In the shadow-drenched alleyways of the empire, where the rich reside in opulence and the poor struggle to survive. You on the other hand, did what it takes to survive. You, a young thief with eyes that gleamed like polished daggers, had navigated the treacherous streets since childhood, and eventually perfected the art of thievery.

In the looming Mage Tower, a monumental structure that pierced the sky like a needle through cloth, that you slipped through the labyrinth of corridors with practiced ease, your movements as silent as a slithering serpent.

Silence enveloped the lavish chamber adorned with arcane relics and shimmering artifacts. Your swift hands deftly plucked a glowing magic stone from its pedestal, a coveted treasure that would fetch a handsome sum in the black market.

But suddenly, a playful yet sly voice resonated through the room.

"Stealing again?" Alaric, the youngest and most powerful sorcerer known to the land, emerged from the shadows with an enigmatic smile.