The Heist at the Chocolate Factory.

      The night had not yet loosened its grip when Thoren finally reached the outskirts of Neovia.

     He knew his condition was grave and the rush of escaping and some of his injuries only served to slow him further. Every hasty step reminded him that he needed to escape as quickly as possible to a secure place. But the road ahead was long and merciless. His body carried the memory of the fall that took place in the pit of the labyrinth, the stress of concentrating while trying to find the exit with his hearing abilities alone. He truly felt defeated by the menaces crafted by the labyrinth hidden beneath the Chocolate Factory, but moreover, by the fact that something far beyond his control was happening, and that he was only a piece of a bigger plan.

          His shadow-colored fur was burned along the shoulder, streaked with dust and ash, while his long dark hair clung damply to his face, heavy with sweat. The clothes that previously made him look like an elite of the Gourmet Club now made him look like a stranded beggar being chased like a fragile prey.

          Each movement toward his hideout cave in Neovia grew harder, as if the very stones beneath his claws resisted his passage. His conscience was on the verge of a blackout, but it was his fear of encountering the Space Faerie that kept him going.

          He forced himself onward despite the sharp ache in his ribs with every breath. His mind, however, refused to rest. Fragments of the night returned again and again, circling like carrion birds.

          “Why were there caves beneath the Labyrinth? Who knocked out the guards and smashed the cameras? And that attack near the pit… who struck him and the Zafara down there? The fireworks, the explosions underground, were they timed together somehow? Planned? No, it could not be remotely possible. Everything fit too perfectly. Someone moved the pieces long before he even set foot inside. But who? And why him?”

          He remembered the tunnels collapsing next to him, the cries of rival thieves vanishing into the dark, the thunder of explosions that had distracted the guards, and above all else, the image of the vault already emptied before he even arrived.

          Some purple dust had stained his claws, an unmistakable evidence of the Royal Purple Asteroid’s theft. Yet he did not even see it, the incriminating evidence clung to him as though fate itself had chosen him to bear the blame. Someone had used him, arranging the chaos so that suspicion would settle directly on his shoulders.

          The cruellest twist of all? The Space Faerie herself was now on the hunt. She was angrier than ever before, for it was the first time she had entrusted to others a treasure she had guarded with such jealousy, even against the most dangerous of villains. Yet the Asteroid had been stolen, and not merely stolen but taken during a grand celebration, without respect for the event, without respect for her. It felt less like a robbery and more like a deliberate insult, a calculated mockery.

          The Chocolate Factory wasted no time in calling for her intervention. Word had spread quickly among the staff and the factory Security team once the vault was breached. Alongside their alarm, one subtle inconvenience happened: a guest of the Gourmet Club, who had stepped out into the gardens for a breath of night air, “noticed something weird on the outside”.

          “Through the smoke, I glimpsed the silhouette of a Kougra slipping into the hedges.” Those were his words. The guest, who did not yet know of the theft, was just coincidentally reporting it simply as an unsettling sight. But once he spoke to a guard, the story travelled swiftly to the Factory’s defenders, and from there, upward to the Faerie herself.

          The pursuit was immediate. Using her powers, The Space Faerie was able to trace a faint residue of the Royal Purple Asteroid, a trail no mortal thief could hope to hide.

     She descended across the countryside like a blade of starlight, her arrival announced by a resonance that made Thoren’s bones tremble. He felt her presence long before he saw her. That same unshakable heartbeat he had sensed inside the maze now pressed against the fog of Neovia, rumbling through the night like a celestial drum.

          Thoren pulled his cloak tighter and moved with the instinct of a prey who knows is being hunted. Every reflection in a puddle, every flicker of light through the fog became a threat. He slid into alleys and narrow crevices, hugging the walls, his claws scraping grooves into wet stone as he climbed and dropped, vanishing from one shadow to the next.

          “They set me up,” he thought bitterly. “Every explosion, every diversion, every piece of chaos was meant to place suspicion on me alone. All this situation was planned but something seems off… Do they need me… alive? Why?”

          The Space Faerie’s glow cut through the night fog multiple times. Her radiance bruised against treetops, rooftops, and the forest canopy. Thoren felt her probing the land with senses far beyond mortal reach. Each time, he pressed himself deeper into the mud or slipped into forgotten passages, forcing himself into silence and stillness even as his lungs burned. He knew that one mistake, one careless sound, would bring her wrath upon him. He knew his claws and tricks were useless against her.

          “Damn Quiggle,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You dragged me into this scheme. If I do not survive tonight, I will hunt you down in the next life.”

          At last, desperation drove him underground. A narrow fissure in the earth opened into the old smugglers’ tunnels winding beneath Neovia. The air was stale, thick with soil, mildew, and full with memory of long-forgotten crimes, yet it concealed him from the Faerie’s unrelenting light. He pressed forward through the darkness, following the steady drip of water. His body, battered and worn, squeezed through some other crawling spaces until the thunder of starlight finally faded above him.

          At last, after a couple of feet, he surfaced again, now closer to his final destination. The twisted trees of Neovia parted enough to reveal the familiar mouth of his cave. Relief tried to rise within him, but it was cut short.

          Someone was waiting. A figure stood silently at the entrance of the cave. It was The Butler again, the very one Quiggle that Thoren had cursed only moments earlier, now revealed in a sight that made his weary body tense with alarm.

          He was the same Neopian who had first entangled him in the plot back in the Haunted Woods. Yet his posture tonight carried no trace of mystery or secrecy. Only finality. In one of his hands gleamed a weapon that Thoren had never seen before: a reaper sword, of refined craft, with a curved edge that caught the faint glimmer of moonlight like the crescent of a dying star.

          The Butler’s stance was calm and deliberate, as though he had been rehearsing this moment for a long time, waiting with the patience of stone.Thoren froze, his tail lashing once in defiance. His instincts told him to retreat, but the sword’s poised edge promised there would be no escape.

          “You’ve played your part, Thoren the thief” the Quiggle said with a steady voice, carrying no anger, only cold resolve. His other hand rose, revealing a box. At first it looked plain, but when he opened it, the glow inside erased all doubt. Violet light spilled outward, pulsing like a living heart, unmistakable in its brilliance. The Royal Purple Asteroid.

          Thoren’s breath caught, his claws flexing helplessly at his sides. The Quiggle carefully lifted the Royal Purple Asteroid from its box, and with a precision that spoke of long preparation, he slid it into a capsule carved from dark crystal, fastened securely to the side of his belt.

          The violet glow shimmered behind the glass, pulsing faintly as if alive. Once the treasure was safe, he turned back toward Thoren and tossed the now-empty box at his feet, the gesture casual, almost mocking. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

          “You know, Thoren,” he said with unsettling calm, “I’m still surprised by how Mira can sense the presence of Kreludor’s purple cocoa even after it’s been processed into a finished product. Fascinating, really. But that isn’t important now. What matters is that she will be here soon, five minutes, perhaps less.”

          His eyes narrowed as he raised the reaper sword. His tone hardened, leaving no room for mercy.

          “I must finish this before that meddling faerie arrives. So please, cooperate. It will be quick. Do not move. All I need is for it to look as though you collapsed from exhaustion while fleeing. One strike, clean to the heart, and it will seem you simply gave out. When she finds you lying here, with the box empty beside you, she’ll assume the chocolate was lost, devoured by some wandering creature or one of Neovia’s straying Petpets. Meanwhile, I’ll be far from here, carrying the Asteroid with me. A perfectly crafted illusion, don’t you agree?”

          Thoren’s chest tightened, and his breath grew shallow as his heart hammered against his ribs. The box lying before him is like discarded evidence, a silent accusation. He barely registered the faint rustle of the Quiggle’s cloak before the figure lunged forward, blade aimed at his chest. The sound of the strike split the silence, echoing through the twisted trees like a final verdict.

          The fog thickened, the air holding its breath, as the night braced itself for the end.

     To be continued…