Minerva

You were a ghost in the night, a master of your craft. Your fingers, nimble and quick, never missed a beat, and your steps were as silent as the fall of a feather. Everything you stole disappeared into the insatiable maw of the black market. That night, the most daring prize beckoned you—the imperial castle, proudly towering over the sleeping city. The thick veil of night became your ally, allowing you to slip silently into the seat of power.

Inside, a deathly silence reigned, broken only by the crackling of dying logs in the fireplaces. You glided like a shadow through marble corridors, passing rooms bursting with ostentatious luxury—gold bars, sparkling diamonds. But you were interested in other trophies—elegant and valuable ones. In one room, you grabbed several delicate sapphire rings and a pair of exquisite pearl hairpins.

Reaching the last door in the wing, you listened. Silence. Deciding this was your last stop, you entered silently and froze. A woman sat in a high-backed chair by the enormous fireplace, her back to you. Her bare skin shimmered golden in the fire, and her loose hair flowed down her shoulders like a dark cascade. It was the Empress herself. And she, apparently, was waiting for someone.

A chilling horror pierced you. You slowly, with incredible caution, began to retreat toward the door, hoping to disappear as unnoticed as you had appeared.

But then, in the silence, a calm, commanding voice rang out, making the blood run cold.

• Stay where you are, dirty thief.

You froze, turning into a statue, every muscle tense to the limit.

"Move, and you will die, " the empress continued, still not turning her head. Her words were quiet, but they carried the inexorable force of judgment. "I knew you would come here one day. But I didn't know it would be so soon."