A/N- I completely revamped this chapter. It was in horrible shape so I fixed it.
Dreams needed hope to grow, and Talon had about as much hope as a drunk pirate in a spelling bee. Crushed under the boots of slop gutted lords, wine slick merchants, and Marines who thought "justice" meant beating someone until coins fell out, Talon Island was a prison with ocean views. The cliffs weren't protection. They were just nature's middle finger to escape.
And for Riven Caelum, this hellhole was home. Lucky him.
He'd been five when the world taught him its first lesson. bad things happen, and they usually happen loud. His mother, Saraya, was a quiet woman. A poor farmer. A Good heart. But Terrible luck. His father? Never been in the picture. It only took one pirate raid to turn a peaceful farm into a bonfire, and his childhood into ash. He remembered the smoke. The screams. The way his mom yelled his name one last time before everything turned to black.
Since then? He learned to live the Talon way, Steal. Dodge. Hit first. Don't get attached. Never look back.
Before he even knew how to read, he knew how to lift a wallet. By six, he could steal a sandwich off your plate and convince you you'd eaten it. By ten, he had a bounty on his head, and a personality most adults described as "trouble" right before checking their pockets. The bounty wasn't much though just some local stuff.
The people of Wyrmsreach didn't hate him.They just hoped if they ignored him hard enough, he'd go away.
And guess what...
He looked like any other dirty street brat, which was kind of the point. Barefoot, bruised, lean like a stray dog. Skin sun kissed, clothes tattered. Ash blond hair stuck out in every direction like it was actively rebelling against combs. A bandage wrapped across his chest hiding more than wounds. Wings were hard to explain. So were fireproof scars.
But right now? He looked awesome.
Crouched high on a stone wall above the docks, cloak flapping behind him like some edgy superhero with commitment issues, Riven stared down at the chaos below with the wide grin of a kid who really should not be enjoying this as much as he was.
"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Let's see who's got loose pockets and a death wish."
The docks were a glorious disaster. Pirates shouting. Merchants swearing. Marines pretending not to notice either. Crates thumped. Ropes snapped. A goat screamed somewhere for no apparent reason.
And then Riven saw him, a plump merchant dressed in layers of silk like he thought money made him immune to heatstroke. A velvet pouch full of coin bounced at his hip like a promise.
Target acquired.
Two guards stood nearby. Correction, two bored guards. One was picking his nose. The other was too invested in his dice roll to notice the 14 year old gremlin perched like a gargoyle above them.
"Guard quality, 2 out of 10. Would not recommend in a crisis," Riven whispered. "And this guy's practically asking to get robbed. Wearing purple in public? Sir."
He licked his lips, flexed his fingers, and did a little shake out stretch like a gymnast about to launch off the bars.
"Fast hands. Light feet. Don't die."
He leapt.