slithery arm around Theo's shoulders. "Allow me to present the tour."

He waved his arm out.

"Theo Thorne, welcome to Vallabrada!"