The Heist at the Chocolate Factory.

      The shadow stepped forward, moving carefully between the distorted trees. For a moment, the Haunted Woods itself seemed to hold its breath in awe at the scene that was developing in that moment. It was a mysterious, cloaked figure, smiling gently and approaching him from the darkness of the woods. The long black cape brushed the damp ground as he walked, with its fabric catching bits of silver moonlight. Every step was smooth, almost like floating.

      “There's no way anyone could be so untraceable in a place with so many branches, wildflowers, and rocks. Not even a spirit could pass without leaving even the slightest breeze around it. But this thing...” Thoren nervously thought to himself.

      The shadow stopped right in front of him, now illuminated by the light, and revealed a Quiggle with a thin and black moustache neatly trimmed above his lip. His clothes were clean, refined, and elegant. His face carried the polite look of someone used to fine company, but his eyes were sharp and cold, like polished blades.

      Thoren’s muscles tensed. His claws flexed against the dirt, tail twitching as his instincts screamed caution. This was not an ordinary Neopian. He had met stealthy ninjas who made more noise than this Quiggle. He was definitely something else.

      Before Thoren could answer back, the Quiggle's voice broke the silence again. It was calm, soft, and measured, each word carrying a weight that felt deliberate. It was like listening to the command of an experienced leader, but at the same time, a smug personality, full of repulsion towards him.

     “I will not reveal my real identity here, but I am known as The Butler, and as I said before, I have been watching you for some time, Thoren Sable,” the Quiggle continued. “You are the youngest brother of the Midnight Smuggler. A name that echoes through every alleyway, every dark port, every whispered deal across Neopia. But unlike your brother…” He paused, letting the words linger. “Unlike him, you are quicker. Sharper. You know when to wait, when to listen. You are not careless. And most of all, you are always hungry for greatness. The greatest thing about you is that you can obtain greatness thanks to your skills, to your incredible instinct, and your sense of hearing of yours that allows you to discover things that not everyone can.”

      Thoren’s ears flicked back. The stranger’s intel caught him off guard. His chest tightened, though he forced himself to stay silent. His tail lashed once across the fallen leaves while the Quiggle’s gaze didn’t waver

      The Butler studied him a moment longer. He watched Thorem from head to toe, as if analysing him one last time would determine if he could really complete the job he had in mind for him, or if he was just an item that should be discarded immediately.

      The mysterious Quiggle slipped a gloved hand inside his cape. Slowly, he drew out a shining envelope. “Second envelope of the night”, he thought. Its golden surface glimmered like a treasure pulled from a storybook. He held it out carefully, as if the envelope itself carried secrets too important to be dropped.

      “This envelope right here…” the Butler paused briefly with his tone smooth as silk.

     “...is your invitation to the Annual Chocolate Ball. Your entrance to the one night that will decide the fate of a treasure more valuable than any jewel.” He then reached again into his cloak and placed something heavy into Thoren’s paw as he closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. A pouch. The weight was unmistakable, and the faint clink inside of it was enough to make Thoren’s ears twitch as he recoiled in amazement at seeing how all his defences had been overcome by the speed, swiftness, and silence of that Quiggle.

      “Ten million Neopoints,” the Quiggle continued. “Enough to dress properly. Enough to make you appear more than a common and dirty thief. If you can, of course, or if you have even a little bit of good taste and decency.”

      Thoren’s grip tightened on the pouch. His claws dug lightly into the fabric. His voice came out low, careful. “You arrogant Quiggle… What if I just take this pouch and simply walk away? What would you do?” Thoren uttered those words even though he felt that the Quiggle standing before him could spell his doom at any moment. His own heart was telling him not to back down or cower before the Quiggle, but the innate greed, sense of every thief, was driving him to be part of that sinister proposal.

     The Butler’s moustache curled into the faintest of smiles. He stepped forward, quickly closing the space between him and Thoren and sucking the air out of the room in the process. His shadow stretched long, draping over Thoren like a cloak. His words came quietly, but they sliced sharper than any blade. “Then tell me… where is your dagger?”

      Thoren’s paw darted to his belt as fast as he could, just to find his dagger sheath empty.

      “And that rusty, old, tattered locket…” The Quiggle tilted his head slightly, almost amused. “...the one with the photograph of your mother? I'm impressed that, for a thief, you haven't managed to get hold of something of better quality. Perhaps the memory of your late mother isn't worth enough to give it a nicer place.”

      Thoren froze, blazing with anger. His chest clenched, and his paw flew to his neck, where the chain always rested. Emptiness again. His eyes widened, giving up before such speed.

      The Butler now stood calmly. On one hand, Thoren’s dagger, the ornamented weapon awarded as a prestigious rank under the Thieves Guild. On the other hand, a delicate locket dangled gently from its gold chain. He examined them as if they were fine pieces of exhibition at a noble’s house.

      Thoren’s throat tightened. He hadn’t heard a sound. Not a step. Not a movement. Somehow, without him noticing, this stranger had stripped him of the two things he valued most.

      “You see, I do not need to threaten. You are fit for this job, and you will do this job, Mr. Sable…” the Butler said, maintaining his voice and severe tone. “...because you must prove that you are more than your brother’s shadow. However, if you fail…” He continued, closing his hand around the locket, whose chain gave a sharp metallic clink that echoed in the stillness. “I will always find many other ways to make a profit, if need be.”

      Thoren, totally cornered, had no time to think about anything as the world seemed to stop due to the realisation that his skills were useless compared to this mysterious Quiggle in front of him. A great thief like him, totally defeated, and worse still, robbed, was totally humiliating.

     While he could boast of being a thief who came from the depths of the streets, he had before him a totally different profile: a perfectly groomed Quiggle, without any signs of fatigue in his face, and yet he was faster and more undetectable than him.

     With a quick flick of wrists, almost too fast to follow, the Butler returned the items. Thoren now felt the weight of the dagger back in his sheath, and the familiar feeling of his precious locket resting once again in his chest, like they were never gone.

      The Quiggle leaned close, his voice dropped into a whisper that seemed to sink into Thoren’s very bones. “Do the job. Infiltrate the Ball as an aide to the Gourmet Club staff. Walk through the gates as if you belong there. The Royal Purple Asteroid is waiting, and you, Thoren Sable, are the only one clever enough to claim it.”

      Those words wrapped around Thoren’s mind like chains. The Quiggle straightened, turned around, and with a sweep of his cape, he slipped back into the shadows of the trees. Within moments, it was as if he had never been there at all.

      Thoren stood rooted to the spot with an uneven breath. For the first time in his life, he felt a range of emotions that he thought were beyond his control. They were nerves, fear, courage, ambition, and bewilderment. Thoren didn't know whether to scream in the face of such turmoil or feel overwhelmingly motivated to fulfil the dark task he had gotten himself involved in.

     It was an interesting concept… While the Chocolate Ball represented just one of several illustrious events attended by the Neopian elite, the rumour is that it hid a much darker past. With expensive hobbies came thrill seekers, a thirst for power, and dirty money. People would, of course, attend for the prestige and even the chocolate itself, but the event itself represented just one cog in a reputation-fueled machine, a status symbol with a much more dangerous underground. Succeeding in this mission would be life-changing, but there would be absolutely no turning back once exposed to the dangers of this world.

      The golden envelope glimmered faintly in his paw. It felt heavy. Too heavy. The weight of a promise. A burden of something he could not walk away from. The Haunted Woods stretched silent around him. The moonlight flickered through the crooked branches. And though Thoren stood alone, the night no longer felt like his own.

      His choice no longer felt like his own…

To be continued…