Cyrus had worked with people who could sniff cocaine at eight in the morning, take their children to school at eight thirty, and trade stocks from a strip club at nine. And that, for them, was completely normal.

The necromancer, however, was pazzesco. He was hands down the biggest freak the [Thief] had ever met. It had only taken him ten minutes to understand it.

Not that it would take much, normally. Both were riding mounts made of bone, which moved exactly like live horses.

"Ohi, Hamas, where's the girl?" Maximilian asked.

"About a kilometer from here, Your Majesty," Cyrus replied.

Hamas, thought Cyrus, and smiled. Was a Mediterranean complexion enough for Maximilian to call someone a terrorist?

But, he had to admit, it was funny.

Even in the world of finance there were now too many things that could not be said. Having worked with the new generation of investors rather than the old, some good old racist humor was now vintage.

"So, Your Majesty, after passing the swallow test, anyone can become a citizen of ...?"

“Maximiliapolis or Maximilianides. Oh well, whatever name will be decided for the city, whoever passes the test will become a citizen of it,” replied the necromancer, too focused to find a joke to irritate the other.

Cyrus sighed.

Lady Goldith would kill this man on the spot as soon as she met him, he was sure.

"The choice of having Ahalis and Vanedenis coexist does not seem very popular, Your Majesty."

Cyrus had observed the two populations interacting for several hours, but it was always for a limited amount of time. Then each returned to his own community.

“Bollocks, a Neapolitan who has been living who knows how long in America lecturing me on the difficulty of integration. Next time, Netanyahu, give me a lesson on how to avoid the birth of mafia groups on Kome."

I've never told anyone here I was born in Naples.

Cyrus tried to pretend he hadn't heard that, but Maximilian had just found something to make him upset.

"I guessed that from your way of talking, idiot. Sometimes you use phrases that would sound better in Italian. And, bollocks, your accent just screams New York,” the necromancer explained.

“Ah,” he continued, “among the advantages of citizenship is the fact that if someone wants to hang you, you will be protected.”

For the second time in a few minutes, Cyrus was speechless. When he had asked about the test, it was because he knew it would only be a matter of time before the hunters from Vissart tracked him down.

"Bollocks, I'm dead tired", Maximilian opened his mouth to continue and then shook his head, dissatisfied with his own joke.

Cyrus did not know him well enough to judge, but it was clear that the man was not at his best.

"It must be difficult to rule a city split in two and with so many things to manage."

Maximilian replied with a look that could only be translated as Bollocks, what are you saying, idiot.

“The hard thing is building these fucking houses. Those idiots in the street, if they do stupid shit, I hang them. You can't hang houses, unfortunately. The rest of the work is done by the undead. I wish there were undead to build the houses, but to do so I would need undeads who can control magic."

"And why don't you create undead who can control magic?"

"And why don't you create undead who can—"

Maximilian was mocking the other when the realization hit him like a cannonball.

A sardonic grin spread across the face of Vissart's former [General Administrator].

“Unbelievable, bollocks, you Neapolitans are so lazy that you can find very clever solutions when it comes to avoiding hard work. Bravo, Abdul, I already like you. You and I will get along."

…

The skeletal horses had crude leather saddles, comfortable enough not to chafe their riders' legs after ten minutes of riding. However, they had nothing to do with the harness of Lady Goldith's horse, the newly named Cookie.

Speak of the devil ...

In the distance Cyrus saw Cookie and Vanessa playing with a branch. The girl threw it away and the horse caught it in mid-air. It didn't matter that dusk had already settled, when those two played, the sky full of stars was enough.

Vanessa saw a man arrive with Cyrus on two horses made of bones. He felt Cookie becoming scared at the abominations he had just seen.

"Cyrus!" the girl exclaimed, recognizing her travel companion.

She knew that Cyrus had to go and check that there were no dangerous people, and seeing him return was always a good sign.

If she hadn't had Cookie with her, she would have refused to let her friend go alone.

She also had very strong skills, now! It was impossible to find someone who had more power than her!

Rosa also had always told her that she loved how many talents she had. It was her fiancée who had persuaded her to open an Etsy shop, which was doing great since she had also opened an Instagram account.

"Vanessa!" The man dismounted and looked her up and down, breathing a sigh of relief. She was still alive and well.

The girl knew Cyrus's expression in those moments. It was the same as her mother's when she came home from work and checked everything.

“Ah,” was the first word from the man who had arrived there with his friend.

“Maximilian, this is Vanessa. Vanessa, this is Maximilian, the King of the city that will host us."

Vanessa noticed Cyrus's gaze dwell intensely on the presumed King, with an expression that, to her, looked like reproach.

King? That's non a King.

“Cyrus, telling lies is wrong! He is not a King!"

Maximilian smiled and dismounted gracefully. Vanessa then noticed a large black cloak covering the man's shoulders and his left arm was white and... shiny?

"Why wouldn't I be a King, girl?"

"All Kings have a crown."

It was a very simple thing. Anyone who had ever seen a King had to know that they always wore a crown on their heads. Vanessa could not understand how Cyrus could think that he was a King. Did her friend really know nothing?

Then Cyrus gave the so-called King an incredulous look. At last he must have noticed the lack of a crown. It was such an important detail that Vanessa almost wanted to make fun of him for not noticing. However, Rosa had told her several times that everyone made mistakes and it was not okay to make fun of others for it.

“A more than sensible objection,” said Maximilian, pulling a hand inside the cloak and, a second later, taking out a crown made of bone.

It was as big as the crowns Vanessa had seen in cartoons, and not as small as the ones her mother had shown her in a museum.

So it was a real crown, without any doubt, and therefore the man wearing it had to be a real King.

Nodding wisely, the girl asked, "So can we go eat now?"

Cyrus frowned and was on the verge of scolding her, as he always did when Vanessa complained about how disgusting the food they ate was.

Yes, being a shaman was cool, but she missed pizza and her friends. She would have liked to have a pizza with Cyrus, who was her only friend on this continent.

No, not the only one. He was just the first.

Vanessa approached Maximilian and stretched out her left hand in front of her, then her right, then her left again. She always forgot which hand was the right one, damn it.

"You want to be friends? In Vissart I was always bored and Cyrus promised me that there are less bad people here."

A cold hand gently squeezed hers as a warm smile spread across the King's face - a King with a crown, a true King.

“No need to ask, of course! Here people are all less bad. Whoever behaves badly gets spanked!" T

he man laughed, shaking her hand vigorously.

Vanessa found his laugh comforting, like that of some adults she had known. There were people who treated her like an idiot just because she had Down syndrome.

Some people thought she couldn't recognize bad people, but she was much better than Rosa and her mother at it.

Bad people all laughed alike, with a warm laugh but evil eyes.

In Maximilian's eyes she found something different from all the adults she had known. There were many things, but one put her especially at ease: Maximilian had the same eyes as his mother.

The eyes of someone who suffers but loves immensely at the same time.

Her father had left her mother when Vanessa was not even a year old, and her mother had raised her on her own, teaching her everything she knew.

If there was one person she could trust, then, it was someone with eyes just like hers.

…

All the most important citizens were gathered in front of Maximilian's tower. He had summoned them to welcome the two new citizens.

Cyrus wasn't sure it was necessary to disturb everyone, but the necromancer had not agreed.

It wasn't too late, probably barely dinner time. From the look on their faces, not everyone had taken the news in the same way.

Cyrus had long ago learned the importance of immediately learning the names of those who collaborated with him and, after wandering around the city, had managed to memorize the faces and names of all those present. And of those who were absent.

Mibunum and Themistocles were annoyed, no doubt. Both were frowning and would have much preferred to stay in their apartments.

Above all, Themistocles did not want to know anything about people from outside. It was already a lot to have agreed to live with apes.

On the contrary, Mummer was quite interested in the arrival of two new Earthlings. He shook hands with the former administrator firmly, causing him to wince and groan in pain.

"Young man, forgive me, I'm not in control of these bones yet!" The man laughed loudly, then went on to say hello to Vanessa.

“This is Strith, the first [Hero] of the Vanedenis of this generation. [Hero] with the class, too, Cyrus ”, said Maximilian, so proud of the girl. After saying these words, he turned to talk to Vanessa.

Strith didn't miss that.

Cyrus found himself dumbfounded in front of the frowning face of the young woman. Not that the situation made him feel uncomfortable.

"A pleasure meeting you," the man said, bowing his head.

That girl has a crush on you, Maximilian, thought Cyrus raising an eyebrow.

Strith nodded and walked away without saying a word. In her place came an Ahali woman, the first Ahali with whom Cyrus had the opportunity to interact.

Quioiana had had the same curious reaction as Mummer. She shook hands with the thief and addressed warm words to him, which he immediately threw into a metaphorical waste bin.

Politicians.

It was clear that Quioiana would not mind welcoming other Ahalis in the city. Cyrus had met a lot of people like her and he didn't miss the slight disappointment on her face when he treated her with cold kindness.

The only one who did not even make an attempt to approach was Matthew. Cyrus understood the boy's discomfort, and understood why he didn't want to get close. Despite that, he was there.

With him was also the girl named Anna, who had left his side to introduce herself to Cyrus. She greeted him with a vacant smile, the same one she always had on her face. The [Druid] gave the impression that he was perpetually on the point of falling asleep on the spot.

Instead the girl stepped aside with a quick step and allowed Cyrus to continue the introductions.

The man found himself in front of a tall, fascinating, powerful woman. Eudokia was her name. Cyrus's masculinity became as small as possible and hid away. Lady Goldith was able to intimidate him, but this woman was on another level. The sixth sense suggested to the thief to run away from the creature in front of him.

“Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet the Queen in person. I hope you haven't bothered just for me."

"Good manners are always appreciated, even when not entirely sincere." The woman's gaze pierced him like an ice spear.

Cyrus felt the blood freeze in his veins, but he said nothing and moved on.

Now it was Todd's turn. The Texan made a strangely enthusiastic expression when he heard Cyrus's inflection which, although not very evident, was clearly from New York.

"Finally someone with a little culture!" he exclaimed.

"Ohi, yankees, silence!"

Maximilian cleared his throat.

“So, people, these are Vanessa and Cyrus. Since I have just finished building a house and they are the first immigrants to arrive in our city, we'll immediately give them a home. After all, bollocks, this is what you do with immigrants. They get all the benefits before citizens. If you have any complaints, send them to Themistocles."

The King applauded his own speech, followed only by Strith and Quioiana.

Meanwhile, Mibunum nudged the Athenian lightly, almost hitting him in the face, due to the difference in height.

"Themistocles, why does that girl have such a face?"

Maximilian jumped at the question, before Themistocles could say anything about the cliff of Sparta.

“Vanessa has a condition called Down syndrome. She has an excess of chromosomes compared to the rest of humans, which makes her a little different from others. There are several people like her on Earth, so it's nothing new. You will soon get used to it."

Cyrus silently thanked the Londoner for the intervention.

There was one thing that was intriguing to the newcomer, and not just a little. Maximilian treated everyone very rudely, but he had been more than kind to Vanessa. Not that it was extraordinary, but the necromancer didn't seem like the type to care for such trifles when it came to being rude.

Speaking of which, he saw him talking to Vanessa and getting very interested as she started mentioning her class of [Shaman]. Cyrus had told her to keep that to herself and to be cautious, but at the same time he doubted that Maximilian would not find out, one way or another.

No damage done, for the moment.

Strith, however, was very disappointed.

The eyes of the young [Hero] were like small slits in a castle wall from which poisoned darts were being fired.

"Your Majesty, I think it is appropriate to show the newcomers their homes and give them something to eat", the Vanedeni girl tried to interrupt the conversation between her master and the newcomer, without any success.

Strith's expression grew even darker.

“I think it's getting late”, Cyrus intervened, “We don't want to keep everyone here just for the two of us. I'm sure we are not the first to arrive, nor we will be the last. "

The thief had already calculated that Lady Goldith's hunters must have tracked him down by now. It would be a matter of two days, three at the most. If he hadn't left any trace, the pursuit would have been much more tiring. Besides, the [Pyromancer]'s death would have been a clear indication of his passage in the southern cities of Kome.

It was Lady Goldith herself who had taught him to read maps and plan troop movements. Cyrus was grateful to her for everything she had taught him.

"Strith, relax, I doubt that the poor girl wants to steal your master," Quioiana laughed with a hint of poison in her voice.

"Quioiana," Mummer said seriously.

“Sorry, Mummer, I'm just educating the girl. Nobody seems to have been responsible for that."

Maximilian's eyes went wide.

Strith's expression was very reminiscent of the timer of a bomb about to go off, and the thief hoped that by interrupting the flow of conversation, he could defuse it.

"His Majesty told me that you serve excellent pies in your city!" he exclaimed.

Todd rolled his eyes, already angry at him for daring to mention those damn pies again.

Maximilian did not miss the opportunity to brag about his work - and to change the subject so as not to give Strith's deaf fury a chance to manifest itself.

"Are you joking? I set up an industrial production of pies. We have such a high consumption of butter that, bollocks, I don't understand how anyone hasn't had clogged coronaries yet."

Perhaps the Londoner was not as skilled as Cyrus at managing such tense situations, but he had taken the quick assist like a champion.

Eudokia looked at Maximilian with a perfectly visible expression of disappointment on her face.

Todd fidgeted on the spot and couldn't wait to talk to Cyrus, as if he had been in solitary confinement for four months, instead of living in what seemed like one of the cities with the most miraculous economic growth in all of Kome.

Strith was clearly on the verge of drawing the sword at her side and pointing it at Quioiana.

Cyrus focused on the moment and put a lifetime of disheartening experiences to good use.

He put a hand on Strith's shoulder, despite the girl being nearly ten centimetres taller than him.

“The Vanedenis are an inspiration for everyone. You know, I helped run a city that survived the Ahali attack."

Of the probable massacre of Ahalis that Lady Goldith had carried out, he made no mention.

"I have studied your history", Cyrus saw Mummer light up at those words and approached the older Vanedeni, big and tough as a tank.

“I have some very interesting information about other cities, including Vissart,” Mummer winced at that name and Strith frowned, finally diverting attention from the Ahali woman.

Bingo.

Then it was Anna's turn, who took a few steps closer, interested in Cyrus's words.

“Why don't we go get something to eat? It is an honor to be here and I look forward to learning even more about everything you have done in these months. Do you really have blue cheese and bacon?"

Cyrus quickly turned on the spot.

“Maximilian, why don't you leave Vanessa with me and go put into practice what we talked about earlier? That should free you up a lot of time, right? You can join us if you finish earlier, or maybe we can have breakfast together tomorrow morning. I bet you managed to recreate coffee too, right?"

I've already heard Todd complain about the lack of coffee with Anna, thought Cyrus.

The necromancer would take that as a challenge.

Eudokia looked at him like a lion looks at a raw steak, so interested that she reminded him for a moment of Lady Goldith. He decided to ignore that problem for the moment.

"A second meal wouldn't be bad," continued the thief. "You, Strith, have you eaten?"

"No," the girl murmured, glancing stealthily at the necromancer.

She wants to eat with him, but he probably doesn't eat with her often.

Cyrus was so nervous that he wasn't even sure of his deductions anymore.

Silences, implications and unspoken words had created a strong tension among those present. If he hadn't distinguished them as soon as possible, he wouldn't have been able to understand what the heck was going on in that city.

The necromancer seemed to have built an incredible city, but he hadn't cared in the least about the feelings of its citizens. Their relationships had become like an infected wound starting to stink.

Cyrus began chatting with Mummer, Strith and Anna, leading Vanessa with him and leaving the others behind.

…

Themistocles was leaving his house when he saw Cyrus standing in front of the entrance with a bag in his hand. The smell of fresh bread reached the Athenian's nostrils and made his stomach grumble.

“Maximilian has ordered not to bring the food home from the canteen. He did this to prevent Ahalis and humans from staying each in their own home,” he told Cyrus as he requisitioned the booty.

“I have a couple jams from Vissart, some butter and some milk. I was thinking of having breakfast together. I doubt that Maximilian will have any objection, since he has been locked up in his tower since last night”, the man answered confidently.

The thing about Cyrus that Themistocles liked was mainly his skin, as dark as his own, darker than Maximilian's and also the Vanedenis'. There was something in the man's eyes that made him think of his beloved Athens.

With a gesture of his head he motioned him to enter.

Mibunum was already at the training camp, but he would soon smell the irregularity in his neighbor's apartment.

Bribe him or eat it all?

It was the choice facing Themistocles.

"Cyrus, let's leave something for Mibunum too," said Themistocles.

“I got enough stuff, so we can all have breakfast together. I would also suggest waiting for him, to prevent him from feeling excluded. We can drink some milk, in the meantime, if we go and heat it up."

I like this young man.

Themistocles did not return to his apartment, but led Cyrus to the common part of the large house, the kitchen.

There was a huge table in the center, which could easily have held twenty Ahalis or more than thirty humans. In one corner there was even a fireplace glowing with a crackling fire, always kept on by the undead who came to restock it every two hours.

One of the many comforts that Themistocles now took for granted, but which never ceased to amaze him when he stopped to think about it.

“Themistocles, forgive my question, but it is since I saw you for the first time that I have a doubt that assails me. Your profile, your gaze and even your very prudent way of doing things… give me reason to believe that you are the great commander who led the Athenians to victory during the battle of Salamis."

The Greek raised an eyebrow and smiled.

Few Earthlings knew his story. Matthew had known his name, but he had no idea of his exploits. Todd had never even heard of him. Anna and Camilla had been equally ignorant.

"I wish the Spartans had remembered me as you did."

Cyrus nodded slowly with an air full of respect and awe. And this gave Themistocles infinite pleasure.

"Can I ask for some battle tales?"

"The last people I told them to were my children and a few bored visitors in my palace in Magnesia."

Those times were so far that to Themistocles seemed like one of Morpheus's lies, instead of the great life he had lived.

Cyrus remained silent, waiting, with eyes full admiration for the man who was more and more tempted to tell him everything.

In the past, it had been painful. Artaxerse always asked him to retell his exploits every time he went to the royal palace, first in Greek and then in Persian.

More than once he told the whole story in his language to a crown who couldn't understand a single word. But for them he had been like Zeus, protector of houses, the one who had bested their endless armies. And that was enough for the Persians, his old friends, in order to listen to his Greek words and fill them with meaning. All that he had needed to do was dream of man able to do something he couldn't even dare, remain cold when facing the most difficult decision in his life.

“The hardest thing in the battle was not facing the Persians in the strait. Everyone was terrified of seeing our city fall. Athens was for them a monument even more than a home. It was unthinkable for our citizens that it could be rebuilt bigger and more beautiful, because everyone lived in the past, in the safety of everyday life."

Themistocles poured a bottle of milk into one of the pots, wondering when Mibunum would arrive.

He looked around, observed the house that had been given to him, the small details that he had asked Maximilian to insert. He thought of its Ionic columns outside, the bas-reliefs at the entrance, the vases and the carvings on the ceiling.

It had been a long time, but even the slightest memory of his real home calmed his spirit.

He may have spent decades away from his Athens, but it was his only home.

“I had to use deception and gold and silver. I have disguised myself several times to incite the soldiers to make the right choice. It was as if the whole army had only one stomach, one ear. When your house is about to be destroyed, when you are about to lose everything, there are not many lucid thoughts to populate your already heavy head. Cyrus, imagine how devastating it was to lose everything away from home, away from the people you love. We had our ships, our weapons, and a few rations. Our families fled from Athens, far from Attica, which had now fallen into the hands of the Persians.

“My children never understood the weight of that decision. Leaving everything you own to burn up in the flames takes a lot of courage and a lot of willpower. Leaving Athens in the Persian flames was the only chance for us to survive."

Themistocles stopped for a moment.

“It was the hardest choice of my life. Escaping into exile was simple, choosing to spend all the money from the new silver mines on ships to defeat the Persians was the obvious choice. But the hardest thing was to leave Athens while it was being destroyed. What moved me was the hope of seeing her reborn from her ashes, bigger, more beautiful and stronger than before."

Themistocles slowly stirred the milk with a wooden spoon, observing the ripples of the white liquid and thinking of the glittering gaze of Athena, the protector.

“More than one man I knew took his own life when Athens went up in flames. We had nothing left to go back to. We won a war and got nothing but rubble in return. The seeds of hatred for me were planted there and then."

Themistocles immediately regretted what he had said. He did not like to dwell on his past. There were too many things he could never talk about enough, too many sentences he could not appeal to.

He had rebuilt the great walls of Athens and these had prevented him from giving a final farewell to his home as he slipped away, at night, by boat.

"Where did you find the strength to leave the city where you were born in the flames?" Cyrus asked.

The Athenian pondered the question.

“It was the right thing to do, perhaps. It was also what the Athenians needed, even if they didn't know it. It was something so wrong it was the only right option. We all wanted to go back to Athens, close ourselves inside the walls and burn with it. But only in Salamis would we have been able to vanquish the enemy, never within our beloved walls."

Themistocles poured the milk into three large goblets.

"There are choices that we know are right, even if everything tells us we shouldn't make them, because they make us bleed, because they make our insides ache to no end."

Cyrus had just arrived in the village which, until recently, was called Ankon. It was normal that he was curious to hear Themistocles's story.

But remembering hurt his heart. The Athenian had almost forgotten the man he had been, the person who had lived in him before fleeing Attica.

The coasts of Asia Minor had made him different. Calm. Reflexive. Resigned.

The man who had lived in Athens had faced the most terrible situations without ever esitating. That man… could he come back?

There was a collective anxiety that gripped Ahalis and Vanedenis, the same anxiety that the Athenians had experienced when Themistocles had convinced them to burn their homeland.

The commander frowned, realising something.

The difference was that no one here, except Maximilian, had really wanted to rebuild something. Each one of them was still clinging to the past, rather than thinking about the possibilities the future would offer - or those they could snatch from its arms.

Maximilian had put their wildest dreams on the plate, he had dreamed for them, but now it was time for everyone else to take the next step.

Themistocles turned with the three goblets placed on a tray and saw Mibunum enter.

Cyrus was gone.

“Themistocles, where did you get the food? You know it's against the law, damn it! Now let's go and give it all back."

The Greek looked at the tray,on which now stood only two goblets, and smiled. Cyrus had shown him something he hadn't seen for a long time. He had shown him the man he had been. The same man who would now build his future.

“Listen, Mibunum, sit down and let's have breakfast. I have some jam and, may Zeus help me, I also want to tell you a story."

"What story?" asked the huge Ahali.

"The story of what I should have done since the battle ended."

…

Cyrus didn't like to rush things, but he thought Themistocles and Mibunum only needed a little push to get along well. They had erected a barrier between them, but they were also much more alike than they thought.

This village had structural problems, as did Vissart, but this time he wanted to do something without having to be again the great [Administrator] who manipulated everyone like puppets.

No, he would have just given a push to the right place and at the right time.

The two [Commanders] were the easiest people to convince.

As he made his way to his real breakfast with Vanessa, he wondered how he could help future immigrants and what his role here would be if he ever really wanted to stay.

Vissart had never been his home, but a mere adventure, not unlike playing a strategy video game or making profitable investments in the stock market.

There, there was some different work to do. There was a need to motivate, lend a hand and make citizens evolve. It was something that scoundrel of his father had been a master in handling. If he had only gone to jail once, despite a life of crime, it was because he had always known the right people and how to play them. Everyone loved him, everyone protected him.

Gennaro Esposito had been a handsome man, always gallant and with a good word for everyone. He had a penchant for jewelry and valuables, but he was the kind of person who tipped handsomely at restaurants and helped friends in distress without batting an eye.

Cyrus believed he was more like his mother, a cynical and calculating woman, who had married her father only as a matter of convenience. Mr. Esposito had been very rich thanks to a life of successful crimes.

His father was so good at doing what he did his customers of resold goods included also bigwigs in the police, who had allowed him to avoid jail on several occasions.

The most important thing Cyrus had learned from his father was how to interact with those around him. Gennaro Esposito argued that it was more difficult to get to know a person intimately than to discover the combination of a safe.

The trick, therefore, was not putting a phonendoscope on the chest of those in front of you, but dissecting their lives. And asking the right questions.

Cyrus had practiced a lot in this art, as a child. His father had pushed him to get better and better, to go deeper and deeper and to be less and less indiscreet.

That type of question was called a loaded question. Questions that already contain part of the answer, or that suggest something. And these were only part of his great arsenal.

Some people were very shy, but at the same time eager to be heard, it was enough to look at Themistocles.

One day his father had shown him something that Cyrus would remember for all his life.

They had gone to their trusted shoemaker to have some elegant shoes of his father resoled - or rather, that had been their excuse. Gennaro had gone there under the insistence of the shoemaker's wife. She had discovered that the poor man was depressed and had tried to commit suicide and she needed someone to help him recover.

In Naples, in those years, psychologists were rare and were considered a whim for the rich or doctors for the mad. Taking drugs for mental problems, then, meant being totally excluded from social life.

To solve their problems, people turned to the parish priest, because he was the only one who would have kept the secret of confession.

For those who knew Gennaro Esposito, however, the gentleman thief was able to solve every difficult situation, with a big smile on his face.

When his father had taken him to the shoemaker - a man who spent his days in a shop that smelled of chemicals and leather being processed - Cyrus had known anything could happen. He had expected his father to start making great speeches, to tell the shoemaker how many beautiful things he had in life, or how his two daughters would mourn him until they died of a broken heart if he committed suicide.

He had expected so many of those things that he was completely amazed when, during the conversation, his father barely opened his mouth.

Gennaro had asked the shoemaker to fix his shoes and then he had sent Cyrus to get coffee.

When Cyrus had returned, expecting to find a tirade in progress, he had seen Gennaro in silence, silent as a stone, while the shoemaker was speaking.

And he told of the past. Of how he had inherited the shop from his father, of his desire to create his own shoe design, of how small and suffocating that shop was to him. At night he dreamed of the shoes he would have liked to make and saw them worn by the scions of good families, while passersby turned to look at them with admiration and envy.

Instead, the models he had created twenty years earlier, remained a dream for many years, someone else had made them real and now everyone wore them on their feet.

And Gennaro kept listening.

"I understand," he said sometimes, "what a pity."

The poor shoemaker had had to give up his dream to take care of his family.

Cyrus remembered the man's eyes well after he had finished talking to Gennaro. Full of melancholy for his past, but, at the same time, of hope for the future. Talking had helped him remember the person who had dreamed of a great future.

Gennaro had not given judgments or advice. He had only asked questions about the shoemaker's past.

"Cyrus, remember, when you enter people's lives, you have to do it on tiptoe."

Gennaro Esposito decided to invest more than ten thousand dollars in the dream of that poor shoemaker. He hired a fashion expert, who went once a week to talk to the man about his ideas, without giving him any real lesson. This expert had the task of showing him drawings while the shoemaker worked on his shoes and told him that he was very capable and that his work would be considered the best among the wealthiest people.

And when Gennaro arrived at the shop with two machines for the production of shoes, the shoemaker was both surprised and dismayed and asked him where the machines came from.

The thief shrugged and told him he had had the luck to steal two lorries he had thought were full of designer clothes. Instead, he foud the two very valuable machines, which cost about forty thousands dollars.

Nobody knew - nor should they have known - that Gennaro had purposely bought them from friends of friends who were experts in the theft of large industrial machines.

All for the sake of his shoemaker friend. He never became a billionaire tycoon, but his little hobby of creating shoes started and every Sunday he sold at least three or four pairs of shoes designed and created by him.

Most importantly, he never attempted suicide again.

And all thanks to Gennaro, his questions and his generosity. He had always been so good at taking care of everyone, Cyrus thought, except for his own family.

Sometimes, he thought his father had started stealing more to stay away from that social climber of his wife than anything else. But Gennaro loved his two children, his little girl in particular. Cyrus hadn't spoken to her for years.

“Cyrus, all thieves are in America now, so why don't you come back here in Naples? We need smart young men like you."

In retrospect, he could not say whether his father's life was actually less honest than the one he himself had led in finance. Certainly, Gennaro Esposito had ruined fewer lives than his son had.

Thieves rob those who have money to be robbed, those who work in finance, instead...

“OHI! YANKEE!"

Cyrus jumped and almost fell on his ass on the grass.

"Your Majesty, good morning to you too."

Maximilian was dumbfounded by that unexpected cordiality and was silent for a few seconds.

“I suppose you've made progress with the undeads able to build houses,” Cyrus offered as a starting point for conversation.

“Dog's bollocks, if I've made progress. I have created a semi-sentient undead who can remedy the mistakes made spontaneously by my matrix. However, I will still need to make sure that the houses don't collapse on your heads when they're done. However, this already reduces my work to a tenth of what it was before."

The [Thief] took a sip from the goblet of milk he had stolen from Themistocles' kitchen and which he had half emptied on the ground, and gazed at Maximilian with a friendly look.

“Well, bollocks, what I meant is thank you. There aren't many good ideas around. I don't know how I didn't think about the magical undead by myself, bollocks. Sometimes I'm so smart that I seem retarded."

“I bet that even Vanessa would have been able to have the same idea as me, actually,” said Cyrus with a twinkle in his eye.

Maximilian was dumbfounded for a few moments, before laughing at the small joke.

“Good, you're funny, too. Listen, brownie, I like you very much. But I would like to know for a moment why they are organizing a manhunt in Vissart that will lead [Inquisitors], [Hunters] and [Trackers] - ah, right, quite a lot of soldiers too - at the gates of my city. Explain, andale amigo."

Who is Maximilian, really?

The question came spontaneously to Cyrus. He didn't care about what he had just asked him, but about how it was possible that he knew so many details.

How did Maximilian know that he and Vanessa came from Vissart? And why did he know of the chase?

The night before, Cyrus had not had the strength to formulate hypotheses about the man who had proclaimed himself King of a new civilization. But now he finally started using his brain.

Maximilian was an Earthling and showed skills that Cyrus was not able to understand even after a month in Vissart. The necromancer played with arcane and incredible magic like a child plays with bricks and builds towers that he throws down for fun.

They passed just at that moment next to a small artificial lake. The [Thief] saw many crustaceans similar to small lobsters, but yellowish. His sixth sense told him that those creatures must be worth a lot of money.

“I was the administrator of Vissart for a month, but it wasn't the right job for me. I took a couple of things for my escape, including Lady Goldith's horse. Let's say that I no longer enjoy the graces of the Rodinia family."

The Rodinia family, which at the time consisted of Lady Goldith and a few other members, practically hidden from the public eye. Cyrus had met the solitary Lord Felker, the Lady's cousin, only once - and it had not been a pleasant meeting.

"If you're afraid of Lady Goldith, I just need you to secure Vanessa and I can—"

Cyrus was interrupted by a laugh.

"Afraid? Uè, but where do you think you are, uagliò”, said Maximilian, badly imitating a Neapolitan accent.

What a singular guy, this Maximilian.

Who are you?

How can you be so strong?

Why do you know so much magic?

Nobody, Maximilian, nobody, knows about spatial magic in this era. There are also no more relics capable of teleporting anyone. How can you be able to do it?

Cyrus knew well how to find answers to all his questions. His father's lessons were still vivid in his mind, even after so many years.

On tiptoe, Cyrus.

“We're lucky, then. Just between us, Lady Goldith is a bit crazy, you know."

"Mummer mentioned something to me about the nobles present in Kome, Lady Goldith, Lord Karkaster, the Epodi family, Lord Dizier and so on."

Cyrus, hearing those names, nodded. At first, before deciding to flee Vissart, he had prepared to undertake diplomatic relations with the rest of the Vanedenis in Kome. Lady Goldith was not a reasonable person, and for that very reason she needed someone to help her.

The other Vanedeni nobles feared the woman, but they always feared her as much as a Vanedeni could fear any other human being. They respected her for her power, but they didn't want to bend their knees in front of her just for that.

“And King Maximilian, now”, said Cyrus, “King of Vanenis and Ahalis. King of the Britons, too, I hear."

The Londoner smiled. They seemed to have started challenging each other by quoting the Monty Pythons whenever possible.

"Ah, shall I taunt you a second time?"

As they walked, Cyrus could again admire the symmetry of the houses, the wide streets and the materials that looked expensive. He remembered, therefore, of the exploits that Maximilian was carrying out as if it were a perfectly normal thing.

The [Thief] began to make the cogs and gears in his head spin at full speed. He was so curious to find out more about Maximilian, but he also knew that the questions did not work if asked impulsively.

You ask questions for others, Cyrus, not for yourself.

When his father had told him that, he hadn't been able to understand what he meant. Only years later, after losing the most important person in his life, did he learn what it meant.

Now he only had to find the right question for the necromancer walking beside, while they both went towards the canteen.

"Your Majesty," said Cyrus, "if I may, what should we appreciate the most in this new life, according to you?"

Cyrus already had an answer of his own, but he wanted to probe the other's heart.

Maximilian raised an eyebrow, but answered anyway.

“A life far removed from all the bullishit we did on Earth, for some. For others, the possibility of escaping mediocrity. Still others see the possibility of becoming different people here. The arrival of us Earthlings has also changed the life of the Vanedenis and the Ahalis, who now find themselves to be something they could never have been before."

"And what do you appreciate the most?" asked Cyrus.

Maximilian bent his mouth on one side, lost in his thoughts. If anyone had seen him, perhaps they would have noticed that the necromancer was baffled for the first time since he had arrived in Kome.

Cyrus felt a strange wind envelop him, blowing only around the two of them. It was as if the world was focusing on them and placing its infinite eyes on that precise scene, when it could have looked at all the rest of creation.

“Live one last life. There is no greater gift than living again. You can look for a greater meaning, a purpose in life, or whatever you want. For me, the greatest value is having one last life to live as I want. That's all."

The necromancer turned to him two eyes as blue as the moonlit sea in the darkest hour and asked the thief a question.

"You, Cyrus, what do you want to do with your life in Kome?"

"Live it, I suppose," the man said with a smile.

Maximilian put a hand on his shoulder.

“Good, Baghdad. Remember, though, if you steal something from me, I'll break all your fingers. I am not Lady Goldith. Later we’ll go to the arena to see how good you are. If you want to become a better thief, Tood and I can help you."

"Obviously, Your Majesty," said Cyrus, sipping his now barely lukewarm milk.

…

Cyrus didn't have a precise idea why this was so, but he hated having breakfast. It was a boring meal, often causing him nausea and long minutes spent in a bathroom.

There were so many things in this world that he would have preferred to do instead of breakfast. For example, read the latest edition of the FT or the Wall Street Journal.

Besides, the fact that Vanessa and Maximilian were in front of him, eating as fast as they could, made him gag.

"Maximilian, why is this place called a canteen?"

Cyrus looked again at the huge room.

"Because people eat here?" said the Londoner, nudging Vanessa with an elbow.

"Cyrus, people eat here! And you don't! How stupid you are!"

The girl and the King of the city began to giggle, spitting a fair amount of chewed food at the thief.

Cyrus got up from the round wooden table, deciding he was completely fed up with them. Maximilian was a more than interesting person, but he also had to be taken in small doses.

Lady Goldith was dangerous because she didn't tolerate nonsense. Maximilian was dangerous because he only tolerated that most of the time.

The place that the inhabitants of the city - which apparently changed its name every two days - called the canteen, was a huge wooden complex.

There were no long benches or tables, but an endless series of round tables, which were forbidden to be shared only by members of the same species. To avoid quarrels and fights that could lead to bloodshed, Maximilian had placed some of the scariest undead he had there.

From what Mummer had told him the night before, when Cyrus had eaten one of the best pies of his life, these were the creatures who had won the battle. They had subdued the Ahalis without receiving any real harm.

The big man had said that he too, without a relic in his hand, would not be able to deal with more than a couple of them at a time.

Right, this was interesting information. Maximilian and Eudokia had distributed relics.

Mummer's huge axe, Strith's red sword, and her reddish-auburn breastplate were relics.

Cyrus thought back to when he had learned the difference between the various kinds of special items from Lady Goldith herself.

You see, Cyrus, relics are objects that were not only produced by some of the most knowledgeable people in this world, but also have a history. A 'new' relic is less powerful than an ancient one. Why? Because its history has weight.

Therefore, Strith's armour - created by Maximilian - could not be considered a relic like the sword she carried in her hand. In fact, the sword he was holding was none other than Scarlet Lightning.

Lady Goldith herself had told him stories of how that legendary blade had been wielded by Idner, their first hero. He had led the Vanedenis to Kome and began their long and glorious history.

But right now Cyrus wasn't focused on the relics, but on the huge — he didn't know what to call it ... Warehouse, perhaps? Hangar?

The canteen was like a gigantic reception hall capable of accommodating thousands and thousands of people, only partially occupied.

Cyrus had no idea how Maximilian had built such a structure, held up by strategically placed columns. But he knew this was one of the necromancer's many miracles.

Something suddenly occurred to him and he headed back to the King's table, which Strith had just joined.

Vissart's former administrator noted that the girl had acquired the same table manners as her king and master.

Strith, in fact, was devouring bacon and eggs, even throwing in a pancake, just because she liked them.

"Your Majesty, where did you find all the animals that are present in the city?"

The necromancer barely looked up from the mountain of toast in front of him.

"Requisitioned."

“Sorry, can you repeat? I'm not sure I heard right. "

“Requisitioned, bollocks, Cyrus. You're a thief. What is it that you don't understand?"

Cyrus observed the huge amount of food being cooked at that exact moment by the undead - another thing to think about in the future.

“Your Majesty, requisitioned, all right. But from where?" he asked.

"Oh, well, everywhere. Some from the north, some from the Ahalis, others from the Vanedenis."

Cyrus stood staring at the necromancer and slowly a thought crossed his brain.

"Your Majesty, do the victims by any chance know who carried out the requisition?"

Maximilian's smile made his stomach twist.

“Of course, bollocks. This is a tax, it wouldn't have been fair not to tell them who did it. I also left a message for your beau, the Lady who walks around in armour. They had a lot of extra chickens. I warned her that you have officially become my citizen."

Cyrus heard his ears whistle like a thousand steam locomotives.

Strith glanced at him and added, “Nobody touches our citizens, Cyrus. Do not worry. There is only one city that has heroes in it. Lady Goldith will have to bend her knee whether she wants to or not. We follow our heroes, and our King is the greatest of all."

The [Thief] ignored the brag the [Hero] had made about the other supposed hero.

Cyrus tried to breathe, but it was as if his lungs had been deprived of the ability to expand and take in air. He felt his abdomen contracted in terror, while the possible consequences of what Maximilian had done assailed and tormented him.

The administrator staggered towards the canteen exit, hearing nothing behind him, not even the jokes the Londoner was making, not even Vanessa's words.

He moved, shocked, to the only place he knew he would be alone. The small river that passed near the city. Intimate, discreet.

He focused and became part of the morning shadows, albeit still slightly visible.

Cyrus was a [Thief] who didn't know what to steal.

He was a thief who had just lost the choice of what to do with his life. Now that Lady Goldith knew where he was, it was only up to Maximilian to protect him. The former administrator could not have done anything against that woman and her countless soldiers and armies.

Vissart was such a well-oiled war machine that Cyrus was convinced that even Maximilian would perish in front of its armies.

He tried to find peace in the shadows, like someone who falls asleep in order to replace their demons with nightmares that do not survive the night.

He started running.

Nothing could comfort him, nothing could calm the beating of his heart, which now seemed to be behind his eyes, since they were pulsing so hard. It was beating so hard Cyrus bent over and vomited up bile and gastric juices. He hadn't eaten anything, so there was little he could leave on the ground.

When he got to the river bank he couldn't even remember how he got there, or why he had drawn a dagger. He was gripping the weapon with so much force that his right hand had completely gone numb.

He lost hold of the blade, which fell on the rocks. Then it was his turn to fall down.

He fell with a dull thud on the mud, using his hands as claws in the earth, hoping to find comfort there.

It was a familiar feeling, the one he was experiencing, a feeling he had experienced in the past.

On Earth, he had spent a lifetime building a web of control over the events around him. Finance also seemed like something he could dance with on his own terms. Yet the same mentality that had led him to success one day was shattered.

Cyrus, I don't want to see you anymore. Je suis fatiguée de tout. I can't see you anymore. My dad needs me after what you did. I don't want you close to me or my family anymore, got it?

The father of his beloved Marie had lost his job because of him. Saying it like that, it didn't even sound so terrible. Yet for someone close to sixty without a wife, work was the only thing keeping him afloat. The man had fallen into depression and refused to see anyone, even his daughter.

Cyrus had always been aware that Marie's father couldn't stand him and he didn't like him working in finance.And, all in all, the man was not wrong in being afraid of his job.

Marie's father had sold cheeses all his life on behalf of a large company, of which a large chunk was managed by a fund that would have liked to see Cyrus dead.

Obviously, the assholes of the fund had not hesitated for a minute to hit Cyrus where they knew it would hurt more, and they fired the man on the spot.

Cyrus would have gone out of his way for his father-in-law. Damn, he would have created a whole cheese company if it were useful. Still, she flat out refused.

Cyrus rested his forehead on the mud, listening to the soft whisper of water.

When Marie had said farewell to him, Cyrus had found himself facing his demons for the first time in his life. He had sat looking at a wall for several hours, thinking about his life and what he got out of it.

He had realized, after all those years, that he had always lived on autopilot. And, after nearly fifty years, he realized he didn't even know why he had persisted in living for so long.

He didn't know why he had an investment fund, why he was so obsessed with money, and why he couldn't sit still for a moment. He only knew those were questions he had never asked himself. He had always acted on what would be the next best move to make, the thing that would bring him the most money.

In a way, it had been a game of chess with life, where he had always tried to anticipate the next move. Unfortunately, he had never looked at the board from above, he had never thought about his endgame.

The choice to end it, therefore, had been much simpler than one could imagine.

It had been a relief.

It had been like going to sleep after a stressful day, but forever.

Cyrus looked up at the river and saw a creature above the water.

Immediately after his arrival on Kome, he had wondered if, while taking his last breath, he had been hallucinating.

It had been an interminable moment, the one he experienced before seeing eternal darkness, just for a second, and then falling upon Kome. But in that split second, in that gap between life and death, Cyrus had seen something.

Someone would have thought that it had been a very blurry image, but even today, despite Cyrus trying not to think about it, he could recall every detail.

The creature levitating above the river was a shriveled old woman, but some parts of her body were spider-like. She wasn't half spider and half woman, no, it would have been a lot less terrifying. It was an ever-changing mixture of parts of the two species.

From one angle, her face was completely human, but from the other it possessed the jaws of the most terrifying of spiders.

Arms covered with black chitin swayed back and forth, while the stern gaze suggested that the creature had never known happiness, or that she was its sworn enemy.

Cyrus was filled by a sense of peace as he watched the icy waters of the river begin to flow with torrential force and the sky darken.

No matter what life he was in, there was always a trick to be able to regain control, to regain stillness.

That creature was more beautiful to him than an actress, more fascinating than any adventure.

Lady Goldith would soon find him and put him in chains, after slaughtering Maximilian and all the other people in that city. Ahalis and Vanedenis could not live together as long as the Rodinia family was breathing.

Too many things escaped his control, too many people could take everything from him. It was as if the life essence was being sucked out of his marrow, causing excruciating pain that spread from his chest to his limbs and back to his face.

It was like drowning, but not in water. It was more like suffocating surrounded by soft blankets, in slow oblivion. Cyrus knew what was happening, but it was all too comfortable to fight.

People are unaware of how weak the human body is, how little it takes to make it stop working.

Even on Kome, a normal person should have been careful not to jump into a frozen river without levels capable of enhancing their resistance.

The creature kept looking at him, admonishing him for all the time he was making her waste. Eight eyes rested on Cyrus, judging him for his sins.

And the creature was right. Even though Cyrus had tried to change who he was by running away from Vissart with Vanessa, it was all so difficult. And he was just tired, he just wanted to rest. He didn't need to fight to be happy. No, he just wanted some silence, not having to think about problems anymore.

The monster kept looking at him, as Cyrus moved his steps towards the water, towards his end. Freedom was so close...

On Cyrus's face now there was a huge smile. There was nothing more beautiful than going to sleep, resting your head on the pillow and forgetting the world for one night.

And some nights were eternal, they could last forever.

He could finally tell his father everything he thought of him, how he had always treated strangers better than his family. He could have finally told him he had been a bastard. And he could have apologized to Marie's father...

Cyrus heard a voice coming from the woods behind him.

"Oh, I bid farewell to the port and the land

And I sail away from my beloved white sands

To search for my long, long lost friends

As tears have filled my eyes to no end

So I swallow my grief and face death’s final test

Its last promise of peace and eternal rest

As the songs of the dead fill the space of my ears

They laugh like children, they welcome and cheer

My heart longs to join them, forever sing in the sea

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

For they in my heart forever will be."

For Cyrus it was as if something had pulled him out of a dark and suffocating room. He realised the water was already up to his chest, and a croaky, off-tune voice was singing a pirate song.

The man turned, his eyes burning and his nose clogged with mucus, and laughed. It was such a foolish and childish thing that, at such a moment, it created an unstoppable happiness within him.

It was ironic that, just one step away from his end, something so small, so foolish, could pull him by his ears out of his ocean of despair.

On the shore there was Vanessa, still singing and waving her hand at him.

“When at last before my long lost friends I stand

I shed a small tear for my home upon land

Though their eyes see myself filled with struggle and strife

Their smiles below beg not to give away my life

As my dear friends call to stand fast and live on

I make sail for the land 'til my darkness has gone

Now I'll live on the shore but forever gaze at the sea

I remember the fallen and they sure think of me

For our souls forever together will be.”

Cyrus looked over his shoulder, towards his end, and took a step back towards the shore.

"Cyrus!" Vanessa waved at him.

"I’m coming, I’m coming!"