Autumn arrived with the falling leaves of the Let tree, an unmistakable sign that the festive season was about to begin in the bustling city of Eret. As every year, the region’s largest market was organized in honor of the civilization’s founding, attracting merchants, jesters, and citizens from all corners. The streets filled with life, with aromas ranging from sweet pumpkin pie to spicy white ox sausage, while the constant hum of the crowd, hawkers, and endless activity filled the air.

Eret was not just a city; it was a sprawling monster, its dark tentacles extending beyond its walls, wrapping around every alley and shadow. Its inhabitants walked as if under a constant mist, their faces dulled by the weight of the city's secrets.

The people of Eret grew up believing their city was forged under the protection of the gods. The world, they said, emerged from a dark ocean that devoured light: Chaos. From that abyss arose Erethan, the First God, who in his boundless power shaped Priya, the First Goddess and Mother of All. She brought shape and order to the world, but in doing so, sealed within the heart of Eret a force so ancient and deadly that some claimed only love or death could unleash it. From their union were born the First Beings, guardians of humanity, and with them, Eret, as a symbol of order amid the darkness.

As the city prospered, the gods of Eret became central figures in its religion and mythology, with priests and priestesses interpreting their desires and messages. The city experienced a commercial peak, monopolizing maritime routes and essential exports, while its palaces shone with ostentation. Yet, the rulers’ opulence sharply contrasted with the lives of the citizens, who could barely afford a handful of provisions while their leaders squandered on wine, silks, and luxuries.

Unlike those who grew up believing in the gods’ protection, Meena, hidden in the market’s shadows, felt no more protection than what she could secure for herself. She had grown up in the city orphanage, a place without hope, where bread was rationed like words of comfort: sparse and tasteless. Meena, one more among that flock of forgotten children, had learned early that only those who expected nothing from the world survived in it.

The priests who cared for the children taught her to read and write but not to trust in the gods they worshipped. Meena had heard all the stories, the legends of Erethan and Priya, but to her, they were nothing more than tales to keep the masses in check. No god had intervened when she was left alone in the world, and no god had stopped hunger and cold from being her only companions on many nights.

Days in the orphanage were a monotony of duties and obedience, interrupted only by punishments from the priests when a child dared to break the rules. Meena had quickly learned to navigate that world with cunning, avoiding the caretakers' attention and finding ways to make her life a bit more bearable. As she grew, she began exploring the streets of Eret, both fascinated and repelled by the city’s ostentation. It was in those streets that she discovered her natural talent for theft. Over time, Meena became an expert thief. Her face, with the delicate beauty of youth, and her natural charm made her a perfect distraction. Most men were easy to manipulate; a coquettish smile or an apparently accidental touch was enough to lower their guard. While they were lost in her allure, Meena's hands worked quickly, extracting wallets and bags with precision honed over the years.

That day, like any other, Meena was in the market with a clear objective: to steal a bag full of gold coins from an unsuspecting merchant. The market was more crowded than usual, and Meena took advantage of every shadow, every distraction, to approach her target without raising suspicion. Vendors shouted their offers to passersby, and laughter echoed everywhere, covering the sound of her soft steps.

The merchant Meena had chosen was a middle-aged man in a burgundy velvet vest, his belt loaded with more coins than he could spend in a week. He was too busy haggling with a customer over the price of a fine gold brooch to notice the young woman sidling up to him from the side. Meena, adopting a relaxed posture, began examining the objects on his stand, feigning interest while inching closer to the loot.

“This brooch is a bargain, sir,” the merchant said, holding out the brooch in the customer’s hand. “You won’t find better quality or a better price in all of Eret.”

The customer, a chubby man with a graying beard, muttered something about his wife and what she might prefer, but Meena paid no attention to his words. Her eyes were fixed on the bag of coins, and her fingers tingled with anticipation. She had performed this trick hundreds of times and would do so countless more if necessary.

As the merchant showed off the brooch, Meena leaned slightly forward, ensuring the man could see her face. She smiled softly, enough to catch his attention for a second, while her hand slipped toward the bag of coins. In a smooth, nearly imperceptible motion, her fingers closed around the bag’s drawstring and loosened it. She felt the familiar weight in her hand, and her heart beat with an exhilarating rhythm.

“And what about this ring?” Meena asked suddenly, pointing to a piece of jewelry on the counter, making sure to keep the merchant’s attention while she tucked the bag under her cloak.

The merchant, thrilled to have another potential buyer, turned to her, oblivious to the fact that he had already lost more than he could have gained that day. Meena kept the conversation going for a few more minutes, just to secure her cover, and then, with one last smile, she bid him farewell and walked away from the stall.

She moved quickly, blending into the crowd, letting the bustle envelop and conceal her. The coins jingled softly inside her cloak, and a feeling of triumph filled her with each step. It had been a good day, and she was sure no one had seen her.

Meena rounded the corner swiftly, still focused on the loot she had secured in the bustling market. She saw nothing but her own darkness until she collided with a presence as firm as a mountain, as cold as the Chaos that, they said, surrounded the world. Looking up, she found herself face to face with the masked visage of a knight, whose skull-shaped mask bore sharp teeth that jutted out as if ready to tear. The sight made her take a step back, a shiver of fear running through her as her eyes were trapped in the mask's dark hollows.

The knight wore a matte black armor that absorbed the light around it, and on his chest was a dark, ominous emblem: a small skull with hollow eyes and a slightly open jaw, appearing to scream or laugh menacingly, sat at the center of a spiral turning counterclockwise, representing an eternal cycle of death. The spiral was surrounded by thorns stretching like roots or veins, and scattered around were withered flowers, particularly roses with fallen petals caught between life and death. This dark, absorbing symbol emanated a menacing, devouring power, intensifying the tension in the air as Meena tried to keep her composure, though she felt her pulse pounding like a war drum.

Without warning, the knight extended an arm, blocking her path, the cold metal penetrating her skin and quickening her heart. He tilted his head slightly and, in a slow motion, lifted his skull-shaped helmet, revealing his face and eyes so deep and penetrating that Meena felt herself falling into an even greater abyss. That gaze, serene and yet intense, seemed to hold unreachable secrets, capturing her entirely in an instant.

“Well, it seems we have a thief here,” he murmured in a deep, resonant voice.

The tone, soft and almost amused, revealed the discovery of a secret. Meena, trying not to show surprise, lifted her chin and looked at him with a hint of defiance.

“Are you going to give me a lesson, knight? Or perhaps you just intend to toy with me, like a cat with a mouse.”

The knight let out a soft laugh, low and almost seductive.

“A lesson?” he repeated, tilting his head with an air of amusement. “No, dear, that would be too easy. I’d rather see just how far you’re capable of going. That’s much more interesting, don’t you think?”

The comment threw her off completely. It wasn’t the response she had expected, and the knight’s playful, almost disarming tone left her speechless for a moment. He lowered his arm, allowing her to continue, but his eyes remained fixed on hers, as if throwing a silent challenge.

Meena felt a swirl of irritation and curiosity within her. Not wanting to appear more affected than she already was, she slipped quickly past him, trying to distance herself from his presence as soon as possible. But as she moved away, she couldn’t resist the temptation to turn her head and look at him once more.

The knight stood there, motionless, watching her with those eyes full of enigmas, as if he had seen something in her that even she did not know. Meena quickened her pace, feeling that the coins in her cloak weighed more than before, as though their encounter had left an invisible mark she would not easily forget.

The dying sun slid behind Eret's walls, painting the sky a bloody orange that bathed the cobblestone streets with an almost surreal glow. The shadows of the buildings stretched like long, thin fingers, reaching for Meena, as if wanting to trap her in their cold, treacherous embrace.

She reached her hideout, a small space hidden behind a ruined inn, and sat on the cold ground. She took the bag of coins from her cloak and opened it, letting the golden shine illuminate her face in the dim light. She had secured a good haul, but the thrill of the theft had vanished, replaced by an unease she couldn’t understand.

She stashed the coins in a safe corner and lay down on the ground, staring at the battered ceiling that allowed a glimpse of the starlit sky. The autumn wind seeped through the cracks in the walls, carrying with it the scent of dry leaves and the distant murmur of the market fading slowly. She closed her eyes, but the image of the knight was still there, etched in her mind.