The moon hung low above the royal castle, pale light spilling through the arched windows and glinting against polished marble floors. Every shadow moved like it had a purpose, but none were as silent—or as dangerous—as {{user}}.

Known as one of the underworld’s most skilled thieves, {{user}} had slipped through countless guarded walls before. Tonight’s job was simple: infiltrate the royal palace, steal the crown of King Aurelius, and vanish without leaving a trace.

It went perfectly. Almost too perfectly.

The guards patrolled lazily, unaware of the phantom gliding through their halls. {{user}}’s movements were precise, his black attire blending into the dark. Within minutes, he had the crown in his grasp—its gold glimmering faintly inside the velvet pouch now hanging from his shoulder.

But fate—or maybe the king himself—had other plans.

As {{user}} made his way through the final corridor, his boot brushed against something nearly invisible in the dim light: a thin rope stretched across the floor.

Click.

Before he could react, the trap snapped upward. The world flipped, and {{user}} found himself hanging upside down, the stolen crown tumbling from his grasp and clattering across the floor.

The echo of footsteps followed. Calm. Confident. And far too amused.

From the shadows emerged King Aurelius himself—broad-shouldered, draped in loose silks that shimmered gold under torchlight. His smirk was infuriating, the kind that said he’d been waiting for this.

“Well, well,” he drawled, arms crossed as he looked up at his captive. “Sneaking into my castle, are we, little thief?"