Chapter Text
You had promised, as many people do, that the last time was truly the last.
But the thrill of the chase was what you excelled at. It always had been, since you had completed your first heist years ago.
Now, as soot marred your features and your hands were steady on a lock, you knew your family’s wish of you finding a real job would be impossible to achieve.
The train rocked, the tracks below screeching a shrill so violent you winced. In the last cart, you were surrounded by personal belongings: trunks, bags, and other odd shapes of luggage completely at your disposal. Petty thievery wasn’t your vice, and well below your pay grade. You were currently maneuvering your lockpick within a certain mistress’ bounty, searching for a special necklace stolen from her affair’s manor.
A simple task, mundane, really, but the reward - you’d be set for the next year and a half, if you spent it wisely.
Your client specified a bonus should the piece of jewelry return unmarred.
Easy work.
The trunk unlocked with a satisfying snitch, and you were fumbling through silks and gold until your gloved fingers found a velvet bottom. A few more seconds of groping and the hidden compartment beneath unlatched.
The necklace found its temporary home in the pocket of your trench coat, then you were rising, returning the woman’s belongings to the way you found them: organized.
You might be home before sunrise at this rate.
Until you heard a crisp click of a tongue.
“My, my, what do we have here?”
Your hand dropped to your thigh, and you flicked the strap of leather over the grip of your gun. Stoic, your eyes narrowed, absorbing the intruder.
Adorned in a scarf layered around his mouth and nose, paired with a hat encircled with a considerable brim, there were only two immediate identifying features.
The few sprays of hair that stuck out from beneath his brim were a vibrant lavender, skewered with a gorgeous iris. It framed his eyes, which were otherworldly, an intoxicating mix of violet and sapphire. The lashes that bordered his eyes appeared soft, a whispered compliment upon his skin.
“And you are?”
Your request for an introduction earned a quiet chuckle, and the man unfolded his arms, removing his spine from the frame of the traincar entrance. His gloved hand formed around the top of his hat, and he was bowing, strands of hair angling towards the ground.
“Certainly not your enemy, sweetheart,” he mused once he was upright. “But my name, unfortunately that’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”
His wink made you retreat by one step.
Replacing his hat, the fellow thief sauntered past you. You knew you two shared a profession due to his attire. A large trenchcoat hung off his shoulders, although his arms were not through the sleeves, forcing his hands to find sanctuary in the pockets of his pants. A holster was tight around his thigh, the handle of a dagger gleaming from the top.
Everyone was armed within the county, usually with something sharp rather than heavy and thick. The shortage of metals prevented blacksmiths from creating, solely repairing.
So whether this intruder could properly wield his blade was questionable. Many harbored their blades simply for defense, never for actual combat.
You weren’t one to harm for the sake of it, leading your hand to relax over the grip of your revolver.
You did not draw it.
Even when you heard the man rummage through cargo behind you. You held your breath, a single bead of sweat trickling past your eyebrow, curling around your eye, landing in the fabric of your scarf.
“I see you beat us to it, huh,” he muttered, then was standing next to your side.
You sidestepped, grabbing your pocket to check for the necklace. His eyes darted, skin wrinkling around the edges to tattle a smile.
“Us?”
You lost your footing, the train loud in its protests as it came to a sudden halt. It upset the floor beneath you, and you stumbled, caught by hands landing on your shoulders.
The brim of the stranger’s hat brushed the brim of yours.
“It’s nothin’ personal, sweetheart.”
The necklace dangled from his index as he waved it once in front of your vision, then bolted. He was out the door, boots loud against the rungs of the ladder leading to the roof of the passenger car.
You followed, cursing beneath your breath. The train jolted as it resumed its journey, gaining speed while you balanced atop the train. Your target was already a few cars down, the sleeves of his coat now wrapped around his arms so he could run.
The revolver was cold in your hand, barrel clean, exterior polished. It glinted a beautiful shine under the moon’s attention, boasting an owner who cared.
You pulled the trigger with no hesitation.
He screeched, a comedic sound you might have characterized as dramatic. His shoulders dipped from a scoff, and he was whirling around.
Where he would have been standing if he had not stopped, a gouge in the roof had been made. The bullet had ricocheted, a calculated shot so those within the rail car were unscathed.
“Excuse me!” He shouted, hands cupped around his covered mouth, “that could have hurt!”
You ran, leaping from car to car, until you docked on his. Your free hand extended, gloved palm creating a platform.
“Return it, and no harm, no foul,” you bargained.
“Let me think,” he sighed, hand raising, index finger tapping just above his eyebrow. His body rotated back and forth slightly, displaying genuine deliberation. Then he snapped, the sound disproportionate due to the leather of his gloves, “hate to disappoint, but the answer is a firm yet respectful - no.”
You replied, “the least I can do is it won’t be fatal.”
You set your sights on his kneecap.
“Woah, wait!”
His hands motioned in front of him for you to halt. Which you did, although begrudgingly. His antics had you suspicious, but you despised the ability to permanently cause trauma. You had seen what it did, intimately.
“Don’t lose that, sweetheart,” the stranger sobered, eyes narrowing, somehow relaxed, “that mercy in your heart.”
Your scream was devoured by the wind. You lunged, banging your knees hard on the rooftop. But you were too late, the outlaw gone, having stepped off the ledge.
“Fuck, that was close.”
Tentatively, you leaned over the edge, the sound of your heart rivaling the tracks below.
A sword protruded from the side of the train. By the grip of his hand, the stranger hung from the hilt. The tips of his boots were a hair from the ground, his trench coat slapping helplessly against his calves. Yet he still had the audacity to tilt his head back and wink.
“Sorry ‘bout the scare,” he teased, then lied, “my partner is a bit dramatic.”
Galloping parallel to the train, another individual steered his horse. His stature, the way in which he held the reins, was anything but dramatic. The strength in his legs as he moved with his steed had you temporarily mesmerized, his skills boasting expertise. At his waist, an empty sheath bounced, its design twinning the palette upon the sword.
Dressed in black, his attire mirrored that of the man currently flailing from a sword. Although the man atop his horse had golden accents littered over his arms, torso, and boots.
Between the fabric of the scarf around his face, and the brim of his hat, mysterious, cobalt eyes shone pierced.
Cliches would suggest this newcomer should hold your gaze, discern your intentions, then craft a moment never forgotten.
Yet his stare was locked on the man dangling from the side of a train.
The horse veered towards the train, nostrils flaring, eyes wide as its rider commanded it near the steel machine. It fought, head jerking to disturb the control of the reins, hooves thundering faster as the animal couldn’t decipher whether speed affected danger.
The increase in pace aided the two outlaws.
Close enough, the rider held out his hand, capturing his partner by the forearm. With a firm yank, your previous target was able to fling his leg over the back of the horse, mounting behind the other.
You aimed, ready to pull the trigger.
But down your sights, a head turned, glacier eyes finally meeting yours.
During the entire exchange, you could have shot. Both were wide open, easy targets.
It was those eyes, sapphire, bright, and calculating, that rendered you useless. You had seen those eyes before, now murky in your mind from grief and time. To remember such a gaze stabbed through your heart, radiating pain that extended to your fingertips.
The gun in your hand trembled, and it fell, clattering at your boots.
If you were to have taken the shot, you would have missed. Doubt was a marksman’s most paramount foe, and it was currently eating at your psyche, deteriorating the defenses you had spent years building.
Renowned for your skills, you were rumored to never miss.
Only once did you miscalculate, fire your gun, and fail. The consequences had required a payment far greater than the cost of the botched bounty.
You had told yourself forgiveness had acquainted itself with your body, soothing that infinite pang in your chest.
But all it had taken was the stranger’s sapphire stare to call it for what that had been - a lie.
The owner of such devastating eyes still held your gaze, his arm extending, fingers spread as if reaching. Although too far to meet his hand, you felt your arm nearly lifting to point towards his.
It was the sparkle out of the corner of your eyes that stole you from him.
His sword was disintegrating, losing its shape to dissolve into flecks of light. In the darkness of the night, it felt emphasized, your vision feeding an obsession born from the mystery of magic. Energy, whether ethereal or man-made, was a developing myth, and those who would come in later generations, would find it a fairytale.
Yet you were witnessing it with your own eyes - the manipulation of light.
You fell back on your rear, your gaze floating over to the escaping duo. At the newcomer’s waist, his sword was secure in its sheath.
The train roared, signaling a station was approaching. You’d need to leave, whistle for your horse, and run. People would be rousing for the day to kill, defend, or roam. Your home would be your sanctuary, equipped with one window, one door, and your ammunition.
But you didn’t move. You remained seated, watching the auburn from the rising sun outline the steeple of the mountains lining the valley. You holstered your gun, exhaled, and ran a hand through your hair.
The odds of finding those two would be low, if not a fantasy you could merely dream about. But not impossible.
And for the sake of your well-being, your reputation, and your survival.
You needed that damn necklace back.