Whispers

The underbelly of the city whispered his name.

At first, it was nothing more than a murmur, a vague curiosity passed between hushed voices in dimly lit alleys. But as the days passed, Sol's name carried weight. The lower districts—where criminals, outcasts, and those forgotten by society thrived—were alive with rumors of the illusionist who had defied the Sparkling Den and walked away unscathed. Few had ever done so, and those who had were either dead or missing.

Now, the whispers turned to conversations, the conversations into speculation. Who was he, really? A rogue operative? An exile from a powerful family? A remnant of a long-lost syndicate? Everyone had their theories, but no one had a concrete answer. The only thing they knew for certain was that Sol was dangerous, and that made him valuable.

---

Sol leaned against the metal railing of an old walkway overlooking one of the neon-drenched streets below. The rain pattered against the metal awning above, shielding him from the cold drizzle. His face was once again altered—hair shorter, a different bone structure, slightly older. Peach, now invisible, clung to his shoulder in silence.

"I don't like this," he muttered under his breath. "People are talking about me too much."

"That's what happens when you make a scene," a familiar voice drawled.

Sol didn't turn immediately. He had already sensed Lira's presence the moment she stepped onto the walkway. She was leaning casually against the railing a few feet away, arms crossed, smirk in place.

"I thought I told you to fuck off," Sol said coolly.

Lira chuckled. "You did. I ignored it. Besides, you've made yourself too interesting to ignore."

Sol sighed, rubbing his temples. "What do you want now? Another job offer?"

Lira shrugged. "Not quite. I came to give you a warning. Your little stunt at Lovers' Bar? It's made you famous. Not the good kind. The kind that puts targets on your back."

Sol's fingers drummed against the railing. He had already figured as much, but hearing it confirmed was frustrating.

"And let me guess," he said dryly, "you're offering protection in exchange for me working with you?"

"I wouldn't call it protection. More like… an opportunity to manage your reputation before someone else does." Lira tilted her head. "You're in a delicate position. The underworld loves a rising star, but they also love crushing them just as quickly."

Sol sighed, pushing himself off the railing. "I work alone, Lira. I always have. And I'd rather not owe anyone favors."

Lira studied him for a moment before shaking her head. "Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She turned to leave, but paused. "One more thing. A man named Vex has been looking for you. Ring any bells?"

Sol's expression darkened. The name was unfamiliar, but that didn't mean much. "What does he want?"

"No idea. But he's paying well for any information about you." Lira hesitated, then added, "And from what I hear, he's not the only one."

Sol watched her walk away before exhaling slowly. He had expected trouble, but this was happening faster than he'd anticipated.

He needed to move.

---

Hours later, Sol found himself in a dimly lit backroom of a rundown club. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of burning chemicals clinging to every surface. He was meeting an information broker, the only broker he somewhat knew. The broker, a wiry man with cybernetic eyes named Lorne sat across from him, tapping his fingers on the table.

"You're a hard man to track, Sol," Lorne muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't expect to hear from you so soon, especially after our last meeting."

Sol casually waved it off with a laugh. "Oh, that? Just a joke."

Lorne gave him a flat look, clearly not buying it. "Right. Sure. So why'd you call me?"

Sol shrugged. "I need information."

Lorne smirked. "Information isn't free."

Sol leaned forward, unfazed. "What do you want?"

Lorne's eyes lit up with excitement. "Information for information."

Sol sighed but nodded. "Sure."

Sol leaned back in his chair. "I need to know about Vex."

Lorne frowned. "Bad news. The guy's not just some thug. He's ex-military. Black ops, if the rumors are true. And he's got resources. People with deep pockets are backing his search."

Sol's jaw tightened. "Any idea why?"

Lorne shrugged. "No clue. But if someone like him is looking for you, it's not for a friendly chat."

Sol rubbed his temple. This was escalating far too quickly. He had expected enemies from the underworld, but ex-military? That complicated things.

"Got any advice?" he asked.

Lorne sighed. "Yeah. Either disappear for real this time or start making allies before you get backed into a corner. Because right now, you're not just a name in the lower districts—you're a problem. And problems in this city? They don't last long."

Sol smirked slightly. "Now it's my turn. Ask away."

Lorne wasted no time. "Alright. What exactly are you looking for, Sol? What's your plan? Where are you from? You've got everyone dying to know."

Sol exhaled slowly, tilting his head as if considering how much he wanted to give away. "What I'm looking for? Not much. Just a way to make my life a little less annoying."

Lorne raised an eyebrow. "And your plan?"

Sol smirked. "Survive. Maybe make enough credits to get by till I leave the ship one day."

Lorne leaned forward, his cybernetic eyes glinting in the dim light. "That's it? That's all? Come on, Sol. You're a rising name in the underworld, but no one gets to where you are without a real goal."

Sol shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Believe it or not, I don't have some grand vision of power or revenge. Just looking out for myself."

Lorne clicked his tongue. "You're dodging. Where are you from?"

For the first time, Sol's smirk faltered. His fingers tapped idly against the table. "Does it matter?"

"It does to the people looking for you."

Sol's gaze darkened, but his voice remained casual. "Let's just say I'm from nowhere important. Nowhere worth remembering."

Lorne watched him closely, his gut telling him that Sol was holding something back. "And what about your past? Anything worth noting?"

Sol's entire demeanor shifted. His fingers stopped tapping. His smirk disappeared. "That," he said, voice quieter but edged with something sharp, "is not up for discussion."

Lorne held up his hands in surrender. "Fair enough. You gave me something. That's more than I expected."

Sol let out a short chuckle, but the tension in his shoulders remained. "Glad I could be of service. Now, do you have anything else, or are we done playing twenty questions?"

Lorne leaned back, studying Sol for a moment before nodding. "That'll do—for now. But if I were you, I'd start thinking about who you want in your corner before things get ugly."

Sol smiled as he got up, stretching his arms. "There's no need for that. I'm not as cute and cuddly as I look."

---

Sol walked down the street, his thoughts occupied with his future plans. The ship would arrive at his destination in about five months though there would probably be a couple stops in between, which meant disappearing until then wouldn't be difficult. Since everyone was searching so desperately for him, he figured he might as well let them keep looking. The more they focused on chasing shadows, the easier it would be for him to move unnoticed.

As he mulled over his situation, he realized he needed time to familiarize himself with his new affinities. The power coursing through him was still unrefined, and if he was going to use it effectively, he had to train. However, before he could even think about that, he needed to restock on supplies. He needed food, water, and spare clothes—he wasn't about to survive on just fruits again. That last stint had been miserable enough.

His fingers tightened slightly in frustration, but then he exhaled, pushing those thoughts aside. One step at a time.