ya' flexin

The people gave me money and praise and sang for me.

Their voices rose in a chorus of gratitude, echoing through the streets like a hymn of victory. Some clapped, some bowed their heads, and others simply watched in silent admiration. Gold and silver coins clattered into my hands, glinting in the fading sunlight.

I should have felt honored. Proud, even. But all I could think about was how hollow it all felt.

They didn't know me.

They didn't know what I had done to get here.

A little girl, no older than seven, ran up to me, holding out a single copper coin with both hands. Her eyes were wide with admiration. "You're amazing," she whispered.

I forced a smile and knelt to accept it, closing her small fingers over the coin instead. "Keep it," I said gently. "Use it for something nice."

She blinked, confused, but then grinned and ran back to her parents.

The songs continued, the praise never stopping. But I had to leave. I had work to do.

So I turned away from the crowd and disappeared into the night, leaving behind the cheers that no longer meant anything to me.

The moment I stepped into the shadows of the alley, the noise of the crowd faded behind me. The warm glow of torches and lanterns barely reached this part of the city, leaving only the occasional flicker of light reflecting off damp stone walls.

I walked briskly, my footsteps quiet against the cobblestone. The money they had given me weighed heavy in my pocket, but I wasn't keeping it. I never did.

A few turns later, I reached a narrow passage between two crumbling buildings. There, huddled together in the cold, were the people I had come for. The ones no one sang for.

Children with hollow eyes. Mothers holding their starving infants. Men too weak to stand.

I pulled out the handful of gold and silver I had received and crouched down, placing the coins into the frail hands of an old woman. She looked up at me, her gaze filled with disbelief.

"For food," I said quietly.

Her lips trembled, and she clutched the money to her chest as if afraid it would vanish. The others stared at me in silence, their expressions a mix of gratitude and confusion.

One of the children, a boy no older than ten, stepped forward hesitantly. "You don't have to do this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I forced a smile. "I do."

Then, without another word, I turned and vanished back into the night.

I still had unfinished business.

I went back to the crowd where the praises were sang, I found Illya talking with master. I told Illua to come with me, and told master that I was no longer her student.

And with that I went back to the city of shadows, the journey was two months.

When I arrived there I went to the place where I last saw Micheal.

And sure enough he was there, I asked him about the system he had used to talk to ex-master.

Michael leaned against the crumbling stone wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The dim glow of a lantern nearby barely illuminated his face, casting long shadows over his sharp features.

"You really came back," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

"I don't waste time with empty promises," I replied. "Now, tell me—how did you contact my ex-master?"

Michael exhaled slowly, as if weighing his words. Then, he gestured for me to follow.

"This isn't something we should discuss out in the open."

I hesitated for only a second before following him through the maze of alleyways. The city of shadows hadn't changed—tall, narrow buildings loomed overhead, the streets thick with the scent of damp stone and burning oil.

Eventually, we reached a door half-hidden behind stacks of wooden crates. Michael knocked twice, paused, then knocked three more times in quick succession.

A heavy bolt slid open from the other side. The door creaked, revealing a small, candle-lit room filled with books, maps, and strange devices humming with faint energy.

Inside stood a woman—older, wrapped in layers of dark fabric, her eyes sharp with intelligence.

"So," she said, eyeing me up and down. "You're the one Michael's been waiting for."

I turned to Michael. "Who is she?"

He smirked. "The only person who can show you how to use the system."

The woman stepped forward. "The system isn't just a tool. It's a web, connecting those who know how to listen. If you want to use it, you must first understand the cost."

Her words sent a chill through me. "And what's the cost?"

She smiled faintly. "Your past, your name, and perhaps… even your soul."

" I don't have a name, I don't have a past." I said, "do I really have to sacrifice MY soul?".

"Nah", she answered, "I am just tryin' to scare ya'".

"Why?" I replied.

"No reason".

I narrowed my eyes. "You're messing with me."

The woman chuckled, stepping past a table stacked with faded parchment. "Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you're here, which means you want in."

Michael leaned against the doorway, watching the exchange with amusement.

I crossed my arms. "Just tell me how the system works."

The woman picked up a small, metal device from the table—something like a compass, but the needle spun erratically. "The system isn't a machine. It's a network, built from whispers, debts, and secrets. Think of it like an underground current—silent but always moving."

She set the device down and looked me in the eye. "People like your ex-master, the ones with influence, they use the system to communicate, trade information, and manipulate events. If you want in, you'll need to prove you're worth listening to."

I frowned. "And how do I do that?"

Michael finally spoke. "There's a name floating through the system right now—one that keeps coming up in encrypted messages. Elias Thorne."

I didn't recognize it. "Who is he?"

The woman smirked. "That's what you're going to find out."

I exhaled slowly. Of course, nothing was ever easy. But if this was my only way forward, I had no choice.

"Fine," I said. "Where do I start?"

"Just pour Sefor into your eyes, and then just think of the word 'system' and it should work."

I did as she said, and it worked.