The Heist at the Chocolate Factory.

      The dust of the Royal Purple Asteroid drifted through the ruined silo like living smoke, glowing faintly as it clung to every crack in the broken stone. It shimmered with an unnatural light, filling the chamber with a ghostly radiance. Mr. Rouge’s grin widened as he swept a cloth through the haze, his wings beating hard and fast to trap the dust before it escaped.

     “You came all this way for nothing,” the Scorchio hissed, his voice sharp and venomous.

     Thoren stood his ground, though his body ached from wounds and exhaustion. His breath was ragged, but his voice carried a cutting edge of defiance. “Do you really think I came here blind, Rouge? You underestimated me. All of you have.”

     The Scorchio tilted his head, suspicious, but without interruption.

     Thoren pressed on. “I know the Thieves Guild better than most. Their first love is stealing, but their second is gossip. Before I came here, I planted a rumour in their den. I told them the chocolate wasn’t gone. I told them it was still moving, and that Neovia was the key. I didn’t need them to believe me. I only needed the whispers to spread like fire. And I knew who would hear them in the end.”

     Mr. Rouge sneered angrily. “That pesky Faerie.”

     Thoren nodded. “Mira heard those rumours. She was in search. Even now, she must be flying across Neopia, feeling for the traces of this dust. I gambled everything on that chance. And I don’t intend to lose.”

     The capsule fragments pulsed brighter, and the chocolate dust shimmered like a storm cloud ready to burst. Mr. Rouge snarled, clutching the cloth tighter. He beat his wings and rose into the air, glaring down at the Kougra.

     “You won’t live to see her arrival,” he spat mid-air. while hurling the glowing Super Attack Pea down at Thoren.

     For an instant, time froze. Thoren saw the projectile spinning toward him, a small green blur blazing with power, and he knew what it was capable of. He tried to dodge, but his body was too battered, too slow to move in time.

     The impact came with a deafening roar. The explosion tore through the silo in a storm of fire and force. The blast ripped apart stone and timber alike, sending flour into the air in a white wave that ignited into a choking cloud. The ground cracked beneath him, some floorboards splintered, and the roof was torn away in a shower of fire and sparks. That blast swallowed everything.

     Thoren was flung against the wall with a bone-crushing force. His ribs screamed in pain, his breath was driven from his lungs. After that, part of the ceiling collapsed, burying him under a cascade of stone, wood, and fire. Everything was reduced to thunder, dust, and agony. He clawed at the air, but his arms would not move. His body was pinned under the debris.

     And again, darkness closed in at the edges of his vision. His heartbeat faltered. His strength bled away. This was his end, slow, suffocating, and inevitable.

     Time lost all meaning. Seconds stretched into eternity. His consciousness drifted between the weight of stone and the silence of the grave. Then, faintly, a voice pierced the void.

      “I shouldn’t be doing this… but I want to hear what you know.”

     Warmth spread through him, faint at first, then stronger. He did not see her, yet he felt her presence. The glow of starlight seeped into his body, knitting broken bones, mending torn flesh. Mira, the Space Faerie, had found him. She had chosen to intervene, not because he deserved saving, but because she believed he still held answers. She reached into the wreckage of his fading life and pulled him back.

     Light shattered. Warmth collapsed into cold. Voices echoed from nowhere and everywhere. Beeps, whispers, the smell of antiseptic, none of it made sense.

     When his eyes opened again, he was lying in a hospital room. The light was pale, the walls white and sterile. One of his paws was chained to the bed. He blinked, disoriented, every muscle aching as though he had been dragged from the edge of the abyss.

     The door opened, and Mira stepped inside. Her expression was calm but sharp, her gaze assessing him with quiet intensity.

     “You’re awake, Thoren” she said evenly. “I traced the last fragments of the dust. Some still clung to Rouge’s claws. He is now in custody with the Defenders of Neopia”

     Thoren’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “My brother… Where is Jaxon?”

     Mira’s gaze softened just slightly. “Your brother is alive. Badly wounded, but he will recover. As for you, you only survived because I gave you another fragment of the chocolate. Dangerous, yes, but without it, your heart would have stopped under that wreckage.”

      He swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the weight of her words. For hours, he recounted everything he knew. He told her about the Chocolate Ball, the forged invitation, the paintings on the castle of Briartree, the shadowy meetings, the Crimson Fork Society, the Quiggle mercenary, and finally Mr. Rouge. Mira listened without interrupting, absorbing every detail.

     When Thoren finished his long and halting explanation, the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the hospital lanterns. Mira paced slowly, her wings stirring the air with a faint shimmer of light. She studied him as though measuring not only his words but the weight of his intent. At last, she spoke, her voice clear and deliberate.

     “So. You did not steal the Royal Purple Asteroid. You did not plant the explosives outside the Chocolate Factory. You did not bring down the silo. But you did ignite the chaos at the Chocolate Ball with those mints. Whether that was sabotage or survival is not for me to decide. That judgment belongs to William Truffle.”

     The door opened, and the chocolatier entered. William Truffle, the chocolate factory owner. He stood at the foot of Thoren’s bed for a long while before speaking, his gaze heavy with thought.

     “You have brought danger to my doors, Thoren,” William said at last, his voice low, almost burdened. “Do you understand what you have done? My name was nearly dragged into ruin. The Chocolate Ball became a battlefield. My workers feared for their lives. Families began to whisper that the Factory was cursed. Every truffle and every bonbon I ever made was questioned, not for its taste, but for its safety.”

     Thoren lowered his eyes. He felt the weight of guilt pressing down like the rubble he had so recently been buried under.

     “I never meant for it to come to that… it was a heist that became a complot, then a search for the truth” he said hoarsely. “Greed took hold of me, but then came curiosity… then a hunger to solve the mystery. In the end, I only wanted to stop them. But every choice I made pulled me deeper, until it was too late to turn back.”

     William’s expression did not soften. He leaned closer, folding his small arms over his chest. “You gambled with other people's lives. You gambled with my legacy. Tell me, Kougra, if Mira had not intervened, if the chocolate dust had spread unchecked, what would have been left of the Chocolate Factory? What would have been left of us?”

     Thoren forced himself to meet his gaze. “I know the risk I took. I know I cannot justify everything I did. But if I had remained silent, Rouge and Briartree would still be holding the Royal Purple Asteroid, and the Crimson Fork Society would still be thriving in the shadows. I am no hero, Truffle. Never was. I am a thief, and I know it. But this time, I was willing to risk everything to cut them off.”

     Mira finally spoke, her tone carrying a sharper edge. “And yet you cannot pretend innocence, Thoren. You manipulate rumours, twist truths, and set fires where you cannot fight directly. Do you believe that makes you different from those you claim to fight?”

      Her words struck him harder than the explosion. He turned his face away, unsure whether to answer. Silence stretched, and the faint beeping of the hospital monitors filled the void.

     William sighed while looking at Thoren. “And yet, despite it all, you brought the truth into the light. The chocolate was never gone. It was hidden, used as leverage by those who would poison the very name of chocolate itself. And now, because of your reckless gamble, Neopia begins to trust again.” He paused, changing his tone this time, “Orders have returned to the Factory. Merchants who swore never to stock my confections again are at my door. The people do not see me as a victim of scandal, but as one who endured chaos. I did not win this battle, Thoren. You did, though, at a cost I would never have paid.”

     Those words stung, but there was no cruelty in them. They were an acknowledgement, not a pardon. William stepped back, his eyes softening only slightly. “Briartree and Rouge will pay for the damages. Their debts will not be forgotten. As for you… I will not chain you to crimes you did not commit. You will walk free. But do not mistake this for absolution. It is a reprieve, nothing more.”

     Mira tilted her head, watching Thoren carefully. “You are alive because I chose to act when fate would have claimed you. And I only did so because I believed you still carried pieces of the truth. I have no reason to save you again.” Her words lingered like a blade. She moved toward the door, her presence filling the room with starlight just like the first time Thoren saw her at the ball, and let the guards into the room to remove Thoren’s chains.

     Moments later, Jaxon was brought in, his body bandaged, his steps unsteady but firm. Relief struck Thoren so hard he thought his legs would give way. His brother was alive, full of scars but breathing, and that was enough.

     At the threshold, Mira turned once more. Her expression was unreadable, her voice calm but edged with warning. “I hope this is the last time I see you tangled in destruction and lies. If I do, I will not intervene again.”

     Neither Thoren nor Jaxon spoke. They stood together, bruised, broken, but breathing, bound by the knowledge that their freedom was fragile and borrowed. Yet for this moment, it was real. The storm had passed, and though shadows still loomed in the distance, the path ahead remained open.

     The End.