Hair as white as the snow capped mountains of Hamrsett whipped past him. She was faster than him as always. It seemed like no matter how hard he trained, he just couldn’t get ahead of Miasys. Today isn’t that high-stakes he tried to assure himself, but it did little to soothe the bitter jealousy that burned in his heart like the first embers of a flame.

“And that’s time! Well done Miasys!” Moments later he was crossing the finish line himself. “Nice work Sylvester, you’re getting quicker!” He looked up at the old man congratulating him. Deep wrinkles lined the man’s face, and when he smiled Sylvester could see gaps in it where his teeth were missing. Beneath the wide brimmed leather hat he wore, sunken eyes glimmered with the wisdom of a thousand lives. Sylvester knew that the human only had the one. His hair turned whiter every season, and the wrinkles in him seemed to get deeper too. Sylvester idolized him. Bobidiah was old, he walked with a limp, his hands shook when he wrote or ate. Looking at him, Sylvester sometimes couldn’t believe that this was a legendary thief. Then Bobidiah would get that twinkle in his eye, and no matter how closely he watched his hands, he could never see the moment they snagged a bracelet, purse, ring, whatever. When he was working a lock his fingers were as deft as a bard’s. Not to mention Sylvester had seen the man scale a building as if he were out for a leisurely stroll. He couldn’t be sure what parts of Bobidiah were a con and which were things that he chose to work through anyway.

Miasys’s crow of victory broke through his quiet idolization, “Too slow Sly! How’d it feel to see the White Shadow win again?”

“I don’t know, Mees, how’d it feel to lose your coin pouch?”

Those inky eyes, the same color as the sky on Day’s Night widened and her hand flew to her hip where her coin pouch typically hung. He grinned and tossed it back to her. She was faster, but they were equals when it came to pickpocketing. Maybe he even had an edge over her on a good day. Another blink of those dark eyes and then she was laughing. It reminded him of the way water danced over stones worn smooth by time as a stream wound its way through hills. Sylvester felt it quench the jealous embers and he flashed a charming smile. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could have swore he saw a bit of pink dusting Miasys’s cheeks.

"Alright young'uns, time for lunch." Bobidiah gave his own lopsided smile and began limping over the cobblestones towards a small tavern. In winter, wind would sneak through the loose slats of the Winding Wyrm, bidding its inhabitants to order another drink to warm them against the chill. In summer, however, the breeze sailing through shoddy walls was a welcome refreshment. Walking inside, the Wyrm was the same as it ever was. Old benches and tables threatening to give its patrons splinters. A bar top that was twisted slightly and in danger of spilling the drinks set upon it. It smelled sour and old. Sly loved it if he was being honest. Bobidiah lowered himself onto a bench and raised a hand, signaling the tavern maid over. Sylvester sat down across from him and Miasys dropped into her seat with a quiet that always unnerved him. Her white hair always seemed like it should work against her stealth, yet he never saw her coming. The tavern maid—was her name Laila?—came over and took their order. While they waited, Bobidiah started talking through their race. The skill with which they navigated alleys, highlighting their successes and failures, making note of when they diverged from the planned path and the pros and cons of doing so. Every training and test was carefully planned. There was no formal place to train, no obstacle course or courtyard for running laps. There was also no better place than the town's own streets ever changing and moving with people and supplies moving from one place to another. As his mentor talked, Sylvester felt those burning embers start to reignite. Miasys is so great, so perfect, she's so fast, so agile. He felt like a lumbering hellbeast next to her!

Laila—yeah that's probably her name—came back with their food, and he welcomed the interruption. Reviews of their tests could turn into Miasys-praise fests and he hated how it made him feel. Their chatter slowed to a halt as they began tucking into the food in front of them. The Winding Wyrm was by no means a nice tavern, but it was hard to screw up potatoes and sausage. As he took a bite of a sausage that got burnt he shuddered—never mind, you could absolutely screw up potatoes and sausage. He took a few more bites then pushed his plate away, the bitter char lingered in his mouth and no amount of ale would chase it away. Maybe if he was allowed to have a proper mug instead of this watered-down swill, but Bobidiah said it would dull his senses and make him sick.

Once they all finished, Bobidiah paid their tab and they headed back home. Miasys skipped over the cobblestones, her feet barely touching the ground. Sylvester followed more slowly, still stewing over how much praise Miasys got. He didn't even notice Bobidiah falling into step beside him, until he felt the light tug at his coin purse. His head snapped up and Bobidiah was looking at him with that twinkle in his eyes. Sylvester rolled his eyes lightly, and said, "What is it old man?"

"I noticed you're getting a bit jealous again there, son."

"Ksshhh."

"Don't gimme that, lad, I've raised you since you were just knee-high to a gnome. I know you better than that."

Sylvester heaved a sigh and glanced up at him, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You're always praising Mees, it's like I can never match up with her."

Bobidiah stroked his scraggly beard, his cane clicking rhythmically on the cobblestones. "Y'know it's not true. Aye, she's a bit faster and more agile, but she's smaller than you, Cub. You're stronger and a better fighter than her, not to mention I think you could surpass me with those pickpocketing skills if you keep practicing." A brief pause as he looked Sly over. "And I was praising you, lad, I saw the way you weaved through the obstacles, and you even leapt clear over a box that Miasys had to stop and scramble over." Sylvester allowed himself a small smile glancing up at his mentor again. The jealous embers became a small flame of pride in himself. Bobidiah tousled his short golden hair with a chuckle. Sylvester made a small sound of annoyance as he swatted his hand away and fixed his hair.

Soon enough they were coming up to their home, it was one of the nicer buildings in Tolath. With how ancient it looked, it must have been one of the first too. Miasys and Sylvester tried to take care of it and upkeep it, but to little avail. The Lair, as they affectionately called it, kept them dry in the rain and warm in the winter. They kept the windows clean, and the roof patched. However, the Lair was rather small and cramped, and they'd often dream of grand mansions with plenty of room for all their schemes.

Miasys, of course, was the first through the door, followed by Sylvester and then Bobidiah brought up the rear. Sylvester could feel himself relax as he stepped through the door, the Lair was the one place he always felt calm. It wasn't the nicest place, but it was his home and he cherished it. He picked his way through the overcrowded living room, nearly tripping over the low table in the middle for what felt like the millionth time. It had been there since Bobidiah brought him home that brilliant night. Not that Night's Day could really have such a thing.

Thirty-six hours of luminous moonlight filling the sky. It was almost ironic that he had been dumped on the night that followers of Kandetreath were cleaning and letting go of the old and past. He didn't even know who his parents were, did they follow Kandetreath? Did they leave him on the brightest night in the hopes someone else would find him? Bobidiah had always been vague about the details of him being found. What he did know was that Bobidiah had said that finding him was his greatest joy. His little bear cub, with the strength in him and his courage in new tasks, if not new people. He had made it clear though that being his son wouldn't make things easier for him. If Sly wanted his contacts and knowledge, he'd have to work for it and prove he was worthy. He never felt threatened by Miasys, even when she started to surpass him. He still didn't feel threatened when he started to lag behind in skill.

He got to his room and threw himself on the bed. Sly didn't start feeling threatened and upset about her skill beyond the usual competitive fun until he got lost in the woods. He had wandered too deep and become hopelessly lost. The trees had seemed bigger and wilder, he saw plants he had never seen before, and shadows lurked at the edges of his vision. Sure he had found a way out, but something about it had felt so wrong. Like he was being watched the entire time. Burying his face in the slightly lumpy pillow he heaved a sigh and made a loose go on motion with his hand. "I know you're here, Mees, what is it?"

The slim moon elf girl dropped from the rafters, and if he had to guess, folded her arms and pouted at him. "I can sneak up on you without any issue most of the time. How do you always know when I'm in your room?"

"Because you always let your guard down at home, and you always come to my room after a test." The fact that he did it even when she wasn't around didn't need to be shared. His words were followed by a huff, and then the slight presence of her sitting on the end of his bed. Her presence was welcomed, and comforting in the turmoil of his thoughts. Sylvester rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. He tried to glare at her, but when she cocked a single eyebrow at him, he let out a small giggle. This was their little ritual, finding each other after every exam or training to chat and relax. He did want to be alone sometimes, but he couldn't deny he enjoyed this. "You did good out there Mees, I really thought I had you this time."

Miasys flipped her hair in an imitation of the noble ladies who occasionally visited their little town with their husbands. Though it was less of an imitation than a recollection of her childhood. "You always say that, Sly, and yet I always win." Her voice held just a touch of arrogance. When she stole a glance at him to see his disapproving stare she laughed. "You did good leaping over those boxes, I wish I was as tall as you."

"It'll happen eventually, Bobidiah says I grew fast for an elf, so I might be a half-breed or something. We know you're all moon elf so you'll get it eventually."

"I don't know about that, it's like you get the strength of a wild cat when you leap over those boxes. It's almost unnatural."

Time passed easily like this, just chatting about the exam and life. It was easy to forget his growing envy of her...

"It's not fair y'know? You're Bob's favorite."

The words hit him like a runaway carriage. "What? No way. 
You're so obviously his favorite, Mees! He praises you constantly!"

"He only spends so many words praising me because he's always giving you more attention and focused training."

"He'd give you just as much attention and focused training if you weren't so perfect," Sylvester snarked, "maybe you should try failing a little more!"

"Yeah, well, maybe you should try failing a little less!"

"Well- Well maybe you should notice your purse getting lifted more!"

"Maybe you should've been found by someone else!"

He could see the regret in her eyes as soon as the words left her lips. Hurt, jealousy, and anger burned in his chest like a house fire. "Sly I-" she stammered.

A quiet voice in the depths of his mind surged forth and urged his angry words on. "What are you even on about Miasys," the words came dark and quiet—he hadn't even finished speaking and he was regretting his words, "he at least wanted me enough to save me. You just annoyed him into taking you in, you had a home and you threw it away-"

"You know it wasn't that simple, my parents-"

"Didn't even want you after you couldn't go to one fancy event without making a fool of yourself. They didn't even ask that much of you and you still couldn't be a good daughter."

Hurt flashed across her face and she got up, pale skin turning scarlet. "You don't know what you're talking about!" She stalked out the door. He felt like cold water was dumped on him and the fire went out leaving him chilled. He scrambled to his feet reaching to stop her. "Mees, wait, I'm sorry! I didn't mean that, I'm sorry!" He went to grab her wrist and she yanked her hand back like his touch would burn her.

"Leave me alone."

Then she was melting into the shadows of the Lair and running from him.

"Stupid," he growled at himself. He dropped into his bed, limbs like lead. He hadn't meant to lash out at her. It was fair that she was jealous of him getting extra training with Bobidiah. Then the awful dark voice that spurred his hurtful words was creeping in and he found himself thinking that no, it wasn't fair. She didn't need it, he did. She had no right to be made like that. No right to bring up his past like that. The jealousy had reignited, burning hotter than it ever had before.

That night as he meditated he remembered what it had been like when Miasys came into their lives. She had been the daughter of some minor nobles in a far off place. A childhood of luxury and ease. She had shown up on Bobidiah's doorstep in a torn dress, nicer than anything the girls around town had owned, an iron dagger in hand, and eyes full of wild conviction. Sly had been eleven years old when she arrived. She was a year younger than him, but had far more determination than he did. It had spurred him to work harder. Bobidiah had said that it was good for him to have a rival and companion. Sylvester had been cautious around Miasys for the first year or so that she stormed into their lives. She was loud, confident, exciting, and the most intriguing person he had ever met. He couldn't understand why she had left such an easy life behind. He couldn't bring himself to ask either. Little by little this wild and beautiful person had dragged him out of his shell, making him more confident and bold in a relentless waterfall of noise and life.

He remembered the day he had been brave enough to ask about her past. Mees had looked at him with an odd expression, like she was sizing him up in his audacity. Like cracks in a dam, her story had trickled out until it burst all at once and she told him everything. How her parents had expectations that felt out of reach. How she had longed to wield a sword, ride horseback, and get into trouble. Not learn to walk without dropping books, create elaborate embroidery works, and become a perfect lady. It had been suffocating. Every time her parents had a fancy event she would feel their eyes drilling into her, silently threatening her to be on her best behavior. Every mistake felt like it was under a magnifying glass and even remembering her basic etiquette felt impossible. Miasys had recounted her father's cold demeanor after the parties, the way her mother would switch between screaming at her and sobbing wondering where she went wrong raising her daughter. She wanted out so badly.

Her moments of peace came from sneaking around the manor at night, when she was supposed to be asleep. Moving quietly through the stone corridors of the first floor and then the creaking halls of the wooden upper floors. She'd sit outside her father's office, listening to him talk to officials, advisors, and the occasional fellow lord. Any unexpected movement or sound sent her melting into the shadows, hoping that heavy tapestries and extravagant potted plants would conceal her from prying eyes. It was in these lingering moments that she learned the most. More importantly it was here she first heard of Bobidiah Ramson. A legendary thief, a master of disguise, a pickpocket, a lockpick, a cur, an ally, whatever he needed to be for the right amount of coin. Her father had employed him once, long ago. Then a sensitive matter arose that required the rogue's discretion and discipline. Sly had recalled Bobidiah mentioning that an old associate needed a hand again, that must have been when Miasys's father had called upon him for help recovering stolen supplies. Miasys said that there had been a small rebellion in his territory that needed quelling, and that when the commoners had stolen the army's supplies, Bobidiah had been called in to retrieve them. He hadn't enjoyed the work, though it paid well, and had severed the professional connection soon after.

Miasys had begun to dream of an escape from her life into the glamorous world of purloinment and heists. She had begun asking too many questions and started running away from home. Each time her parents dragged her home and tried harder to mold her into the perfect daughter. She acted out more and more, until the night of the last party. She was bored, frustrated, and wanted to stick it to her parents. So she stole a lady's bracelet, rather poorly however. Lady Aerath had noticed immediately and that was the last straw for Miasys's parents. She had been kicked out with nothing but the clothes on her back, some food from kitchen staff that pitied her, and a dagger from a knight of the house who admired her ferocity. She had fought and clawed her way to get to Tolath, and that was how she eneded up at Bobidiah's doorstep.

Sylvester had been in awe of her story, but any follow up questions were silenced with a stormy glare. Miasys made it clear that she didn't want to discuss her past anymore, and so they left it at that. As far as the rest of the town knew, she was a runaway that the old man had taken in. He was teaching her to run books alongside his adopted sun who was learning the family business of information trading. A sketchy but otherwise respectable profession. Only a rare few knew what they were truly doing. Their competitions were written off as little more than a creative way to get their energy out.

The two of them were rivals, friends. Sly rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow again. He used to wish that they would be something more. After that fight though he didn't think he deserved to wish that. How could he say something so stupid. Bobidiah called him his bear cub, and Miasys his drakeling. It seemed that like a bear though, all he could do was lumber through life and destroy everything around him. How long until he destroyed their lives too?

Sylvester was a bear. Miasys was a drake. She was graceful, dangerous, and breathtaking. The moment he knew he had fallen for her was engraved in his mind. Bobidiah usually pitted them against training dummies rather than each other. On occasion though—usually when they were having a spat—they'd take to the field just outside town. Under the moonlight they'd square off in the field, weapons in hand. They never bothered with blunting them, enjoying the stakes it raised. Just recalling it made his breath catch again. Dark eyes, pale skin, hair like the moon. She twisted gracefully to face him and the starlight caught her locks and made them look like flowing silver. He had never fully noticed just how beautiful she was. A blade raised, crouching low, disappearing like morning mist. He was still dazed by her when she suddenly reappeared in front him. She knocked him off his feet and pinned him to the ground with a blade against his neck. Her eyes dared him to move with a self-satisfied smirk spreading across her face. She had exuded such a deadly feeling in that moment, as if he were facing down a real dragon. His breath had caught and he felt like he was drowning. He wanted to kiss her, but her intensity kept him still. The chill of water dragged him down and down until she let him up declaring her victory. Would they ever be so close and carefree again?