Those standing on the Dais were the next to die. Stripped of their clothing and their humanity, the four men and women were condemned by the Crown for their defects. Seen or unseen, Mageia couldn't tell from where she stood, but their whimpering sent sharp pains through her heart.

The announcer ascended onto the Dais with his parchment. "Hail Fairs of Ardania! Today we shall please the Diviine Six, who spoke so many years ago to cure our hearts and our land from the defect and the weak by means of sacrifice. They may be our friends, or a family member, but the Law is the law, and the Crown and the Diviines has spoken."

Mageia Unknown clenched the hilt of her sword as the crowd cheered for the sight of blood. Her purple eyes glared from her cloak's hood, scolding the Ferry Priest in his black robes with trims of green stitches of boats reciting a prayer for the souls. The families of the lost wept closer to the Dais, shouting their goodbyes and pleas for mercy which fell on deaf ears.

"These men and women are guilty of blasphemy and associating with the dangerous rebels, the Blesseds," the announcer continued. "They are enemies to our sacred kingdom and have been chosen by our anointed Priesthood and the Diviine Six to be sacrificed for the beginning of our holy ceremony. May the gods accept their sacrifice and bless the Kingdom of Ardania."

"Holy Dawnis have mercy," Mageia muttered. She hoped the god of life and death was not as merciless as the priests portrayed him to be.

She could see why these condemned Strange decided to switch their beliefs towards the Holy Ordained, rather than the Diviine Six. The six gods were known to be kind and pleasant only when they've drunken enough Strange blood to display it. One scar, disease, deformity, or crime marked any person in Ardania to be a bad soul and possibly the next one to meet the executioner. At least that's how the priests preached and taught it.

However, the five nameless Ordained were said to have been chosen by the Old God Hamino to possess his power of justice, unity, peace, and love. Passed down throughout the centuries, the stories spoke on how these gods were born human then transformed into living gods to be rulers over Royals and the Diviine Six. Hence why the Crown scolded these people.

For Mageia, she wavered in between both deities, not knowing whether who to trust or which teachings to believe. One thing was for sure, neither had decided to put an end to Ardania's heartless traditions.

The guards on the Dais's emerald-green platform, forced the first man to the beam and strapped him down so he couldn't move. The executioner stepped forward, prepared his sword, and with one swift motion separated the man's head from his body. Blood squirted everywhere. Its metal odor clung to the spring breeze whipping across the cobblestone courtyard of the Dais Grounds. Mageia's stomach curled. She hated working during executions, but it was the only best time to collect from the pockets of those who found these proceedings pleasing and holy.

"Blessed be," some shouted, eyes flickering to the sky, lips moving in silent prayers.

A hand tugged her sleeve. She caught eyes with Faebrin, a teen member of her family who didn't need to cover his face. The fourteen-year-old's birth defect dwelled on his ears, sharply pointed and screaming he was an Elf. And though being born an Elf seemed normal to the world outside Ardania, they gave him a Crescent Mark tattooed to the side of his neck to claim him an outsider that didn't belong. The burn in his narrowed sky-blue eyes reminded her of what they came to the Dais Grounds to do. When she nodded, he slipped away into the crowd.

Swift and with years of great skill, Mageia pick-pocketed coins, purses, timepieces, fancy pipes, and anything her sticky fingers touched. The sack attached to her waist, within her cloak, grew heavy, but not heavy enough to weigh down her silent feet. She was of a woman's average, law enforced height, about five by six inches that would not make her stand out. Many like her wore cloaks or robes with their hoods flopped onto their heads to block Holy Mesori's angry sun. So, she weaved through the rowdy crowd undetected.

Midlaan soldiers and guards in their greens and black chuckled at the horror taking place on the platform. They were unaware of the many thieving fingers doing what they knew best right under their noses. It always amused Mageia how the priests from the Diviine Temple refused to triple security around their favorite execution spot. But as usual the Grounds was packed with people, especially on a special day as this one.

The temple guards grabbed the second Strange who gave a heart-wrenching scream as they forced her into place. The Ferry Priest muttered his prayers to the Diviines as the woman whimpered sore. The crowd's ruckus heightened and all Mageia could do was avert her eyes as the sword came down. Past images of standing on the Dais made her chest tighten. She hated when this happened while she worked.

I need to get out of here, she scoffed, wishing she could run on the platform and cease this evil act.

She decided to finish up early and made her way through her section, head low and hands prying into men and women's clothing and purses. Then someone bumped into her from behind, the same time her hand dug into her next victim's vest for a timepiece hanging from a silver chain.

"Hey, watch it, lady," the man snorted, only for his eyes to widen, feeling her hand in a place it shouldn't. They caught eyes and fear crawled onto his face as he screamed. "Purple Thief!"

She gasped but did not hesitate to sprint into the crowd.

"Stop her," the man shouted.

Heart thudding in her ears, she pushed people out the way, heading eastward towards the crowded Rimly Market Arena. The guards and soldiers nearby snapped into pursuit, ordering her to stand down. People squealed and jumped out the way in fright as her hood flapped off revealing her Strange eyes.

Still, she continued to run, remembering the many escape routes that could lose her pursuers and their heavy armor. She scanned the Mideri Wall trailing behind the stalls on her right. With calm assurance and much practice, repositioned her bag of stolen valuables, and climbed onto a man's smelly onion stall.

"Oh gods, get off," he screamed.

Ignoring him, she climbed the stall's wooden poles onto the roof, the only sturdy roof she had taken notice of weeks ago. With careful footing, she tiptoed to the other side, jumped, and latched onto the wall's protruding stones and began to climb with a reptilian speed.

Her pursuers below were frantic. One tried to repeat what she had done. The idiot failed, tipping over and crashing into the seller's stall. His companions rerouted themselves, running towards the stairs of a wall-post. The two lone guards inside the post scurried onto their feet and began running towards her.

Unfortunately, for them she was too far away. She climbed over the other side of the wall into the neighboring city of Strana and climbed down to the thick vines of overgrown trees. They shouted above her as she switched over onto the tree limbs and disappeared into the woods. Laughing to the core, she ran through the clutter of trees and exited into the into the shadows of an alley. She stayed close to the buildings and weaved into Hamala's Market Arena. Barely out of breath, she glanced up at the wall where the guards scanned anxiously below and chuckled. Mageia had outwitted them again.

Strolling with her head casted down, she went eastward towards the Hillside. The market arena gradually turned into the upper northside neighborhoods for the middle classes of Strana. The houses were joined in rows with the occasional single home or store mixed into them. Some of the neighborhoods appeared as if they were a lost part of lower Midlaan with their clean grassy lawns, bright colors, and everything seemingly in place and in order while the others wore its struggles.

Every so often, Mageia would walk through the neighborhoods, imagining herself living in one where everyone treated her as equal. But in this Kingdom of Ardania, division was the air they breathed. So, her fantasies were always cut short. She spotted a farmer riding a horse-drawn wagon full of hay and easily climbed it and sat inside without his notice. She repositioned her aching feet and pulled her hood very low over her eyes and leaned back as if she had fallen asleep.

But she stole calm glances at the area around her as the farmer turned onto a street, crossing into the Hillside. The Hillside trailed Ardania's entire eastside from north to south with hills of trees and countless farmlands and estates. Mageia sucked in the air damp with cattle odor and the sweat of slaves tilling the ground and felt her heart go heavy. The crowds of people had reduced drastically, but she didn't dare take off her hood. No one could be trusted, not even the slaves.

This was the part of her journey home she dreaded the most. For thirty hardened minutes, she passed by slaves at work. People known as the Strange, considered as defected, cursed, and unwanted by the gods, condemned to a life of servitude until exonerated by their masters or the Crown or by death. If she were ever caught for her sticky fingers, this could be her life. But the risk was important to feed her growing family.

Then suddenly the farmer's wagon turned onto an adjoined street towards another section of farmlands and estates which was her cue to continue the next hour on foot. She slipped off just as easy, wiped herself off, and continued the main street until the trees of the Old Forest swallowed her. She passed the last of the small homes within the forest's entry and found the hidden path leading to her home.

Once the ground began to rise beneath her feet, she felt comfortable to take off her hood and walked confidently into the Dauntless Mountains. It was known how people would rather die than enter the Dauntless, said to be cursed by the gods. Filled with stacks of treacherous, rocky mountains, mirroring one another to the point of sending one walking in circles, it was known to have magic still lingering deep in its roots. But for someone who grew up in these mountains, she knew exactly where to go and the dangers to look out for.

Checking for unlikely followers or straggling members of her family, she entered a hidden cave draped with curtains of yellow flowered vines. A dark and dry tunnel scaled through the mountains where she let her feet guide her under familiar archways and turns until she spotted light ahead.

Mageia halted and gave a short whistle sequence. She waited, ears straining for the callback signal to enter. An owl's hoot responded. She smirked and continued towards the end of the tunnel to a gated entry and entered her home with a cheesy smile.

"Hala, Dean," she said, sensing he was nearby.

Indeed, the 17-year-old gave a low chuckle from his perch on a boulder. He flapped his auburn hair out of his green eyes exposing a pink birthmark trailing the right side of his face like a permanent blush. He lowered his spear and the three elders with him did the same.

"Lady Mageia, fine day?"

"It was indeed a fine day," she said, throwing him the silver timepiece she stole from the man she spooked. He caught it and grinned at its elaborate designs.

She heard him scramble off the boulder and fall on her trail.

"Yer back early," he said in the unknown foreign accent she'd grown accustomed to.

Uh oh, she thought, a knot forming in her throat.

"Yeah, I know."

"Geia... Did'ju get spotted?" he said with a hard strain in his voice.

"Uh..." she said, already feeling her friend's face twist hard.

"Wait," he said, stepping in front of her with a hand raised. "Yeh got spotted, didn't yuh?"

"Uh...Yeah," she said with a shrug, slipping around him. She bit hard into her bottom lip knowing exactly where this conversation was heading.

Dean Unknown gawked, unable to get a single word out. He followed her under the drape of colorful vines into the heart of the encampment. A place she has called home for seven years. Huts made of nature's debris covered with stolen or handmade blankets sat scattered about. Clothing hung along vines, ropes, and tree branches, drying under the noon day sun. Handmade decorations and artwork from the children dangled in the breeze across the pathway and anywhere needing the color of life.

The smell of venison and vegetables lingered in the air making her stomach grumble. She unlatched her cloak and exited the pathway into a circular clearing. A large firepit sat at the center with a lit flame within. Strange children ran around playing tag and when they saw her, they cheered, ran to her, and clung onto her waist.

"Hala, young ones," she chuckled.

"Hala! What did you bring us this time?" a boy said, peering up at her with crooked eyes.

"Hopefully, enough valuables to bring in more delicious sweets," she said, scuffing his hair.

They cheered with joy and ran off careless of their various deformities and illnesses.

"This is yer first spotting in what? Five months?" Dean picked up the troublesome topic and Mageia gave an irritable sigh. "What happened?"

"I'll give my report during the meeting," she said.

She continued across the Pit into a smaller trail leading to more huts. The biggest one sat towards the end of the trail, almost in the shape of a cottage, with a window and a door made of wood planks. This one belonged to her.

"This is terrible, Geia," he said, hand clawing into his hair. "Yer the Chief of the Lost Ones. Yer the role model fer everyone."

"I know Dean," she grumbled untying the sack of stolen items from her waist and plopping it into the Dean's hands.

"Yeh don't act like it," he said, eyes wide and firm. Her best friend in the entire world had lost his sense of humor. And she knew why but facing the truth would bring the waterfalls.

"But I'm fine, Dean. I made it out of the Grounds with my head still on my shoulders."

His angry face flushed red and the muscles in his arms flexed. The treetops surrounding them began to flutter in a sudden breeze causing the hairs along her arms to stand. She averted her eyes to the ground and tapped her boot into the stones. Guilt and regret washed its way into her soul. Her bottom lip curled between her teeth, and she fumbled with the buttons on her cloak.

Here comes the lecture.

"Yeah, thank the gods yer head is still there," he said, voice elevating which only strengthened his accent. "I told yuh the other day y'shouldn't be a Collect'r. Yuh have purple eyes and there's not much yuh can do to conceal 'em. If yuh get caught what're we supposed to do? It's too risky for yuh to be out there, but you insist. There're other things you can do 'round here, like huntin' or teachin' combat to the children."

"But you know staying within this forest will drive me insane," she said. "Slipping through the cities is where I feel free."

"Yer not a slave, yer not in the Dungeons or the Runes with shackles on yuh wrists and feet and men barkin' crap at yuh. You are free, Geia!" He then turned towards the fluttering trees and shouted, "We are free!"

"Dean!"

She sighed and scrunched her nose, knowing he was right. But it felt good to steal from the Fairs. But she had a family. They had a family. One they created over their eight years of scavenging the cities to survive. He was her strength when hers failed, and vice versa, and she knew he cared a million moons for her.

He jabbed a finger in her face, and she slapped it away. "The cities call yuh the Purple Thief because yuh stand out."

"I am quick on my feet-,"

"It doesn't matter when the archers pop from the ground," he said, gesturing with his hands.

"Dean!"

"Don't be ungrateful. Yuh have a family here that loves yuh. I love you," he said through clenched teeth, poking himself in the chest.

The back of Mageia's throat stung suddenly and she sucked in the fresh air to clear it up. She grabbed onto his shoulders and peered into his face. His stern green eyes like the fresh grass of spring wavered with hurt and disappointment. She never wanted to make him upset or worried.

"Dean. I hear you. I am so sorry. It was an accident."

"I cannot lose you, Geia," he said but this time low and heavy to her heart.

She wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled him in for a hug. His embrace about her waist tightened and she sucked in the scent of leaves on his skin.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Dean sighed as the breeze around them dwindled. "Yeah, yeah. Now let me go. I need to return to my post."

Mageia laughed and shoved him away. He indicated the sack in his hand. His cheeks deepened pink, and his chest puffed up.

"I'll take these to the collection basket," he said.

"I'm going to freshen up and do my rounds of the perimeter," she said, backing up to the door.

"I'll let yuh know when everyone's back for the meeting," Dean said, eyes jumping from the ground to her face.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he repeated and turned away stiff and awkward. She watched him walk away, scratching the back of his neck.

Mageia wished she could give Dean the world. He deserved it. Everyone in her family deserved more than sleeping in huts and depending on stolen valuables for food and necessities. But the world they lived in was unfair. And any slave and Strange in the kingdom would die just to have the freedom they had.

Heart now heavy with reality, she entered her hut, scented with bundles of lavenders tied to the walls. The beautiful purple flower not only reminded her of her eyes, but they were her mother's favorite. It brought comfort to her soul to believe her mother watched over her every day.

She took off the cloak and her sweaty tunic into a basket of soiled clothing. Everyone was responsible for their own laundry, so she noted to do it sometime tomorrow. The breeze from the window cooled her hot dark-brown skin as she peered at her reflection in a mirror with copper trims. Stolen, of course. She fixed her long hair of tight curls into a ponytail, only to allow her fingers to slide down the back of her neck to her birthmark.

Plumpy and odd, in the shape of a hexagon with a diamond in its center, the birthmark could be mistaken as a brand by hot iron, but her parents told her she was born with it. Sometimes she found it hard to believe and figured her parents didn't want to openly admit they branded their own baby. Though they made her promise not to show or tell anyone, they never got the opportunity to give their reasons and the truth. It did bother her at one point, but now it was just a reminder of where she never wanted to end up again. Caged.