## Chapter 2: The Glove That Stole a Soul

Ren stared at the strange glove that had materialized on his bed. It looked weird, like something that didn't belong in this world. And maybe it didn't. He picked it up carefully, half expecting it to bite him or something.

"Did the God of Thieves actually answer my prayer?" he whispered to himself.

The glove felt strange in his hands, not exactly cold but not warm either. It was like holding something that existed between temperatures. The material shifted under his fingers, almost like it was breathing. When he turned it over, he noticed symbols on the palm that seemed to rearrange themselves when he wasn't looking directly at them.

He glanced at the small window of his room. Outside, the moon was rising. He'd planned to rob the Vellos merchant house tonight. That's why he'd prayed in the first place. He needed money desperately, and the Vellos family had plenty to spare.

"Is this supposed to help me?" he wondered aloud, examining the glove more carefully.

He'd been stealing small things since he was a kid - bread when he was hungry, coins from drunks at the tavern, occasionally jewelry from wealthy ladies who didn't watch their purses closely enough. But he'd never attempted anything as big as breaking into a merchant's house.

"Well, here goes nothing," he said, and slid the glove onto his right hand.

The moment the glove covered his fingers, Ren gasped. It tightened around his hand, molding itself to his skin until it felt like he wasn't wearing anything at all. The symbols on the palm glowed briefly with a greenish light, then faded. A strange warmth spread up his arm, followed by a tingling sensation that reached all the way to his shoulder before gradually subsiding.

"Whoa," he breathed, flexing his fingers. The glove moved with him perfectly, like a second skin. "That was weird."

He looked around his tiny rented room, half expecting something else to happen. Nothing did. The peeling paint on the walls was still peeling. The rickety table still wobbled. His few possessions were still scattered around haphazardly.

But something felt different. He felt... confident. Like tonight wasn't going to be a disaster after all.

"If this is a divine gift, then I guess I really am chosen," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "The God of Thieves has blessed me with this magic glove!"

He started preparing for the night's work with a new energy in his movements. He pulled on dark clothes, gathered his few tools – a small knife, a length of rope, a cloth bag for whatever valuables he might find – and quietly slipped out of his room.

* * *

Far above in the divine realms, Sly lounged in his moldy armchair, eyes closed, concentrating on the tenuous connection to the mortal world. The moment Ren had put on the glove, the link between them had strengthened dramatically. Not enough for Sly to take control – that would take days – but enough for him to catch glimpses of what the mortal was seeing and doing.

"Let's see what you're up to, kid," Sly murmured.

Flashes of the mortal world flickered behind his eyelids. Narrow streets. Moonlight on cobblestones. The sensation of cool night air. It was frustrating, getting only these fragments, but better than nothing. At least he knew the glove was working.

Sly nudged his awareness harder against the boundary between realms, trying to strengthen the connection. The Soul Glove responded, channeling a bit more of his essence into the mortal vessel. Not much, but enough that Sly could now hear snippets of sound along with the visual impressions.

Distant voices. Dogs barking. The mortal's own breathing, slightly faster than normal.

"Going somewhere interesting?" Sly asked, knowing the human couldn't hear him.

This was the boring part – waiting for enough of his essence to seep through the glove and into the mortal's soul. Once that happened, taking control would be easy. For now, all he could do was watch and wait.

He opened his eyes briefly, looking around his cluttered domain. Maybe he should tidy up a bit while he waited. Or maybe not. Who cared what his place looked like? It wasn't like he entertained guests, except for the occasional angry god looking for stolen property.

Sly chuckled and closed his eyes again, focusing back on the connection to the mortal realm. This was more interesting anyway.

* * *

Ren moved through the shadows of Lower Crescent, the gloved hand occasionally brushing against his thigh as he walked. The city was quiet tonight, with most businesses closed and only a few taverns still showing lights. Perfect for his purposes.

He felt strangely confident. Normally, the prospect of breaking into the home of one of the city's wealthiest merchants would have him sweating with anxiety. But tonight, he was calm. It must be the glove, he thought. The God of Thieves was watching over him.

The Vellos mansion loomed ahead, its white stone walls gleaming in the moonlight. It was located in the wealthier district of the city, surrounded by similar homes owned by merchants, minor nobles, and government officials. Guards patrolled the streets here, but Ren had spent days observing their routes. He knew there was a gap in their coverage near the eastern wall of the Vellos property.

He slipped into an alley across from the mansion and waited, watching. There – right on time, the guard walked past the corner and continued down the main street, leaving the section of wall momentarily unobserved.

Ren darted across the street, his footsteps whisper-quiet on the cobblestones. When he reached the wall, he uncoiled his rope, which had a small grappling hook attached to one end. He swung it a few times, then let it fly up and over the wall. The hook caught on something. He tugged, testing its hold.

"Perfect," he murmured, and began climbing.

The wall wasn't particularly high, and Ren was in good shape from years of running from trouble. He reached the top quickly, looked both ways to ensure no one was watching, then dropped down into the garden on the other side.

The Vellos estate was even more impressive from inside the walls. Carefully tended flower beds lined winding pathways that led to a central fountain. Behind it stood the main house, a two-story structure with large windows and an ornate entrance.

Ren crouched in the shadow of a hedge, studying the building. Most of the windows were dark, but a soft light glowed from one on the ground floor. Not ideal, but he'd have to work with it. He'd heard the family kept most of their valuables in a study on the first floor.

Moving carefully from shadow to shadow, Ren approached the house. He avoided the main entrance and the lit window, instead making his way to a side door that servants probably used. He tried the handle. Locked, of course.

He pulled out a slender metal pick from his pocket and set to work on the lock. This was always the trickiest part for him. He wasn't particularly skilled at lock-picking, usually preferring to go after easier targets with doors left unlocked or windows open.

Tonight, though, something was different. As his gloved hand worked the pick, it felt like his fingers knew exactly what to do. The lock yielded with surprising ease.

"Wow," he whispered, genuinely impressed with himself. "This glove really is magical."

He eased the door open and slipped inside, finding himself in a narrow hallway that likely led to the kitchen. The house was quiet, with only the occasional creak of settling wood. Ren stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness and his ears attune to the sounds of the house. No movement. No voices. Good.

He moved through the hallway, his footsteps silent on the polished wooden floor. The kitchen was dark and empty, moonlight streaming through a window to illuminate gleaming copper pots hanging from the ceiling. Beyond it, a door led to what appeared to be a dining room, and beyond that, he guessed, would be the main hall.

Ren made his way through the house, careful to stay close to the walls where the floor was less likely to creak. Every room he passed was more luxurious than anything he'd ever seen – expensive furniture, paintings in gilt frames, silver candlesticks, crystal decanters. The Vellos family was certainly doing well for themselves.

Finally, he found what looked like a study – a room lined with bookshelves, containing a large desk and several comfortable-looking chairs. This had to be where the merchant kept his valuables.

Ren closed the door quietly behind him and began his search. He started with the desk, checking for hidden compartments or locked drawers. The gloved hand seemed to know what it was doing, finding a spring mechanism that revealed a secret drawer beneath the main ones.

"Jackpot," he whispered as he pulled out a small wooden box.

Inside were several fine pieces of jewelry – a necklace set with blue stones, a few rings, a pair of pearl earrings. Definitely valuable. He transferred them to his cloth bag and continued searching.

The study yielded more treasures – a small pouch of coins in another drawer, a silver letter opener that looked valuable, a miniature painting in a frame studded with what might be tiny diamonds. Ren took it all, his bag growing heavier by the minute.

He was just checking the bookshelves, having heard that some people hid things behind books, when he heard a sound that made his blood freeze – a door opening somewhere in the house, followed by light footsteps.

Ren ducked behind the desk, heart pounding. Who would be up at this hour? Had someone heard him? The footsteps grew closer, then paused outside the study door.

The door handle turned slowly. Ren held his breath, pressing himself as flat as possible against the desk. The door opened.

A young woman stepped into the room, holding a candle. She wore a simple white nightgown, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looked around the study with a small frown, as if sensing something amiss.

From his hiding place, Ren could see her clearly, but she hadn't spotted him yet. He remained perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. Maybe she would just leave.

But then her gaze fell on the desk, and her frown deepened. She moved closer, and Ren realized with horror that he'd left the wooden jewelry box open on the desktop.

The woman stopped, staring at the empty box. "Father?" she called softly. Then, louder, "Father, are you here?"

No answer, of course. Her father was presumably asleep in another part of the house.

Ren knew he needed to move now, before she raised the alarm. He sprang from his hiding place, startling a gasp from the woman. The candle fell from her hand, rolling across the floor but miraculously staying lit.

"Who are you?" she demanded, backing toward the door. Her eyes widened as they fell on the bag in his hand. "Thief! Guards!"

Ren lunged forward, trying to silence her, but she was quick and slipped past him, running into the hallway. He cursed and followed, knowing his only chance was to get out of the house before guards or servants responded to her cries.

The woman continued shouting as she ran toward the main part of the house. Lights began coming on in other rooms, doors opening. Ren abandoned all pretense of stealth and simply ran, heading back the way he had come, toward the side door.

He was almost there when a large man – a butler or house guard, perhaps – appeared in his path. Ren tried to dodge around him, but the man was surprisingly agile for his size and caught Ren by the arm.

"Got you, you little rat!" the man growled.

Ren struggled, dropping his bag of stolen goods in the process. The glove on his hand seemed to pulse with warmth as he fought, but it didn't give him any magical strength or ability to escape. The man's grip remained firm.

More people were appearing now – servants in nightclothes, the master of the house in a long robe, the young woman looking both frightened and triumphant. And behind them, two city guards who must have been patrolling nearby and heard the commotion.

"This is the thief," the woman told the guards as they approached. "I caught him stealing from my father's study."

One of the guards grabbed Ren's other arm. "We'll take him to the station. He'll face the magistrate in the morning."

Ren's heart sank. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. Where was the divine help he'd expected? The glove had seemed so promising at first, making him feel confident and helping with the lock, but in the end, it had done nothing to prevent his capture.

"Please," he began, "there's been a mistake—"

"Save it for the magistrate," the guard interrupted. "Let's go."

As they dragged him out of the house, Ren noticed the young woman watching him with curious eyes. "I'll accompany you to the station," she said suddenly.

"That's not necessary, Miss Vera," one of the guards began, but she cut him off.

"I insist," she said firmly. "As the victim of this crime, I have the right to see that justice is properly served."

The guard looked uncomfortable but nodded. "As you wish."

As they led him away, Ren couldn't help noticing a small pendant the woman wore around her neck – a set of scales, perfectly balanced. The symbol of the Goddess of Justice.

Great. Just his luck to be caught by a devotee of Justice while wearing a gift from the God of Thieves. This night couldn't get much worse.

* * *

The city guard station was a squat stone building near the center of town, illuminated at night by torches that flanked its entrance. Inside, it smelled of sweat, cheap wine, and unwashed bodies – the typical aroma of a place where the city's lawbreakers spent their time.

The guards brought Ren to a small room where a sergeant sat behind a desk, looking bored. The young woman – whose name, Ren learned during the walk, was Vera Vellos – followed them in.

"Caught this one robbing the Vellos mansion," one of the guards reported. "Miss Vellos herself discovered him in the act."

The sergeant looked up, immediately straightening when he saw who accompanied the prisoner. The Vellos family was important in the city, and their shipping company employed hundreds of people.

"Miss Vera," he said, standing. "I assure you this criminal will be dealt with severely."

Vera nodded. "I trust he will face appropriate consequences for his actions."

The sergeant looked at Ren. "He'll face the magistrate tomorrow morning. We'll hold him until then."

"Of course, Miss Vellos. In the meantime, the prisoner will remain in our custody."

"Very well," she agreed. "I'll return tomorrow for the hearing."

After Vera left, the sergeant gave Ren a hard look. "A night in the cells should improve your attitude, thief."

Ren was led to the back of the building, where several small cells lined a narrow corridor. Most were occupied with drunks sleeping off their excesses or petty criminals awaiting judgment. The guard roughly pushed him into an empty one and locked the door.

"Enjoy your accommodations," he said with a smirk before walking away.

Ren sank onto the hard wooden bench that served as both seat and bed. He leaned his head against the cold stone wall.

"Some divine gift," he muttered bitterly. "Fat lot of good you did me."

* * *

In his domain, Sly frowned. The connection had weakened when the mortal was caught – probably because the human's faith was wavering. Understandable, given the circumstances.

"Not my fault he's a terrible thief," Sly grumbled. "I gave him the best tool possible, and he still managed to get caught."

He could still see snippets of the mortal world – stone walls, iron bars, the glow of distant torchlight – but the images were fragmentary and unclear. Sly concentrated harder, trying to strengthen the connection again.

The Soul Glove responded sluggishly, channeling a bit more of his essence through but not enough to make a significant difference. This was going to complicate things. The plan had been for the mortal to wear the glove while going about normal life, gradually allowing more of Sly's essence to seep through until the god could take control.

Instead, the idiot had gotten himself locked up, which would make things much less interesting once Sly took over. What fun was there in being stuck in a cell?

But the process was already underway. There was no stopping it now, and no way to remove the Soul Glove from the mortal until Sly was done using it. He would just have to be patient.

"Guess I have to wait for divine bureaucracy to run its course," he sighed, settling back in his chair.

* * *

The next four days passed miserably for Ren. His cell was cold at night and stifling during the day. The food was barely edible – watery gruel once a day, stale bread if he was lucky. The other prisoners largely ignored him, which was probably for the best.

Vera Vellos returned the day after his arrest, as promised. She spoke briefly with the sergeant, then left without seeing Ren. Apparently, the magistrate was busy with more important cases.

And so another day passed, and another. Ren began to wonder if he would ever leave this cell.

By the fourth day, he was losing hope. The Vellos family valuables had been recovered, but Ren was still facing theft charges.

That night, he lay on the hard bench, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. The cell was quiet except for the occasional snore from other prisoners or the distant footsteps of guards making their rounds.

"If you're really from the God of Thieves," he whispered, "now would be a good time to do something dramatic."

Ren sighed and closed his eyes. Eventually, despite his discomfort, exhaustion won out, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

In his dreams, he felt a strange pulling sensation, as if something was tugging at the very core of his being. It wasn't painful exactly, but deeply unsettling, like his body was becoming less solid, less his own. The sensation grew stronger, and with it came a presence – foreign yet somehow familiar, as if someone had moved into a house he hadn't realized had a spare room.

Ren tried to wake up, to shake off the strange feeling, but found himself sinking deeper instead. The last thing he was aware of was a voice – not his own – seeming to echo inside his skull.

*"My turn now, kid. Let's see what we can do with this mess you've made."*

Then darkness claimed him completely.

When the body's eyes opened again, it wasn't Ren looking out at the world.

Sly blinked, taking in his surroundings – the small cell, the dim lighting, the hard bench beneath him. He flexed his fingers, then his arms, getting used to the sensation of having a physical form again. It felt both limiting and exhilarating, being confined to a mortal body with all its weaknesses and sensations.

He sat up, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. The transition had been smoother than he expected, though the mortal vessel felt a bit... resistant. Not surprising, given the circumstances. Most mortals who prayed to him wanted his help, not his complete control of their bodies.

"Sorry, kid," he murmured, using Ren's vocal cords for the first time. The voice that emerged was similar to his divine one but higher, younger. "I'll give it back... eventually."

Sly stood up, testing his balance, and walked to the cell door. He gripped the iron bars, looking out at the corridor beyond. No guards in sight at the moment. Good.

He examined the lock on the door, a simple mechanism that would have been trivial for him in his divine form. In this mortal body, though, he would need tools and time.

Or would he? Sly looked down at his right hand – at the Soul Glove still clinging to it. He hadn't actually known what the glove did when he took it, other than its connection to souls. Hoard-and-More had tons of artifacts with various powers. Maybe this one had abilities he could use.

He traced the symbols on the glove's palm with his left index finger, trying to decipher their meaning. They shifted under his touch, rearranging themselves into new patterns.

"Interesting," he said quietly. "Let's see what you can really do besides soul-hopping."

Sly was a god, after all, even if he was currently trapped in a mortal form. And he was the God of Thieves specifically. If anyone could figure out how to escape from a simple jail cell, it should be him.

He examined the lock more closely, then placed his gloved hand over it, concentrating. Nothing happened. He frowned and tried again, focusing his thoughts on the mechanism inside, imagining it unlocking.

Still nothing.

"Hmm," he mused. "Not going to be that easy, huh?"

But that was fine. He didn't need magic to escape. He was the God of Thieves, not the God of Magic Users. He'd stolen from some of the most heavily guarded divine vaults in existence. A mortal prison cell would be child's play by comparison.

First, he needed to take stock of his resources. He patted down the body's pockets, finding nothing useful – the guards had confiscated everything when they brought Ren in. The cell was similarly barren, containing only the bench and a metal bucket in the corner.

Sly sat back down, thinking. Simple problems often had simple solutions; he just needed to find it.

A guard walked past, glancing briefly into the cell before continuing on his rounds. Sly watched him go, noting the ring of keys at his belt.

Well, there was the simplest solution – get the keys. But how?

Sly smiled slowly as an idea formed. He might be temporarily constrained by this mortal form, but his mind was still divine. And the game of theft was always about outwitting your opponent, not overpowering them.

"Let's see what this body can do," he said softly to himself, stretching his fingers. "Time for the God of Thieves to live up to his name."