The applause echoed through the grand hall, a sound so thunderous it almost shook the marble beneath my feet. I stood there, staring out at the crowd. Hundreds of faces were beaming, nodding in approval, their hands coming together in a symphony of congratulations. In my hand was the diploma, the culmination of everything I worked for at the Academy. I was smiling—no, grinning—like an idiot.

I could hear the headmaster's voice announcing my name, praising my achievements. "Mr. Crowley, you've proven yourself among the finest." Me? The finest? I could barely pass half the exams. But there it was, an official statement, a validation of all those sleepless nights, all the mistakes, the near-failures. They were clapping for me.

The applause swelled. I felt a strange warmth in my chest, a glow that I hadn’t felt in a long time. This was it. This was—

*Knock, knock, knock.*

I blinked. The applause faded, the hall melting away into shadows. The diploma turned to smoke in my hand. I was in my apartment on Muspell, not at the Academy. I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and someone was knocking at the door. The warmth from the dream evaporated, replaced by the familiar heaviness in my chest.

"Damn it," I muttered, rubbing my face. "Why do I keep dreaming about that?"

I shoved the covers off, the cold reality of the room sinking into my bones. My mood sank with it, weighed down by the reminder of what could’ve been. What should’ve been. But that was years ago. That ceremony? It never happened. I barely flunked, and they didn’t clap for that.

The knocking started again, more insistent this time. I groaned, dragging myself out of bed. "Alright, alright, I’m coming." But the feeling from the dream stuck with me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

I shuffled to the door, my mind still lingering on the fading dream. What would it have felt like, to stand there in that hall, to be acknowledged? But those thoughts dissolved as soon as I turned the handle and pulled the door open.

Standing there, crouched slightly to fit under the doorway, was a Formorian. The person was about four meters tall, with two vertical, slit-like eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. His dark red skin seemed to drink in the shadows of the room, making him look like he had been carved out of molten rock that had cooled too quickly. He wore a sleeveless vest that showed off massive, bulging muscles, and a pair of brown trousers that were slightly too short for his long legs.

"Hey, new neighbor!" His voice was a deep rumble, like rocks grinding together, but his tone was surprisingly friendly. "Just wanted to drop by, say hi, y'know? Name’s Orvox. Figured we should get acquainted since we're livin' so close an' all."

I blinked, trying to keep my jaw from dropping. Orvox? The Formorian with the deep voice and casual smile? I’d read about Formorians—usually in the context of ‘Things You Don’t Want to Run Into in a Dark Alley’—but this was a new one. He leaned against the doorframe, as if this was the most natural thing in the world, grinning down at me like we were old friends.

"Uh, hi," I managed, fighting the urge to step back. “I’m… Saturn.”

“Saturn, huh? Cool name, man. Nice to meet ya!" He extended a massive hand that I hesitated to shake. His palm alone could probably crush mine if he wasn’t careful. "I saw you movin' in and thought, 'Hey, why not drop by? Make the guy feel welcome.' So, here I am!"

The way he spoke—so informal, so relaxed—was jarring. I wasn’t used to it. Where I grew up, people didn't talk like that, especially not to strangers. Politeness, formality, those were ingrained in me. But Orvox… he didn’t seem to care about any of that. He just smiled, waiting for me to say something.

"Uh, thanks," I said, shaking his hand cautiously. His grip was firm, but not crushing. “I appreciate the, uh, welcome.”

“No problem, buddy!" He let go of my hand and clapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, if you ever need somethin', don’t be a stranger. I’m just a few doors down. We Formorians, we stick together, y'know?”

I nodded, though I didn’t really know. “Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.”

"Great! Well, I won’t keep ya. Just thought I'd be neighborly. You take care, Saturn!" With that, Orvox gave me a thumbs-up, then turned and ducked back down the hallway, his enormous frame somehow moving with surprising grace.

I stood there for a moment, watching him go, trying to process what had just happened. A Formorian… being friendly. Welcoming me to the neighborhood. What kind of place had I moved into?

Shaking my head, I closed the door and leaned against it.

“Welcome to Muspell,” I muttered to myself, rubbing my face again. “Now to find something to eat. I haven't eaten in a good while."

I took my toothbrush and paste to the bathroom and cleaned myself. It was something of a habit now since no matter where I was I tried to keep my cleanliness up to standard although I wasn't really someone obsessed with it but it was just a habit.

Tossing the brush back into the cup, I splashed some water onto my face to force the tiredness away and took a moment to stare at myself in the mirror.

I wasn't really someone who stood out that much. It was like looking at a photo of yourself rather than reflection due to how unmoving my face was.

But there was no time to dwell on that. My stomach growled, reminding me that it had been too long since my last meal. I shuffled back to the main room, glancing through my suitcase I checked how much I had.

"Hmmm, about 20,000 credits. Good enough." I muttered to myself although not a huge amount this was still enough to buy meals for a whole month and I had already trained myself to be ready for that.

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Grabbing my jacket, I decided to head out and see what Muspell had to offer in terms of food. The streets outside were just as sweltering as they were yesterday, the heat of the planet pressing down like a thick blanket. The twin suns-or whatever Muspell called a sun—was a relentless ball of fire in the sky, baking everything in sight.

Walking around the streets were crowded. Which didn't surprise me since this was the capital of Muspell, Logi, which would have about 3.6 million people or atleast offical citizens.

Traders hawking their wares, miners on their way to the shifts, and a few off-worlders like me trying to navigate the chaos.

My stomach growled again, louder this time, demanding attention. I turned down an alley that led to a row of food stalls I’d passed earlier. The smell of sizzling meat and spices hit me, making my mouth water. Muspell cuisine was rough, hearty, and spicy enough to make your eyes water, but right now, that sounded perfect.

I approached a stall run by a short, stocky alien with four arms who was expertly grilling skewers of meat. The heat didn’t seem to bother him as he worked over the flames, flipping skewers with two hands while tossing spices with the other two. His small eyes glanced up at me as I approached.

“What’ll it be?” he asked in a gruff voice.

"Good morning, I will have some," I began to order my food while taking a quick glance to remember everything on the menu. "Two grilled Chips."

He grunted, grabbed a couple of skewers from the grill, and handed them to me. “Eight credits.”

I fished around in my pocket and handed over the money. The alien didn’t say anything else, just nodded and went back to his grilling. I stepped aside, sinking my teeth into the first skewer. The meat was spicy, tender, and had a kick that burned all the way down. But it was good. It was real. The kind of thing that grounded you in the moment, no matter what was going on in your head.

As I ate, I found a quiet corner to lean against the wall, watching the crowd move past. Since this was a hotspot of people right now I could gather information from gossiping that would happen and I wouldn't have to walk around this wretched city.

I slowly allowed mana to enhance my hearing, chewing on the last bit of skewer as the noise of the market flowed around me. The conversations blended together into a low hum, but I started picking out distinct voices.

“Prices are ridiculous this year,” grumbled a merchant a few stalls over. “I had to pay double for my ingredients! You think people are gonna shell out for festival food at these rates? It's a joke!”

“Tell me about it,” another replied. “I’m barely breaking even on the supplies for my stand. And now they want us to chip in for the lighting setup? Where’s that money even going?”

A couple of miners were passing by, their voices rough from the day’s work.

“Can’t believe they cut our shift pay again. That’s the third time this month.”

“Yeah, and for what? So they can fund more security? Just means more patrols breathing down our necks while we’re trying to do our jobs. No one’s smuggling anything worth the trouble now.”

Nearby, a group of kids chattered excitedly as they skipped through the crowd.

“Did you hear? They’re gonna have a big holo-show at the festival this year!”

“Yeah, and dancers from off-world too! I wanna see the fire-breathers. My dad says they’re the best.”

“Whatever. I just wanna eat all the fried stuff.”

As they darted off, I overheard a couple of traders arguing over a deal.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m paying that. I’ll just find another route.”

“Good luck with that, friend. Heard the local patrols have been stepping up checks lately. You want your goods to make it through, you’ll need my connections.”

There was a low chuckle. “Connections like yours? You’d better hope those checks don’t tighten further. Might be harder to grease the right palms.”

In the distance, someone was talking about the festival preparations.

“Think they’ll finish the decorations in time? Last year was a mess—half the lights didn’t even work.”

“Not my problem, but they’d be better. I’m counting on the crowds to make up for these crap sales.”

There wasn't anything important it seemed but it allowed me to find something useful. From what I had found about CC was that he had arrived recently but couldn't figure out a reason but it must be connected to the Festival somewhat.

After finishing my skewers, licking the last bit of spice off my fingers, and let my thoughts drift back to CC. From what I’d managed to piece together, it was pretty basic stuff like seriously I could probably guess at what he wanted.

CC—or Cedric Cale, as he used to be known—came from an above-average family. His father was a mid-level bureaucrat, nothing flashy but solid. The kind of job that kept food on the table and credits in the account, but never enough to stand out. His mother was a stay-at-home type, although she was known for organizing school events, the type of woman who probably made friends with all the neighbors.

Cedric followed the path laid out for him. Good grades, decent at sports, popular enough to blend in but not enough to draw attention. I remember hearing that he was always the guy with potential. Not the best, not the brightest, but solid. Reliable. He went to a decent academy, studied commerce or something equally boring, and by all accounts, he was heading towards a nice, steady career.

He got married and had a daughter for a while it was an average family but after that everything was hidden or obscured so I didn't find anything else.

My mind circled back to that mystery like a fly that wouldn’t leave me alone. What had happened to Cedric to turn him into CC? People didn’t just flip like that for no reason. It wasn’t like some switch got turned off and suddenly he was in the trafficking business, dealing in whatever illegal crap he was peddling now.

I finished my last skewer, tossing the stick into a nearby bin. The smell of charred spices lingered, mixing with the humid air, but I was already too deep in thought to notice.

It was fucking hard to figure out why he would even come here or become a trafficer. Like that man was to old to become a Magician so he couldn't be trying to do something like but maybe he joined a Cult?

Ah, but those would be just baseless guessing since I had no solid lead right now.

I sighed, pushing off the wall and shoving my hands into my pockets. It didn’t matter why CC had changed or what his motivations were—not really. My job wasn’t to understand him, it was to catch him. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that understanding might give me an edge. It wasn’t like I had much else to go on.

The crowd shifted around me, alive with the buzz of a city on the move. Muspell was nothing like what I was used to. The heat, the noise, the constant flow of people—it was overwhelming. I was already gaining too much information from this.

As I turned a corner, lost in thought, something—or rather, someone—barreled into me with the force of a freight train.

I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling me down to the bones. My breath left in a sharp gasp as I blinked to see the evening sky, confused at what had happened.

A shuffling sound came from right next to me making me turn my head to see a person who was getting up on his feet in a rather quick jump.

The guy was dressed like your average thug—ragged clothes, dirty boots, a crude knife strapped to his belt. He didn't look like a Formorian as he lacked the height but still his skin gave away that he was probably a hybrid.

Slowly I pushed myself to stand up while dusting the dirt of my clothes. The impact still hurt a bit since I wasn't used to getting hit quite often.

Looking at the way the thug ran towards it seemed that there was a slight fight going on. The sounds of fists connecting, grunts of pain, and a few choice curses echoed down the narrow path. Normally, I'd keep walking. I wasn’t interested in getting involved in whatever street brawl was going on in this part of town.

But just as I turned to leave, I caught a snippet of conversation over the noise.

"You think your tuff? Nobody crosses Ciel and lives."

The sentence made me pause for a moment. My mind raced even if this person wasn't CC he may work for him, with him or at least knew about him. So maybe getting involved would be better?

I moved toward the sounds of the scuffle, slipping through the narrow alley, careful not to draw attention. As I got closer, the scene became clearer. The thug I'd bumped into had joined a small group of his buddies, circling around a figure. It was—Orvox, the Formorian I had just met. But he looked different now. Instead of his casual sleeveless vest, he was wearing a long, dark robe, almost like a priest’s garment, though the markings on it were unfamiliar to me

Orvox laughed, his deep voice echoing through the alley. "Come on, boys! You really wanna do this? Just walk away now"

The thugs exchanged uneasy glances, clearly not expecting their prey to be this formidable. But one of them, probably the leader, spat on the ground and brandished a jagged knife. "You don't scare us priests, move aside."

I crouched slightly, placing my hands on the rough ground of the alley. Beneath the surface, I could feel the familiar texture of compacted earth and bits of discarded concrete. My fingers twitched as I focused, mentally pulling apart the molecular bonds in the earth, turning solid ground into something else entirely.

"Slipstream transmutation," I muttered under my breath. "Break down the silicates, reconfigure into a low-friction lattice."

I sent a pulse of mana into the ground. It rippled beneath my fingertips, spreading out in a wave that stretched to where the thugs were standing. The rough surface of the ground shifted subtly, the particles within rearranging themselves into a smooth, almost glassy surface.

The thugs didn't notice at first, too focused on Orvox. But when the leader took a step forward, his boot slipped out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. He let out a yelp of surprise as he scrambled for balance, his knife clattering to the floor.

“What the—!” another thug exclaimed as he, too, lost his footing. The entire group staggered, trying to stay upright, but the now frictionless ground betrayed them. They slipped and slid, arms flailing as they struggled to regain control.

After they fell I silently watched what they would do next as each everyone flailed around like headless chicken. It was a pretty funny scene.