Douluo Continent, Star Luo Empire – Skyhaven City, 2055 B.S.
Rain slammed the streets of Skyhaven City, thunder rattling windows and shaking the sagging tents of the once-famous Starlight Circus. The neon sign above flickered desperately in the storm, its light barely piercing the gloom.
Inside the main tent, the air was thick with damp canvas and heavier silence. The circus, once a place of magic and laughter, now stood on the edge of ruin—its dreams drowned by debt.
Eight-year-old kid stood beneath a swaying lantern, his dark eyes fixed on his father, Torin Vaelor. Torin adjusted his worn ringmaster's coat—golden threads dulled but defiant. A magician's staff leaned nearby, its crystal tip catching a flicker of light. Around them, a few tired performers packed up their props in silence.
Torin knelt beside the kid, offering a strained but gentle smile.
"Like a ship caught in a storm," he said, his voice rough, "we're not sinking, but we're not reaching shore either."
The kid held a silver spirit coin in his hand, its edges smoothed by constant worry.
"Papa… do you think the storm will ever stop?"
Torin looked at him—softly, but with something hidden behind his eyes.
"Tonight, we stand in the middle of it. Let's see if it breaks us… or bends."
He ruffled child's hair, picked up his staff, and walked toward the stage. Outside, the wind howled. Inside, the sparse crowd waited under a roof that creaked with every gust.
A warped drumroll started—shaky and drowned by the storm. The child's heart pounded as his father stepped into the spotlight, proud but fragile.
The next morning…
The rain was gone, but something heavier had taken its place.
Inside the cold, echoing halls of the Skyhaven Vault, Torin stood tall—barely—before Master Vren, an old man with sharp eyes and sharper words. Jade pillars loomed around them, housing rows of spirit stones—more wealth than the kid had ever seen.
Vren tapped a thick ledger labeled "Debt Unpaid."
"Your circus is finished, Torin," he said, voice like ice. "No more delays."
Torin clenched his fists, but his voice stayed calm.
"One more season, Master Vren. That's all we need."
Vren scoffed. "Your illusions don't work here. Clear out by dawn."
The chuld stepped forward, trembling. He held up his silver coin."Sir… take this. It's mine."
Torin gently placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"No, Kael. If they took your coin, they'd owe us. And we can't let that happen. Keep it safe. As long as you have it, no vault can ever truly break us."
He lifted Kael into his arms. Together, they walked out—into the drizzle, hearts heavy, but still unbroken.
That night, the circus was quiet. Tents half-collapsed, lights dim. Torin sat alone on the stage beneath a flickering spotlight. Kael slept nearby on a crate, wrapped in a threadbare blanket.
Torin whispered to the darkness.
"I didn't fail alone. The vault pushed me here…"
From inside his coat, he pulled a small spirit dagger, its blade cold and gleaming. His eyes drifted to Kael's peaceful face.
Then—a crack. Sharp. Final.
Kael woke screaming.
The world turned black.
Skyhaven City, 2082 B.S. (present)
The city was unrecognizable—its skyline now glittered with crystal towers and glowing spirit arrays. The Starlight Circus was long gone, just a memory. But the Skyhaven Vault stood taller than ever, its jade walls glowing with power.
A figure crept through a side gate, face hidden behind a jester's mask painted with crimson swirls. Kael, now a man—his gaze cold, his jaw sharp—moved with purpose. A black satchel hung at his side. A single yellow spirit ring glowed faintly around him.
He didn't speak. He didn't hesitate. Slipping through vents, Kael moved like a shadow, planting a small spirit device on the main vault lock. A soft beep echoed. Outside, spirit sentries stirred.
Then—the alarm.
Sirens wailed. Kael was already inside, filling his satchel with spirit stones. He grabbed a brush and scrawled one word on the jade wall:
"Trickster."
Guards shouted. "Intruder in the core vault! Seal the exits!"
Kael dashed to a crystal window and attached a tether. He leapt—soaring through the storm toward a neighboring spire. Below, guards surged in waves.
On the rooftop, Kael whistled. His mount answered—a sleek Midnight Wind Stallion, hooves sparking with spirit energy.
The chase was on.
Through winding streets, across floating bridges, past glowing lanterns—Kael and the stallion raced like lightning. Guards followed behind, talismans blazing.
"He's heading north!" someone shouted. "Black stallion, jester mask!"
Kael twisted a rune, unleashing a cloud of spirit mist. The world vanished behind it. He ducked onto a lower platform, leaving his pursuers crashing behind him.
At a silent riverside pier, Kael dismounted. He pulled off the mask—his face worn, haunted, but determined.
He flicked a jester card into the river and watched it drift away.
Then, with a tap of his heel, the stallion turned. Together, they rode into the night.
Far away, in the depths of a Spirit Hall archive, a jade tablet slammed onto a desk. One word burned across its surface:
"Skyhaven Heist."