The Fruit Thief
Forbidden fruits from the First Tree
Under the cover of night, the thief grins as they scale the tall marble wall of the Guardian’s Barracks. Their body moves with precision and ease; they’ve done this so many times before that running this route is their normality.
Tonight is no different from any other night in which they would be sneaking over the Barracks. With a war going on now, no doubt there will be even fewer Guardians around the First Tree that towers over San Ovila.
Light on their feet, they rush across the rooftop, keeping an eye out for any Guardians that might just so happen to be out on patrol. And yet, to their luck, the Barracks are as quite as a grave this night. A good omen, to be sure.
They kneel down on the other side of the Barracks and peers over the edge of the wall, down into the lush courtyard. Its lit with orbs of light, their glows so bright that they chase away all the shadows around them as they float above their pillars, little starlights brought down from the sky above. A small crystal blue pond rings the base of the tree as the garden is full of all sorts of exotic flowers from all across Astria.
But the flora isn’t what the thief is after, at least not this time, even if some of them can fetch decent prices on the black market. No, they’re here to restock on their most valuable asset: the golden fruits from the First Tree.
Sneaking on and off the Guardian’s land is easy to do if one is attentive enough. After all, Guardians are known for their strict punctuality, which means that their patrol patterns are easy to track. But the climb up and down the Tree is where many have failed. It brings all sorts of dangers, such as falling to one’s own death or being exposed to Guardian artillery if ever spotted.
With the coast clear, the thief drops down into the courtyard, making sure to avoid landing in one of the many flower bushes to minimize the noise that they make, and approaches the Tree’s massive trunk twirling two well-seasoned daggers. Having run this route so many times themselves, they know where all the notches in the Tree are, left behind by not only themselves but others who have come before them. They know the fastest route to take, for they have carved it out over the years themselves.
They leap upwards, their daggers plunging into the Tree’s thick bark with ease as they slot themselves into the starting notch. And then, taking off at a terrifying speed, the thief scales the Tree with ease. They know right where to place not only their daggers but feet as well, where to spring and how and with what sort of power. Each leap is unique.
Until, finally, they make it to the top, where they finally sit down to take a quick breather, their journey nearly half-way complete. Where the branches break away from the trunk is a relatively flat plane one can walk across with little issue. Some of the largest branches are as wide as entire houses, while the smallest are nearly as thin and fragile as toothpicks. And growing from some of the farther-out branches are the fruits that this thief is hunting for. To make sure they’re still wearing it, the thief checks on their satchel, which still hangs from the side of their body. It’s big enough for about ten fruits, which isn’t that much in the grand scheme of things when they’re always in high demand, but ten is all they’ll be able to carry anyway before beginning to hinder their speed and safety.
They stand and make their way across the Tree’s impossibly large branches. For any normal being, they’d surely be in fear of how far they are from the ground below the farther out they tread from the Tree’s trunk, for one wrong slip will lead them to their demise. Or if they’re not afraid of the height, then they’d probably be in awe of the Tree’s true majesty; all around them, they are faced with an intricate web of branches and leaves, leaves five times bigger than any normal being can possibly be. And nestles between these leaves, one may be able to make out little golden flashes of the Tree’s signature fruit as they hang from the branches firmly, never falling to the ground. But the thief is all too familiar with the Tree’s sights, their gaze skipping over the greenery in favor of scoping out fruits that are easy pickings. Above all, they have to make sure they make it back down alive, lest everything they’ve ever done in their life up until this point be rendered meaningless by a reckless death. The fall, if they were to fall, would be just long enough for them to mull over all their regrets and wishes, or to simply chide themselves for being so foolish before connecting with the land and putting them out of their misery.
At last, the thief spies a cluster of fruits dangling over one of the larger, safer branches of the Tree, and they quickly make their way over to it. The cluster consists of four fully-grown golden spheres, each one half the size of the thief’s head, with three others in various stages of growth. Sadly, the ripe ones are the only ones useful to the thief; they’ll have to note this spot for when they inevitably return in the near future.
They take up one of their daggers and raises it to the ripe fruits, the blade easily slicing through the stems with ease. One by one, the thief stores the three fruits in their satchel and quickly continues on with their adventure. After all, they don’t have all night to be up here.
They locate a couple more fruits along the same branch, bringing their total count to eight by the end of their trek. While they still have space for two more, and in the distance they can see more safe takers, the thief casts an uneasy glance towards the trunk. Is it worth the extra two when they’re already this far out? Their heavy satchel does half of the talking for their thoughts as it pulls down on their body with its weight.
Let’s not get too greedy, they decide, turning heel and making their way back to the trunk as swiftly as they can. The sound of their footsteps as they dash are soft and light as they leave nothing but the rush of air in their wake. Below them, the city of San Ovila glows with light, both from the buildings and from the Guardian patrols. The whole island is ringed with ships of all sizes, ages, and usages. From the vantage point of the Tree, the city appears rather quiet at this time of night, even though beings still bustle about with their evening businesses. But the ever-present drone of the city’s streets doesn’t reach to the Tree’s canopy, possibly the only escape one can truly have from its noise aside from setting out to sea.
As they reach one of the main branches connected to the trunk, the thief catches a brief glimpse of a white glow in the distance. Their heart pounds louder and faster as their mind begins to race. Are the Guardians truly at the top of the Tree, or is it their mind playing a cruel trick? And if it is the Guardians, are they there for the thief or for some other reason? If they don’t know the thief is there, then maybe there’s still a chance for them to escape the Tree with themselves and their merchandise unscathed. They’ll just have to see when they get back to the trunk…
They slow their pace to a crawl, getting as low to the branch as possible as they approach the trunk proper, using the shadows cast by the Tree as their cover. Despite the glow they had just barely seen earlier, the trunk is dark and silent, devoid of life other than theirs. They have to hold back a relieved sigh, fearful that any noise they make now will bring them bad luck. It must have simply been a trick, then. I’m just too wound up tonight, they surmise.
They straighten and waltz onto the trunk’s sturdy base, reaching for their daggers once more in preparation for the climb back down. But this proves to be their gravest mistake of all, as the moment their blades flash in what little starlight manages to break through the leaves around them, a group of Guardians reveal themselves, their white armor flaring with blinding light.
“DROP THE WEAPONS NOW!” one of the Guardians screams as the thief has to hold up a hand in front of their face to protect their eyes from the intense glare. Heart leaping in their chest, they do as they are ordered and drops their daggers in a rush. They clatter on the bark at the thief’s feet, still within their reach if they were to make a hasty escape now. Although, looking at the gathered Guardians with their now-adjusted eyes, they can see a few blasters sprinkled between the shield-bearers and pikemen, their black barrels trained on the thief’s head.
And as the thief stands before the semicircle of Guardians, they cannot help but feel utterly hopeless in their presence upon having been caught. If they were to try and do anything now to save their own skin, they’d more than likely wind up losing their life. Though the punishment for stealing fruits from the Tree is death; either way, they’re a goner now. It all depends now on how they wish to go out.
“ON YOUR KNEES!” the Guardian orders next. “HANDS IN THE AIR!”
The thief complies, though keeps their daggers in front of their knees, fully available for them to use. Admittedly, there is still a small part of them that believes that there’s still a way out of this situation.
The ranks then part as a new Guardian approaches, this one with armor covering their figure head to toe, elaborate and flowing gold decals giving their figure a holy golden hue. On their back hangs a large broadsword, though with the size of their gauntlets the thief can only wonder why they’d be in need of such a weapon in the first place.
“There you are,” the Guardian booms, their voice a commanding rumble. “Finally, the insect has been caught.” The thief’s heart practically leaps into their throat as they realize who now stands before them. The Champion of the Guardians.
Their helmet tilts ever so slightly, their gaze landing on the thief’s bag full of Tree fruit. “The sale of these sacred fruits carry a hefty punishment. I’m sure you’re aware of that fact?”
The thief nods back slowly.
“By the order of the Lady of Light,” the Champion declares, lifting one of their hands, “I punish you… to eternal service.”
The thief has just enough time to wonder what the Champion meant before the palm of their gauntlet latches onto their face. The glowing white metal is cold against the thief’s burning face. Then, in a flash, a scalding pain burns into the thief’s forehead, and they can’t help but let out a scream. Their cries of pain are muffled by the Champion’s gauntlet as their firm grip holds the thief in their place. They squirm on the ground, their hands clawing at the large gauntlet in a hopeless effort to escape. But the Champion holds firm, not letting the thief go.
That is, until they finally release the thief from their grasp, and the frail body cloaked in dark robes flops over onto their side, steam rising from their face. With the wave of the Champion’s hand, the Guardians lower their weapons, finally able to relax.
There is a reason why the Guardians pay little attention to the Tree, for they know that the fruits attract all sorts of beings. And then, one by one, the Guardians scoop them up.
The body at the Champion’s feet twitch its fingers as it slowly comes back to life.
“Rise, my new Guardian.”
The Guardian picks themself up, kicking aside the daggers still lying on the Tree’s trunk, letting them fall down to the garden below. A white diamond now glows bright underneath their black hood.
They raise a hand to salute their new leader.