## Chapter 3: A God Behind Bars

Sly opened and closed Ren's fingers, getting used to the sensation of inhabiting this mortal body. The prison cell felt cramped and reeked of things he'd rather not identify. Moonlight streamed through a tiny window, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

"This is what I get for answering prayers," he muttered to himself.

He stood up from the hard bench and stretched. His body ached all over. The kid must have gotten a beating since they caught him. Sly rolled his shoulders and winced. These mortal bodies felt so weak and breakable.

"First thing I need to do," he said quietly, "is get out of this stinking box."

He walked to the cell door and examined it more carefully. The lock was simple enough—just a basic tumbler mechanism that any decent thief could pick. Unfortunately, he had no tools. The guards had been thorough when they'd searched Ren.

Sly glanced down at the Soul Glove still attached to his right hand. It seemed to shimmer slightly in the dim light, the symbols on its palm shifting and changing like living things.

"You must do more than soul-hopping," he whispered to it. "Ol' Hamster God wouldn't keep something this fancy if that's all it did."

He pressed his left index finger to the symbols, tracing their outlines. They felt warm under his touch, almost alive. One symbol in particular caught his attention—a swirling pattern that seemed to represent movement through barriers. Sly's eyebrows raised as he considered the possibilities.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."

A guard's footsteps echoed down the corridor, and Sly quickly stepped back from the door, leaning casually against the wall. The guard passed by without even looking at him. Good. The man was probably used to seeing prisoners checking their cells for ways out. Wait. He shouldn't feel disappointed about that. This was actually lucky. While he was stuck in this mortal body, he couldn't use his god powers—he needed to think like a regular thief would.

He returned to the bench and sat down, studying the glove more carefully. The runes continued to shift and change, but that one symbol kept reappearing. Movement through barriers. It had to mean something.

Sly held his gloved hand up to the moonlight, watching how the light played across the strange material. It didn't just absorb light—it seemed to bend it, creating little ripples of darkness around the edges.

"What secrets are you hiding?" he asked softly.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing his thoughts on the glove and that particular symbol. Nothing happened at first, but then he felt a strange tingling sensation starting in his fingertips and spreading up through his arm. The glove grew warmer, almost uncomfortably so.

Sly opened his eyes and gasped. His hand looked... different. Not quite transparent, but not fully solid either. It was as if his flesh had become slightly hazy, the edges blurring into the surrounding air.

"By all the divine realms," he whispered, fascinated. He waved his hand through the air, watching the strange blurring effect follow his movements. "What did that hamster-brained collector actually create?"

The effect faded after a few seconds, his hand returning to normal solidity. Sly frowned and tried to concentrate again, focusing harder this time. The tingling sensation returned, stronger than before, and once again his hand took on that strange, not-quite-solid appearance. This time, he didn't just wave it around—he reached toward the stone wall of his cell.

Instead of meeting solid resistance, his fingers slipped through the stone as if it were nothing but mist. The sensation was bizarre, like pushing through thick water. He could feel the texture of the stone as a kind of pressure against his skin, but it didn't stop his movement.

"Holy theft," he breathed, pulling his hand back quickly. The last time he had been this impressed was, probably, a century ago. It wasn't often that gods could be surprised, especially ones as old as him. Ages of existence tended to dull the sense of wonder.

The effect faded again, his hand returning to normal. Sly grinned, a plan already forming in his mind. If he could pass his hand through solid objects, getting out of this cell would be almost embarrassingly easy. He just needed to practice a bit more, get a feel for how this power worked and how long he could maintain it.

He spent the next hour trying different things with the glove's phasing ability, figuring out how it worked. He could only make things pass through walls for about ten seconds before it stopped working. Then he had to wait around a minute before he could do it again. And it only worked on whatever the glove was touching—he couldn't make his whole body go through walls, just his hand and anything he was holding. That made escaping harder, but he could still do it.

Another guard passed by, and this time Sly paid close attention to the routine. The guard checked each cell, then continued to the end of the corridor, where he exchanged a few words with another guard before returning the way he'd come. The whole circuit took about fifteen minutes.

"That's useful," Sly murmured. Guard routines were almost always exploitable.

He returned to his experiments with the glove. By focusing intensely, he found he could extend the phasing effect up to his wrist, which would give him a bit more reach. With enough practice, he might be able to reach through the door, manipulate the lock from the outside, and let himself out.

"Let's see if I can..." he began, then paused as he heard voices approaching. Multiple sets of footsteps this time.

He quickly returned to the bench and adopted a casual pose, as if he'd been resting there all along.

Two guards appeared at his cell door, accompanied by a third man in finer clothing—some kind of official, based on the insignia he wore.

"This is the one who broke into the Vellos estate," one guard explained to the official. "Scheduled for the magistrate tomorrow morning."

The official peered at Sly through the bars, assessing him with cold eyes. "Make sure he's presentable for court. The Vellos family has considerable influence, and they want this matter handled publicly."

"Yes, sir," the guard replied. "First thing after shift change."

The official nodded and walked away, leaving the guards to continue their rounds. Wait! That was a valuable bit of information.

"Shift change," Sly whispered to himself once they were out of earshot. "That's my window."

Based on what he'd observed so far, the prison ran on a schedule like any other institution. A shift change meant confusion, distraction, and opportunity. It was when the night guards handed over to the day guards, typically at dawn. There would be fewer eyes watching the cells during that transition.

Sly smiled. He now had both the means and the timing for his escape. He just needed to refine his technique with the glove.

He spent the next few hours practicing, extending the duration of the phasing effect as much as possible and working on his precision. It was frustrating being limited by this mortal body's capabilities—the concentration required was intense, and he found Ren's mind tiring quickly. Still, he made progress. By the time the prison grew quiet for the night, he felt confident in his ability to reach through the door and manipulate the lock mechanism from the outside.

Now he just needed to wait for the right moment.

Sly laid down on the hard bench and closed his eyes, not sleeping but conserving energy. Mortal bodies were so inefficient, requiring rest and food to function properly. He focused on maintaining his awareness while allowing Ren's body to rest.

The night passed slowly. Occasional sounds broke the silence—a prisoner coughing, guards making their rounds, the distant barking of dogs outside the prison walls. Through it all, Sly remained still, waiting patiently. Gods were good at waiting. When you'd existed for millennia, a few hours was nothing more than a blink.

Apparently it was not like it for mortals. He could even feel Ren's consciousness stirring occasionally, like someone turning over in their sleep. The kid was still in there somewhere, pushed to the background but not gone. Sly wondered briefly what that felt like—being a passenger in your own body. Probably not great. Oh well. The kid should have been more specific in his prayer.

"You asked for help, not for a friendly consultation," Sly whispered to Ren's subconscious. "Besides, I'll give it back... eventually."

No response, of course. The mortal soul was too deeply suppressed to communicate. That was probably for the best. Sly didn't need a running commentary from the kid while he was trying to concentrate.

As the night grew old, Sly noticed a subtle change in the prison's rhythm. The guard patrols became less frequent, and the ones who did pass by looked more tired, their steps dragging slightly. Perfect. The exhaustion that came at the end of a long shift would make them less observant.

Finally, he heard what he'd been waiting for—the sound of multiple voices at the end of the corridor, guards talking as they prepared to hand over to the day shift. Sly sat up, fully alert now. This was his chance.

He moved silently to the cell door, pressing himself against it to listen. Three, no, four distinct voices discussing mundane matters—who owed whom money from a dice game, complaints about the early hour, comments about particular prisoners. Standard guard talk.

"Now," Sly whispered, focusing his concentration on the Soul Glove.

The tingling sensation began immediately, stronger than before, as if the glove had been waiting for this moment. His hand blurred, becoming that strange semi-transparent state. Sly carefully pushed his hand through the solid metal of the door.

The sensation was even stranger than passing through stone—metal had a different texture, a kind of lingering resistance that pulled at his skin. Sly gritted his teeth and pushed further, extending his arm up to the elbow. He turned his wrist, feeling for the lock mechanism on the other side. The inside was some kind of mechanic, and it was pretty hard for a mortal body to comprehend all the small parts of a lock so well. But luckily for Sly, after all his years of divine theft, it was nothing to him. The mortal body was sweating, and it was harder to concentrate, but the God of Thieves was able to sustain the concentration even inside the mortal form. He reached deeper, searching with his fingertips for the latch.

There! That was it, a simple deadbolt sliding into a metal housing. The kid must have been a novice to get caught on such a simple job. Sometimes Sly wondered about the quality of his worshippers. Their prayers often had a desperate edge to them, the prayers of those who'd already failed rather than those seeking to perfect their craft.

He carefully manipulated the bolt, sliding it back from its housing. The metal made a scraping noise, and Sly froze. He listened hard for any sign the guards heard it. Their talking didn't stop though—they were too busy with their own conversation to notice the little sound he made.

Sly resumed his work, finally pulling the bolt completely free. He withdrew his hand quickly, the phasing effect fading as soon as he broke concentration. His arm felt strange, tingling with pins and needles as it readjusted to normal solidity.

He pushed gently against the cell door, and it swung open with only the faintest creak. Sly held his breath, listening. The guards were still talking, their voices slightly louder now as new guards arrived for the morning shift.

Perfect.

Sly slipped through the doorway into the dimly lit corridor. The cells on either side contained sleeping prisoners, none of whom stirred at his passing. He walked without making a sound, putting each foot down carefully on the stone floor. The kid's body moved pretty well—he must have practiced sneaking around a lot.

The voices of the guards seemed to be coming from a room at the far end of the corridor. Sly moved in the opposite direction, toward what he hoped was another exit. His divine instincts told him there would be multiple ways in and out of any secure building—fire safety, if nothing else.

He rounded a corner and found himself in a narrower passageway. It was darker here, with no windows and fewer torches. Sly paused, letting his eyes adjust. As the darkness thinned, he was able to make out a small door at the far end. It looked promising—possibly a service entrance for bringing in supplies.

Sly approached it cautiously, alert for any sound that might indicate guards on the other side. He heard nothing. The door was locked, of course, but this time he had better access to the mechanism. He activated the Soul Glove again, phasing his hand partially through the door to feel for the lock. It was a more complex system than the cell door, but still child's play for the God of Thieves. It took him less than a minute to manipulate the internal parts into the unlocked position.

The door swung open. There was a small courtyard for deliveries on the other side. Crates and barrels were stacked against one wall, and an empty cart sat nearby. Nobody was around this early—the delivery guys wouldn't show up until after sunrise.

Sly stepped outside and took a deep breath. It felt good to breathe free air instead of the stink of that cell. The night was almost over, and the sky in the east was turning pale gray. Dawn would come soon. The air felt cool and damp on his skin. He could smell smoke from cooking fires, garbage rotting somewhere nearby, animals in stables, and that weird smell that comes from too many people living close together.

The outer wall of the compound loomed ahead, considerably taller than the one the kid had climbed at the Vellos estate. It was topped with nasty-looking spikes, probably to discourage exactly the kind of escape Sly was attempting. But walls, no matter how high, were just another type of barrier. And barriers were meant to be crossed.

He surveyed the courtyard, looking for something useful. The empty cart caught his attention. If positioned beneath the wall, it would reduce the climbing distance significantly. Sly moved to it and began pushing, wincing at the scraping sound of wheels on stone. He paused, listening for any reaction from inside the building. Nothing. The guards were still occupied with their shift change.

Sly positioned the cart against the wall and climbed onto it. Even standing on the cart's edge, the top of the wall remained frustratingly out of reach. He jumped, fingers just brushing the top before he fell back onto the cart with a thud. That wasn't going to work.

He needed something more. Sly looked around again, his gaze falling on a stack of crates. They wouldn't be stable enough to climb, but they might contain something useful. He hopped down from the cart and went to investigate.

The first crate was sealed tight, but the second had a loose board that he pried off with his fingers. Inside were bolts of cloth—prison uniforms, probably. Not immediately useful. The third crate, however, contained exactly what he needed: coils of rope. Probably for binding prisoners, but it would serve a different purpose today.

Sly pulled out a length of rope and returned to the cart. He fashioned a simple noose at one end, the kind used for catching and pulling. With a few practice swings, he cast the rope upward, aiming for one of the spikes atop the wall. It took three attempts before the noose caught securely. Sly pulled hard, testing the hold, and found it solid enough for his purposes.

He began to climb, using the rope to haul himself up the wall. The mortal body protested, muscles burning with the effort, but Sly ignored the discomfort. The pain was just his body trying to tell him something, and right now, he didn't need to listen to that message.

Reaching the top, he carefully maneuvered around the spikes and sat straddling the wall. From this vantage point, he could see the city spreading out before him, still mostly dark but with a few early lights appearing in windows. And behind him, the prison compound lay quiet, no alarms yet raised.

Sly uncoiled more of the rope and dropped it down the outer side of the wall. He checked its security one more time, then began his descent, moving quickly but carefully. The outer wall's surface was rough stone, providing good handholds, but a fall from this height would still be disastrous. Mortal bodies broke so easily. It was annoying to be subject to such vulnerabilities.

His feet touched the ground, and Sly allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. He was out of the cell and out of the compound. Now he just needed to put some distance between himself and the prison before his absence was discovered.

He hurried through the empty streets, staying in the shadows and avoiding the few people already awake. He saw some other thieves, drunk people heading home, and merchants getting an early start. Nobody looked at him twice—he was just another shadow moving in the dim light before dawn.

Sly wasn't really sure where to go. He could access the kid's memories, but they felt foggy, like trying to remember something you dreamed last night. He got feelings about places, but not exact directions. But that didn't matter much right now. He just needed to get far away from the prison. That was easy enough to understand. He didn't need to overthink it. He just needed to keep walking and put as much distance between himself and those guards as possible.

As he walked, the sky continued to lighten. The first rays of true sunlight touched the highest buildings, turning their rooftops gold. Sly paused in a shadowy alleyway, considering his next move. He needed to understand this city better if he was going to make the most of his time here. And for that, he needed information.

What he really needed was a vantage point. Sly looked up at the buildings around him. One in particular caught his eye—what appeared to be a temple with a tall bell tower. That would offer an excellent view of the city, and churches were usually unlocked. This was a good idea..

The temple was quiet at this early hour, with only a single acolyte sweeping the front steps. Sly easily slipped past, entering through a side door and making his way to the tower stairs. The spiral staircase was narrow and dusty, obviously not used often. Perfect.

He climbed quickly, ignoring the burning in his thighs. At the top, he found what he was hoping for—a small chamber with open arches on all sides, offering a panoramic view of the entire city. The view took his breath away. As a god, Sly had seen countless beautiful things, but never quite like this. Being in a mortal body made everything look different, like he was seeing the world through new eyes. He was used to viewing things from what mortals called a "higher plane of existence," always looking down from above. He never really knew what it felt like to look up at things. Now, standing at the highest point in town (except for the bell tower of the central cathedral), he watched the beautiful town spread out below him. The sight stirred something unusual in his borrowed chest.

Sly looked out over the city, letting the kid's memories guide his understanding. To the east, where the sun was now fully visible above the horizon, lay the wealthy districts—large houses surrounded by gardens, wide streets, the gleaming white Vellos mansion where the kid had been caught. To the west, the city descended into poorer neighborhoods, the buildings crowded together, the streets narrower and dirtier. The river curled through the center of the city like a silver snake, crossed by multiple bridges.

And to the north, on a hill overlooking everything else, stood what could only be the local ruler's palace—an imposing structure of stone and marble, surrounded by high walls and guard towers. Adjacent to it was what appeared to be a large temple complex, probably dedicated to the patron deity of the city. Sly squinted, trying to make out the symbols or statues that might indicate which god was worshipped there.

The temple complex sprawled across a significant portion of the hilltop, consisting of multiple buildings connected by covered walkways. At its center stood a grand domed structure that gleamed in the morning light. And atop that dome...

Sly's eyes widened. "You have got to be kidding me," he muttered.

The dome was crowned with a massive golden statue of a dragon, its wings spread as if preparing to take flight. The statue had to be at least twenty feet tall, and even from this distance, Sly could tell it was made of solid gold. Or at least covered in gold. The sun's rays caught it perfectly, making it shine like a beacon.

Dragons. If there was one thing Sly disliked more than stuffy collector gods, it was dragons. Arrogant, hoard-obsessed, fire-breathing lizards who thought they deserved worship just because they could incinerate a village. In the divine hierarchy, dragons occupied an annoying middle ground—not quite gods, but more than mortal, with lifespans stretching into centuries and magical abilities that made them formidable.

And they were, universally, passionate collectors. Which made them natural allies of the God of Collections and, by extension, natural enemies of the God of Thieves.

"Someone made a dragon their patron?" Sly said incredulously. "Why would anyone... wait."

He peered more closely at the temple complex. Now that he was paying attention, he could see other dragon motifs throughout the design—serpentine columns, scaly motifs on the walls, fire patterns decorating the entrances. This wasn't just a temple with a dragon statue; it was a temple dedicated to a dragon.

Ugh, a dragon cult. He hated those. Dragons and other semi-divine creatures couldn't just walk around in the mortal world whenever they wanted. So they made deals with humans instead, creating these "cults" where people did whatever they asked in exchange for rewards. Most of these beings couldn't get many followers because they didn't have much to offer. But dragons were different—they gave out treasure. And humans would do almost anything for shiny gold. He'd seen it happen countless times over the centuries.

Sly's distaste turned to intrigue. A dragon cult temple meant dragon cult treasures. And dragon cult treasures were notoriously valuable—partly because of dragons' inherent love of shiny things, and partly because their semi-divine status allowed them to imbue objects with actual power.

"Well, well," he said softly, a smile spreading across his face. "Looks like I found my next target."

It would be challenging, certainly. Dragon cults were paranoid and well-protected, and their temples were usually guarded by fanatics who genuinely believed their scaly patron would reward them in the afterlife. But that just made it more interesting. A worthy theft for the God of Thieves.

The fact that it would annoy both dragons and the God of Collections was just a bonus. A very satisfying bonus.

Sly continued studying the city, memorizing streets and landmarks. He needed to learn the lay of the land if he was going to plan a successful heist. The kid's body was a limitation in some ways—no divine powers of perception or movement—but it also had advantages. He could walk among mortals without attracting attention, gathering information in ways that would be impossible in his divine form.

For now, though, he needed to find a safe place to rest and make plans. The kid's body was starting to show signs of fatigue—understandable, considering the stress of the escape and the lack of proper food and rest in prison. Sly would need to take care of his temporary vessel if he wanted it to perform well for the tasks ahead.

He descended from the tower and slipped out of the temple as quietly as he'd entered. The city was fully awake now, streets filling with people going about their morning business. Vendors setting up stalls, apprentices opening workshop doors, servants fetching water from public fountains. The normal, mundane rhythm of mortal life.

Sly moved through the crowd easily, just another face in the flow of humanity. He picked up bits of conversation as he passed—complaints about taxes, gossip about a merchant's daughter who'd run off with a sailor, speculation about the dragon cult's upcoming festival. Useful information, all of it. The more he understood about the city's social dynamics, the better he could exploit them.

He made his way to the central market square, a broad open space already bustling with activity. Farmers were arranging produce on tables, fishmongers loudly promoting the freshness of their catch, craft workers setting up displays of their wares. The air was filled with a cacophony of voices, the scents of fresh bread and flowers mingling with less pleasant odors of fish and the unwashed bodies of those who'd traveled far to sell their goods.

Sly stopped at the edge of the square, taking it all in. This was why he occasionally bothered with the mortal realm—the sheer vibrancy of it, the constant change and chaos. The divine realms could be so stagnant, everyone locked into their roles for eternity. Here, each moment brought something new.

And speaking of new opportunities...

A wealthy-looking merchant was moving through the crowd, his purse dangling temptingly from his belt. Sly smiled. It had been a while since he'd personally picked a pocket, and the kid's body seemed dexterous enough. Plus, he needed money if he was going to operate effectively in the mortal world.

He began moving casually in the merchant's direction, timing his approach to intersect naturally with the man's path. Just as they were about to pass each other, Sly stumbled slightly, bumping against the merchant.

"My apologies," he said, steadying himself against the man's arm. His other hand moved swiftly, deftly cutting the strings of the purse and palming it in one smooth motion.

"Watch where you're walking," the merchant grumbled, brushing off his sleeve and continuing on his way, completely unaware that his money was now in Sly's possession.

Sly suppressed a grin as he pocketed the purse. It felt good to practice the basics again. Sometimes gods forgot the simple pleasures of their domains, getting too caught up in cosmic politics and power plays. There was a pure joy in a well-executed theft that no divine feast or celestial assembly could match.

He continued across the square, already feeling the stirrings of excitement for his next project—infiltrating the dragon cult temple and relieving it of its most valuable treasures. It would be a challenge worthy of the God of Thieves, and a perfect way to make the most of his time in the mortal realm.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, bathing the city in golden light. Sly stood in the center of the market square, the stolen purse a comfortable weight in his pocket, and grinned up at the distant dragon statue gleaming on the temple dome.

"I'm coming for your treasure, lizard," he said quietly. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me."