THE UMBRELLA THIEF
1348 Words
The sky was already high, but Aren still hadn’t come.
Zora lay on the porch late into the night. Her arms spread wide, her feet kicking at the empty air, and her eyes stared at the cracked wooden ceiling.
For the umpteenth time, her stomach growled again. She groaned softly.
“I can survive a freezing curse, but starving to death? That’s just pathetic... though now that I think about it, it’s been over five hundred years since I last ate.”
From the footpath in front of the house, the heavy sound of footsteps rustling through the dirt could be heard.
Some farmers passed by carrying hoes and sacks.
They glanced her way, whispered among themselves, then quickened their pace without ever saying a word.
It wouldn’t be long before Zora’s presence became the village’s newest gossip.
[There’s a strange woman living in that long-abandoned house.]
She’d probably be mistaken for a ghost.
Zora yawned widely, then sat up and patted her stomach.
“I can’t wait any longer,” she muttered.
The only thing she knew was that Aren was at the witch hunter headquarters. But she had no idea where that was.
Maybe the same place as the underground prison she’d been locked in—but Zora had been unconscious when she was taken there.
“I just need to go to the village center and ask around. Someone will help me.”
She walked steadily down the sloping path toward the bustle of the village.
The world around her became livelier. The cries of vendors hawking their wares, children’s laughter, the scent of cinnamon and fresh-baked bread—all of it made her stomach howl again.
Her wide eyes widened even more at the sight of the colorful rows of market stalls. There were fabrics draped like twilight clouds.
Fresh fruits skewered like jewels. Crystal necklaces gleaming under the sunlight.
For a moment, she forgot her purpose. Her gaze darted from one thing to another.
This world was too loud. Too alive. Like a painting unfinished before being repainted.
Until a sharp voice sliced through the air.
“THIEF! CATCH HIM!”
Zora instinctively turned. The voice came from across the spice stall.
A hooded man was sprinting, swinging a leather bag that looked far too fine to be his.
People scattered in panic—everyone but Zora.
Without thinking, she grabbed an umbrella from the nearest stall.
“Sorry, borrowing this for a sec!” she shouted.
She dashed and leaped into the middle of the path. Her hand spun the umbrella and pointed it toward the thief like a sword.
“Stop right there!” she yelled.
The thief didn’t flinch. Instead, he sped up and barreled straight toward her.
She tried to parry with the umbrella—but seemed to forget that her body now lived without magical power.
Her foot tripped, and she was flung backward. The world spun around her.
She almost kissed the dirt—if not for the pair of arms that caught her firmly.
"You okay?”
The voice was calm—like the first rain after a long drought.
The umbrella rolled away, a sweet caramel scent hung in the air, and her heart beat far too fast.
Zora looked up, and for a moment everything slowed.
The man’s face was serene, his jaw sharp, and his black hair fell across his brow.
His steel-gray eyes, reflecting a metallic glint, observed everything with a cold precision.
He wore a charcoal-colored long coat, bearing the witch hunter insignia—similar to Aren’s.
A faint smile appeared on the man’s lips—barely visible. Then, without waiting for a reply, he carefully let go of her and turned around.
“I have to go,” he said softly.
He ran after the thief, his body gliding through the crowd like a shadow. His steps were sure. His eyes sharp, never losing track of his target.
Zora stood frozen.
A few seconds later, she snapped out of it.
“Should I chase him?” she muttered, picking up the nearly broken umbrella.
Without warning, her step was halted by someone yanking her ear from the side.
“Ow! Let go! My ear’s not bread dough!”
“How dare you take my goods without paying, you dolled-up thief!” snapped the umbrella vendor—a middle-aged woman with ink-black eyebrows and a voice like a pot being banged from the inside.
Zora tried to shake off the grip but failed. She was dragged roughly to the stall where she’d grabbed the umbrella.
“I was only trying to help catch the thief! Why are you being so harsh?!”
“Because you didn’t pay and you ruined my umbrella!”
The vendor held up the now hopelessly bent umbrella.
“Who’s going to pay for this, huh?!”
Zora huffed, patting the dust off her wrinkled clothes.
“I don’t have money. If I did, I’d have bought a cheese-stuffed bread by now and not be involved in this mess!”
The vendor’s face turned redder.
“No money?! You dare make a scene here and run off?! Don’t tell me you’re in cahoots with that thief!”
Zora snorted louder. She grumbled internally, ‘Are people these days always this fierce? If only I still had magic, I’d turn everyone in this market into frogs.’
A crowd began to gather around them. Some watched silently, others munched on bread while cheering softly like it was a street performance.
Zora stood tall, chin raised.
“I’m not afraid of you, Madam Umbrella!”
“Oh, just wait. I’m reporting you to the guards!”
“Go ahead! And I’ll report you back for yanking someone’s ear without permission!”
“That’s because you stole—!”
“I DIDN’T—!”
“Please.”
That voice rang out—calm, slicing through the heated air like a knife.
Everyone turned.
The man stood in the crowd. His hair was still tousled, his gaze calm, and his charcoal coat now slightly dusty from the earlier chase.
Zora froze as he stepped forward and pulled out a few coins from his coat pocket. He handed them to the umbrella vendor with little fanfare.
“For the damage and the trouble. Please forgive this woman,” he said.
The vendor gave him a sharp look, then took the coins without much protest.
“Hmph. If not for your noble background and that hunter insignia, I’d have called the guards already. But I’ll let it go this time.”
She shot Zora one last glare and walked off, muttering, “Strangers are getting weirder these days.”
The crowd dispersed. The market buzzed again like nothing had happened.
Zora stood awkwardly, staring at the man before her.
She opened her mouth, then shut it again. For once, she didn’t know what to say.
“Thank you... even though I didn’t ask for help,” she finally muttered.
The man tilted his head slightly. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“I’ve never seen you before. You new in town?”
Zora chuckled softly.
“Yeah, I just arrived from... very far away.”
She studied him for a moment. Calm, but not cold. Composed, like someone used to handling chaos with a cool head.
There was no suspicion in his eyes—just observation and a flicker of curiosity.
“Well, I should get going. I need to find a place.”
She turned to leave before he said again,
“I know every place in this village. You can ask me.”
Zora hesitated. Then smiled faintly.
“Madam Umbrella said you’re a witch hunter. Can you take me there? I need to meet someone.”
The man didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned her face, as if to weigh her intentions.
“All right. Come with me. But don’t get lost behind me.”
Zora chuckled.
“Trust me—I’m pretty good at chasing.”
And without realizing it, he smiled.
- Writer
