Promise

Under the night sky, two figures in black robes perched atop a clock tower. A grizzled middle-aged man, Roan, clutched a wine bottle, gazing at the moon as he posed a sudden question to his companion. “Kant, do you think people like us are society’s scum?”

Kant, mid-sip, lowered his bottle, his expression shifting. “Why the sudden question, Roan?” He turned to his friend, whose weathered face bore the scars of time and choices, each wrinkle a testament to a life of upheaval.

Roan shrugged, taking a swig. “Just drinking, staring at the moon, feeling a bit ashamed of myself…” His eyes clouded with memories.

“When I was a kid, I had dreams—grand, noble, or simple. Never thought I’d end up a despised thief.”

His hoarse voice carried buried emotions, stirred by the liquor.

Kant’s gaze softened. “Don’t say that. This world’s as filthy as ink-soaked water. A child’s heart is pure, like that moon, but its light can’t pierce every corner of the night.”

As adults, their worldviews had hardened. In Seliris, divine races ruled, nobles dominated, and ordinary folk without talent were cheaper than bread.

No laws protected them—only the strongest fists prevailed.

“Maybe,” Roan muttered, staring at his calloused hands, a rare flicker of confusion in his deep blue eyes. “But these hands are stained with innocent blood.”

“Thieves are hated. Nobles put bounties on us. We’re just trying to survive,” Kant said after a pause, his tone consoling.

The question was complex.

Thieves shouldn’t exist, nor should nobles.

A world of equality and peace was a universal dream, but reality’s cruelty shattered such fantasies. Right and wrong weren’t absolute.

“Those nobles deserve their fate,” Roan continued, “but their families… their children, not even ten years old, lose everything when their houses fall. They’re innocent.

Their parents’ sins aren’t theirs. They eat what’s given, wear what’s provided, just like we did.”

Kant’s memories stirred.

As a master thief, he’d stolen from countless nobles, earning their wrath and hefty bounties.

He often gathered evidence of their crimes—embezzling imperial funds—and slipped it to the tribunal.

When a noble house fell, their children faced grim fates: execution, enslavement, or starvation on the streets.

“Everyone has their fate. We protect those close to us,” Kant said, downing a gulp of wine.

Some things were beyond explanation, labeled as destiny—fixed from birth.

“You think so too?” Roan challenged. “Then what’s the difference between us and those wicked nobles? They ruin lives, and so do we. We’re just repeating the cycle, not solving it.”

He lifted his empty bottle, peering at the moon through its green glass, his brow furrowed. “Who knows? Surviving’s good enough. If you feel guilty, give some of our spoils to the slums,” Kant replied.

As a young thief, he’d agonized over such questions, but now they were a waste of time. Better to help the needy and call it atonement.

“Then if someone kills us, we’ve no right to complain,” Roan murmured, nodding as if resolving something within.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Kant laughed. “I’m the lone wolf who’d die first. You’ve got a wife and kid. If you go, who’ll look after them?”

Kant couldn’t fathom Roan’s choice to start a family.

Thieves lived on the edge, one misstep away from a knight’s blade.

Yet Roan had a wife—a beautiful, timid woman, once a noble’s concubine.

Kant suspected Roan, soft-hearted, had saved her from her master’s downfall, perhaps out of love.

Over time, she’d grown to love him back, bearing him a daughter.

Kant remembered Roan’s joy at fatherhood, his face creased with smiles as they drank all night.

Kant wished them peace in this cruel world—a rare, redemptive bond. “Who knows?” Roan said lightly. “Like you once said, a thief’s death is no surprise. But I’ve got ties, so I need a promise from you, old friend.”

“What promise?” Kant asked warily.

“If anything happens to me, look after my wife and daughter.”

Roan’s tone was carefree, as if death held no fear as long as his family was safe.

Kant’s mouth twitched. “Don’t make promises like that…”

“Will you do it or not?” Roan grinned.

“No way. I don’t clean up others’ messes. Keep yourself alive to care for them. Don’t dump this on me,” Kant said, standing and tossing his empty bottle into a sack, waving dismissively.

Roan chuckled, watching Kant’s retreating figure. “As long as you’re alive, I’m at ease…” In his eyes, Kant’s refusal was its own kind of promise.