Vengeance Through Passion

The air was stifling, thick with tension and the weight of the setting sun. Dust clung to the ground, and the village buzzed with its usual end-of-day activity, but for Aricia, the world had narrowed to a single point of focus.

Just seconds ago, she had picked herself up from the dirt and set her sights on him—the silver-haired man now standing amidst the chaos. Her eyes locked onto his back, drawn instantly to the rich fox fur coat draped over his shoulders. The coat gleamed in the fading light, far too luxurious for any merchant here. As soon as she saw it, she knew.

He was the thief.

'How appalling,' she thought, her disgust simmering in her chest. The words burned in her throat, though she spat them inwardly, her gaze hard and unflinching as she closed in on her target.

"It's about to get crazier, you filthy glove thief!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the bustling street.

Without warning, she swung the heavy bag of groceries in her hand, bringing it down on the man’s head with a dull thud. A cascade of flour and yeast exploded into the air, swirling in a cloud of white dust, hanging like a ghostly veil over him. The man—his silver hair shining like the stars themselves—slowly turned on his heel.

For a moment, everything seemed to still. He didn’t speak. He didn’t react, not like she expected. His face was eerily calm, devoid of the anger or surprise she was bracing for.

He just seemed.. uninterested, bothered even like she was some scruffy little nuisance.

Instead, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. With one swift motion, he yanked her forward, pulling her along as he started running.

"Wh–what are you doing?!" she sputtered, stumbling in his wake as they darted through the maze of stalls.

Behind them, chaos erupted.

"Catch them!" came the enraged voice of a merchant. "The thief! The one that stole all my jewels! Stop them! Those jewels could buy you all in a heartbeat, you worthless fools!"

His words sent a ripple through the crowd, and soon enough, five burly men—vigilantes from the village, their faces set in hard lines—charged after them. Their heavy footsteps pounded against the ground as they pursued, muscles bulging, determined to catch their quarry.

But Aricia and the silver-haired stranger had already vanished into the throng, weaving expertly through the market as they disappeared from view.

Aricia's eyes never left his back, her thoughts racing faster than her feet. Everything about him screamed wealth—the luxurious coat, the fine cut of his clothes, the jewels he'd pocketed. It infuriated her.

'So not only is he a jewel thief,’ she thought bitterly, 'but everything he’s wearing must’ve been stolen too.’

Her anger boiled over as she finally yanked her wrist free, skidding to a halt. She glared at him, seething, rubbing her wrist against the fabric of her dress as though trying to wipe away the very memory of his touch.

"Are you insane?!" she spat, her voice sharp as a blade. "Someone as filthy as you dares to hold my hand?!"

He stood still, completely unfazed by her outburst, his eyes scanning her, taking in every detail. The flour from the groceries had left a delicate dusting over both of them, clinging to their clothes in a surreal embrace. The sun was setting now, casting long shadows that deepened the lines on his face.

Then, his gaze traveled way down and met hers, unwavering. "Where's my glove?" she demanded, stretching out her hand toward him. But he tilted his head slightly, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his expression.

"I just helped you escape that mess," he said, his voice raspy and biting, almost teasing. "That should be enough to earn a heartfelt apology from you. After all, that madness you displayed was quite something."

"Wh… what? An apology?" she snapped, incredulous. "I'm not even interested in your silly antics. I need my glove, NOW."

Her emerald eyes flashed dangerously as she pressed on, her voice filled with venom. He, unperturbed— Instead, he posed a question that caught her completely off-guard.

"Why?"

She blinked, taken aback. "Why?" she repeated, her tone defensive. "It… it was given by someone important. Now hand it over."

The intensity in her voice was unmistakable as she shot him a death glare. His eyes, cold and unbothered, maintained contact with her as if reading into them.

"W–what? What are you looking at?" she asked, her voice faltering for a brief moment.

He didn’t answer. His gaze had shifted past her, focusing on the approaching vigilantes. The air around them thickened with tension.

“Good,” she sneered, “now, let’s see how you keep up with this ludicrous act.”

Without hesitation, she turned on her heel and waved the vigilantes over, her hand slicing through the air.

“Over here!” she called out, her voice rising above the noise.

The vigilantes closed in, but as she turned back to the silver-haired man—he was gone. The spot where he had stood was empty. Vanished. Her eyes darted around, panic setting in.

'What? How?' she thought, her mind racing.

"He was just here."

She muttered barely above a whisper, as if convincing herself.

One of the armed men caught her eye, nodding toward a different direction. “We’ll search over there,” he barked, signaling to the rest of the group as they moved out.

Aricia stood frozen in place, her thoughts swirling in confusion.

'Heavens.' she thought, trying to make sense of it all. She wasn’t hallucinating… was she?

***

The pouring rain had finally settled, leaving behind a damp chill that clung to the evening air. Aricia trudged through the muddy path, her soaked dress heavy with water, her spangled red hair plastered against her forehead and neck. The droplets slid down her face in quiet rivulets, but she made no effort to squeeze out the excess. Her steps were slow, measured, the exhaustion of the day's events weighing on her shoulders. She could still feel the heat of her anger from earlier, even though her body now trembled with cold.

The small bakery behind the cottage was in sight, the dim light from the kitchen window casting a welcoming glow on the wet cobblestones. Inside, Martha was bustling about, preparing the evening bread. The scent of rising dough mixed with the fresh rain hung in the air, filling the night with a warmth Aricia sorely needed.

As she entered the bakery, Martha turned from her work, her brow furrowed at the sight of Aricia, drenched from head to toe.

“Where have you been, Milady? A letter came for you,” Martha said, her voice warm but firm. “And you should have a bath, lest you catch a cold. You know that would be worse in your case.”

Aricia offered a weak smile, though her mind was elsewhere. Martha’s concern was not unwarranted—Aricia had always been different. As a child, her body temperature had been exceedingly high, sometimes dangerously so. Over the years, the heat had shifted, as if contemplating where it truly belonged, until it finally settled in her hands. The heat that radiated from them was intense enough to burn skin, forcing her to wear special gloves at all times. Gloves she no longer had.

Martha gave her a knowing look and pressed on, “Have you eaten yet?”

“Not yet,” Aricia replied, her voice quiet as she slipped off her soggy shoes.

“I presumed as much,” Martha sighed. “Hurry and settle the ingredients, then have a warm bath. I’ll set out dinner for you in the meantime.”

Aricia’s stomach twisted. The groceries. The flour, the yeast—everything she had carefully gathered for the bakery had been wasted on that strange man. Her mind flashed back to him—the silver-haired thief with eyes like ice and an air of mystery that unnerved her. Whoever he was, she had to get her gloves back. As much as they had been a necessity, they also held deep sentimental value. They were the only ones of their kind, crafted specifically for her, and without them, her secrets would be bare.

After an apologetic nod to Martha, Aricia dragged herself upstairs. The upstairs of the cottage was small, just enough space for a few rooms. Her bedroom was no bigger than a storeroom, but it had always been enough for her. She liked the quiet, the solitude. It gave her space to think, to plan.

She stripped out of her wet clothes, wincing as the fabric stuck to her skin, and slipped into the bath that Martha had prepared. The warm water was a welcome relief against her chilled skin, but no matter how much she soaked, the tension in her shoulders refused to ease.

After the bath, she joined Martha for dinner, the two of them eating in comfortable silence. The food was simple—bread, cheese, and a light soup—but it was enough to fill her and warm her bones. Martha chattered on about the day’s baking, unaware of the haze brewing in Aricia’s thoughts. As much as Aricia longed to tell Martha about her encounter, her focus kept drifting to the letter.

Back in her room, she sat on her small bed, which barely fit her slender frame, and reached for the letter Martha had mentioned earlier. It had been resting on her bedside table, its presence looming in her thoughts ever since she returned.

With slightly trembling fingers, she broke the wax seal and unfolded the paper. The faint light from the window made the ink glisten, casting long shadows on the page. Her heart raced as she read the words, her eyes widening in disbelief.

The Academy had sent her a reply for the final test.

She leapt from the bed, her fingers tightening around the letter as she read it again, ensuring she hadn’t misread. Only a few had made it to the final round, and now, she was one of them. After years of grueling effort, of near-misses and heartbreak, she had gotten another chance.

Her heart swelled with elation, and for a moment, she thought of running downstairs to share the news with Martha. But just as quickly, she hesitated. What if she failed? Again? The thought gnawed at her, casting a shadow over her joy. She had been here before—so close to her goal, only to fall short. She couldn’t bear to raise Martha’s hopes, only to crush them later.

Aricia sank back onto the bed, folding the letter carefully and placing it under her pillow. She stared out the window, her thoughts drifting. The Academy was just within reach, and this time, things would be different. It was even to her advantage—the Academy located here, in the Water Clan, where her family’s legacy was both feared and revered.

Her gaze darkened.

The wind outside rattled the windowpane, and Aricia shivered, not from the cold but from the weight of the path that lay ahead. The Academy. The final test. Everything was moving into place. But there was one thing that still lingered in the back of her mind, nagging her with every breath.

The silver-haired thief.

She would find him. And she would take back what was hers. One way or another.

***

Author's Note:

Hello everyone! I'm excited to announce that I'll be creating a playlist for this book, Vengeance Through Passion. Music plays a huge part in the mood and atmosphere of the story, so I can't wait to share tracks that perfectly capture the emotions of the characters and key moments. Let me know your thoughts on the playlist once it's up!

As for updates, I’ll be posting at least once a day for now, so stay tuned for more! Your feedback means the world to me, so feel free to share your thoughts in the

comments. In the meantime, enjoy the story and the journey our characters are embarking on!

Thank you for your support!