Ghost

Asha sat in her dimly lit quarters, fingers trembling slightly as she nursed a glass of spiced liquor. Sleep refused to come, chased away by the lingering ghosts of the nightmare Sol had woven into her mind. Even as she forced herself to breathe steadily, she couldn't shake the sensation that he was still watching her, that those impossible star-like eyes were stripping away every layer of control she had built over the years.

She had been told to rest. But how could she?

Her paranoia twisted into something sharp, an overwhelming need to regain control. She had never been powerless before, and she wouldn't be again. She needed a contingency plan—a way to ensure she never had to cross paths with Sol again. Or, if fate dictated otherwise, a way to fight back.

Meanwhile, in a separate wing of her establishment, the screams of the afflicted guard continued to rattle the walls. He had been convulsing for hours, locked in a nightmarish reality that none of her healers could undo. Sweat poured from his skin, his body trembling violently. At times, he seemed to whisper incoherent pleas, his voice raw and broken. Then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open.

"The stars are wrong," he rasped, his voice hoarse with terror. "He's not real. He shouldn't be real. He's—"

He let out a strangled scream before slumping unconscious again. The silence that followed was thick with dread. Asha's men exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to speak the obvious—Sol had done something far beyond simple illusion or trickery. This was something else entirely.

As dawn crept over the Luminara District, whispers of the incident spread like wildfire. The once-feared Asha had been humbled. A nameless newcomer had walked into her den, dismantled her power, and left without so much as a scratch. Speculation ran rampant. Some claimed he was a rogue esper, others whispered he was something even stranger. The story twisted with every retelling, each version painting Sol as more and more of an enigma.

Even those who had never heard of him before now had reason to remember his name.

---

The afflicted guard awoke again, this time without the violent convulsions. His breathing was ragged, his skin pale as though he had been drained of something more than just energy. The men surrounding him hesitated, unsure of what they were about to witness.

His glassy eyes darted around the room, seeing everything and nothing at once. Then, in a voice far too steady for someone who had just escaped a nightmare, he muttered, "The strings have been cut, but the puppeteer remains."

A hush fell over the room.

"What?" one of the guards asked, stepping forward hesitantly. "What does that mean?"

The man let out a short, broken laugh, his eyes unfocused. "The dreamer walks, but the dream stays behind. He isn't real, and yet he is. Do you understand? Do you see it?"

No one responded. Asha, who had been listening from the entrance, felt a chill creep up her spine. The nonsense coming from the guard's mouth was unsettling, but it was the certainty in his voice that truly unnerved her. Whatever Sol had done to him, it had left more than just a memory—it had left something festering inside his mind.

"Get him out of my sight," Asha ordered coldly, masking her unease with authority. "Lock him up until we figure out what the hell he means."

The men hesitated before dragging the muttering guard away. His laughter echoed down the halls long after he was gone.

Sol, however, remained oblivious to the ripples he had left in his wake. Reclining lazily in a quiet corner of the Luminara District, he sipped on a hot drink, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Peach curled up beside him, snoring softly. To him, the night before had been nothing more than another step in his journey—one annoyance dealt with, and life moved on.

Yet, something tugged at his senses. An itch at the back of his mind, a silent whisper in the flow of the city. Eyes lingered on him a little longer than usual. Conversations hushed when he walked past. Something had shifted, and though he wasn't sure what it was, his instincts told him that the Luminara District wasn't quite the same anymore.

He smiled to himself, taking another sip. "Guess I made an impression."

As he set his cup down, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A group of men, sitting too casually at a nearby stall, their eyes flickering toward him every few moments. Another figure, standing by a streetlight, had been there far too long to be just another passerby.

Sol's lips quirked upward. It wasn't blatant, but it was clear enough. People were watching him. Studying him.

"Huh. That didn't take long."

Peach tilted his head, sensing his shift in mood. Sol reached up, scratching behind the bear's ear absentmindedly. He wasn't worried—if anything, he was intrigued. Who would make a move first? And more importantly, what exactly did they think they knew about him?

For now, he'd wait. Play the game at his own pace.

And see just how deep the ripples of his actions would spread.

But waiting wasn't necessary for long.

One of the figures watching him finally made their move. A tall, lean man with cybernetic augments embedded along his arms and neck approached with slow, deliberate steps. His presence carried a confidence that suggested he wasn't just another curious bystander. He stopped a few feet from Sol's table, arms crossed as his sharp amber eyes studied him closely.

"You're quite the popular one these days," the man said casually, his voice smooth yet laced with something deeper—curiosity, or maybe caution.

Sol leaned back in his chair, swirling the remnants of his drink lazily before glancing up at him. "Guess I have a certain charm. Or is it my bear that caught your eye?"

Peach, sensing the interaction, blinked up at the stranger before letting out an exaggerated yawn.

The man smirked, but didn't take the bait. "Word travels fast in Luminara. When someone walks into Asha's den, flips it upside down, and walks out untouched, people start asking questions. And when no one has the answers, well... that's when people like me get interested."

Sol raised an eyebrow. "People like you?"

The man chuckled. "Information brokers. Problem solvers. Curious minds. Take your pick. The name's Lorne, by the way. And right now, I'm just a guy wondering if you're as interesting as the rumors say."

Sol tapped his fingers against the table, considering the angle. This was different from the usual hostility—Lorne wasn't here to threaten him. He wanted to probe, to learn. Which meant Sol had the advantage.

He flashed a small, lazy grin. "Guess that depends on which rumors you've heard."

Lorne pulled a chair for himself, settling in as though this were a casual meeting between old acquaintances. Sol couldn't help but chuckle at the brazenness. Lorne raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

Sol waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing. Just admiring your confidence. So, what do you really want?"

Lorne studied him for a moment, as if weighing his response. But as he opened his mouth to speak, something felt off. Sol's voice… it seemed to come from all around him rather than just the man in front of him. A strange dissonance crept into Lorne's mind, an almost imperceptible delay between Sol's lips moving and the sound reaching his ears. His instincts screamed that something wasn't right, but he pushed the feeling aside and pressed on.

Unbeknownst to Lorne, Sol wasn't actually sitting in front of him. A short distance away, in the shadows of an alley, an average-looking man chuckled quietly to himself. This man wasn't special—just another face in the crowd. Unremarkable. Easily overlooked.

Except this man was Sol.

He was testing something new, something he had wanted to try ever since he unlocked his illusion affinity—creating a mirage of himself while observing from afar. The range was still a limitation. If he moved too far, the illusion would break. But for now, it was holding steady, allowing him to gauge Lorne's reactions while keeping his real body hidden.

Lorne studied him, the cybernetic augmentations along his arms softly humming as he rested his elbows on the table. "You've got people worried, kid. People who don't like unanswered questions."

Sol tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. "Me? I'm just a delivery boy."

Lorne smirked, but there was something calculating in his gaze. "Right. And I'm just a gambler who happens to take an interest in strangers who flip entire power structures overnight. Let's drop the act. You made waves. Asha's shaken, people are whispering, and I like to be ahead of the curve."

Sol let out a light chuckle. "So what? You're here to figure out if I'm a problem?"

Lorne leaned forward slightly, his cybernetic fingers tapping against the wooden surface. "I'm here to figure out if you're a problem worth solving. I deal in information, and right now, you're the hottest piece of gossip in the district. And yet… you're a ghost. No past, no records, no affiliations. That tells me you either got here by accident… or someone wanted you to disappear."

Sol's mirage leaned back with an easy grin, but in reality, he was listening carefully from the shadows. Lorne was sharp. Too sharp. If he kept digging, he might actually stumble on something dangerous. Time to flip the conversation.

"That's a lot of effort to keep tabs on a so-called ghost," Sol mused. "Must mean I'm pretty valuable."

Lorne chuckled. "Let's just say I like collecting rare things."

Lorne kept probing, watching Sol carefully, his cybernetic fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the table. Every question was an attempt to unravel the mystery before him, but Sol gave him nothing—no tells, no slip-ups, no hints to grasp onto. The more he tried, the more elusive Sol became. It was like trying to pin down a shadow.

Feeling the growing frustration in the air, Sol sighed, the usual amusement fading from his expression. "For some reason, I really hate that question." His voice was quieter now, but there was something sharp beneath it.

Lorne narrowed his eyes. "Which question?"

"What I want." Sol exhaled, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "I get it a lot, and it never stops being irritating." He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto Lorne's. "Being too curious is dangerous."

Lorne's brows furrowed. "Is that a threat?"

Sol's lips curled into a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nope. Just a warning. Chase ghosts too long, and you might just find yourself haunted."

Before Lorne could process the words, Sol's mirage began to flicker. His form shimmered, as if reality itself was struggling to hold onto him. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Lorne shot up from his chair, his pulse spiking. Around him, his crew—who had been silently keeping watch—reacted the same way. Their pupils shrank, their breaths caught in their throats. They had no idea what they had just witnessed, but the last words Sol had spoken echoed through their minds like a hollow whisper.

Lorne clenched his jaw, his fists tightening. "What the hell was that?"